Grandma Yvonne

With thanks to S.C. who inspired this short story about a very special grandmother.

Why is it I wonder that the potential to find a member of our own family attractive is never a subject that is spoken of? I cannot ever remember discussing the merits of any member of my family with another soul. And yet sisters, mothers and grandmothers are female aren't they, they are women in their own right, as sexual and fanciful as any other woman out there I suppose. I can remember conversations when I was younger as to who was the best-looking girls or boys in my class, which actors and actresses or pop stars we perhaps idolised, even the opposite sex in our everyday lives would be graded on their particular attraction and attributes. But our parents and perhaps siblings were always excluded from this practice for some peculiar reason, and yet we were never told that we should not look at them in that manner.

I cannot ever remember a time, where the topic of conversation centred around a member of our families and which could be construed to be of a sexual nature, it was as though our brains refused to even consider that such people could be considered handsome or attractive. My friends never commented on my mother and I never commented on theirs, it was as if it was imprinted on our brains at birth that these people were out of bounds to us. That was why it was a shock when as an eighteen-year-old, I one day found myself thinking of a member of my family in such an illicit way.

Who do you talk to about those types of thoughts, I couldn't discuss it with friends for fear of ridicule or disgust, forever ostracised and looked at as someone peculiar? I definitely couldn't discuss it with my family, we were good Catholics and the thought of discussing my sudden burgeoning desires with them would ensure I was condemned to everlasting damnation. That only left the parish priest and I certainly wasn't going to discuss it with him, sure that my parents would immediately be informed.

I wondered in later life if we all have these feelings at some point, not just males, but females as well, do we all go through a stage where we suddenly have a longing for a member of the opposite sex, but one who is also part of our immediate family. A desire to do things to them and with them that is outside both the bible and the law.

Yvonne was my grandmother on my father's side, she was tall for a woman, wide-hipped and large breasted and each summer whilst growing up, I would spend a week at her home during my summer holidays. Later in life, she reminded me of those types of mature women who graced our television screens, not young anymore, but still sexy and alluring with the promise of unimaginable pleasures. My grandfather on the other hand wasn't my grandfather, Yvonne had remarried before I was born and whilst he always treated me as his grandson, there was something about him that did not sit comfortably.

As her first grandchild, I was spoilt, Yvonne lavishing her love and affection on me each time we visited and especially each summer when I went to stay with her. We lived in Brighton whilst she lived only a short car journey away in Worthing, both of them seaside towns on the south coast. Her home was a large bungalow with a south facing rear garden which we used extensively during the long summers. I can vividly remember the lawns and flowerbeds, the flint walls separating different levels of the garden and the plum tree off to one side. I would watch her as she pottered, deadheading flowers and weeding the borders, some days assisting her, though I was never sure I was pulling up the right plants.

Those visits continued throughout my early teenage years. Even after I turned eighteen, I still looked forward to that week of escape, no parents trying to tell me what to do, no demands from friends and especially my girlfriend. It was a week usually accompanied by brilliant sunshine in which I could enjoy the quiet and slower pace of life, helping my grandmother in her garden, laying out in the sun or wandering down into the town.

It was during my last visit that I was both surprised and enticed when I unintentionally overheard a conversation. It was the middle of summer and I was with her again for my week's break, mum having driven me across. In my bedroom which overlooked the garden, the window was open, trying to capture a hint of any breeze while I unpacked my case, putting clothes away in drawers and the wardrobe.

The sound of their voices was audible in the still air, my mother and grandmother sat outside discussing something that caught my attention.

'You know he's that way inclined?' It was my grandmother's voice, speaking in a quiet confidential way.

'We have never properly consummated our marriage. We have tried on many occasions, but it has become obvious that he does not find me sexually attractive or fulfilling in that department.' She continued sorrowfully.

I was knelt below the window now, trying to hear what was being said but at the same time not wanting to be seen or let it be known that I was privy to their conversation outside.

'I had no idea when we married, but now I am stuck with it, I cannot divorce him, that would go against the church and everything I have been taught. I am happy, but at the same time, I am frustrated. At the end of the day, I am a woman, I have needs, but it would be a sin against God to cheat on him with another man.'

I don't know if my mother turned around and saw my bedroom window open, but whatever the reason, they moved down to the other end of the garden and out of earshot, leaving me struggling to understand the gist of what they had been discussing. My grandfather it seemed, was gay. I wouldn't have known it up until that point although thinking back, some of his mannerisms could be effeminate I concluded. I felt sorry for Yvonne, as my grandmother, I loved her unconditionally but the news of what she was experiencing was maybe the spark that lit the blue touch paper.

Despite being eighteen and with a girlfriend, I was still inexperienced as was she, and together we had discovered the delights of illicit sex when the opportunity arose, sure that both sets of parents would have disapproved. At that age, it takes very little to ignite one's lust and the suggestion that my grandmother was going without put idea's and images into my head as I fantasised about the things we could have done together.

With my mother gone and gran back to her pottering, I decided that some sunbathing was in order as I laid out my big red "Coca-Cola" towel and wearing only shorts, stretched out on it as the sun warmed my body. Perhaps it was the conversation I'd heard, especially the word 'Frustrated' which first sowed the seed in my brain. Turning my head, I peered in her general direction, surreptitiously watching her knelt on her gardening mat, her bottom wiggling as she leant over and dug holes for new plants.

She had full buttocks which looked appetising in her slacks, the material stretched tightly across both cheeks making her panties beneath quite visible and awakening in me a sudden rush of blood. It left me feeling alarmed and perhaps a little dirty as I viewed her bottom, ideas of what I could do with it invading my thoughts. Over the course of that week, some days she would wear slacks but, on most days, she donned one of her dresses. I had decided that I preferred her in a dress, it would hitch up slightly at the rear as she bent forward, giving me a view of the back of her thighs, but never rode quite high enough for me to be able to see her panties. In summer she would more often than not go without tights, complaining that they were too hot in the sun and treating me to views of her ample thighs and plenty of naked flesh.

I'm positive that she never wore a particular type of dress on purpose, it was just that her breasts were so large that each of her dress's managed to show an ample amount of cleavage and I was only too happy to help her weed flower beds on those days, especially the ones where I could kneel on the opposite side and look down the front of her garment, marvelling at her gorgeous mammaries.

Each night, my dreams were lurid, I was copulating with her, both of us naked as we had intercourse on the broad strip of lawn in the afternoon sun or maybe in the middle of the lounge floor some evening. Waking the next morning, a thin flaky layer would coat my stomach as I remembered the feel of her flesh pressed tightly against my own, remembrance re-igniting my desires once more. That's all they were though unfortunately, dreams, I could never approach her and speak of the things that now invaded my mind, it would surely break the special bond that existed between us.

I have no idea if she ever realised what I was doing, if she did, she never commented, and I would return from my weeks holiday with images and visions in my head of gorging myself on her huge tits.

Unfortunately, the more I learned about sex, the greater my lust became for my grandmother as each summer I continued making that pilgrimage to her home. No longer did my parents have to run me there in the car, I could easily take myself off on the train, the anticipation of being with her fuelling my fantasies. She always welcomed me in the same manner, flinging her arms around me and kissing my cheek when I first arrived. As a child, it had seemed normal to be welcomed in this way, as a young man, I was now conscious of her breasts pushing against my chest, fearful that if she held me for too long then she would be able to discern my inevitable erection pushing against her groin.

How I wished that from somewhere, I could find the courage to tell her how I felt. But I was forever afraid that to make mention of my feelings and desires would bring to an end my visits with this beautiful woman. And so, I continued to suffer in silence, watching her keenly over that week and taking home with me, images of her smiling face and shapely figure, my right hand having to satisfy my lust for her body.

She must have been in her mid-fifties and although I could see that she was ageing, to me, she looked as delectable as ever. I wanted her badly, to undress her, to gently touch her naked flesh and to see her writhe beneath me. The older I got, the harder it became to keep those desires to myself, my own flesh becoming my betrayer. Watching her move around the house with her sweet smiles and especially out in the garden when she bent over, seemingly offering me her wide hips and rounded bottom, would have me scuttling for cover as I tried to hide my bulging shorts or pants. My visits were perhaps becoming more a torment rather than a pleasure.

I remembered one occasion, trying to be helpful and picking up wind-blown fruit from the plum tree, I had been warned, but was so engrossed in my own thoughts of her that I forgot. The sudden sharp pains in my fingers and hand brought me back to reality as I let go of the plums, wasps and bee's buzzing around me as I ran for cover. With my eyes watering, I watched as Yvonne carefully took my hand and extracted the stings, dabbing antiseptic on the red swellings. The feel of my hand in hers and the softness of her skin helped diminish the pain. And then she leaned forward and kissed my cheek, my eyes focusing on her plump succulent lips and wishing that they were headed for my lips rather than my cheek.

'God, I wanted to kiss her,' I remembered thinking afterwards, I wanted to feel her lips against mine and hold her in a lover's embrace.

But sadly, nothing ever happened, I would have my break and then return home, perhaps feeling as frustrated as my grandmother felt. Summer's were not my only visits to her home, I would make the journey regularly to go and visit her, but summer was the time I got to spend a whole week in her company.

It was on one of my many normal visits, accompanied by my girlfriend that I did something that was never meant to happen. We'd had lunch in the garden, my grandfather disappearing after we had eaten for his normal Saturday pint. Gran was in the kitchen washing up the dishes that I brought in from the patio tables outside when for no reason at all, I slipped my arms around her waist and kissed the back of her head. 'Love you, Gran,' I whispered. There had not been anything sexual intended, it was just a show of affection for my grandmother. But time seemed to stand still as I breathed in the smell from her hair and the occasional waft of her perfume. Her wet hands came from the water and cradled my own, neither of us making any attempt to move or speak as the embrace continued. I was lost in my thoughts, enjoying the feel and warmth of her body pressed against mine until I suddenly realised that something had happened down below and that surely, she must be able to feel my erection pushing against her bottom.

I released her suddenly, stepping back and going red as I tried to escape. She said nothing, turning her head slightly as I bolted from the kitchen and giving me a shy smile. I wanted to stay but at the same time, I wanted to leave her house. I felt embarrassed, hoping that she had not recognised the desire she had ignited in my loins. When she eventually came back outdoors, my conversion was stilted as I tried to keep my girlfriend near me at all times, sure that Yvonne would say something once we were alone.

Taking my leave early I managed to escape without any talk of my indiscretion. I had stepped over the line and allowed my secret desires to be known, fearful now of ever returning and facing my grandmother's accusations. On my way home I came up with a raft of excuses, each one more outlandish than the last as I vowed to leave it a while before once more visiting her. My girlfriend noticed my quietness on our return journey, commenting and asking if I was alright. What could I tell her, certainly not the truth, how did I disclose that truth to anyone without expecting my life to change dramatically?

I had hoped that by not seeing my grandmother, the damage would repair itself and that my desires would eventually subside and diminish, fading into the past and never to be spoken of. But then we never know what fate has in store for us, especially if we could only pluck up the courage and see some actions through.

Her grandson had gone, her husband yet to return. Yvonne sat in her garden, her eyes closed as she prayed for forgiveness and admitted her sins. She had felt the desire in his loins as he stood behind her, wondering if she was the cause of his erection. With his arms around her, she hadn't wanted him to move as she basked in the pleasure of having a man thrust himself against her body and making it obvious what was on his mind. She had sinned, she had not remonstrated with him, her body overcoming her faith.

What had happened was wrong in so many ways, but her mind refused to deny the pleasurable sensations that had suddenly overcome her. Images refusing to leave her mind as she wrestled with her conscience, those very thoughts causing her nipples to ache and dampness to erupt in her panties. It had seemed to be an eternity that she had been denied those pleasures and yet now, the person who had awoken her desires once more should rightly be denied themselves. To let it go any further would mean that she would commit a cardinal sin and also break the law, tears ran down her cheeks as she felt herself presently losing this battle. Was she being tested, had the almighty put temptation in her way to see whether she would succumb?

In the days and then weeks that followed, she knew she was being punished. Normally she would see her grandson at least every couple of weeks, months had now passed with no sign of him visiting. It weighed heavily on her conscience, had she forced him away, perhaps she should have said something to him. The more she thought about it, the more consternation it caused her, her husband was no help, wrapped up in his own secret as he was.

The simple act of her grandson wrapping his arms around her had filled her head with demons as she lay in her bed each night and tried to sleep. Her husband laid next to her and snoring softly could be a thousand miles away for all the good he was to her. The moment she closed her eyes, lewd images appeared, she was naked, her grandson towering over her, his erect cock bobbing at his groin with anticipation. Her nipples were so hard they hurt and currently she was trying to fight the urge to touch them through her cotton nightgown. Raising her head slightly, she glanced at her breasts, two quite large protrusions pushing the thin material upwards. For a second, her body shook uncontrollably, her hand which appeared to have a life of its own had moved without her realising, her fingers softly rubbing at her raised buds.

She moved her hand away and tried to thrust the thoughts from her mind. But it was only a momentary reprieve, a sensation even greater than the first one soaring through her body as her fingers found the lips of her pussy and slowly stroked her gradual opening vagina. She was panting she suddenly realised, the noise sounding loud in the deathly silence of the bedroom. Tonight, the battle was lost as one and then a second digit slid into her cunt.

'Oh, dear lord. Please forgive me,' she screamed silently to herself, her fingers now moving faster inside her fanny as her arousal increasingly took hold of her. Her body denied for so long came alive as her climax approached, an orgasm like she had never experienced before, flooding her senses and driving all other thoughts from her head.

Summer was a memory and autumn had passed as Christmas neared. Yvonne and her husband had been invited to her son's for Christmas day and hopefully, it would be the first time she would see her grandson again after several months. She had decided that if there was an opportunity to get him alone, she must speak to him. She hadn't a clue what she was going to say, all she knew was that somehow, she had to put a stop to the things she was imagining and desiring. The opportunity had not arisen as she had hoped, there always seemed to be other persons present and she had not managed to get Stuart her grandson alone. She continually glanced at her watch, hour after hour passing as the day progressed.

Stuart had been reluctant at first to offer his cheek to be kissed, fearing that such intimacy would trigger his desires to resurface. By staying away from Yvonne, he had banished his disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind. The first curious thing he had noticed was his inability to call her "Gran" anymore. It was as though he had separated her into two entirely different entities, one was his grandmother, an old woman over three times his age. A woman who dressed from a bygone era, who had been born and lived through a completely different generation. The second, was Yvonne, a mature sexually attractive woman, a woman with a voluptuous figure who enticed him, who set his blood rushing through his veins and who sexually excited him.

When an opportune moment had occurred, Stuart had disappeared to his bedroom, hoping and praying that his grandmother would make no mention of his indiscretion to his parents. His mother in particular would be horrified, how could he ever explain to her this sudden rush of blood to his head and the fervent desire to fornicate with his father's mother.

A soft tapping came at his bedroom door, Yvonne entering and closing the door behind her.

'We are about to leave, and I just wanted to come and say goodbye,' she said. He found it hard to look at her as she came and sat next to him on his bed, so close that their legs and thighs touched.

'I haven't seen a lot of you lately. Too busy to come and see your old gran nowadays?' She asked and Stuart could feel the tears prick his eyes. He shook his head, not presently trusting his voice.