Granny and the Homeless Boy Ch. 02

Jetski walked out but quickly returned with my discarded tan tights. He sat on the couch and delicately used my hose to dab clean my besmeared skin.

"I love you," I couldn't help but say it.

I hadn't meant to say it, it just blurted out. He blushed and gave me his sweet, shy smile. He tossed aside my pantyhose and lay down with me on the couch, ensconced in my arms.

"I..." he began but was interrupted by the doorbell.

I ignored it but it rang again and then again. Whoever it was wasn't going away. I inelegantly wobbled my tired body over Jetski and flumped on the floor. The doorbell kept ringing. Jet reclined, observing me with an entertained smile. I swore as I wrangled my wrinkled skirt down and tried to stuff my boobs back into their bracups.

I stepped into the hall and rebuttoned my blouse before opening the door.

"Holy christ, what's happened to you!?"

Dierdre, a very old friend was standing in my doorway looking horrified.

"Erm, I was just lying down," I ran my fingers through my hair hoping that I didn't look a complete skuzzbucket.

"They haven't roped you into this as well, have they?" I demanded, suddenly reminded of my family's consensus that I was in dire peril.

Dierdre walked in past me and into the lounge before I could think to stop her.

"Have who roped me into wha-"

I closed the front door and caught up with her and we both watched the spectacle of a naked eighteen year-old hopping as he struggled to pull on a pair of jeans-shorts.

"Lying down, were you?" Dierdre asked slyly.

"This is Jet, he's... my lover."

"I see. Indeed I very much see."

Jetski was blushing scarlet as he fumbled his soft but considerable cock into the fly of his jeans.

"Hi," he said, quietly.

I slapped my palm on my forehead, "It's the twenty-third, isn't it?"

"Are we going to post-pone? I can see why it may've slipped your mind."

For over twenty-years my friend and I have been having dinner together every last thursday of the month and I had clean forgotten. Not due to dementia, thankfully, but because a virile young stud was infatuated with me and was boinking my brains out.

"No, no, I'm still coming," I said, "Just give me twenty minutes to get ready."

"I'll phone the restaurant and tell them to hold the table," my ever-efficient friend said.

She pulled out her phone and wore an amused expression as she watched me lead my embarrassed lover out of the room.

*******

In the restaurant, to the accompaniment of low-key music and ambient conversation, I revealed to Dierdre my revolutionary last few days and the story left her in a pensive mood. Our meals arrived but she remained concerned rather than hungry.

"Come on," I grouched, "Out with it. Get it off your chest."

Dierdre took a few forkfuls of food then said, "Look, it's not that I'm not envious..."

"I've had more orgasms in the last few days than in the last few decades!"

"Yes, you've said that. More than once."

I smugly saluted her with my wineglass.

"It's just..." Diedre hesitated, "How can I put it?"

"Put it anyway you like."

"Imagine for a minute that the roles were reversed."

"What do you mean?"

"What would you say if I told you a story about an elderly man-"

"Steady on!"

"Okay, a man of advanced years who took into his home a young teenage girl who was obviously emotionally troubled and quite vulnerable and... encouraged her to show her gratitude with sexual favours including," Dierdre lowered her voice, "Including having her lick his asshole."

"Wait a minute, that's not-"

"But what would you say? If I put that to you, what would you think of that man?"

"I'd say it sounds like he's exploiting her."

"It could appear that way couldn't it?"

Her argument soured my meal. After the taxi had dropped me at home, I let myself in with a heavy heart. The house was as dark as my thoughts. In the kitchen, the back door was open and I found Jetski sitting in a garden chair watching the stars in the orange-tinged night sky. The only sound was traffic on a distant main road. I switched on the kitchen light and lurked in the doorway. The sudden illumination made him stand up and walk to me. I think he sensed my contemplative mood.

"Did you have a nice time?"

"Jet?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you mine?"

"Of course I am."

"But, willingly?"

"Hmmm," Jetski scrunched up his cute frown in thought.

'Oh shit. Look at him. He has to think about it!! He is conflicted. He's been putting it on because I took him in off the streets! I am that old pervert, exploiting this beautiful young kid. I'm a creep. He can't bring himself to say it but, yes, of course he is forcing himself to...'

I almost laughed with sheer relief from my own internal torment when Jetski finally answered.

"I don't know what that means," he admitted.

"I mean, because you want to be. I mean..."

Jetski wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close. He kissed me so extremely tenderly that it made my heartbeats pause.

"I want nothing more than to be yours," his lips brushed lightly against mine as he spoke, "Forever."

He kissed me for a long time. After a few minutes I felt his thick cock pressing through our clothes against my thigh but by then I'd already been persuaded that his love was unquestionable.

"Let me guess," he said after our marathon smooch, "Your friend was filling your head with snide ideas about me worming my way into your life to get my mitts on your millions."

"The opposite actually. She suggested that you were a harmless idiot and I was taking advantage of you."

He grinned widely then we both laughed together.

I kissed the tip of his nose, "And that I'm using you for my own nefarious purposes."

"Nefarious?"

"Kinky."

"I guess that makes us as bad as each other," he said.

He held me at arm's length and examined me. I swished a stray strand of hair out of my eyes.

"You look really nice tonight," he said.

I thanked him and he ran his hands up my thighs, over my dress and up to my breasts.

"Can I have you?" He asked.

"You never stop, do you?"

As he kissed me just behind my ear, he whispered, "And I never will."

*******

Two years to the day that I had met the mist-bedraggled stray pup in the playpark by the shore, I was flouncing along the high-street feeling on top of the world. The reflection in the store windows of my yellow summer-dress caught my eye and I stopped to reflect on my altered self. Gone was the grey, shabby, invisible old lady. I was wearing a pair of green Converse sneakers (with arch-supporting sole inserts), my dress had a pattern of entwined forget-me-nots, I flaunted some Bohemian streaks of indigo dye in my hair, my lips were crimson and I had recently had my ears pierced five more times to sport a daring line of coloured rings. As I had been bouncing along with a skip in my step my passing reflection had, as long as you didn't look too closely, bore the resemblance of a woman thirty years younger. My phone buzzed so I pulled it out and read a message from Jetski.

'this torture. yor killing me.'

I laughed. All day long I had been sending him suggestive messages, tormenting him at work with all the things I wanted to do to him (or have him do to me) on our anniversary. This particular response was in reply to a brief video I had shot in the toilets of a department store: I'd propped the phone carefully on the cubicle door latch and filmed myself as I pulled up my dress and slid my hand down inside my sheer, coffee-coloured tights to play with my furry slit in a wanton display of my lust; my fingers had dived in and out of me as I whispered how it felt and how much I needed his sexy thick cock. I relished the idea that my aged body could drive this youngster to distraction.

I knew his work van usually dropped him off at the end of our street around half past six so I was loitering in the bedroom, watching out of the window for him. I smirked as I watched him jog down the street. I checked my appearance in my dresser mirror. I heard the front door slam shut, there was odd clattering from the kitchen and then his heavy boots clumping up the stairs in a rush. The bedroom door flung open and he entered, holding a pair of scissors and yanking off his begrimed teeshirt. Two years of home-cooked meals and a job labouring at construction sites had beefed up my cute, skinny boy into quite a handsome beefcake. Sometimes I had to pinch myself and wonder how I'd snared such a hot stud. He crossed the room and crushed me in an embrace. He showered me in quick kisses.

"Been driving me crazy, you..."

I giggled as his hands bunched up my yellow dress to fondle my nylon bumcheeks.

"Hello," I said, with a twinkle in my voice, in the tiny moments between kisses, "What are the scissors for?"

He seemed to remember that he was holding them, "Oh? Oh."

He pushed me down on to the bed, nudged apart my legs and used the scissors to destroy my expensive tights.

"Jet!"

I tried to put some complaint in my tone but he had already undone his jeans and pushed them and his undies down to his boots. I gasped as the boy I'd been teasing all day long pounced on me and plunged his poor, provoked prick inside. There was a tantalisingly serious look on his face that said: You asked for it and now you're going to get it. If I was to be punished for my pornographic teasing then I deserved every second. He immediate began to screw very deep and very fast, the sheer energy shook my breath from me. I laughed and emitted a string of foul-mouthed oaths and this spurred him to increase the speed of his athletic pokings.

His urgent lust had built to such a pitch that a hard, nasty fuck was the only thing that could sate his desire, and that was fine with me. His working-man's muscles were taut as he held his sweaty body over me and screwed me deliciously from a variety of differing angles, a method he knew would soon be making my pussy cream on his adept cock. I'd taught the lad to fuck and now he was determined to show me how far he'd come from those early days of our love. After about half an hour of frantic but relentless rutting he began to slow and vary his methods of attack and this tension and suspense dragged my vibrating body to the edge of a desperate orgasm.

He slid his entire length in deep enough for his balls to bounce off my buttcheeks but then withdrew just shallow enough to make me cry out and drag my nails down his back. Sometimes he'd pause and the cruel bastard would hold it just outside my labia, just barely touching, until my whore-spirit broke and I was begging like a cheap slut for him to push it back in. He liked seeing me crave his penetrating prick and I was happy to show him how much I needed him.

He made me suffer these exquisite agonies until, during one inhumane torment, I breathed a croaky voiced plea into his ear, "Please, Jet! Please, I need you."

After a moment's delay to allow the victor to smile down at his conquered bed-fellow, Jetski slotted his limbs in a tangle with mine, nestled his head on my shoulder and began to mechanically piston his chunky, steel-hard prick into my pulsating pussy at a brain-melting tempo. Trapped in his loving embrace, the cascading waves of a mind-emptying orgasm soon flooded over me, eradicating every last grain of intelligence from me; I was a slavering, gushing, quivering idiot.

I opened my eyes but everything was fuzzy. A throbbing pulse buzzed my hearing. His weight was upon me. Our chests were breathing in rhythm. Our hearts joined. His iron-heavy dick remained buried in my sensitive twitching slit. He was lifting and circling his hips to stir my juices.

"Jesus," I mumbled as we began a long, sensual, dirty kiss.

After several minutes of slow and delicate screwing and snogging, my senses began to return and I watched Jetski prop himself up on his strong arms and gaze down at me with his crystal-blue eyes. Every part of him was mine, and so I touched him, because I owned him. My fingertips lingered over my property, from the furry hollows of his armpits to his flat-stomach to his tree-trunk thighs. He knew he was mine as much as I was his.

"My beautiful boy." I said.

His smile was so sweet and shy. I pushed my fingers into his damp hair and drew him down to me.

"Again," I ordered.