Granny and the Homeless Boy

"Exactly! That!"

"My back doesn't like all the bending-"

"I'll do it all, you just sit back and tell me what to do."

"I have been meaning to paint the ceilings too, and-"

"I can paint! S'easy!"

He again stuck out his hand and I shook it, trying not to grin at his austere sincerity, not wanting to offend him.

*******

Summer came to visit along with my new friend. The sun shone with a scorching vengeance and the air crackled with hot, young life. True to his word, the lad worked hard for his food and shelter. Wearing only his sneakers and his jeans, he toiled at my gardening or decorating the house. Sometimes I'd be gawping at Jetski as he rubbed sun-tan lotion across his face, torso and shoulders but then pictured how he must see me, a lecherous ancient hag leering at his young body and I'd feel ashamed and try not to ogle so blatantly. Although, when he caught me staring he just flashed that heart-skipping smile at me. I found myself getting up in the morning with a cheerful longing to see him and this expectation affected me deeply. I chose dresses that accentuated my hour-glass figure rather than making me look like a misshapen, sexless frump. I dug out the prettiest of my bras and arranged my outfits so that their ornate lacy frills would peek out at the right places. I gathered up my hair to create an illusion of youth. A little make-up to liven up my eyes, my lips, my cheeks... I chose expensive dark pantyhose with lovely, eye-catching patterns. Sometimes I caught myself:

'Just whose eye are you hoping to catch? Daft old bag! You think he's going to fall for you because of some smoky eye-shadow??'

Despite these self-defeating arguments, however, when I spritzed some scent over my skin and looked into my bedroom mirror there was a dancing sparkle in my eyes that had been missing for years. I knew it was only dreaming, but where's the harm in dreaming? We quickly settled into a routine. Mealtimes were spent with me at the table and him sat on the floor, hunched over his food like he thought someone was going to steal it, scrunching and scoffing noisily. He needed fattening up, the skinny stray pup. In the evenings I'd stretch out on the couch and Jetski would be sprawled on the floor. We watched films and soaps and quiz-shows and talked and laughed. It was all so easy. Sometimes he'd lean against the couch and gently rub my stockinged feet, almost unthinkingly. I daren't say anything in case he got spooked. It'd been utterly aeons since anyone had touched me affectionately. I had also noticed Jetski would slyly look at my legs and feet when he thought I was distracted; I'd rub my feet together, letting the soft, dark material catch and wrinkle and then glance to find him utterly absorbed in my innocent actions. On the third night, after the film had finished, we made up his impromptu bed together and I turned to say goodnight when he forcefully wrapped his arms around me for a hug. Holy guacamole, I'd been untouched for so long, I almost swooned.

"Thank you," he said into my hair as he squeezed me against him. He let me go and stood back to see me quite flushed.

"Yes, well, it's, er, you're quite welcome."

I dissembled like a senile old biddy and went upstairs to my lonely, empty bed. The next day my young friend was on the floor eating a bowl of cereal when a familiar old song came on the kitchen radio. A blast from the past. I looked down and realised my swishy yellow bouffant dress was just the type of thing I would've worn back then too. I mentioned it was a tune I used to love to dance to in the clubs of my youth.

"Was this back in the Victorian times?" Jetski smirked.

I froze and looked at him open-mouthed with shock. He sank his head like a scolded pet.

"That's the first time you've been cheeky to me."

"Su-su-sorry," he muttered.

I walked over and bumped my butt against his head.

"I like that you feel comfortable enough to tease me."

He looked up with those big pools of arctic blue, pools I could happily dive into, and smiled that smile. I bumped him playfully with my bum again then held out my hands.

"Dance with me, cheeky boy."

He began to refuse but I grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. I took his breakfast bowl from him then held his hands. He looked about a million miles out of his comfort zone. I began to jiggle and move like we did back in our day but it was like dancing with a lighthouse. Songs were shorter then too and the swinging beat climaxed, much to his relief. To my relief the radio immediately played another and this time a smoochy, slow one. I held on to Jetski's hands and gently pressed my breasts against him as the crooner sang of the moon in June. Jetski responded by dancing slowly with me and I rested my head on his shoulder. It was a moment. It was a palpable moment. Undeniable. I felt his breath on my hair. I turned my face to see and he was unbelievably close. Our lips separated by only millimetres.

"Jet..." I whispered, claiming him as my own.

The doorbell rang. Insistently.

'Fuck it!'

Jet released me and mumbled about getting to work in the garden as he walked out the back door. I sighed despondently and trudged to the front door.

"'Lo Gran!"

My granddaughter breezed in past me while stuffing her face with jelly-babies. Emma, one of my middle daughter's daughters is pretty much the only one of my brood who regularly visits me. She is irrepressibly happy and we can jibber-jabber for hours. Her mouth was chewing jellies and chirruping about her latest news when she spotted Jetski through the kitchen window.

"You have a gardener," she gabbled, "I didn't know you had a gardener. When did you get a gardener? The garden's looking nice, actually? How long have you had a gardener, Gran?"

When she finally took a breath I told her that Jetski was staying with me and how I'd found him in the park.

"Gran!" she was horrified, "You can't just be taking in homeless people off the street! What if he's a nutter?"

Her tirade of advice continued for some minutes as I brewed coffee. We sat down at the table and the back door crashed open. Jetski stalked to the sink and ran cold water into a tall glass then swallowed the lot in one gulping guzzle. Emma and I watched as rivulets of water streamed down his chin, through the hairs in his chest then down his belly to dibble into the waist of his jeans. He looked moist and steaming.

"S'scorchio out there!" Jetski gasped and then saw that I had company.

He apologised, put his glass down and went back out into the merciless sun, closing the door as he went. Emma's stupefied face made me laugh.

"Gran!"

"What?"

Emma didn't know what to say so she just repeated, "Gran!"

I got up to pour the coffee, smiling to myself.

"You probably haven't noticed this, Gran, but... he was, and I'm not talking about the weather, seriously hot!"

That annoyed me.

"What do you mean 'haven't noticed'? You think I'm too old to appreciate a sexy hunk? I'm not dead yet, Emma."

"But... but..."

She joined me at the kitchen counter and we watched Jetski weeding my flower-beds.

"He is cute, isn't he?" I said, sipping my drink.

"But... he's my age!"

"I'm only looking, no harm in looking."

*******

That night I lay cuddled up with a pillow, dreamily imagining that it was a naked eighteen year-old boy, when my sexy snooze was interrupted by a terrified scream. I lay with my eyes open, listening. Had it been a weird addition to my dream? From downstairs I could hear a faint whimpering, bare footsteps, a door opening and then a loud scrabbling at the back door. Dressed only in a long teeshirt-style nightie and panties, I cautiously tip-toed down the stairs, not knowing what to expect. Was my granddaughter right? Perhaps he was a nutter after all? I peered into the kitchen and Jetski was sobbing and trying to open the back door.

"Wait a minute, honey," I said and grabbed the key that hung from a shelf.

Jetski stood back as I unlocked it and then disappeared into the black night. I slipped my feet into a pair of shoes and followed. Out in the humid dark I found him standing in the centre of the garden, staring up at the clear, starry sky, his chest pulsating as he hyperventilated.

"Jet? What is it?"

He looked at me with a ragged fear in his eyes. Starlight reflected in his tears. How could he be scared of me? I stepped up close and touched him.

"Cuh-cuh-cuh-cuh-"

"Shhhh, it's okay."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him. His heart was beating like a frightened rabbit's. I kissed his cheek.

"I dru-dru-dru..."

"Had a bad dream? It's okay, I got you. I've got you now."

We cuddled in the blank darkness. His breathing slowed. I kissed his cheek again. As much as I was enjoying the intimacy I realised that the coldness of night was creeping into my aged bones.

"Let's get you inside, eh?"

I lead him in and laid him down on the couch. Within seconds he was asleep, looking exhausted. I leaned down to kiss him then returned to my own bed. I sat on the edge, wide awake. I opened my legs and looked down.

"You're a bad girl," I remonstrated with my sneaky vagina, barely restrained by the damp cotton of my underwear, "He's genuinely upset, the poor thing's obviously the victim of some family trauma and there's you, getting all hot and horny and wet over a cuddle and a kiss."

I leaned back on my bed and slid my hand into the waist of my panties. My fingertips touched my moist, tender lips and I spread them open.

"You're a bad, bad pussy," I said as I circled two fingertips inside me.

In the morning we took a bus-ride along the shore to Harbour Park, where the green lawn slopes down to a rocky beach. Families and couple were frolicking lazily in the sunshine. Jetski, true to his name, was a great swimmer and was in and out of the sea all day. I reclined on my blanket, looking over the top of my novel and watched him hobble over the stones as he came back to me. He'd cut off the bottom of his jeans to turn them into shorts. He sat his body next to me, sizzling, scintillating, titillating.

"You're such a handsome lad," I said.

He guffawed at my remark and I realised I had done the same, earlier that day I'd come down the stairs in my large sun-hat, oversize shades and colourful chiffon beach shawl that was large and concealing and Jetski had said I looked like a movie star. I'd brushed away his compliment with an air of disbelief. We two, I gathered, are both unused to feeling good about ourselves. I decided to press my luck.

"I know there are things we don't talk about, but..." I said, "Can I ask a question?"

Jetski hunched up and hugged his knees.

"I don't want to provoke you the way the hippies did. I wouldn't like you to be rude to me."

I smiled broadly to let him know I was joking.

"I wouldn't," he frowned, "Ever."

He sea-blue eyes spoke of meaningful affection and I felt all gooey inside.

"But duh-duh-duh-don't ask me ab-about last night. Please?"

"It was just a bad dream, everyone has nightmares sometimes. No, I was wondering, the reason you left wherever it is you left... was it girl trouble?"

Jetski smiled, seemingly relieved and shook his head.

"There's not some cute girlie somewhere out there? Heart-broken and longing for her absent Jetski? Or maybe a floozie who broke your trust... and your heart?"

"No. There's no one. Never has been."

"No girlfriend?"

He laughed coldly, "Who'd want me? I'm horrible."

"Come here, lie with me," I ordered him gently.

He lay his body next to mine, our faces close enough that my huge-brimmed sun-hat bonked his forehead and we giggled.

"You know? I think..." I began not quite knowing how to phrase it diplomatically, "You are kind, and smart, and honest, and cute, very very cute. Really quite devastatingly attractive. Your eyes, your lips are, well, ahem, nevermind but someone has put it into your head that you're none of these things. And whoever that was... they did it just to be cruel. Because you're, well, very special and quite lovely."

He wore the sexiest pout as he tried to calculate if I was tricking him, teasing him. I decided to leave that time-bomb ticking away in his self-esteem and suggested we should go home before we got burned to a frazzle. I tried not to groan like an aged crone as he helped me to my feet and then held my hand as we tottered over the rocks. I wanted to grumble and gripe about how painful it was to my poor, old feet but I restrained myself. We reached the velvet-soft grass and he held on to my hand as we walked towards the bus-stop.

Back home, I showered and powdered. Peering into my closet, my clothes seemed all too serious for my mood of tingly excitement. I twiddled my hair and pondered then I remembered my daughter's box of clothes. I wanted to look as young as I felt. I searched among them and found a fun-looking teeshirt that would fit over my underwire-supported boobs. I rolled a pair of polka dot pantyhose up my legs then dug out a skirt from a drawer and twisted in front of the mirror, examining my reflection.

'As good as it'll ever be. Stop tarting.'

In the bathroom I found Jetski struggling to apply after-sun lotion to his shoulder-blades.

"Let me, Jet," I said, taking the bottle from him.

He squealed as the cool splurge hit his cooked flesh. I rubbed slowly and for a long time, he made no motion to stop me so I splurged some more lotion on my palm then went to work over his chest and belly and neck. Standing in front of him, Jetski looked intently into my eyes until I had to turn away, overcome and blushing. He smelled of the sea, standing in his damp denim cut-offs and nothing else. I looked down as I rubbed him, he was just four fly buttons away from being naked. Just four flimsy buttons.

"I should get out of these wet jeans," he said.

For a minute I had to process that he was asking me to leave so he could strip. I washed and dried my hands and told him I'd begin dinner. On the stairs I stopped to regain my composure, breathing deeply and reminding myself that I was over seventy and fifty years too late to interest a scrumptious youngster. My pussy made no concessions to age though, I could feel my nylon crotch has dampened in just those few minutes. I lifted the hem of my skirt and my palm squelched my dirty cunt through the material. I wanted him so bad that my mind was reeling. I set about making myself busy to distract my filthy, fantasising mind. I chopped up vegetables and argued with myself:

'Even if something happened,'

'Which it won't.'

'Even if... he'd only be doing it out of pity,'

'And I couldn't bear that.'

'Patronising the wrinkly old dear,'

'So why are you torturing yourself???'

"Anything I can do?" Jetski asked, suddenly next to me.

I'd been cutting the veggies so vigorously that I almost lost a finger.

"Christ on a bike, you made me jump," I laughed.

"Make you a coffee?" he asked.

"Sure, honey, that'd be perfect."

I got dinner bubbling on the hobs, the coffee was percolating. Nothing to do but wait. Jetski was wearing only a pair of my girl's joggy-bottoms. I'd noticed him slyly gazing at my sheer tights with black dots. Did he want me? Did he lust after me? Was I delusional? Perhaps this was the beginnings of senile dementia? I wished I could read his mind. I stepped closer to him.

"I had a very pleasant day with you, Jet."

He smelled of the wilderness, of savage sea-breezes, along with a hint of sterile lotion.

"I hope you didn't mind my question too much?"

He shrugged and smiled, the smile that makes my insides melt.

"Have you really never had a girlfriend?"

"Never even kissed a girl," he said, looking forlorn.

This. Was. The. Window. 'Never even kissed a girl.' A neon sign flashed above my unconscious perception. Winged messengers blew on bugles announcing the arrival of THE moment. This is the fucking window, girl!!

Jetski was slightly taller than me, I steeped even closer and looked up into his arctic eyes and asked, "Would you like to?"

There was an ocean of meaning between us. I could see the synapses firing behind his eyes as he computed my offer. A slight frown of disbelief and then he leaned forward and his lips touched mine. For a moment I thought that a hesitant peck, the kind you'd give your grandmother, was all I was going to get but then he pressed, gently, and held his lips on mine. We moved closer together and our kiss shared the gentlest motion. I sensed my nipples stiffening and reaching out through the cups of my bra and on through the thin material of the teeshirt to poke against his bare chest. He raised a careful hand and touched my cheek. We breathed softly through our noses, both unwilling to break this surprisingly delicate contact. His lips were soft, so soft, and the pressure of his kissing engaged all my senses until I was overcome with the strength of his emotion. I could feel how much he wanted to kiss me, his urgency, his affection and (Dare I think it?) his lust. I wrapped my arms around him, just as I had in the garden after his nightmare, and my body was telling him that I wanted this moment to last forever. I was caught off-balance at how much this long, luxuriant kiss was affecting me. I was the girl in the photograph again.

The blurred, magical music softened as he ever-so-slowly took his lips away from mine. I looked at him. His eyes remained closed. He looked like a Renaissance statute of a god. Unable to help myself I kissed him again and he pressed his body against me. His hands slid slowly up and down my spine as we began to sombrely and thoughtfully enjoy the mashing and nibbling and tasting and teasing. His dick, full and engorged, weighted heavily on my thigh. The world dropped away until there was only this timeless merging. Until there was only us two. Our kiss the centre of the universe. Jetski gave barely audible sighs of pleasure as we smooched with undiluted passion and I realised I too was purring like a contented pussy. The lips I was using to orally molest this sexy boy were curved upwards in a wicked smile of unrestrained delight. Eventually, reluctantly, his lips left mine again and our eyes opened.

"See," I said, once I could breathe again, "I knew you'd be a good kisser."

He blushed but seemed proud at my assessment. He looked sleepy, like he'd just woke up. I imagined that's how he'd look in bed, after we'd... I felt so warm, unnaturally so. I turned to see my pots boiling over and the fulsome white steam billowing alarmingly. I hurried to the stove and turned off all the hobs. I stirred the boiled vegetables and pasta and felt two masculine arms snake around my waist. Oh I'd missed the way a man grabs you, the feeling of being the one girl in all the world that he wants to hold. Jetski stood behind me and his warm breath blew across the pores of my skin. He nuzzled his way through my hair and his hot, electric kiss hit me just behind my ear and my knees were weak.

"Oh, Jet, honey..."

His tongue licked my skin between the kisses.

"You really shouldn't kiss me there," I whispered.

He froze. He stuttered an apology then he was gone from behind me, out the back door and into my garden. I ran my palm across my moist forehead and pushed my hair back out of my eyes. I should follow him, I thought, and make sure he's okay and not worried. But, there's something I had to do first. I put down my stirring spoon, double-checked that the hobs were all turned off then walked upstairs to my bedroom. I hiked up my skirt, pushed my spotty pantyhose down to my knees and reclined on my bed. The animal musky smell of my aroused sex seemed to fill the room. I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of him. Last night I had just diddled a little until I had felt nice and sexy and then slept and dreamed of him but now... I needed, desperately, to come. I went to work on my hard clitoris that felt like a lava-lamp bubbled inside. My fingers flashed across the unhooded tip. I caught it with my fingernail by accident and I squealed and trembled and rolled around on my bed. I gasped at my own determination, my relentless frigging made my already flushed face break out in beads of sweat. Occasionally I paused to dip two fingers into my wet slit and the feeling made my back arch in pleasure at the thought of his fat young dick piercing me, then I returned to working away at my red hot button, needing that pent up monster to be uncaged, released, freed.