Granny's Christmas Gift

At the age of 82 I thought my days of having sex were well behind me...until I stayed with my daughter and her family last Christmas.

My name's Ruth, and to be honest I look exactly like a storybook granny, with neatly permed white hair, twinkling eyes behind wire-framed glasses, a round face with rosy pink cheeks and, if I say so myself, a warm smile with nice white teeth – all my own. I'm five-feet-three-tall, not fat but with a substantial bosom. Let's face it, if you were marketing a product called Granny's Apple Pie, you'd probably use me to advertise it!

I live alone in a sheltered cottage in a small town in Surrey, south of London. I've been alone since my husband died when I was 68, and since then I'd never so much as kissed a man. You never really lose your interest in sex – at least I didn't – but at that age you tend to put it out of your mind, sort of just assuming that nobody's going to be interested in doing it with you. I must admit that in my youth, before I met my old man, I'd been quite a little goer, often on my knees in front of eager blokes in the cycle factory where I worked, or leaning over a bench getting rogered; I never thought of myself as a whore, but money was short in those days and a few extra bob always came in handy. But I'd always been a faithful wife, and all that felt a very long time ago (which of course it was).

Anyway, as I said, last Christmas my daughter Susan invited me to spend the time with her family. They live over 100 miles from me so I don't get to see them that often. Apart from Sue there's her husband Darren plus their son Luke and their daughter Christina. Neither of the children live at home now, but they were visiting too. Add to that Tina's husband Pete and their two little ones and it was quite a tight squeeze in Susan's 4-bedroom home; in fact Luke ended up on the lounge sofa, poor love.

I've always got on well with Luke but Tina and I have never been that close – even as a little kid she always seemed to walk around with an expression as if there was a bad smell under her nose. With that and one thing and another I had never really actually met Pete, unless you count a brief handshake at their wedding. He works as a car mechanic and I thought he seemed a nice enough lad. Not that good looking though: 30 years old, just under six feet tall and slim, with shoulder length brown hair, a hawkish nose, sunken cheeks and a ridiculous Zapata moustache framing a goofy smile. I didn't really think much about him for the first couple of days I was there, but I gradually started to realise that he was thinking about me. I thought at first I must be imagining it, but I began to notice that he always seemed to be near me, and he kept staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking. It wasn't simply the fact that he was looking: it was the way he was looking. I hadn't been looked at like that in decades and, ridiculous though it seemed, it was almost as if he fancied me!

Of course, I laughed and told myself to stop being a silly old bag, having ludicrous fantasies about my grandson-in-law. Yet however much I told myself that I couldn't shake the feeling. One evening I decided to put it to the test. We happened to be sitting opposite each other in the lounge, all the family chattering and watching TV around us, and I was wearing a skirt that ended just above my knees (I've always had shapely legs). Very casually I wriggled around in the chair, making my skirt ride halfway up my thighs, and eased my legs apart. Sure enough, within a minute Pete noticed and did a double-take, his eyes locked on my legs. Over the next few minutes he gradually sunk lower in his chair, until he had a view straight up my skirt to my bare thighs above my stocking tops. Still not quite believing what I was seeing, I widened my knees a little more. Pete glanced up to see if I'd noticed his voyeurism – naturally I was looking the other way – then locked his gaze onto my white knickers. I even saw him pass the palm of his hand across the lap of his jeans, which to my expert eye appeared to be expanding! He was so intent on my peepshow that I was amazed nobody else seemed to have noticed. It ended when Tina, clearly bored in the house, called to Pete "Do you fancy walking down to the pub babe?" He leaped up looking as guilty as a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin and scuttled after her.

The next day Pete seemed even more interested in me. At breakfast and lunch he made sure he sat right next to me, placed his hand on mine a couple of times as he laughed at weak jokes I made, and at other times rarely seemed to take his eyes off me. If I'd been forty years younger I'm sure Tina would have noticed, but as it was I was just her boring old gran, and if she saw anything she must have just thought her hubby was being nice to me to keep in with the family. At one point, when I was on the phone to my other daughter in Canada, Pete actually squeezed past me in the hallway, 'accidentally' rubbing his groin up against my backside!

I decided I wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, so in the afternoon I announced that I was going into the back garden for a breath of air, and just for a moment I locked eyes with Pete. Susan fussed over helping me into my coat, so I wouldn't catch pneumonia or something, then I made my way out. I didn't imagine for one moment that anything would happen if Pete followed me, except that I would satisfy my growing curiosity as to why a young man married to an attractive young woman would take such an interest in her grandmother. I thought at first that Pete hadn't caught my hint, but after a minute or so he appeared and pretended to take a great interest in a barren apple tree. I glanced in his direction then entered the wooden tool shed at the bottom of the garden. It took about three minutes then Pete walked in and said "Oh, hello", pretending very badly to be surprised I was there.

I decided to take the bull by the horns, and the moment he had closed the door behind us I asked, "Okay, so what's going on here? Why are you coming on like you want to fuck me?"

I used that word to try and shock him. He looked horrified for a moment, and I thought he was going to deny it; but then his expression changed to one of mixed misery and confusion, and he almost wailed "I don't know!" Moving a little closer to me he explained, "I'm sorry, I can't explain it. I mean, I've always had a bit of a thing about older women but...well, the first time I met you the other day I thought how nice you looked, and it's just got worse since then. And then last night, in the lounge, I could see right up your skirt and...honestly Ruth, I think you're really gorgeous, beautiful."

I was staring at him in total amazement then, unable to help myself I burst out laughing. "Don't be so ridiculous. I'm a wrinkled old fart. Tina's a beautiful girl, why would you possibly want me when you can have her as much as you like?"

As I was speaking Pete had moved closer still to me, and without realising it I was now standing with my back up against the wall, with him just inches from me. His voice now much softer, he said, "I don't know, but I really do mean it Ruth, I think you're lovely, I'd love to shag you, honest." As he said that his hands reached out and unbuttoned my coat, then rested lightly on my boobs. No man had touched me there since my husband had passed away, and he rubbed his palms in gentle circles, sending a warmth coursing through me that I hadn't felt in decades.

I suddenly felt very nervous at having lost the upper hand like that. Having trouble finding my voice I mumbled, "Look Pete, don't be stupid, we can't possibly do it. I mean..." Now softly squeezing my boob with one hand, with the other he took my wrist and placed my hand on the front of his jeans, as if to show me he was serious. His rock-hard cock felt enormous. Swallowing, and trying to move out of the corner where he'd trapped me, I continued, "I mean, Tina's my granddaughter. Even if it wasn't ridiculous I really couldn't...not with her husband." His face was inches from mine; he was breathing heavily, and my heart was thundering in my ears. I hadn't noticed until that point how beautiful his eyes were: big and brown, like a spaniel's, with very long lashes. Both his hands were back on my boobs now, and it felt wonderful. In a desperate last bid to put him off I muttered, "The others will wonder where you are."

He shook his head and whispered, "They're all watching Shrek on TV, they didn't even notice me leave." He leaned in and began to kiss my neck, his moustache tickling me, his fingers starting to undo the first button of my dress.

I realised my hand was still on his groin, my fingers actually tracing the outline of his erection. I felt as if someone had started a fire in my tummy. Taking a deep breath, I groaned, "Look, I'm not going to have sex with you Pete, I'm really not. But, just this once..." I slipped my fingers to the top of his zip and started to undo it. Immediately cottoning on, a look of stunned delight on his face, he undid his belt and pushed his jeans and pants down to his ankles. A huge erection, slim but at least eight inches long, reared up at me, a shaft of light glinting off the purple head. Struggling to convince myself that this wasn't a particularly vivid dream, from which I'd wake up at any moment, I dropped to my knees and wrapped a hand around his burning shaft. Then, closing my eyes, I slid my lips down it.

Pete slumped back against a workbench and grunted, "Fuck, I don't believe this." I cupped a hand around his balls and pumped the base of his cock with my other hand while lip-fucking him and stroking my tongue along and around him. Christ, it had been more than twenty years since I'd last had a prick in my mouth, and this was twice as long as my old man's; as I sucked him the years fell away. He placed one hand on my shoulder and started to lightly massage it as I slurped on him. After a couple of minutes his cock jumped in my mouth and he gasped "I'm about to cum"; I responded by sliding my lips as far down his shaft as I could manage and sucking hard, twirling my tongue in circles around him. As he shot deep into my throat it felt as if was me who was orgasming, with stars bursting in my head. I sucked him dry then swallowed, relishing the long forgotten taste of male spunk.

He dressed again quickly and we agreed he'd go back first. As he turned to go I stopped him and said, "Pete, nothing like this can ever – ever – happen again, I mean that. Promise?" After a moment he nodded then, stroking his hand across one of my boobs, walked back into the house. A few minutes later my daughter came out to see if I was okay and I told her I was a little tired and going to my room to lie down. There I tore off my pants, threw myself back on the bed and, my knees wide apart, played with myself for a while. Eyes screwed tightly shut I tried to picture my late husband with me, but the image of Pete forced its way in and it was as though I could actually feel his moustache tickling my pussy lips as he licked me.

For the rest of that day and all the next one Pete kept casting me meaningful looks, but I made sure I was never alone with him. I couldn't believe I'd actually sucked off my grandson-in-law, and there was no way I was going to let it happen again – even though my tummy knotted and my face felt flushed every time I thought about it. In the evening, on the day after what had happened in the shed, I offered to do the washing up after supper. Everyone was settled down watching Britain's Got Talent on TV, but after a few minutes I realised I'd made a mistake. As I stood at the kitchen sink, up to my elbows in soapy water, the door opened behind me and my heart sank when I saw Pete reflected in the window. Closing the door, leaving us alone together, he said brightly "I thought I'd come and dry up for you Ruth."

He stood very close behind me, not speaking, not touching me, but I could feel the heat of his body. Speaking to his reflection, I told him, "Look Peter, I meant it when I said that was a one-off. It was a mistake and it's over, so bugger off." I had wanted to sound firm, but I could hear the nervous quaver in my voice.

I gasped as he stepped close to me. His arms slipped around me, his hands cupping my breasts, and he started to rub the tent pole in his jeans against me, his lips nuzzling the back of my neck. He murmured, "I'm sorry but I can't leave it. I want you – I mean to really have you – and I want to see your body."

My attempt at resistance was starting to crumble; my head rolled back towards him, and my bum, against my will, started to rub back against him. I was terrified that he would try and screw me right there, in the kitchen where anybody could walk in on us. In desperation I moaned, "Pete, it's impossible. Look, phone me after Christmas and we'll talk about it." My idea was that after Christmas the physical distance between us would hopefully kill things off. He was about to say something in reply when we heard someone else approaching the kitchen. Pete leapt away from me and grabbed a tea towel as my grandson, Luke, walked in and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Pete went with him, back to the lounge, and I almost fainted with the realisation of how close we'd come to being caught.

The following day was the last before I left to go home, and after a night of erotic dreams I was quite relieved that temptation would soon be out of my way. The whole family, apart from me, were planning to go and see Sleeping Beauty on Ice at the local rink, so I was going to have a quiet afternoon. However, as they were getting ready Tina started snarling at Pete, who was looking very sorry for himself, then she brushed past me and snapped to her children, "Daddy's not coming with us after all. Daddy says he's got a splitting headache so he's going to spend the afternoon in bed, no doubt watching the bloody football on the bloody telly." Clearly that would mean that Pete and I would be alone in the house for several hours. I was so nervous at the implications of that that I nearly said I'd take his ticket for the ice show, but I hated the idea. As the family car drove off I told myself I was a mature woman, Pete wouldn't dare force himself on me, and I had the willpower to resist him. That's what I told myself.

I sat in the lounge trying to get interested in some dreadful TV sitcom, but after less than five minutes Pete walked in. My mouth was dry and I couldn't find my tongue to say a word. In silence, not even glancing at me, he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains across, then calmly switched off the TV. Then, his eyes locked on my face, a smile on his lips, he stood a couple of yards from me and took his clothes off. He had a nice body with well developed pectorals and biceps, a hairless chest but a solid growth of hair from his belly button down to his ankles. His cock was semi-erect and looked beautiful.

I felt as though I couldn't breathe as he sat beside me on the sofa and started to unbutton my blouse. Weakly, making a last appeal to him, I wheedled "Pete, please, we can't do this, I'm an old lady, and you're married to my granddaughter. It's just wrong." He placed a finger across my lips to silence me and, still unspeaking, finished unbuttoning my blouse and pulled it open then off me. I was wearing a bra which fastened at the front and he unclipped it, my big creamy boobs dropping into his waiting palms. As his lips closed on one of my treasures, his tongue circling my big brown nipple, the last shreds of my conscience melted away and my fingers closed around his towering cock.

Pete continued to lick and nibble one of my nips while teasing the other with his fingers. With his spare hand he began to fumble at the fastening of my trousers, and I lifted my bum to help him pull them and my pants down to my ankles. As he lifted his face to kiss me I kicked them off, leaving me wearing only my stockings. His tongue pressed into my mouth and I sucked on it, then responded with my own tongue in his mouth. A wonderful fire spread through my insides as Pete slipped several fingers into my pussy, his thumb stroking my wispy grey-white pubes.

By now he was lying half on top of me, and I assumed that he would mount me, but he had other ideas. To my surprise he stood and pulled me onto the carpet, kneeling facing the sofa, my forearms and boobs resting on it. Then he knelt behind me, his prick nuzzling my bum crack as he kissed and licked my ears, neck and throat. Easing my legs apart with his knees he started to finger me again, making me moan with pleasure I'd thought I would never feel again. Then I felt his cock pressing against my labia, and with a satisfied sigh he smoothly entered me.

Can you imagine how it felt, feeling a long hot prick inside me for the first time in more than 30 years? I pushed back at him, tears of ecstacy running down my cheeks as I panted in time with each of his long, smooth strokes into me, his balls gently slapping against me. He reached around me, one hand gripping a boob, the fingers of the other slipping into my pussy and finding my clit. As my young lover fucked me I wailed and sobbed with joy, screwing myself around on his powerful dick. At that moment the entire family could have walked into the room and I wouldn't have cared; my whole being was centred around the lovely cock that was thrusting into me, and the hands and mouth that were driving me wild. After a couple of minutes Pete gave a couple of huge thrusts and a big grunt, and I glowed as I felt him shoot into me. Feeling more satisfied than I could ever remember I slumped forwards onto the sofa, Pete's head resting on my neck, his fingers still playing with my pussy and my boob. Needless to say, we soon moved upstairs and spent a couple of hours satisfying each other.

I'm back at home now. I thought perhaps Pete had just been using me over Christmas as an available, frustrated spare cunt to fuck, but less than a week after I returned he phoned me, and I'm now getting shagged on a regular basis. Pete and Tina live about forty miles away and he calls round here every couple of weeks for an afternoon of sucking and fucking. I tell myself that while he's screwing me at least he probably isn't cheating on my granddaughter with other women; and anyway, if Tina was doing enough to keep him satisfied he wouldn't be coming to me. Seeing him has increased my self-confidence and made me feel years younger, and I've actually taken a second married lover, a retired schoolteacher who lives across the road. He doesn't have Pete's stamina, but his tender lovemaking is nice, and keeps me going between visits from my randy toyboy!