My Kinky Grandmother

My Kinky Grandmother Ch1

This story is about a young man's incestuous relationship with his maternal grandmother, who turns out to have one or two kinks up her sleeve. It contains depictions of anal sex so if that's not your thing, please pass by.

As always, comments are welcome.

Sylviafan

This story really starts with Uncle Jack's funeral. Great Uncle Jack, to be precise, as he is, or rather was, the brother of my paternal grandfather. And that's about as far as Great Uncle Jack gets to centre stage, but you could say his funeral really starts this story because that's where I saw Grandma Debra for the first time after an absence of nearly three years.

I'm Matthew, by the way. Matt to my mates, but always Matthew to my family, especially my mum. In fact if she hears my friends calling me Matt, she corrects them and so they think she's a snooty bitch, which she is, if I'm honest. I'm twenty-four years old, five ten and a bit, and a hundred and fifty pounds and I take after my mum rather than my dad, physically: dark-brown curly hair, a faintly Mediterranean complexion, brown eyes and regular features. Actually my mum's a bit of a looker. I'm not saying that I am, it doesn't always work like that, but I reckon most of my mates fancy her even though they think she's up her own arse.

Dad thought pretty much the same, which is why he left about five years ago. Now he lives with a nice lady called Anne and he's much happier with her than he was with mum. I still see him a lot and we get on really well. He was at the funeral, of course, because Jack was his uncle.

What I didn't understand at the time was why Grandma Debra was there. After all, she was my mum's mum and, as far as I knew, had only met Great Uncle Jack at weddings and christenings and suchlike. But there she was, near the back of All Saints Church, dressed appropriately in black.

I noticed her as I entered the church and she gave me a big smile and I felt a frisson of something surge through my gut as I remembered the last time I'd seen her. It was my graduation party, the family one that is; I also had one with my mates that involved a lot of wine and beer and shots and midnight skinny dipping in the river that runs through our town. But that's another story. The family party was much more restrained, largely because it was organised by my mother who has almost no sense of fun. That must be why she hired a nearby village hall and invited every dim and distant relative so the average age was about fifty-five.

But there was a bar and there was plenty of booze because when the meagre supplies that my mum had ordered ran out, my dad and his brother went to the pub next door but one and got a whole load of drink and so the party got pretty lively and that was how I ended up dancing with Debra, my grandmother.

I remember it all quite vividly; I can even remember what we were wearing, although it's almost three years ago. I was in a shirt and smart trousers; mum had vetoed jeans. Grandma Debra was wearing a dark-red dress of some shiny, satiny material and I remember thinking when she came across and asked me for a dance that she looked pretty good for sixty-four.

I guess now would be a good time to describe Debra: She's about five foot two or three and probably weighs around a hundred pounds or less, so I'd describe her as petite. But she's got a lovely figure for someone in their sixties. Narrow waist, shapely legs and a small, neat bust. Facially it's easier to describe her because she bears quite a striking resemblance to the English Actress Lesley Manville, even down to the chestnut hair colour and those down-turned lines at the corners of her mouth. So if you Google Lesley, that's what my grandma Debra looks like. They're about the same age too.

Anyway, back to my graduation party.

I'd been alternately drinking and dancing with my female cousins and it was about nine-thirty when the DJ said he was slowing things down, so I left the dancefloor, went to the bar to get a drink and went and sat with my dad and Anne; I'm not much of a slow dancer and I assumed it was just a few slow numbers before the tempo increased again. I didn't know that the hall was only booked until ten pm. Again, typical of my mother.

I chatted with dad for a couple of numbers and then the DJ played 10cc's I'm Not in Love and next thing I knew Grandma Debra was coming across and asking me if I'd have a dance with her.

'I haven't had a chance to talk to the Graduate all evening,' she explained to my father. 'It seems the only way is to ask him for a dance! Would you mind, Matthew?'

I didn't really want to but I couldn't refuse. Grandma Debra's husband, Geoff, had died about a year before and I knew she was a bit lonely so I stood up, told her I would be honoured and escorted her onto the dancefloor, where a dozen or so couples were dancing up close and revolving slowly to the music.

Debra surprised me by putting her hands on my shoulders and her head against my chest. I responded by slipping one arm around her narrow waist and the other round her back, feeling the silky material of her dress against the palms of my hands. Her bust was pressed lightly against my chest and occasionally I felt her thigh against mine as we twirled rather awkwardly across the floor.

'So I'm "The Graduate" eh?' I smiled at her. 'Does that make you Mrs Robinson?'

Debra tilted her head to look up at me, her eyes dark. 'If only I looked like Anne Bancroft.'

'You look great!'

'Yes, but she was so sexy! She smouldered! Don't you think so, Matthew?'

The conversation was making me a bit uncomfortable so I asked Debra how she was and what she'd been up to, but they weren't great conversational gambits and our talk stumbled to a halt and we just danced, close together. And as we danced, and as I felt the silkiness of her dress and the heat of her body and her slender shape beneath the material, my guts churned with an emotion I couldn't quite place and I began to feel very aroused, and very ashamed of being aroused, and very afraid that my grandmother would realise I was aroused. My cock was straining at the zip of my trousers and Debra was very close to pressing against it with her pelvis.

I sweated it out through Marvin Gaye's I Heard It Through the Grapevine, convinced that Debra was aware of my tumescence, but she just pressed her cheek lightly against my shirt and stroked my shoulders with her fingertips, which excited me even more and made me wonder what she was playing at.

Then, as the track ended, the lights came on and the party was over. Debra looked up at me with her dark eyes.

'Thank you, Matthew. I enjoyed that very much,' she said, quietly.

'Sorry we never really got to chat,' I replied, lamely.

'It's never easy in a place like this. We'll have a really good catch-up soon.'

But that was the last I saw of my grandmother for nearly three years, because she went and lived in France in a little village in the Alps and although we spoke on the phone at Christmas and birthdays, she didn't visit us at all in that time. And now here she was, back in Britain and sitting in a pew at the back of All Saints Church dressed in a black suit with a little hat and a gauzy veil thing.

I smiled back at Debra and nodded and went up the aisle to sit with dad and Anne. And after the service, and after the committal in the graveyard, my grandmother and I finally got to have our catch-up at the wake, which was held in a posh hotel in the centre of town.

Debra didn't know many people and my dad, bless him, asked me to look after my grandmother so I found us a table and a bottle of house red and we sat and talked for a couple of hours and it was absolutely lovely.

As soon as we sat down, Debra removed the hat with the little veil and I saw that she had aged a bit since I last saw her at my graduation party. The lines on her face were a tiny bit deeper and the shadows under her eyes darker, but she had applied her cosmetics carefully, red lipstick and quite a lot of eye make-up and deep-red nail varnish. She looked like what she was: an attractive sixty-seven-year-old lady who took care of herself. And, despite myself, I felt a faint flush of desire.

'When are you heading back to France?' I asked her as I poured us a glass of the fruity red wine.

'I've only just got here,' she protested, smiling. 'Actually, I'm not going back. I've got rid of the tenants and moved back into my old house and I'm selling my place outside Grenoble.'

'Mum didn't say anything.'

Debra gave me an enigmatic smile. 'I don't tell my daughter about everything I'm doing.' She grinned at me. 'You know what she's like, Matthew. Always interfering, always right. Anyway, tell me all about this job of yours. Have you been at this place since you graduated?'

So I told her about my job and my hopes and aspirations and my friends and she told me about life in a French Alpine village and the characters she met and the times they had when the snows came and the village was cut off for weeks at a time and the time flew and before we really knew it the bottle was nearly empty and it was four o'clock and people were leaving.

We stood up and Debra came around the table to stand in front of me.

'Matthew, I can't tell you how lovely it's been talking to you. It's made me realise what I was missing living by myself in that little chalet in the mountains.'

'Why did you go?' I asked. I'd been meaning to ask all afternoon but somehow it hadn't come up.

'Well, I suppose I was still grieving for Geoff. And there were other things, too,' she said, evasively. 'Anyway, now I'm back you must come over to dinner one evening. I've learned a lot about cooking while I've been away.'

I said I could do the weekend after next and we settled on the Friday night and Debra said goodbye and then she hesitated before stepping up to me and going up on tip toe and kissing me on the lips. A brief touch of flesh against flesh, feeling her lipstick and smelling her scent. Then she was gone and I was looking around the function room in a bit of a daze.

I have a full-on job and a pretty active social life but, despite that, I thought a lot about Debra over the next ten days or so. To be honest I was a little apprehensive about going over to her house for dinner with just the two of us. Would I be able to resist doing something inappropriate? The truth of the matter was that regardless of her age, I found my grandmother interesting and fun and sexy. Yes, sexy. She looked good and she dressed well and she smelt nice and... I couldn't put my finger on it but there was something about her that attracted me. Something quite fundamental that seemed to transcend age and family ties. It was crazy of course; there could never be anything between us and she would, I was sure, be horrified if I made a move on her. But then she'd held me as we danced and I'd felt her body against mine and neither of us had seemed to want to pull away. And some of the things she'd said...

So I was a bit nervous when I rang her front doorbell just before seven pm and she opened the door and stepped aside to let me in. I gave her the flowers I'd bought at the supermarket on the way over and pecked her on the cheek and she thanked me and went into the kitchen to find a vase. I followed her in, admiring her cerise satin blouse and black skirt and the slimness of her ankles in their black panty hose (or stockings?). I felt a tingling in my stomach as I imagined what she would look like in her underwear.

We chatted in the kitchen as she finished cooking dinner, me sitting at the big, scrubbed pine table, and then we moved to her dining room where she'd lit candles and laid out napkins.

Very romantic, I thought.

But the meal was excellent and the wine was good and we talked long after the meal was eaten, long into the night. I can't remember everything we talked about but the conversation was easy and amusing and we laughed a lot and then it was gone midnight and the wine bottle was empty and we'd had a liqueur on top of that so it was lucky that I was walking home; it was only about twenty-five minutes from my flat in the centre of town.

We stood in the hall, a slight pre-parting awkwardness between us.

'Thanks, Gran, that was a fantastic meal.'

'Less of the "Gran". Call me Debra. And thank you for coming around, I know how busy you are these days. I've had a lovely time too, Matthew,' she said, softly. I told myself not to do what was forming in my mind but after an evening in Debra's company, and with all the drink, my resistance was low. Don't! I told myself but there was a roaring in my ears and my guts were churning and my legs were wobbly as I reached slowly out and took my grandmother in my arms and she looked up at me and I couldn't tell what she was thinking as I lowered my head to hers but I knew that she wasn't pushing me away.

There should have been a roll of thunder or a flash of lightning as our lips touched that first time, but there was just us in the gloomy hall. I pressed my lips against my grandmother's and Lord almighty she pressed back and she put her hands on my shoulders as she had done when we danced together all those years ago and I opened my mouth and I felt her mouth open against mine and amazingly I felt her tongue slide into my mouth and I sucked it in and worked my lips against hers and for a long minute we kissed like lovers who've been parted for too long.

Then it was over and the kiss was broken and we were staring at each other's faces in the dim light and Debra was shaking slightly and I think probably I was too.

'I should go,' I said.

'Will you come again?' she whispered. 'Soon?'

I probably should have said no. Well of course I should have said no; she was, and is, my grandmother, and even at that stage I think both of us knew what was going to happen. The truth is that I wanted it to happen, wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. And so did Debra, as she told me much later. So I said yes and she asked if I could come around during the week and we fixed on Tuesday, which was only four days away.

Just before I left, I kissed her hard and she kissed me back and dug her fingernails into the fleshy part of my shoulders and I held her tight and ran my hands down the back of her silky blouse.

To say that I spent the next few days in a frenzy of sexual arousal would be a gross understatement; I masturbated constantly, even in the toilets at work. And as I pumped my throbbing member, in bed or on the settee in my miniscule lounge or sitting in a cubicle in the Gents, I thought of Debra and how she had felt in my arms and how her mouth had felt against mine and how she had tasted. I rehearsed in my head how I would seduce her and finally take her to bed and how I would be gentle as I penetrated her and how I would bring her to a long-awaited climax. It was all nonsense of course. Long-awaited climax? I had no idea if my grandmother masturbated. I had no real idea if she actually wanted full sex or if she just wanted a comforting hug and a few kisses.

Tuesday evening finally came and I walked slowly over to my grandmother's house, savouring the anticipation, my guts churning with anxiety and tension. I was carrying wine and flowers. I had considered bringing an overnight bag but I decided that would be too forward.

It was still light when I rang her doorbell and saw the shape of her through the frosted glass, coming down the hall. She opened the door and I went in and gave her the flowers and wine and we went through to the kitchen where she put them on the table and turned to face me.

'Hello, Matthew, it's good to see you.'

She was wearing an apron over a flowery summer dress with a full skirt. Her legs were bare and she'd got a lot of make-up on, giving her an attractive but slightly doll-like appearance; her hair was in a coil on top of her head; she'd painted her elegant fingernails a deep red colour. I felt my chest constrict with nerves.

'You look lovely, Gran. Sorry, Debra.'

'Thank you.'

She seemed nervous too, hardly meeting my eye. I stepped forward and put my arms around her and bent to kiss her but she took my arms and disengaged them and stepped back a half pace.

'Sorry. Dinner's at a critical phase. Perhaps you'd like to open a bottle of wine.'

I didn't know whether she was just prevaricating. Something didn't feel a hundred percent right, but I opened the bottle and poured us a glass each and I sat at the big kitchen table and we chatted about our weekends and so forth while Debra fussed with the oven and stirred things in pans on the hob.

It was ready in a half-hour or so and we moved to the dining room where Debra had put the flowers on the table and, as before, lit candles. The food was delicious but there was an undertone of something and I was glad when the meal was over and maybe I could find out what it was all about.

We cleared up together and when it was done and the dishwasher was humming busily I once again went to take Debra in my arms and this time she didn't resist as I encircled her waist and bent my head to hers. In fact she tilted her head and our lips met softly and gently, almost tentatively, as though last Friday's kiss had never happened. I took it very slowly, lightly massaging her lips with mine, pulling her to me gently, tentatively, feeling her breasts against my chest and her loins against mine. Debra held my upper arms and moved her mouth against mine and then, as before, I felt her tongue against my lips and I opened my mouth to let her in and she slid her tongue into me and I went wobbly legged with desire and arousal.

The kiss got harder, more insistent, mouth pressed to mouth, lips working, sucking tongues, tasting saliva. Then we broke, and looked at each other, both panting slightly.

'Are you ok?' I asked softly. 'You seemed a bit... you know, earlier.'

'It's nerves, Matthew,' she said, softly. 'And conscience perhaps. I'm fine now.'

As if to underline this she put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me down for another kiss and this second kiss was an all-out, no holds barred lovers' kiss as we mashed our mouths together and I ran my hands over her back and down to fondle her small, pert buttocks. My grandmother put her arms around my neck and pressed her fingers into my back and I felt her nails on my flesh and the sensation sent shudders through me. I was ragingly hard and fighting an urge to push my grandmother onto the kitchen table and have her there and then.

As if divining my thoughts Debra broke the kiss.

'Let's go into the sitting room, it'll be more comfortable.'

It was nearly dark by now, the only light coming from a streetlamp on the pavement outside, but Debra made no move to switch on any of the lamps that were dotted around the room. Instead she led me to her big, comfortable settee and I sat down and, to my intense and delighted surprise, my grandmother, instead of sitting down next to me, sat down in my lap, her legs straddling my hips.

Her action could hardly have been a clearer indication of how she wanted the evening to progress, and my iron-hard erection, which must have been obvious to her as it was pressing against her loins, was an equally clear indication that I was right there with her.

In fact it wasn't hugely comfortable with her sitting on my cock, even with her slight frame, but the sensation of her pressing down on me, and the shocking intimacy of my grandmother sitting on me like this was too good for me to say anything. In fact when she asked me softly if I was comfortable I replied: 'Oh, God, yes!'

Then she took my head in her hands and leaned down and kissed me and I kissed her back and it was sensuous and lingering and intense and we explored each other's mouths and tongues and teeth and gums for long moments. My arms were around her, pulling her to me, her hands were stroking my cheeks, moving down to my neck and shoulders, fingers running over my skin, stroking, exploring, pressing her nails lightly into my flesh so that I shuddered at her touch.