Thunder and LightningbyMisterReason©
The story of a young man who looks back almost 40 years later at the woman who was the first love of his life, and in many ways the only one. Their relationship had been a conventional until just before the night described in the story, but the night of the storm changed all of that completely and forever.
"Grandma?" I whispered in the direction of the bed, unsure whether my grandmother would be huddled under the covers or in the closet, which I understood to be her refuge when she was home alone during storms.
The voice came from the bed, and when the faint glow of lightning came I saw the shape of the little woman. When the thunder followed a few seconds later I heard her gasp from beneath the sheets. Judging by the time that lapsed between the two events, the storm was still a little distance away, but it was supposed to be a bad one.
Grandma hated storms. Hated thunder and lightning with a passion, and her reactions to the meteorological events would have been comical if she wasn't so serious about it. Seeing this woman, who would pick up snakes in the garden without blinking, go to pieces over the sound of rolling thunder in the distance was strange, but was one of the reasons that I loved her so.
I spent a lot of time at my Grandma's house over the space of my 18 years, and for many reasons. One reason was that after Grandpa left her, she had nobody and I felt bad for her. Another reason was that my mother and father spent most of their time with each other fighting.
They would later tell me that they only stayed together for as long as they did for my sake, but if I had known that I would have told them not to bother, because being around the two of them was not very pleasant at all. Since Grandma lived fairly close, choosing to be there was a no-brainer.
That explained why I spent my childhood hanging around Grandma, but why would a boy who had just become a man, at least chronologically, spent almost every weekend with the grandmother? I had a driver's license and a car, so it wasn't like I had no other options.
I got horny when I was around her, and being somewhat of a chronic self-abuser back then, I admit that most of the time I came while thinking about my grandmother.
It all started that time when I first saw my Grandma naked. It wasn't an accidental occurrence either. I had planned it out well in advance, fixing the blinds so that I would have a great view of her from outside when she went back to her bedroom after taking her evening shower, which was her ritual before turning in.
Over the years I had gotten many little glimpses of Grandma, but had never seen all of her. Since I started noticing girls, I had noticed the way that age had changed her, but the differences only enhanced her beauty in my eyes.
Grandma was always a tiny woman, and I suspect that by that summer of 1973 she wasn't even carrying 100 pounds on her barely five foot frame. When I first started noticing Grandma as something more than my mother's mother a few years earlier, I was about her height, but then I towered over her by over a foot, and was probably twice her weight.
Grandma was so slender that I was able to circle her bicep with my thumb and index finger, and I would do so often. She would get a kick out of it when I would tell her to make a muscle to force my fingers apart, while my heart raced from being able to touch her skin like that.
I figured that Grandma's breasts were small, having looked at her bras in the clothes hamper and examining the lacy cups of her harnesses, which were so old that the size tags were faded into oblivion, but since she had a very boyish build even in her sixties, I figured they would look perfect on her.
So with that in mind I had plotted to see my grandmother naked. I had arranged the blinds just so, and before she took her shower I claimed to be sleepy and turned in early. After hearing the shower go on, I tiptoed out of my room and went outside, positioning myself so I could see perfectly from my vantage point.
The wait that first night was sweet agony, shifting my weight from foot to foot while wondering what she was doing in the bathroom. I pictured her washing her hair, which had become silver grey by then after evolving from the original light brown, not having any idea that her favorite grandson was thinking thoughts that would probably make her faint.
A dog started barking from down the road as I imagined her lathering her hands to scrub herself all over, and I hoped that the dog would shut up so that when Grandma got into the bedroom she didn't peek outside to see why the dog was barking.
Maybe Grandma was shaving her underarms now in the shower, I mused. I had noticed that she had little patches of peach fuzz under her arm earlier in the day when she had made her little muscle for me, so maybe she was running a razor through her armpits and maybe shaving her legs in there while I waited impatiently.
The dog stopped barking, and now the only sound was my heart beating. I felt a cool breeze down below, and when I glanced in that direction I saw that my cock had found its way out of the fly of my pajamas and was standing straight out.
My hand went down and stroked it a couple of times, feeling the blood pumping through my boner as I waited... and waited... and waited some more, until finally, the bedroom door opened and Grandma entered her bedroom, closing the door behind herself.
Grandma had a bathing cap over her scalp, which suggested that she didn't wash her hair that night, and was wearing her old pink robe. As Grandma puttered around the bedroom I wondered whether she would just go to bed like she was, or turn out the light first and then slide under the sheets. That wouldn't be fair, and why would she? She had no neighbors to see her, and her beloved grandson was supposedly fast asleep across the hall.
"Take off the robe, Grandma," I whispered to myself, while she kept fussing with things on her dresser.
What if she didn't look like I had always fantasized? That thought had crossed my mind before that moment, and while my grandmother was an adorable looking woman, maybe there were things underneath the clothes that weren't all that becoming.
I had caught a glimpse of my mother nearly naked once, and the slight of a nasty scar on her thick stomach hadn't been all that pretty to look at, but Grandma was different. So what if she wasn't how I imagined her to be? The woman was on Social Security, for crying-out-loud. My expectations were that she would look fine to me.
As it turned out, I was wrong. When that robe finally came off, and I saw her as naked as the day she was born, she was not fine. She was so much more beautiful than fine that I thought I was seeing things, and as my semen sprayed the siding of the house and my knees buckled, I took everything in.
Over the next three minutes I was able to see almost every pore of my Grandma's body, because she stayed naked as she did stretching exercises, exposing that petite frame to my eager eyes.
The first thing that caught my eyes were her breasts, and as I watched them sway away in front of her I was stunned at how large they were. Part of that was illusion since her waif-like body was so slight, but the way they hung down to her waist was a shock, and while they did sag and seemed very pliant, the bell-shaped tits looked great.
Grandma's nipples were large as well, long thick pegs that jutted out from wide pink aureoles that covered most of the ends of her breasts. What I could see of her stomach suggested that while there was a little softness, she was still pretty trim underneath those pendulous tits.
Another shock was seeing the large triangle of hair my grandmother had between her legs. Her bush looked thin, since I could see her pussy lips through the hair that seemed to still be brown, but the delta was wide and high. Since Grandma's arms were smooth and she had such a tiny patch of peach fuzz under her arms, my theory of being able to guess what was going under a woman's panties by checking out those other areas got disproved that night.
No scars or any other imperfections, outside of a little hint of veins on her skinny thighs and her breasts, and as she finally got the kinks out and slipped on her nightie, I knew that what I had just witnessed was a once-in-a-lifetime event that I would remember forever.
That was wrong. Not the part above remembering that night forever, but the part about never seeing her again like that. I did see her naked like that; the next night and the next time I came over. I also started to drive over from home when I had nothing going on, and usually the blinds were just like I needed them to be.
Part of me felt guilty, seeing how I was violating her privacy, but another part of me said that beauty like hers should not be hidden away. Grandma needed to be appreciated, and I appreciated her more than anybody.
Our relationship changed...
After seeing her naked, I started treating her differently. I was always affectionate, but I started getting a little more forward. Nothing outlandish mind you, but I was always touching her whenever possible. Running my hands up and down her smooth arms, gently squeezing her shoulders and even kissing her on the back of the neck while she was doing dishes.
The first time I did that, I could feel her tense up after I had nuzzled up under that silver shag cut hair and kissed that sweet skin, but I acted like it was just a little show of love, and after that she accepted it as a harmless thing.
What I really wanted to do was to reach around her and grab her breasts, just to figure out how all of that flesh could fit in those worn out bras. I wanted to reach under her house dress and feel that bush to find out whether it was as soft as it looked, but I didn't do that of course.
It was just the month before when Grandma had run me ragged all day, lugging bags of dirt from the garden center in town and then dumping it as she directed. By the time I was done I was a sweaty and dusty mess, so after we wrapped things up for the day I went in to take a shower.
After I watched the dirt off of me I did what I knew I would end up doing later anyway, because after being around Grandma all afternoon, catching glimpses of her slender yet shapely legs as she puttered in the garden.
So I began stroking my cock while thinking of watching Grandma later that night in her bedroom after she got out of this very same shower. In my mind my hand jacking my dick became hers as I fantasized the absurd vision of us showering together.
I saw the little yellow Bic razor on the shower shelf. A razor she must have used last night, because I had gotten many glimpses of my grandmother's underarms during the day, and their creamy white smoothness against the slightly tanned background of the rest of her arms was a stark contrast.
After a very satisfying orgasm, I stepped out of the shower and dried off, but the orgasm didn't drain me because after I had toweled my private parts I was already getting horny thinking about Grandma.
I peeked out of the bathroom, as I always did, and heard Grandma humming in the kitchen, so I stepped out and went down the hall to the guest bedroom, which had been my home away from home for a long time.
I had become rather lax in closing the bedroom door behind me after showering, and it wasn't because I was forgetful. I wanted Grandma to see me naked, just like I saw her almost every night I was there. I wanted her to see that I wasn't the little snot-nosed kid anymore, and was a man in every sense of the word.
It was while I was standing in the middle of the room drying my hair when it happened. I was looking at the bedroom window, which was kitty-corner to her door that went to the hall, and as I often did I was putting on a little show while imagining that my little grandmother was outside the house peeking at me while I dried myself.
How long Grandma was there, I don't know, because my head was buried in the towel that I was drying my hair with, and since my dark brown locks were long in the fashion of the time that process took a while.
At some point in time, out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of her in the doorway. Grandma. Thankfully, I didn't spin around in shock, but kept drying while pretending I was unaware of her presence, but that had to change because my cock, which was semi-turgid to begin with, was getting hard.
I nonchalantly turned a bit and glanced at the doorway with the help of the dresser mirror, hoping to see her leering at her grandson with lust in her eyes, but to my dismay she was gone.
Still and all, she had seen me naked, and that thought turned me on so much that I couldn't believe it. Was Grandma like me? Would every time she would see me from then on, would she picture me naked like I did her?
Of course not. Grandma was the sweetest and most innocent woman on the face of the earth, and had probably just been going down the hall and had looked into my room in passing, paying no attention to my cock swinging around as I dried my hair and turned away and went about her business.
The night of the storm...
Grandma had taken her shower early that evening, since the weatherman had been hyping the oncoming storm on the news all day, and there was no way that she was going to be in a shower when it came because in Grandma's book that was a dangerous thing to be doing.
Since it was light out, that meant I was deprived of seeing my dream girl in the nude, because that was just too much of a risk. The thought of her catching me staring at her through the window was horrifying, so when we went to bed that night, I was so horny that I knew I would be jacking off before the night was over.
When I heard the storm in the distance, I was half-expecting my grandmother to come into me room, or ask me to join her. It had been awhile since we had done that, but I was hoping, so when she didn't come and the thunder got louder, I went to see her, and this is how the story originally started.
"Grandma?" I whispered toward the bed, unsure whether my grandmother would be huddled under the covers or in the closet, which I understood to be her refuge when she was home alone during storms.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered in a voice that indicated anything but okay.
"I was expecting you to come to my room when the thunder started," I said casually.
"Thought I'd try to ride this one out," she said as another roll of thunder came from the west, and I counted the seconds until the room lit up a little from the lightning. "I'm not a baby, you know."
"I know," I said, chuckling to myself at hearing the words she always used. "Just thought you would like some company."
"Want me to go back to my room?" I asked, and after an awkward silence Grandma whispered no.
"Want me in climb in with you?" I asked. "You know, ride it out together like we used to?"
"Things have changed, Michael," Grandma whispered, and just before the thunder rolled she added, "You're not a child any more."
"I know," I said. "I don't understand."
"Yes you do, honey," Grandma said just as lightning crackled, signaling the storm was coming closer, and after she gasped the rain began pelting the roof.
I wanted to hold her, and while part of me wanted to feel her little body against mine, I also wanted to comfort her and let her know everything was going to be alright, but what she had just said sent a chill down my spine.
"I love you Grandma."
"I love you too honey."
"Do you want me to go back to my room?" I said while still standing in the doorway. "I will if you want."
"No," came the whisper from the bed, and it was then that I started walking towards the bed.
"Is this okay?" I asked after climbing under the sheet, and even though I could feel the heat from her body, we weren't touching.
"Yes," Grandma said, and as the room lit up for a second I saw my grandmother on her side, facing me, with her hand on the pillow next to her head.
I reached over and took her hand after subtly reaching into my pajamas and sticking my erection between my legs and keeping it in place with my thigh. Her little hand was moist and disappeared inside of my meaty paw, and when I squeezed it I thought I heard her sob a little.
"I love you, Grandma," I said softly.
"I love you too, Michael," was her response, her speech chattering like she was cold.
"I mean I really love you," I blurted out, sliding a little closer. "I don't know how to ..."
"I love you too Michael." Grandma said. "I know what you mean, and I love you too. I really love you. That's why I couldn't go to your room, no matter how bad I wanted to."
"I don't understand," I said.
"Neither do I," Grandma said, and now she was sliding over so that our legs were touching. "I don't understand my feelings, because they are feelings that I shouldn't have toward you. Feelings that started even before you started looking into my bedroom at night."
I let out an involuntary gasp when I heard that, and now I was the one at a loss of words, so we lay in silence on our hips facing each other, so close at I swore I could hear my heart pounding.
"When did you see..."
"A few months ago," Grandma said. "Don't know how long you were doing it."
"Little longer than that," I admitted.
"Didn't understand it, especially when I go past the mirror and see what I look like these days," she said, and promptly hushed me when I began to protest. "But I enjoyed it. God help me, I enjoyed it, especially when you would come over even when you weren't staying over. Made me feel special, and made me feel less guilty about the way I felt about you."
"All these years I've looked at you and wished that I was not your grandmother. Wished I was your age," Grandma confessed. "I thought I was going crazy, or maybe it was because I was going through the changes, you know? Then I saw you. Saw you naked one day after you took a shower, and you didn't know I was..."
"I knew you were there," I said. "I wanted you to see me."
"The things I was thinking when I saw you standing there," Grandma admitted. "If you only knew. When I saw you, I wanted to go in and tell you how I felt, but I just couldn't."
"Same here," I said, reaching my free hand under the sheet and touching Grandma's shoulder, and it was then I realized she was naked.
"When you were outside looking at me, what were you doing, honey?" Grandma asked. "I need to know. It's important to me."
"Masturbating," I said while rubbing her shoulder. "Wishing I had the guts to be inside the room instead of outside jerking off. Sick, I know."
"No. You know what sick is?" Grandma asked, and the rain was pounding on the roof, the thunder was rattling the foundation of the house and the lightning was crackling so loud and fast that the room was lit half the time, yet Grandma didn't seem to care as she continued.
"Sick is climbing into bed and playing with yourself," Grandma declared as she took my hand off of her shoulder and brought it down between her legs, and the bush was just as soft as I had imagined it would be.
"Feel how wet I am?" Grandma whispered as she directed my hand to her opening, and as I felt the dripping opening she sighed. "I was playing with my self - thinking of you - wishing I had the courage to go into your room like I used to. Afraid of what would happen."