My grandfather died when I was teen, and my
grandmother never remarried. I had always wondered why,
and sometimes I wondered if she dated. She would come
over, and I used to wonder what she looked like naked,
if her body was still in good enough shape for a man to
be interested. She wasn’t bad looking at all. She had
dark, jet-black hair, and I figured the color came from
a bottle. Hell, I didn’t care. A person of 59 has to do
what they have to do in order to look good, I figured.
She had good-sized tits, and I didn’t see too many
wrinkles. She took good care of herself, and she looked
just fine to me. Just the thought of her having sex
began to excite me. I wondered what it would be like to
have sex with her. I suddenly realized one day, as she
was sitting across the table from me just chatting away,
that I had the hots for my grandmother. I actually went
from the thought of wondering what she did for sex to
the point of wanting to have sex with her. I really
didn’t know when the thought changed.
It actually shocked me, to think that I was sitting
there, getting a hard on from looking at her tits
straining against her blouse. I hadn’t realized until
just then how much a part of my sexual fantasies had
lately been devoted to her, to thinking about what it
would be like to suck on her tits and have her fondle my
hard cock. I sat there, red-faced, hardly listening to
her conversation as I stared at her tits.
She interrupted my thoughts by an announcement that she
had bought one of those new, above-the-ground spas for
her house. It would be installed in her back yard, close
to her patio, she said, and it would have a bar, and a
gazebo on top, made of red wood latticework. The way she
made it sound, it seemed like a paradise. She was going
to plant bamboo around the perimeter and all that.
“I’d be more than glad to help you with it,” I heard
myself say. I didn’t know why I said it, or what,
exactly, the work was going to entail.
Her eyes widened. I had never volunteered to do any sort
of labor, ever. You know, I was a major couch-potato
type of guy.
She looked at me and beamed at me with one of those
smiles of hers. “Great,” she said, “next Saturday, I
think we should put the plants in then.”
The next Saturday, I arrived at her house and took a
good look at her new spa. It was already running, and
the water was nice and warm, but there were no bubbles.
She had turned it on low, the way she liked it. It would
heat faster on low, and then later, when the water got
really hot, she would put it on ‘high’ and turn on the
There were about fifteen large pots of bamboo and all
kinds of other tropical plants, just waiting for someone
with a green thumb and some energy to start working.
That was me, I thought. I had a big mouth. I could have
just shut up about it, and one of my cousins would have
been over here, helping her with it. But, as far as I
knew, no one in the family other than me had the hots
for my Grandmother. I wondered, absently, what she would
do if she knew that I wanted to fuck, suck, and fondle
her. I got red-faced, just thinking about it.
I worked my ass off for about three hours, and dripping
with sweat, I had dug the last hole and planted some
type of enormous, broad-leafed thing that looked more
like a tree than a tropical plant. Tarzan could have
hidden in the thing, and no one would have been any the
wiser. The damned thing must have weighed about eighty
Grandma stood there and surveyed our handiwork. It was
gorgeous, with the plants hiding the spa from just about
any angle. There was a small concrete and rock pathway
that wound around some of the plants. It truly was a
paradise, right there in her back yard.