I was 18 and had finished my first year of college. I needed to make some money, and the chances of finding a decent job in my small town were pretty slim. So, my mom called my grandmother, who lived new San Diego. Grandma agreed to put me up for the summer and to try to fix me up with a job with her ex-husband’s company. They made custom machine parts. June came and I took a Greyhound south to San Diego.
Grandma picked me up at the bus station. She was a good looking woman – – getting close to sixty but still with a trim, shapely body, big green eyes, and thick blonde hair. She’d been married four times and managed to live pretty well off the alimony from her last husband – – the machine parts king. We hugged and traded cheek pecks at the bus station and drove off to Grandma’s house.
As I said, grandma was still a good-looking woman. More importantly, she was one of those older women who aren’t about to go gently into that good night. She dressed well. And, she wasn’t shy about visiting the plastic surgeon. He had been very good to her – – giving her nice-sized upright tits and a shapely ass. Grandma needed these because she only wanted to date younger guys. Usually, as my mother used to say, young enough to be her son but old enough to know better.
In fact, the second night I got to her house – – on the evening of the day her ex-husband reluctantly agreed to give me a job in his plant – – she and her current boyfriend were in the living room while I read a book up in my room. He was probably around 35, tall, nice guy, if a little rough-looking with his biker vests, boots, and goatee. I heard grandma whining something to him and then his gruff response. Silence. Then I heard him shout something. Pretty soon, World War III had started in the living room – – shouts, cursing, and then something hitting the wall and shattering. I heard the front door slam shut. Then, I heard grandma sobbing.
I went downstairs and she was huddled on the couch sobbing. I sat down next to her and asked if she was okay.
“I’m fine,” she answered between sobs. “But that son-of-a-bitch Brian ought to get stuffed. That lousy good-for-nothing.”
I asked if she needed anything but grandma shook her head and said she was okay.
“Go on back to your room Jimmy,” she said, bravely smiling. “I’ll be fine.”
For the next week, every night after dinner, grandma would retreat to her bedroom and I would hear her talking on the phone to Brian. She begged and wheedled, she sweet-talked and coaxed. But, Brian wasn’t coming back.
On Friday, I suggested we go to a movie. At first, grandma was reluctant. But, then she agreed. We headed to the mall, grabbed some food, and then caught a flick. I noticed a fair number of people throwing glances at grandma and me. She did too.
“You know, Jimmy,” grandma said, looping her arm through mine. “You’re a pretty good-looking young fellow.”
I blushed. But now I understood part of what made grandma tick. She liked for people to see her with a younger guy because, I think, she thought that made her look more desirable. The older woman who could still snag a young guy. I certainly wasn’t complaining. What with work and being new in town, I wasn’t going to be doing a lot dating that summer.
Saturday night, grandma suggested that we go out for dinner. We dressed and returned to the mall. Grandma chose a pizza chain restaurant, and she chose a table right next to the plate glass window that gave out onto the mall itself. That way she could watch other folks as they watched us. This made her very happy.