Ay: Haziran 2024

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Author’s note:

This story is fiction; all characters and situations are fictional and any relationship they may bear to any living or dead person is purely coincidental.

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As the casket was loaded into the hearse, my parents, two siblings and I stood with the many mourners who had come to celebrate my Grandpa’s life and to commiserate with the family after his death. As I thanked the many friends and relatives, barely known or recognized aunts, uncles, second and third cousins, my mind drifted back to that time when Grandpa and I had become so much more than just relatives as we shared ourselves with each other, each recognizing and meeting the need of the other in a beautiful relationship. The tears I shed were only partially those of sorrow; they were also tears of joy for the love that we had for each other; the joy of what had been outweighing the sadness of what could be no longer. My thoughts drifted back, through the months to the time it all started . . . .

******************************

I was looking forward to getting out and doing some real interviewing. Since I’d started my journalism course, all we seemed to have done was sit in a classroom while lecturers went through seemingly endless hours of theory, from the history of journalism right up to the present day. We watched demonstrations of interview techniques and practised interviewing each other, but I really needed to get my teeth into something more substantial.

Like most students on the course, I knew that I was born to be a journalist and was simply kicking my heels here until I could be let loose on the world to demonstrate my inborn talents for cutting edge revelations of the latest corruption in the halls of power or the sexiest scandal to hit the White House. Phil, my new boyfriend who just happened to sit next to me on the first day of the course, and with whom I moved in after the first week, agreed with me, knowing instinctively that the goals I had for my glorious future were very similar to his own. Our ambitions and confidence fed one another’s and we quickly became lost in our own world of fame and fortune as our nightly erotic explorations of each other became more stimulating and enjoyable.

I prided myself on family devotion, tearing myself away from Phil every Sunday to spend time with my parents and, increasingly, with my maternal grandfather. Grandma, his wife, had died several years earlier and, although in his mid-eighties, Grandpa insisted on living in the same house they had lived in for the past 52 years, the house Mom knew as home before she’d married Dad.

“Oh, Maggie,” my Grandpa would say when I expressed my frustrations about journalism, “You’re so like your mother was at your age. Always wanting to run before you can even crawl, let alone walk. Your opportunities will come to you if you’re patient, you’ll see. It must just be a family trait. My Maggie, was just like you too.”

I recalled that Grandma’s name had been Margaret, shortened to Maggie, and my Mom had been named Elizabeth Margaret after her, and I’d also been named Margaret after my Grandma, so it seemed I was the end product of several Maggies, all of whom had my characteristics.

Once in a while, on a Sunday afternoon, Grandpa took out a box of old photographs and leafed through them, reminiscing about people and places I barely remembered. One photograph I did remember, however; it was a black and white photo of a slim, youthful woman dressed in a semi-formal dress and seeing it was almost like looking into a mirror. I could almost recite by heart the words Grandpa would say as he held it in his slightly shaking hand and a tear trickled down his cheek, to be wiped away impatiently by his gnarled hand.

“Maggie, darling, how wonderful to see you again,” he always began, then he looked up at me as though this was the first time I’d seen the photograph or heard his words, “This is your Grandma, my darling wife, in Paris on our honeymoon,” he would begin, then he’d continue to himself as though I wasn’t there, “Oh, did we ever kick up a storm on that trip, eh Maggie. Made love together every night, we just couldn’t get enough of each other.” He’d then look at me guiltily and smile. “But you’re just young, sweetheart, you couldn’t know about such things yet.”

“Oh, but I do,” I’d reply, “I’m 19 after all and I have a wonderful boyfriend and we live together. We’ve been together for several months now, Grandpa. I know exactly how you and Grandma would have felt.”

He’d look at me dubiously through his thick lenses, as though trying to understand how another young couple could possibly have enjoyed the love and ecstasy that he had experienced with his Maggie so long ago.

This ritual happened every few weeks. During that time, I became aware of how much Grandpa was missing the love he had shared with his wife. It was more than simply sharing a house; it was sharing each other. Neither was complete without the other, almost to the extent that he seemingly had difficult functioning kilis escort as a person without his beloved Maggie. I wondered if that was what happened to couples who became so close over such a long period of time, almost as though they lost their individual identity and shared complementary parts of a single entity. I wondered if it was in my power to bring back that oneness, the sharing that had been so precious to Grandpa.

When he showed me that photograph of Maggie on honeymoon a few months before his 87th birthday, on the spur of the moment I asked if I could please borrow it for a day. He was understandably reluctant and would not allow me to remove it from him.

“It’s all I have left of my Maggie,” he said tearfully, “Even though I know you would take great care of it, if anything did happen to it I know we would both feel really bad.”

“Well, would it be Ok if I was to photograph it please?”

“Oh yes, my dear, of course that would be just wonderful. Then we could each share Maggie.” He chuckled at the thought as I used my cellphone to photograph Grandma’s photo. Once I was home, I printed out the photo of her on her honeymoon then began planning my surprise. Over the next few weeks I drafted patterns of a dress that was as similar to the one in the photo as I could find. I also found out that it was in pale blue fabric with white trim, and every evening I would spend time cutting and sewing to make the dress. Phil was my assessor, holding the printout of the photo as he watched me try on the partly finished product until at last the whole dress was finished, ironed and ready to wear.

“Sweetheart, you look so much like you’re your grandmother in the photo that it’s totally uncanny,” Phil informed me as he hugged me close, “I can see why your Grandpa was so in love with his wife. You look good enough to eat, in the nicest and naughtiest possible ways.”

Without any discussion he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bedroom.

“Not on the bed,” I protested, “You’ll crush it.”

He set me down, standing up, then proceeded to carefully unfasten each button and peel the dress off my body, hanging the dress on its special hanger, before picking me up again and placing me tenderly on the bed. We made love for several hours, his ardor obviously stimulated by thoughts of the newly-wed Maggie who had worn the original dress.

Grandpa’s 87th birthday was on a Sunday, my normal visiting day. Mom and Dad phoned him in the morning and wished him a happy birthday, explaining that they would not be able to visit but would catch up later in the week, but they let my siblings talk with their grandfather and wish him a happy birthday before they all went on a preplanned outing, one which I had declined, much to their annoyance. My parents were not taking my insistence on my independence well.

Later that morning I prepared a delicious lunch and carefully placed it in a cane basket, a replica of the type used many years earlier. I then meticulously groomed myself, arranging my hair to closely resemble the style Grandma wore in the photograph, then donned the new dress and presented myself for Phil’s inspection.

“You look gorgeous,” he told me, “So much like the photo. I’m sure Grandpa will be totally amazed.”

“Well, I sure hope he is. I’ll be very interested to see how he responds to my surprise.”

I drove carefully around to Grandpa’s place, avoiding creasing the dress or upsetting the basket of birthday lunch balanced on the passenger seat. Once there, I checked my hair in the mirror before walking up the pathway and knocking on the door. Grandpa opened it, no doubt hoping that I would be visiting on his special day. Instead of the usual quick hug as I entered the hallway, this time he stopped and looked, staring at me, his eyes running up and down my body, then tears began streaming from his eyes as he embraced me, burying his face into my neck as sobs racked his body.

“You’re back, oh, Maggie, you’re back. Why did you have to go? Why did you leave without me? Oh, Maggie, it’s been so long, such a long, lonely time. Oh, my darling, you look wonderful. You don’t seem to have aged a day since we married.”

After a few minutes he seemed to regain his poise and invited me inside, looking at me several times in apparent disbelief, afraid that I would somehow disappear. He closed the door behind me, relieved me of my basket, then once again embraced me, holding me tightly, silently. I wrapped my arms around him also, feeling his frail body as he simply held me, reliving memories of the past. Eventually he again released me and escorted me through to the dining area, where he opened my basket and arranged the food I had prepared. He pulled out a chair for me and I sat, then he bent down and kissed me, not the normal kiss on the cheek a grandfather would give his granddaughter, but an open-mouthed lovers’ kiss a husband would give his wife on honeymoon. I realized with a start that to him, I was his Maggie, his wife. I wondered how kırıkkale escort long this illusion would last.

During the meal he was very attentive, making certain to serve me my food before he took his, and chatting away in a very different manner from the way we usually discussed life and events.

“I really loved the service, didn’t you darling? The words the preacher spoke were so uplifting. I’m so pleased we chose that church for our marriage.”

I didn’t quite know how to reply. Should I pretend to be his Maggie, the one he had married a few days earlier, as he so clearly thought I was, or should I burst his bubble? How long could this go on for? How would it all end? I figured that a little imagination was harmless, so I humored him, agreeing that the service was wonderful and commenting on the smooth voyage we’d had across the ocean on the ship, a topic we had discussed on several occasions during my visits.

“Yes, we were very fortunate with that. Can you imagine being seasick on honeymoon?” He chuckled to himself. “We probably wouldn’t have been nearly as keen to make love if we were feeling ill. A little more wine, darling?”

He topped up my glass as thoughts rushed through my head. Making love! I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Would he want to make love with me? Could he still make love? Would I let him? Or would that be a step too far? Time will tell, I answered myself philosophically.

After lunch he stood and, ever the gentleman, held my chair as I stood. “Time for a little walk to settle the meal,” he proposed.

He escorted me outside to the rose garden that his Maggie had loved and tended for so long and which he now tended regularly. I duly admired the beautiful, scented roses and he picked one for me, brushing my hair back and placing it behind my ear before standing back to admire me once again.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” he commented. “Now, do you feel like a little more fun, my darling?”

Without thinking I nodded, carried away by the whole drama that was playing out and also losing track of reality, undoubtedly helped by the wine.

“Yes, honey, that would be wonderful,” I replied, falling into my role easily and naturally.

He took my arm again and escorted me inside, turning towards the bedroom. “We’ll need to get that dress off you for a start so it doesn’t get crushed,” he commented as he took me in his arms in the room and we kissed like newlyweds, which in his mind we were. As we kissed, he reached behind me and unfastened the hook and eye at the top before sliding the zipper down to below my waist. He stepped backwards slightly and I shrugged the dress off my shoulders as he held it, carefully gathering it to him as it slipped off my hips. I stepped out of it and he gently placed it over the back of the chair then turned towards me. It was a warm day so all I was wearing now was a brief bra and panty set. He looked me over, devouring me with his eyes. I moved towards him and unbuttoned his shirt slowly, then removed it from his body before lifting his singlet over his head and running my hands over his chest. For 87 he was in remarkably good shape; his body showed no signs of being overweight and, as I looked downwards, I noticed the front of his trousers was tented over what was obviously a substantial erection.

A part of my mind panicked, urging me to leave; to run as far and fast as I could from the seemingly inevitable outcome of this meeting. A more rational and playful part of my mind told me the exact opposite; enjoy the situation and all it brings, it told me, at worst it’ll be terrible and at best it will be wonderful. In either case, you’ll probably find it’s fun and Grandpa will enjoy his birthday. The rational part won. I continued to remove Grandpa’s outer clothing, unfastening his belt and guiding his trousers downwards as I knelt at his feet. I unfastened and removed his shoes before he stepped out of his trousers, to remain standing in a tented pair of undershorts.

“Someone seems pleased to see me,” I commented as I placed my hand over his bulge.

“Oh yes, as always darling Maggie, it’s been so long; so very long. Oh, the nights I’ve lain awake wondering why you left me, feeling in need of your sweet embrace and craving for you to take my hard cock into your mouth like you did for so long. But you’re back now darling, so what are you waiting for? Please do what you do so well.”

Oh, so that’s what he wanted. Well, it certainly wasn’t a first for me and there seemed to be no harm to be done, so I peeled his shorts down and his quite respectably sized cock sprung upwards. It wasn’t as hard or as large as Phil’s, but that was of little concern as I cupped his balls and held the base of his cock as my lips slowly and sexily closed over the head. I heard him gasp at my first touch, then moan gently as my movements continued, slowly sliding it in and out as my saliva lubricated the shaft and my tongue twirled around the head. I had never deep throated a guy and I decided now was not kırklareli escort the time to start, so I concentrated on pleasing him with my mouth while my hand caressed, gently squeezed and stretched his balls and scrotum.

After several minutes of this I could feel my panties wet between my legs and decided it was time for him to sample what I had to offer. I also didn’t want to give him an orgasm this way, I decided, I wanted his incestuous cum deep inside my cunt. I withdrew my head and stood up, covering his cock with his shorts and kissing him deeply as I pressed my breasts against his chest and pussy against his cock. As we held each other, I began walking slowly backwards towards the bed. He followed me, keeping our lips locked together and bodies pressed against each other, until I felt the edge of the bed behind my knees and I lay back, pulling his body on top of mine. He released me and stood between my spread legs, gazing lovingly down at me for a long moment before he leant forward and unfastened my front fastening bra, spreading the cups. He gazed at my naked breasts in admiration, then bent down and kissed each of the hard nipples in turn before placing his hands over them and gently massaging them. I closed my eyes as waves of pleasure poured through me and I felt my pussy becoming even wetter than before.

After a few minutes, he stepped back, took hold of the waist elastic of my panties and eased them down as I lifted my hips as best I could. He slid them down my legs and off my feet, then stared in bewilderment at my neatly trimmed pussy.

“You trimmed it, for me?” he asked.

I realized he was still reliving his honeymoon and thought it very unlikely that his Maggie had ever trimmed her pussy hair. I played along. “Yes, darling, especially for you. Do you like it?”

He gently touched it and ran his hand over the narrow landing strip which Phil liked so much. “Yes, I do,” he admitted with a smile, “It feels so sexy.”

I noticed his cock had hardened still more, judging by the tent, and decided it was time to uncover it. I sat up and pulled his shorts down as far as I could, holding them as he stepped out, stark naked at last. I wriggled out of my bra straps and reached for him, pulling our bodies close together, feeling his cock press into my stomach.

“Please make love to me,” I heard myself say.

He gently pressed against my chest and I dutifully lay down again while he placed his hands beneath my thighs, spread them further apart, then moved his hips towards me, his cock head parting my lower lips. I expected him to simply push his way inside, but he was too experienced for that. Instead he gently moved his hips so his cock head spread my lube, then he began moving back and forth slowly, pressing just inside my opening before withdrawing, time after time. I felt myself becoming frustrated at being so nearly penetrated, but not quite. I began to understand why Grandma always seemed to be so happy and why their relationship had been so loving; right through their marriage the sex had been wonderful, if the present performance was anything to go by, so they were both completely satisfied with each other.

After what seemed hours he finally slowly thrust his hard cock deeply inside me, looking into my eyes as he did so. It felt wonderful; no, more than wonderful, exquisite. I made a mental note to teach Grandpa’s techniques to Phil. Grandpa reached the end, his cock head touching the end of my vagina at the same time as his pubic bone pressed hard and deliciously against my clit. We remained like that for a few moments as I wrapped my legs behind his ass cheeks to hold us in place. Once we were held together, he moved his hands and began his gentle, sensual massage of my breasts again. I moaned in pleasure.

“I think you like that, don’t you darling?” he said as he grinned with pleasure.

“Oh, yes, honey, I love it and I love you,” I heard myself saying.

Grandpa began fucking me hard, pulling almost all the way out, then pushing back inside, gently, lovingly, a steady rhythm that pushed both of us up the slope towards peak pleasure. I always found it easy to reach orgasm and would cum several times before Phil finally filled me up. With Grandpa it was no different; in fact, if anything, it was quicker due to his long, slow build up. After only a short time I felt my first orgasm approach and I placed my hands on his hips, pulling and pushing to set the speed that would push me over the edge. A few seconds later I was there and gave a short shriek as my orgasm poured through me, taking away all rational thought as my body shuddered and my love tunnel clasped and released Grandpa’s cock.

Grandpa stopped as I came, his cock deeply embedded in my clasping cunt, a grin on his face that he had made his Maggie cum first. Once the ecstasy subsided, he began his movements once again, thrusting and withdrawing, rhythmically squeezing my clit as well as sliding the full depth of my slippery tunnel. It was beautiful and after a few moments it began pushing me up the slope again. I wondered how many orgasms he would give me before he came; he had possibly not cum for months, maybe years, who knew? Then again, maybe he’d masturbated regularly and was sexually fit and capable. I was pleased I was on the pill because I really wanted to feel his hot cum flooding into me.

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