It was my 20
th
birthday when Brian, whom I'd been dating (exclusively, I thought) informed me rather bluntly he was "moving on." The fact we were in his parent's pool house and I was wiping his cum shots off my belly and tits at that moment actually, strangely, struck me as funny. I laughed, rather uproariously, while he sat on the bench looking downcast; occasionally waving his deflating cock like a white flag of surrender.
I replayed the scene for a couple of my girlfriends that night, and, yeh, they had some giggles, but the big laugh would come later. It turns out, ya see, that Brian's new fuck buddy was his 39-year-old aunt (well, not new in the truest sense since we learned he'd been plowing her furrow quite regularly for longer than he'd been doing me). Their friendship, and let's not forget kinship, became pretty well known except, apparently, to his dad. It took him about 6 weeks to clue in. When the light bulb finally clicked on, his very loud and very public rant (in their front yard on an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon) left no doubt among those who witnessed it, or simply heard it, precisely where he stood with regard to Brian fucking
his
sister. Hilarious? Yes! It was the big laugh that kept on repeating for several weeks.
However, I digress. What I really want to focus on are the developments in my life since the Brian split. While I had girlfriends with whom I could commiserate, I almost immediately sought out the comfort and wisdom of my loving Grandpa, my PopPop. We've shared a special bond for as long as I can remember. He's been the 'man' in my life, the dad I never had, since being unceremoniously handed that role. My teenage mom's sperm donor simply came, and went, and unprepared (more a case I'm sure of unwilling) to be a mommy, she passed me off to PopPop hen pulled a disappearing act. She's a chapter in my book that's seldom opened.
Although a widower at 35, PopPop took on his imposed fatherhood with nary a backward glance, becoming my provider, my confident, my source for encouragement and sage words of wisdom. We had this special bond that's served us both very well. But here I was at the point of needing something to help me over the hump of this breakup. Not that I was stressed by the departure of Bri (good riddance quite frankly), but a seeming lack of boy-toy replacement possibilities meant I was left to rely on my own devices (ya, really) for reaching the Big 'O'. Realistically, of course, there likely were potential fuck buddies out there, but the chance of hooking up was made ever more difficult as pandemic restrictions became stacked one on top of another. It made finding someone hard (both literally and figuratively) a challenge.
I will note that I love every sensuous second of getting off, and regardless of how it's achieved an explosive orgasm is undeniably cathartic. But given current circumstances masturbation was my fast track (or sloww depending on mood) to that pleasure place. Whether it was the magic wand, the pulse massage setting on the shower head, or the old reliable 4 finger rub down that was tasked with driving the train I was always ready for the ride.
Since I had been living in Brian's apartment, the plan was to move back with PopPop, and in that there was certainly nothing suggesting a need to alter my self-satisfaction activities. My bedroom was on the opposite side of the house from his and I'd learned to "keep the volume down" (somewhat) when circumstances dictated. The first Saturday home was a typical July scorcher, but shade cast by a huge roll-out awning made things bearable as we relaxed on the patio. Coming out from the house with a two frosty glasses and a pitcher of lemonade (a healthy shot of gin enhancing the flavour) I reached around from behind and placed a cold glass on PopPop's chest. He gave a yelp and bolted upright but quick reflexes allowed him to catch the glass when it slipped from my hand. Laughing, he set it on his side table, grabbed my wrist with his free hand and pulled me into his lap.
We were both laughing as I gave him a peck on the cheek, a movement that caused me to spill a small amount of the pitcher's contents on my belly and into my crotch. "My god, girl, don't be spilling the good stuff," he exclaimed. "That's just wasteful. Much more and I'd be down there licking it up." The words hit us both, not in what I'd say was an entirely shocking way, but still left us sitting silently for a few brief seconds. It was when I shifted my weight to stand that PopPop's full blown erection became very obvious. I decided it best to remain seated.
A jumble of witticisms -- "so I guess you
are
