Grandpa S Nude Day Past And Present

This is my official 2010 LITEROTICA Nude Day Contest entry. It’s a contest where you the reader gets to vote on all the contest submissions. I welcome your vote!

It’s rather longer than my ordinary submission, more than 4 LITEROTICA pages long, but I believe (and hope) that there’s something in it for everyone. All the characters in the story are over 18 years of age. WARNING: This story includes descriptions of sex between siblings and between a grandfather and his granddaughter.

Please ENJOY!

THE PRESENT Thursday, June 3rd 2010 Philip’s Creek, Upstate New York

Sixty fucking years old! Un–fucking–believable! There is no way I can be this old I thought to myself after hanging up the phone. Nancy, my fifty-eight year old sibling, little Nancy for crying out loud, had been the tenth person who’d already called to congratulate me. Congratulations, yeah right! There’d been a smile in most of their voices as they’d wished me many happy returns, an underlying tone that both teased and conveyed a little pity. Especially from the younger generation. From the nieces and nephews and even more so from the grand nephews and nieces.

“Poor old Uncle Joe. Can he really be that old?” I’d heard repeatedly even though it had been unstated.

My sister Nancy had even thrown in a Viagra joke. And she’s an old broad in her fifties. Ha, ha sis, I’d thought to myself as she’d chuckled into her phone at her older brother. As if she had any doubts about my ability to attain, and maintain, an erection. She’d been lucky she hadn’t been within penis distance when she’d made her comment. Husband or no husband!

“She has never once in her fifty-eight years seen a bigger penis,” I announced out loud to the world. Of course, sitting on the porch of the house my great-grandfather had started building over one hundred years earlier, a now summer family retreat nestled on the edge of an isolated wood and facing out across a slowly meandering creek and the fields and orchard beyond, no one could hear me.

“Can’t get a fucking hard-on,” I scoffed as I stood up from the rocker I’d been sitting in for the last thirty minutes. “Look at this,” I challenged as I pushed my bathing suit down my tanned thighs and exposed myself to any watching wildlife.

“A shaft of steel,” I announced to Mount Connelly, the three thousand foot high mountain which defined the western edge of the Philip’s family land.

“A marauding colossus, a coed conquistador,” I added as my fingers closed around my now straining shaft. Then my hand and arm started to move in a ritual that I’d been practicing for some forty-five years.

“The scourge of Adirondack womanhood,” I yelled as my palm flew up and down my shaft. I was getting close, could sense the building up of the semen, was eagerly anticipating the first jerk, the first explosive rush of cum up my straining, birthday celebrating prick, when my cell phone announced another call.

“FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I screamed even as my free hand involuntarily reached down for the phone I’d dropped atop my bathing suit when I’d shucked it. My right hand, my masturbating hand, slowed as I checked the caller ID on my iPhone. My older sister’s picture popped up on the screen. After hesitating a sec I pushed talk.

“I’m very busy right now,” I announced into the phone. But I flicked the video button on.

“Napping?” Susan Ann Kramer nee Philips asked. My big sister didn’t even try to hide her accompanying laugh. There was no way I was going to let her get away with that!

“Ha, ha. Actually my dear older sister I’ve been exercising Sir Joe,” I answered as I continued to slowly stroke myself.

My sister, even at sixty-two, is still pretty sharp. In fact, after being her sibling for sixty years, I was still trying to get the last word in.

“I thought they put ‘Sir Joe’ in a retirement home. I’m sure Nancy told me that the last time we talked. A place called ‘Limp Acres’ or something.”

“Oh did you?” I asked as I took the phone from my ear and held it for a second so that a good shot of my cock was transmitted the over six hundred miles to where she was sitting smiling in her suburban living room. I’d decided that a picture of ‘Sir Joe’ would be worth a thousand words.

“Pig!” I heard when I moved the phone back to my ear.

“Hah!”

“You’ll never grow up,” she accused. “You’re like a little boy with a toy.”

“A toy, if I remember rightly, a certain big sister once liked to play with,” I challenged back.

“It still worked in those days,” Susie shot back.

“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t want to see him working again?”

Susan hesitated. I moved the phone back down towards my genitals. Then I held it just inches away from my cockhead. “Give him a birthday kiss,” I enticed, my hand now flying over my tumescent shaft.

“Pervert,” Susie accused even as her lips approached her phone and puckered up into a kiss. As I watched her lips kissing the screen of her phone she saw the first string of sixty year old cum spurt out of my cock and splash towards her. Hear head jerked back.

It was many seconds before either of us broke the silence. “You’re a sicko,” my big sister accused in her sexiest whisper.

“I wish you were here, so does ‘Sir Joe’,” I groaned back, my orgasm still tingling throughout my body, a thick strand of cream hanging from my cock’s one eye.

“We’ll be up there for July 4th.” I knew she would have loved to help me celebrate my birthday, to have been able to lick me clean.

“Show me your pussy, a sexy, hairy birthday pussy for your little brother,” I lured in my neediest voice. And after a moments hesitation she did. I watched as she, sitting on the couch, the curtains of her living room open, slowly and sexily pulled the hem of the summer dress she was wearing slowly up her legs. I watched as she lifted her still cute bum and slipped her frilly white panties down her thighs. Watched as she held the cell phone inches from her already glistening slit as she spread her legs wide.

My hand was back on my cock as my sister slowly pushed a finger between the flower shaped lips of her sex. Lips a virgin ‘Sir Joe’ had slipped through for the first time more than forty years earlier.

“SHIT!” I yelled as looking up I saw the dust rising from the road that crossed from the west side of the valley, the road that led only to my front door.

“What?” my sister asked down the line. I couldn’t miss the needy pant that was always in her voice when she was sexually aroused.

“Someone’s coming,” I told her as I watched the car far in the distance. I leaned over and grabbed the bathing suit from the floor.

“So am I,” my sister answered, two fingers now deep inside herself.

“It’s your granddaughter,” I said as I covered myself.

“Amanda? She’s finished school already?” she asked as I turned to go into the house to grab a shirt.

“Last week. She called to ask if she could come out for a few days. She promised to cook me dinner. Birthday cake and all,” I added as I went to the sink and splashed some cool spring water across my face. Then reached for the cologne.

“Is she bringing her boyfriend?”

“Todd? No, not today but apparently he’s coming for her Saturday, they’ve got some big event planned.” As I talked to my sister I watched her still ministering fingers, fingers still working deep inside her sex, even as I pulled a light blue cashmere pullover up and over my head.

“Show me your cock ... hurry,” she begged, her orgasmic release obviously close.

“You hurry, she’ll be here in a minute,” I answered as I let my cock escape upwards from its confinement. As I held the phone in front of my penis my eyes followed Amanda’s car as it slowly approached on the rough road that followed the creek.

Her grandmother had cum, cum loudly in fact, and my penis had been safely hidden away, when Amanda finally pulled her car up next to mine. A welcoming smile on my face, I was standing on the porch waiting.

Amanda

Amanda Philips Kramer Weaver, the daughter of Bill Weaver and my niece, granddaughter of my sister Susie, had been born twenty-one years ago. Tall, blond and blue eyed, she, like so many of the Philips girls, had inherited the Swedish DNA that a certain Ingrid Svenson had introduced into the family gene pool when she’d married my grandfather one hundred plus years ago.

Amanda was special! She always had been from the moment she’d appeared. Among the extended Philips family circle, the children and grandchildren of my sisters Susie and Nancy and other assorted first cousins of mine, a clan that numbered nearly eighty people, she stood out. There was a presence to her, a charisma, an obvious niceness, an aura that enveloped her and emanated out from her.

The second she’d enter a room a momentary lull occurred, a lull that was immediately followed by an involuntary smile appearing on everyone’s face. There was a smile on my face as she uncurled her tall frame from the front seat of her car.

“Hey,” she said as she rushed up the three steps that led up to the large veranda that fronted the full width of the house.

“Hey you,” I answered back as I held out my arms in welcome and then closed them around her as she threw herself into them. A kiss on each of my cheeks was followed by a squeezing hug and then a real kiss on my lips. Not a sexual kiss. Just a full, complete, giving and loving family kiss.

“Happy Birthday,” she said when she’d finished her unhurried kiss. Then gave me another quick peck. “Ummm, you smell good,” she whispered as she nestled her head against my cheek.

“Your mother sent me a bottle of cologne. By Armani.”

“She did? Mom? No way.”

“Uh huh, something called Acqua Di Gio. Supposed to make me irresistible to woman, that’s what she wrote on the birthday card anyway,” I answered as I delighted in the feel of Mandy’s firm, young body plastered against me. Of the full breasts that insistently pushed into my chest.

“I thought you already were. At least that’s the rumours I’ve always heard, Great Uncle Joe and his endless string of pretty coeds,” she teased.

“Who said that?” I asked, her comment not hitting far from the truth.

“Mom ... grandma ... Aunt Nancy ... Jillian ... Cathy...” my great niece answered as she ticked off the various family names on her fingers.

“They never did, you’re making it up,” I accused.

“No we used to talk about you, when we were growing up, whenever we got together up here in the summer, we used to talk about Uncle Joe all the time. As if you didn’t know.”

“You did?”

Amanda ignored my comment, instead said, “New sweater too ... soft,” as her fingers lightly caressed my cashmere covered arm and chest as she moved away from me.

“Cashmere. Your grandmother.”

“Grandma Susie gave it to you?”

“Uh huh. And she tucked a bottle of Viagra in one sleeve,” I said with a frown. Not one hundred percent true but I knew it would get a rise out of my pretty niece.

“What!” erupted in a shrill squeal from the young beauties mouth. “She didn’t? Did she?”

I liked all my great nephews and nieces. All the grandchildren of my two sisters. But I loved Amanda best. I always had. From the second she’d been born. How could I not? She was my granddaughter...

Amanda’s mother had never known who her father was. In fact she never would. It was Susie’s and my secret. A dark Philip’s family secret that stretched back over forty years. A secret we’d both kept since Amanda’s mother had left Susie’s womb and slipped down my sister’s channel and out into the world.

Amanda and I talked that night. All through the preparation and eating of the gourmet meal she’d somehow managed to prepare with minimal supplies. And later as we sipped our way through two bottles of the finest wine in front of the fire.

We talked about the family. We reminisced, reminiscences that invariably brought smiles or giggles or hearty chuckles to our lips. Memories. Family memories.

She teased me about my age.

We talked about her schooling, about the travails of her trying to get through medical school. Something I could empathize with simply by remembering the years I’d spent as a student at Columbia so many years before.

“It’s all your fault,” she’d finally complained as we sat side by side on the sofa, facing the fireplace and the red hot embers that were all that was left of the fire that had been blazing all evening.

“My fault?” I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “How come?”

“I never would have gone into medicine if it hadn’t been for you. You should never have given me that stethoscope and anatomy textbook.”

I laughed, remembering the look of surprise and delight on the twelve year olds face when she’d opened her Christmas present so many years ago. I’d also given her a white doctor’s coat that day and she’d spent the rest of that holiday season wearing it, the stethoscope around her neck. She’d driven us all nuts in the subsequent days with her never ending demand to listen to our heartbeats. A dream had been born, a dream I’d continued to nourish all throughout her teenage years. She’d been born to be a caregiver.

“Everyone else gave you lipstick and earrings, clothes, cd’s, you first bra,” I remembered.

“I could be getting an M.B.A., getting ready to make millions on Wall Street,” she said ruefully but with a smile. We both knew that was the last thing she would have ever wanted to do.

“Yes but just think my dear, in a couple of years you’ll be back in the North Country, at the side of your favourite Great Uncle, ministering to the sick, saving lives ...”

“I’d have some sort of social life in M.B.A. school ...and I’ve never said I was coming back up here to practise.”

“Where else would you go?” I asked as I planted a kiss on her forehead.

“You never know,” she said even as she snuggled closer to me. I knew!

We talked on and on that night. She even broached the state of my health. “So, are you healthy? You’ve had your checkup?”

“My ten year one,” I agreed. “Went over to the Mayo Clinic. They told me I was perfect ... for a sixty year old,” I added ruefully.

“You are perfect,” Amanda agreed, “but given your age you will probably have to give up your little twenty year old coeds.” The comment was followed by a teasing smile, then a quick kiss on my cheek before she settled back against me.

Every female member of my family seemed to think they could get away with teasing me. They all learned eventually. “No, I’m all fine down there too. They told me I have the heart and lungs of a twenty-five year old and the sexual drive and performance of an eighteen year old. At least that’s what their tests showed,” I said modestly if not one hundred percent truthfully.

“I’ll bet,” she challenged back but I could sense her excitement and didn’t miss the hard, knobby bumps pushing through her sweater. Sex with my granddaughter?

“And how’s your health? Your checkups all okay?” My question was asked casually, more to change the subject than anything else, so I almost missed the delay before she answered.

Her hesitating, “yah ... fine ... I’m sorta due for a checkup,” and the way she quickly turned away when I looked at her, triggered the doctors alarms I’d honed over thirty-five years of medicine. She couldn’t be sick could she, I wondered. But sensing her reluctance to talk about it I decided not to push it, knowing I’d have other chances to broach the subject over the next few days.

I dreamt of my granddaughter that night. I dreamt of her naked, in my bed, my cock deep inside her. And tangled in with that dream was another, a dream of remembrance, of my big sister and how I’d lost my virginity to her in the same room I was still sleeping in forty-two years later. I masturbated as I remembered... and my cock didn’t feel like it was sixty years old when the creamy sperm rushed up its hard shaft. As it rushed in a torrent into my dream sister and my dream granddaughter.

And, with the sexual tension relieved, I was able to resist the temptation to walk down the hall to the bedroom where my beautiful granddaughter lay. But I couldn’t help wondering if she was dreaming of me.

Friday, June 11th 2010 Philip’s Creek, Upstate New York

Amanda prepared breakfast the next morning. While I, the elder statesman, fished! And of course she’d laughingly complained that it wasn’t fair that she was haaaving to do aaaall the domestic chores when she’d plonked my plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast in front of me.

An hour later, sporting our bathing suits, we wandered down to the swimming pond.

“Wow! Where’d you get these?” she asked the second she saw my new lawn furniture.

“I splurged, a birthday gift to myself,” I admitted with a smile as I admired the four new, gleaming, stainless steel, double chaise lounges that had been delivered two weeks earlier. A sleek, curving European design that seemed an affront to the Adirondack chairs that were so typical of the area. Each was topped off by a thick, foam cushion.

“You’re going South Beach on us in your old age Uncle Joe,” she teased, then added, “We can share,” as she leapt on the closest one. Who was I to argue? I dutifully followed, a tube of sunscreen in hand.

“Turn over,” I ordered as I undid the cap.

“I can do it,” Amanda answered but then obeyed me. I’d been making sure she, and all her siblings and cousins, were protected from the sun since she’d been a baby. And over the years I had applied bottles of the stuff to her skin, a Great Uncle’s duty that had only been interrupted by the shyness of the onset of puberty and her teenage years.

So I took my time in administering the thick cream to the milky white, baby soft skin of her back. I was cautious at first, trying to rekindle the old familial feelings even as my fingers explored the body of a mature, ripe young woman.

And the purring breathes that softly escaped from her lips as my hands caressed the sperm like lotion across her back and thighs simply encouraged me to linger even longer. It wasn’t quite sexual, instead it still was a doting grand uncle (as she knew me) applying sunscreen to his niece, but it was darn close to crossing the line. My cock had already crossed the line!

And as my fingers mover over her upper thighs, as they stroked right up to the spot where the Brazilian cut panties of her bikini ended, I felt a tremor moving under her skin even as her hips rose an inch from the mattress while her legs spread slightly, an involuntary and unconscious invitation that signalled how sexually ready she was.

“You still have soft, strong hands,” she purred even as her perfectly proportioned rear pushed up even harder against my hand.

“A doctor has to have soft hands my dear,” I answered as I placed one palm on each of Amanda’s rounded globes. After a gentle squeeze, a borderline sexual squeeze, and just as I was getting ready to cross that line, to pull the thin cloth down and bare her pretty bum, my phone chirped out its dial tone. It was just after one. My cock was huge.

My nurse, or more correctly the university nurse, was on the line. Small emergency. Could I come in?

When I’d gone to Medical School forty years earlier it had never been my plan to come back to the North Country after I’d graduated. Instead I’d envisioned myself in a big hospital, emulating the TV doctors who’d been my first inspiration. The Ben Casey’s and Dr. Wildares of the television world.

I’d grown up on the edge of a small town, a town of less than five hundred people, a town nestled at the head of a five mile lake, a deep lake gouged out of the landscape when the glaciers had retreated from North America hundreds of thousands of years ago. The town that had owed its continued existence to the tourists visiting from the big cities, from Boston and New York primarily, tourists who came for the fishing and hiking in the Spring and Summer, and for the hunting and the foliage during the Fall.