After my night and morning with Grandma, I'm so freaked out that I decide not to deal with it. The sex was hot, super hot, but all these ugly thoughts about what it means or might mean make me grimace.
That afternoon, I grab a quick shower, cook up a meal, and head off to work. Eight hours later, as the sun rises on another day, I arrive at my apartment and flop into bed. I fall asleep instantly. When I wake in the early afternoon and check my phone on the way to the kitchen Grandma has left a text.
Need to see you, baby. Tomorrow?
She must have texted me while I was sleeping. I ignore it and make some breakfast. Later I hit the gym for a grueling workout. When I return from work on the docks the next morning, there's another text.
I need you. Please.
I gulp and put my hand on my stomach. I have to resist. There's no way I can handle this. I throw the phone on the coffee table in the living room and stumble into bed.
Another text greets me when I wake.
Answer me. Please, baby. Please.
Two hours later: Don't. Please. I love you.
I press the phone's power button and it cycles off. Lunch, gym, errands, and I'm back on the docks under the sodium lamps with my buddies from Orange Freight. There are no more texts in the morning. I'm staring to feel normal as I head home, strip down to my boxers, and climb into bed.
The doorbell wakes me. The clock next to the bed tells me it's a little past noon. I've been asleep for a little more than four hours. The doorbell keeps chiming. I rub my eyes and roll out of bed. My brain starts buzzing as I realize who my visitor must be.
I open the door and grandma is standing on my welcome mat. She's wearing a short, tight black skirt, an ivory-colored silk blouse, and heels. A thin black sweater is buttoned over her swelling blouse and a long string of pearls loops down across her generous bust. She smiles at me and runs her eyes up and down my body.
"Can we talk?" She asks as she approaches the door.
"Sure," I mumble and shut the door behind her.
She stands in the middle of the living room and does a slow 360.
"It's small," she says to me, smiling. "But tidy."
I nod and head to the fridge to grab some orange juice. I'm only wearing my boxers and a tank. Grandma perches on a stool at the kitchen counter, her heels planted on the floor and her sexy calves flexed to keep her upright.
"Baby," she says in a low, sweet voice. "I know we need to talk."
I pour my juice and turn to her, trying to hide behind the tall glass.
"We were drunk," she continues, running her fingers along her pearls. "We were really drunk. But, we do love each other." She pauses and knits her hands together. "Two people couldn't make love like that if they didn't care for each other."
I almost choke on the juice when she says "make love." I put the glass on the counter and run my hand through my hair.
"Grandma," I say, glancing quickly at her big, brown eyes. "It just makes me feel weird. What we did."
She answers me with silence and studies her hands.
"Honey," she says finally, her eyes still on her hands. "I know how it feels. I do. I understand. But, we're both adults. And." She pauses and looks up at me. "We both have needs. We can't help that."
I pop my head back and grimace. Grandma stands and walks around the counter. She moves close to me and rests her long elegant fingers on my shoulder.
"I had to get you drunk, darling. You never would have gone to that motel with me if I hadn't gotten you drunk. Very drunk."
I whip my head back down to look at her. "You planned it? You wanted me to get drunk."
She sighs. "I don't know if I planned it. I was there at Rizzoli's. You were there. You looked so good. I've been so unhappy."
"Oh, Jesus," I blurt, feeling the juice crawl up the back of my throat. "Oh shit. That's even worse. Even sicker."
She squeezes my shoulder. "Please, baby. Don't say that. There was nothing sick about what we did."
I glare at her. "We're family, I say. You're my grandmother."
She casts her eyes down, her hand still squeezing my bare shoulder.
"I love you," she says. "I want you."
"Noooooo," I reply, pulling myself away from her. "It's wrong. I can't do it. It's making me feel like shit." I turn to her, crossing my arms across my chest. "It wasn't right."
Grandma puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. Her face is hard, her jaw set and her eyes cold. Her mouth tightens like she's about to say something but she stops herself. She takes a deep breath and her body relaxes. She smiles and the smile grows warmer as she gazes at me.
"Okay," she says softly. "I understand. I don't want you to feel that way. I want to be a good grandmother."
She drops her arms to her sides, takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders.
"Can I use your restroom?" She asks.
Relieved, I point down the hall. "Right at the end," I say and she maneuvers around me, careful to avoid contact.
I finish my juice. Things are back to normal. I feel the pressure and the anxiety lifting off my shoulders. Now that we've made things clear, maybe we can start over. As regular people, regular family. Dodged a bullet, I think to myself. Dodged a fucking nuclear missile.
I place my empty glass in the sink and open a cabinet to grab a bowl and some cereal. The bathroom door down the hall clicks open and I hear Grandma's heels on the hallway linoleum. Her footsteps stop and I pour cereal into a bowl. Just as I'm reaching to open the fridge, I hear a quiet cough from the hallway. I look up and my brain flips upside down.
Grandma is standing in the hall, her hips leaning against the arch of the entryway between the living room and kitchen. She's wearing a gleaming black corset that squeezes her waist and exaggerates her broad hips. The black sheath pushes her enormous breasts up into two, impossible mountains of flesh. She's wearing her heels but her legs are bare and her thick, meaty thighs taper at her knees into a pair of long, slender calves. The string of pearls, glowing dully in the weak sunlight, falls across her upper chest and loops down through her cleavage.
She looks at me and a smile crawls across her lips. I can't speak. My boxers, however, speak for themselves. My cock is raising a tent pole. She tilts her chin downward and observes my erection for a moment. Then, she looks me in the eyes and licks her lips. I'm frozen. I can't move. I have to remember to breathe.
Grandma says nothing. Instead, she turns slowly and walks back down the hall. My eyes attach themselves to the dimpled, naked skin of her big ass is it rolls up and down in rhythm to her swaying hips. Her long, silver hair sways across the black satin of the corset. I hear my bedroom door click open.
I take a deep breath and wait. My cock is now fully erect. I'm angry, but my body hums with lust. I shut the cabinet door and pad down the hallway to my bedroom. The door is wide open and Grandma sits on the edge of the big bed. Her legs are spread wide and her hands rest next to her hips on the bed. She looks up at me with those big, luminous eyes.
I pause in the doorway.
