"I wish more of our residents had relatives like you," Sharon said. She was the Residential Director here at Sunny Acres, the "adult care" facility where my great-grandmother had been in residence for almost five years now.
I laughed and said, "hell, she saw me through most of my childhood while my mom was pickling her liver in vodka, it's only fair that I do what I can for her."
They brought her out in a wheelchair, a wizened woman of 87. I saw that the attendants had done a good job making her look good. It was, after all, her birthday. Her face was nicely done, a hint of eyeshadow on her wrinkled lids, and her curly wig on her head, covering her nearly bald head. Eyebrows had been painstakingly drawn in, supplementing the few coarse hairs she had there.
She was painfully skinny, her elbows the biggest thing on her arms and her knees knobby and big on her pencil-thin legs.
They had dressed her in a bright patterned dress, almost like one of those Hawaiin shirts you see. She looked terrific.
And she was smiling at me, that wonderful smile that took decades off of her face.
I walked beside the wheelchair, holding her hand, as the attendant pushed and Sharon kept talking.
"You're checking her out for the weekend, right?" she asked and I said, "yep. Kind of a birthday tradition. I'll take her dancing tonight, for a picnic tomorrow, and then we'll watch football on Sunday. When the game's over I'll bring her back."
When we stopped at the curb where my little car was waiting Mame kicked the footrests up, and stood on her own.
"Save that thing," she said in an old woman's querulous, high-pitched voice, "for someone who needs it."
The attendant laughed and said, "I know Mame, but it's the rules, you know how it is."
"Don't patronize me, whippersnapper," she said and we both laughed at that.
Sharon took her hands and said, "Happy Birthday Mamie, don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Gramma grinned, the too-white grin of dentures, and said, "maybe I'll get laid."
Sharon patted her hand and said, "maybe you will at that."
She turned to me and said, "God, her sexual disinhibition is getting worse."
"I heard that," Gramma said.
"I figured you did, you crazy old broad," Sharon said, giggling, "now be good. Don't bring home any diseases."
Gramma sort of cackled at that and I opened the door for her and I helped her into the car.
It was a nice day so I reached over and flipped the handle and then pushed the button that lowered the top on my little blue PT Cruiser convertible chick magnet. My great-grandmother likes to have the top down when it's nice.
We weren't out of the driveway before she had her hand on my thigh, high, feeling me come erect.
"That girl thinks she's kidding about me getting laid," she said and I grinned at her.
I turned on the radio and found her favorite oldies station. She started singing along with Leslie Gore's "You Don't Own Me" as we drove.
At my apartment, I opened the door and then carried her across the threshold as I had done dozens of times before.
I had spent my summers with my great-grandmother, that much of what I told Sharon was true. Left unsaid was that once I was of age we not only shared a house, but we shared a bed. She had been my teacher and I had been her willing student. When my great-grandfather had died and we had to put her in the Home, what they delicately called the "Senior Assisted Living Facility," we had cried together. But she DID need medical support and as first a student and then a teacher I just couldn't provide all that she needed.
But I still loved her. Hell, I was still in love WITH her, and at least once a month I checked her out for a night or a weekend. And this weekend happened to fall on one of those holidays we teachers get, so I had a very satisfying three days planned for us.
But first I knew what she would want.
Standing in the front room I reached down, grabbed the hem of her sundress, and pulled it up.
She lifted her arms and I peeled her like a grape.
She had no bra on. The need for that was long since passed. Her breasts were just small flaps of skin with oversized nipples hanging from their own weight, pointing straight down.
She was standing in just the Depends they made her wear for her occasional accidents.
She blushed, as she always did when I had her to that point.
I got to my knees, before my great-grandmother, pulled the Depends off of her, and started kissing her belly.
She was SO damn skinny. Her hipbones stuck out like knobs under her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her belly fat had long since disappeared, and the skin below her belly button hung in soft wrinkled flaps.
Her pussy was almost bald, like her head under the wig, the thick meaty lips hanging a little.
I kissed them, the very faint scent of urine not bothering me at all.
"God I love you," she said as she used her fingertips to gently part those lips and lift her clitoral hood, offering herself to me.
So I kissed her clitoris, a hard little pink button, and she shivered.
I gripped her skinny ass, holding her to me, as I gave her a good old-fashioned American blow job, on my knees before her, my mouth and tongue busy at her clitoris and her nether lips.
When she came I covered her with my mouth, sucking gently, drinking her pleasure. The faintest taste of urine only added some spice to what I was doing.
I felt her knees go weak and I was pretty much supporting her with my hands on her ass, while she gasped until she got her breath back.
She smiled down at me.
"Oh yeah," she said, "I remember now why you're my favorite great-grandson."
I laughed and said, "try that 'I'm just an addled old woman' routine on someone else. I ain't buyin' it."
"Such a good boy," she said, literally patting me on the head, "now take me out. Get me drunk, and then fuck my brains loose."
I laughed again, stood, kissed her, and said, "a little patience please."
I went into the bedroom and opened the drawer where we kept her things. I got out the skimpy bikini panties with some extra padding between the legs, a much sexier version of her Depends.
Back to the drawer and I got out her garter belt and nylons and then helped her into them, making sure the seam was straight before I held out the black shoes with their very low heels. The staff at the Home always had her in tennis shoes. These would actually offer better support when she danced.
I stopped to admire her and she struck a pose. She looked terrific.
I lifted the bright sundress and let it fall over her head, settling on her shoulders.
"You," I said, "are one bawdy old broad."
"And you love me," she said.
"Let's go dancin'," I said and she offered her hand.
I took her to a club we knew, a place where the difference in our ages and our obvious, well, "involvement" is a good word, wouldn't raise any eyebrows.
Dinner was steak, the surf and turf for me, and a petit filet for her.
"God," she said, "it is SO nice to eat something that requires chewing. I swear, at the HOME," and the way she said HOME it was like the word left a foul taste in her mouth, "everything can just be swallowed."
I grinned and poured another beer from the pitcher for both of us.
The live band was doing a passable version of Bobby Vinton's "Blue Velvet" so I stood and walked Mame to the dance floor. We danced well together. She had taught me before my first junior high school dance and we danced regularly.
When they went into "The Twist" I kept her on the floor, not doing the Twist but doing a passable jive, well, passable considering I was dancing with an octogenarian. When I spun her and the skirt flared she drew whistles and blushed prettily.
"God, I love you," she said as I walked her back to the table.
We finished our beers and I walked her to the car.
At my apartment I undressed her, taking my time, hanging the dress before getting to my knees again. I got her shoes off, then the nylons, garter belt, and panties.
When I had her naked I took her hand and led her into the bathroom.
"Now for the real you," I said.
"God, I'll never understand you," she said, but she was smiling, enjoying what was coming.
I lifted the wig off of her head, placing it on the wig stand I kept in the bathroom for her. Her hair was very thin and stringy, almost bald as I brushed it away from her face.
I touched her lips and she opened her mouth. I reached in and took out her dentures and put them in the denture cup I kept for her. An Efferdent tablet and some warm water and I put her teeth up for the night.
She smiled up at me, the sunken-lipped smile of the toothless.
"I know," she said and launched into a poem she recited at least once whenever we were together. "At last I've found the perfect girl; I could not ask for more; She's deaf and dumb and has no teeth; and owns a liquor store."
"Oh, stop," I said, "you don't own a liquor store," as I took the hearing aids from behind her ears, popped the batteries out, and put them into the little drying cup.
"And you CAN talk," I said, chuckling and turning to catch the punch she threw on my shoulder.
I got the washcloth, lathered it up with the gentle face soap I kept for her and began scrubbing her face.
When I finished, I just stared.
"You are so beautiful," I said, and she giggled.
"Oh honey," she said, "I love when you say that but I DO have a mirror."
"So do I," I said, and took her hand and led her to the full-length mirror on the back of my door.
"No giggly girl can have a body this interesting," I said, running my hands down from her breasts to her pussy, "or a face with this much character," and I pulled the stringy hair back to expose it.
"You just like my big titties," she said.
I laughed and captured her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, lifted them, and let them fall.
"I enjoy your tiny little flappers," I said and she giggled.
"I know what you really love most," she said, leaning her head back to offer her neck to me.
"What's that?" I said, my lips finding the neck she offered.
She reached down and pulled her nether lips open.
"You like that my pussy is always available to you," she said, "and that my Alzheimer's first symptom was to make me forget how to say the word no'."
I covered her hands with my own and said, my lips right at her ear, "push."
She giggled and pushed and I felt her cervix pushing against my palm.
"Welllllllllll," I said, "I DO love your educated pussy."
She giggled.
"Push," I said again, holding my palm tight against her pussy, feeling the pressure and enjoying it.
"Annddd," I added, my hand moving around and finding her ass, "there's your tiny little asshole," and I touched with my fingertip making her jump a little.
She turned and threw her arms around my neck, pulled me down, and kissed me.
"I love you," she said.
So I scooped her up in my arms. Not a big deal since she only weighed about 90 pounds, and carried her into the bed.
"Got your rubber mattress cover on?" she asked.
"Of course," I said, "I know you too well."
"So I get to sleep naked?" she asked, looking up at me and smiling.
"Don't worry," I said, kissing her, "I'll clean up any messes."
"Thank you, baby," she said, "I HATE those Depends they make we wear."
I embraced her, my hands cupping her ass, and kissed her.
"I love ALL of you," I said, "and if you'll ever say 'yes' and marry me I'll take care of all of you."
"One of these days," she said, flashing that toothless grin that I loved, "I'm going to say 'yes' to that and then watch you run screaming from the room."
I laid my palms flat on her cheeks and met her eyes. I just looked into them for a long count.
I dropped to one knee, took her hand in mine, looked up, and met her eyes.
I held that position and then kissed her hand.
"Mame Graham, you have captured my heart. Will you marry me?" I asked.
Tears overflowed her eyes and I felt that rush you get when your adrenal glands squeeze down. "Oh God," I thought, "she's going to say 'yes'."
"Davey," she said, caressing my hand with her free hand, "I love you. I'm in love WITH you. But I can't. Honey, there are real medical issues and I need professional help. Please, honey, tell me you understand."
I stood and took her into my arms.
"Of course I understand," I said, "but I'm going to keep asking."
"And one day I'll say 'yes'," she said.
We stopped at the toilet on the way to bed, and I kissed her while she peed and then I wiped her carefully.
"God," she said, "I love when you take care of me like that."
"Marry me and I'll take care of you all the time," I said.
She pulled me down and I kissed her but she didn't let me go. She held me in that awkward position, bent over, while she still sat on the toilet.
"Ask me in the morning," she said, "after you've cleaned me up and we'll talk."
I sprang instantly erect.
"Now take me to bed, honey, and let's see what you've learned in the last month,' she said.
So I helped her stand and then led her back to bed.
But I didn't help her into the bed. Instead, I helped her sit in a chair I kept in there to sit on when I put on my shoes and socks when I dressed.
I kissed her and said, "hold that thought."
I went into the kitchen and got the big flat bottomed Tupperware bowl I used to make tossed salads sometimes, started the water running to get hot, found the Epsom salts in the cabinet, poured some into the bowl, and then ran the bowl about half full of water as hot as I could stand to touch it.
Back in the bedroom I put the bowl on the floor in front of her and set her feet carefully in it.
She hissed at the heat.
"This month learned," I said in my best schoolboy voice, "that not nearly enough attention is paid to feet."
She smiled and said, "I see."
"Now soak," I said and went into the bathroom to get the things I had bought just for this.
I had a big, fluffy towel, a fancy (and expensive) nail file with coarse and fine sides, a bag of cotton balls, a little tool that looked, for all the world, like a tiny cheese grater, another expensive addition to my collection of things, and the brightest red nail polish I had been able to find.
I took the package and laid it on the bed, called out, "Alexa, timer, thirty minutes please," and went to my great-grandmother.
For the half-hour, while her feet soaked I, well, I "flattered" her is as good a word as any.
I covered her face with kisses and told her she was beautiful.
I brushed her sparse hair and told her she was beautiful.
I gently rubbed her shoulders and worked her fingers where arthritis had her joints swollen, and told her she was beautiful.
I played with her breasts, sucking each nipple as it got hard, and told her she was beautiful.
And I covered her face with hundreds of little butterfly kisses saying, over and over, "you are beautiful."
Alexa's weird little alarm went off and I helped her to stand and then helped her into bed, having her sit, propped up with three pillows, while I started on her feet.
They were definitely an old woman's feet. She had big bunions on the outside of the joint of her big toes, and corns on her little toes. Her nails were thick and yellow and horny. Cords of tendons and thick dark veins crossed the tops of her feet. Her heels were thickly callused.
I dried them very carefully, making her giggle as I did each toe separately, then started doing what I had learned. I used the cheese grater thing, "rasp and callus remover" the box had said, on the bunions first. I was very careful at first, not sure what it would do. But it turned out it was like sandpaper with a built-in dust catcher, and I could use some pressure.
I shaped her bunions, smoothed the corns, and smoothed those thick calluses at her heels.
Her nails took the best part of an hour. First I had to smooth them across the top where they were so thick, and then shape them. They were hard and horny and shaping them was work. When they were shaped I painted them with the polish, carefully separating her toes with the cotton balls and then blowing while they dried.
When I finished, I took the various tools and bottles back into the bathroom.
She was still drying so I crawled up beside her to kiss her.
I was surprised to see that she was crying, not bawling or anything, but weeping, almost gently, with tears tracing down her cheeks and her nose running.
I leaned forward and touched one of the tears with my tongue tasting salt. Then I kissed her, snot slick, and tasted salt again.
"You are so good to me," she said, her voice very husky.
"I love you," I said, "and I enjoy doing things like this."
I kissed my way down her body again, making her giggle as she always did when I probed her navel with my tongue, and draw a quick intake of breath when I probed under her clitoral hood with my tongue.
I kissed my way down her legs to her feet and then carefully removed the cotton balls. I thought her feet looked pretty good so I kissed them some more.
I kissed my way back up, very gently pushing her legs apart. When I got to her pussy I inhaled her womanscent deeply. It was different from a young woman's scent. Somehow, well, "dryer," maybe less laden with pheromones. I liked it and kissed her again.
"Push," I said and felt the tension in her body as she did. When her cervix peeked out, I kissed it.
She was ready, her lips shiny with her nectar, her natural lubricant. She might be pushing 90 pretty damn hard, but her Bartholin and Skene glands were working just fine. When I parted her thick outer lips gently she was shiny, her honey was thick and clear, and then I touched it with my tongue, salty with a tiny bit of spice. I licked.
"Push," I said again and sucked, gently, when her cervix protruded a bit.
Her legs were kicking very softly and I knew her stamina was pretty limited so I moved up next to her, kissed her, and said, "how about you get on top tonight."
She smiled and pushed my shoulder gently and then straddled me, reaching down to guide and then impaling herself on me.
I pulled her down to kiss and hold her. She weighed nothing and my hands, running up and down her back, could trace each vertebra and each rib.
We said, "I love you" back and forth a hundred times while we lay like that, just enjoying being joined together.
She came, suddenly, powerfully, squeezing me, the sudden discharge of her nectar soaking my balls and running down the crack of my ass. Her entire body was rigid for a full minute, her breathing in quick little sips of air, and then she relaxed, spent.
"You haven't finished," she said, her voice husky.
I stroked her hair and said, "finish me with your mouth."
She didn't hesitate. She pulled off of me, squirmed around, and had me in her mouth in just a few seconds.
And it is a VERY educated mouth. She did a thing with her tongue, wrapping it around the bottom of my shaft as her lips held me while she slowly pulled off. It's a technique she has perfected, and each time she slowly pulled off I would almost cum.
When I did cum she pulled off quickly, and held me, guiding me, accepting my ejaculation on her face and in her hair.
When I was done she leaned forward and took just the tip into her lips and sucked gently, drawing the last drop from me until the sensation was so intense I jerked away, an involuntary spasm of my muscles.
She squirmed around again, working her way up until our noses were almost touching as we shared a pillow. She leaned her head back and scooted again until our lips were barely touching so that each small movement would be a separate kiss.
"Marry me," I said.
She giggled and said, dreamily, already starting to drift off, "ask me in the morning.""I love you," I said.
She managed something that sounded like, "uv oooo" before she started snoring softly.
So I scooted back a little, just enough that I could focus on her face.
I LOVE watching her sleep. When she's completely relaxed like that her face sheds 30 years. Suddenly she's a 50-something Soccer Gramma.
That look lasted, as it always did, for just a few minutes until her age returned.
Then she was 87 again. Her nose was running and she was drooling.
I brushed a few stray hairs back and kissed her cheek, sticky with my semen.
"I love you," I said one more time before laying my head on the pillow, laying my arm across her hip, and allowing myself to go to sleep too.
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