This is a story of the love of a grand parent for his grand daughter. It is a story of discovery for them both and, although it has many possibilities for sequels, there will be none forthcoming.
Loneliness is an awful thing. It means you’re by yourself, always. Well, maybe not always, but for anything important, like meals, bedtime, and curling up after dinner to watch a little TV. Those are all the important things to me now. You see, I lost my wife five years to Alzheimer’s. After many years of dementia, she finally went away from me completely. We were married for 35 years; we had a daughter and lived a very good life.
I ran a successful construction company in California during the boom days. My company thrived as we grew older together. When our daughter graduated from UCLA with a degree in Business Administration and then went on to receive an MBA from Stanford, I brought her immediately into the company. She married a wonderful man, an attorney, and they raised two children. Then they had their “mistake”. She got pregnant again after they had turned thirty five. For them, with careers well established and demanding, raising twins was really a burden.
Then my wife got sick and our daughter had the twins, I took an early retirement and became my wife’s caregiver and my daughter’s babysitter. If my wife’s care had been as easy as raising the twins, well maybe my hair wouldn’t be as gray as it is.
The twins, Kelly, the boy and Shelly the girl, were carrot tops; bright red hair and fair, fair skinned. They were bright, curious and tolerant of their life’s circumstances. Their parents were too busy to really care for them and they had to be raised by their Grandmother, who couldn’t remember their names and their grandfather who loved them both dearly, but was constantly worn out. That’s how their childhood unfolded. For good or for bad, I was their only, true parent.
After my wife died, I spent most waking hours taking care of the twins. They would come to my house after school and stay until it was bedtime. Mom or Dad would pick them up and take them home to sleep. During the summer months, I kept them most of the time. I was their Grampa and we got along fine.
They had just advanced out of the sixth grade and started their summer break when I received a frantic request from my daughter. Kelly was going to a baseball camp over in the valley and my daughter needed someone to watch Shelly for a week. It seems that my daughter had a convention to attend in San Francisco and son-in-law had a very big trial to prepare for that week. So I said sure, I’d love to take care of my favorite granddaughter for a week.
The day finally came and my daughter dropped her off with a bevy of projects to keep us busy. I said sure, I’d take care of them and sent her on her frantic way. Then, looking down into my beautiful granddaughter’s face, I announced, “We’re going golfing!”
Now you might not think that taking a twelve-year-old golfing seems like a lot of fun, but you’ve never taken Shelly golfing with you. She hits to an 18 handicap at the club. She drives it 150 or 160 and seldom misses an approach shot inside of 100 yards. Her one downfall is something she can’t help. It is her size. She’s so small and petite; she can’t get her weight into the shots because she doesn’t weigh anything. She swings as fast as she can control it, but without some weight behind that speed, she just can’t get the distance she deserves, yet. But you can only imagine how she will play in a couple of years.
But that doesn’t diminish her enthusiasm one little bit. Her gorgeous smile radiates throughout the whole clubhouse and everyone knows when Shelly has arrived to play. At 4’9” and weighing 76 pounds soaking wet, you wouldn’t think she was competitive but you’d better take note of that bright red head of hair she is sporting or you could really make a bad mistake.
This day, we were playing by ourselves, just a twosome. I really got tired of my playing buddies making lewd comments about seeing her panty line under her shorts and checking out her boobs when she tees it up. She is starting to develop into a real beauty but, my gosh, she is just a little girl and it pissed me off to hear those types of comments coming from them.
Today, she wore white Capri Pants with a lime green golf shirt, lime green visor with her long, red pony tail pulled through, flowing down her shoulders. I don’t care what anybody says, she’s MY granddaughter and I think she is precious.
One of the projects my daughter had for us to do was to take some live action digital photographs of Shelly in all of her favorite sporting activities. This is one reason I suggested we play golf today. So I took my DSLR out on the course with us and was snapping up a storm. I even got a good one on the par 3, 13th that she stroked for a birdie. I caught her studying the putt, her watching intently after the putt, it dropping into the hole and her jumping straight up in the air with her arms raised to the heavens as it dropped. It was a great shot, both hers and mine.
We finished up the round and stopped by the clubhouse for lunch, then sped down the coastline to my daughter’s beachfront house. It wasn’t Malibu or anything, but they had a real nice home right on the beach and we’d be staying there this week instead of at my house. That was fine with me, I enjoyed their home.
When we arrived, I told Shelly to go in and change into her gymnastics outfit so I could take some more photos of her in the next sporting activity. Soon, she emerged wearing the tightest outfit I’ve ever seen. I never really followed her gymnastic endeavors much, that was more of her Mother’s influence, but now I certainly see why they refer to their outfits as “tights”. My gosh, the thing showed off her budding little breasts and ran up her crotch so tight. You could actually make out her front crack. I was somewhat embarrassed from seeing my granddaughter’s crack, so I was anxious to take the pictures and move on to the next activity.
Shelly had her own ideas of what type of pictures I should take and would come over and “approve” of every photo I took. Out on the lawn, she had me taking shots of her doing flips, back flips, cartwheels and round off’s, whatever those are. On one of the photos I took of her doing a cartwheel, she screamed with embarrassment when she saw the picture. It seems that the picture showed her panties sticking out from under her tights as she executed the cartwheel. It was rather obvious, once she pointed it out to me, but she still ran off to “change her outfit”. When she returned wearing the same outfit, I was confused. All she said was that “I took off my panties” so they wouldn’t show. It reminded me of the old joke about the girl who removed her panties so the boys wouldn’t see them if they looked. Really rather ridiculous I thought. When she repeated the cartwheel for the camera, there were no panties showing, just a little bit of her bare crotch.
The next sport that she was active in was surfing. They had a real nice break just down the beach from their house and Kelly and Shelly were real avid surfers. I never could understand how they could be out in the sun for hours with their white skin and never get sunburned. They never tanned either, but it always amazed me that they would come in after a day of surfing and never be affected by the sun
Now I thought that the gymnastic outfit was revealing, Shelly’s surfing attire was down right disgusting. I’m no prude or anything but when my granddaughter comes out wearing a string bikini bottom that barely covers anything with a front zippered rashguard that wasn’t fully zipped up and you could tell that she wasn’t wearing anything under it, well I nearly lost it. When I pointed it out to Shelly, all she said was “O Grampa” and grabbed her board. I trudged along behind her, feeling like an old man taking the pictures.
Since I couldn’t get out to take some real action shots of her riding the waves, I had to rely on my telephoto lens and it just wasn’t strong enough to do the job. I got a few of her that a person might be able to tell who it was surfing, but for the most part it was a waste of time and chip space. I signaled her to come on in and soon we were heading back to the house. We chatted about not being able to get out to get any real good shots of her catching a wave and she teased me about getting out on a board myself so I could take her picture. I told her I was too old for than sort of thing. She looked at me and said, “You’re not that old, Grampa.”
When we arrived back at the house, Shelly volunteered to fix us some snacks as I reviewed the morning’s photo shoot. I started at the first, her at the club playing golf. I drooled over her flexible swing. Kids, they are so limber. Then a moved on to her gymnastics and I brought up the first cartwheel one, showing her panties sticking out of her crotch on both sides.
“O Sweetheart, I just love this one of your panties showing while you’re doing a cartwheel,” I teased.
“Grampa! Let’s see!” as she dropped what she was doing and ran to the sofa where I was sitting.
“No, I want to see those cute little panties. O look, there they are.” I was really teasing her now.
“Grampa, let me see. I want to see!” she said reaching for the camera. As she reached for it, I held it over my head in a “keep away” fashion. She stepped closer and reached higher to grab it from me. As she did, her rashguard rose up her tummy and exposed her abdomen to me. I couldn’t resist. Shelly and I play this game; we have for years, where I will give her raspberries on her bare little tummy. So, as she reached higher for the camera, I plunged my face down towards her unsuspecting tummy. Just then she jumped to reach for the camera and my aim was off about 6 inches. The next thing I knew, I was giving a raspberry right to her crotch.
It took just a second to realize where I had placed my mouth. By this time, Shelly’s momentum had carried her over my head and she was squealing with confusion. Her legs were on either side of my head and my nose was buried into her crack. I was mortified when I finally gained my senses. My arms were around her small little hips and as I pulled my face out of her crotch, my hand caught on the ties of her bikini and untying it. She struggled to gain her balance, but she fell back down onto my face again and that was the first time my face came in contact with her red pubic hairs growing on her crotch.
It took just one whiff of that womanly smell, the one I had not smelled in over ten years, to completely send my mind beyond the realm of reality. I lost all common sense, all control of my body. That sweet smelling nectar that emanated from this little girl I was holding was enough to send me over the top. I savagely trust my tongue up into her tight little hole. She squealed her surprise and disgust. I opened my mouth and took her entire mound into it and suck down hard. I took her clit between my lips and messaged it fiercely. Her squeals turned from shock to wanting as I ravished my poor little granddaughter’s body with my mouth. All of a sudden, I could not hold it any more and, for the first time in many years, I shot my wad in my pants. Her release was much more subtle. It was there, but since she had not experience it before, she was shocked and embarrassed.
After awhile, as we were gaining our composure, she rolled off of my face, grabbed her bikini bottoms and walk to her bedroom. She didn’t say a word or look back. She just disappeared into her room and closed the door.
I went into the kitchen to finish fixing the snacks. What had I done? There was no denying it; I had forced my granddaughter into performing a lewd act with me. I was going to jail. It was an accident, granted, but I still should have been able to stop it. I am the adult here.
I finally heard her door open and when I looked; she had changed into a pair of shorts and a blouse. She did not look up at me or say anything to me as I came out of the kitchen carrying our snacks.
Shelly came up to me and sat down at the other end of the sofa. She did not look directly at me but stared down at her feet. After, what seemed like a long time, she suddenly asked, “Grampa, can I ask you a question about what happened just now?”
“Of course, Sweetheart, you can ask me anything. And about this afternoon, I’m sorry Honey. I’m sorry for letting things get out of hand. You did nothing wrong. It was all my fault,” I said flatly.
“Grampa, what did happen? We were playing around. I was trying to get the camera out of your hand. Then you started giving me raspberries with your mouth on my tummy, like you always do. I reached further for the camera and the next thing I knew, your mouth was down on my…you do, my private parts. It felt so different; I was shocked at first. Then, the more you moved your mouth, the better it felt. All of a sudden, your hand caught the string ties on my bikini and it came off. Then your mouth was right on my…you know private parts. Then all I felt was your mouth and tongue, you were sucking on my…you know, down there and then I started feeling funny down there. My head started spinning and all I wanted was for me to stop you. But I just kept up the pressure and it felt so good and then I thought my heart would stop beating. All of a sudden, my…down there, felt like it was going to explode or something. I think I did pee right in your mouth. O Grampa,” she said and suddenly burst into tears, “what happened to me? Why did I like it so much? Why did I let you put your mouth down there?”
I was shaken and so ashamed of myself. All I could do was apologize. “O Sweetheart, Grampa is so sorry. It was my entire fault. You are too young to have to experience those feelings. Can you ever forgive me?”
She did not answer for along time. But slowly she said, “Grampa, how can I forgive you for something that you say you did but I don’t even know what you did was wrong?”
“Shelly, Sweetheart, you are so innocent that you don’t even know when you been molested. Honey, you know that Grampa loves you so much don’t you? And that when I played the raspberry game with you, I never meant for it to be carried to the extent that it was? Shelly, when Grampa gave you raspberries down there, in your private parts, it was wrong. No one should be allowed to do that with you, ever. Your private parts are just that, private.
“I know, Grampa. Mommy told me to never let anyone touch me down there. I wanted to stop you but it felt so good when you moved your mouth around on me. Why did it feel so good and why shouldn’t I let someone touch me down there if it feels so good?”
“Well, Honey, I guess you’re not supposed to let anyone touch you down there because it feels so good. It’s not considered appropriate for a girl to let a boy or man touch your private parts and to make you feel good because you might like it too much. And because you might like it too much, you might want other boys or men to touch you down there and to do other things that are not nice for a girl your age to do.”
She though for a long time of what I had just told her. I could tell she was mulling it over I her young brain. Then she asked me another question. “Why did it feel so good?”
“Well Honey, girls are made to experience pleasure when they are touch there so that they can have children when they are older. Shouldn’t your Mommy or Daddy have had the sex talk with you? You know, about the “birds and bees” and all that stuff?”
“Mommy and Daddy never have time to even talk with me, much less about sex and stuff.”
“O boy. Well, I can’t have this discussion with you because it wouldn’t be right; it’s not my place to explain to you about sex.”
She sat there at the end of the sofa, with her small little feet drawn up under herself, thinking about what I had just said. Then unfolding herself into a crawling position, she slowly crawled over to where I was sitting, curled up in my lap and said “If you won’t tell me about sex Grampa, who will?”
As I pulled her into my chest and rested my chin on top of the precious little head, I thought, “Yes, who will, an older boy, a man, a pervert? Gosh, what does that make me?”
These thoughts were spinning around in my head, hoping beyond hope that I could think of someway to get out of this when she sat up and looked directly into my eyes and asked, “Will you tell me about sex, Grampa?”
Her eyes were so sincere and serious, yet so innocent and shy; all I could do was move a spray of that red hair from her face with a gentle caress and give her the answer that she wanted to hear. “I will try to explain sex to you Sweetheart, but it’s against my better judgement.”
I settled her down on my lap as I fought for my thoughts. Where to start on a taboo subject that the parents were too busy, too embarrassed or too ashamed to discuss with their youngest son and daughter. Now, through circumstances that were entirely of my own making, I was embarking on a mission of enlightenment where it’s ending was most uncertain. In other words, wholly shit, how did I get myself into this mess? “Well, Shelly,” I began, “Where should I start? I suppose I should start with the fact that nature has instilled in humanity the desire to procreate.”
The look on Shelly’s face told me immediately that I must come down to her level. I started again. “Honey, nature has put lots of areas on both girl’s and boy’s bodies that a sensitive to arousal, that feel good when touched or stroked or caressed. On a girl, for example, a sensitive area might be around the lips. That is why in movies, for example, kissing is always shown as a beginning to hugging and touching. The area around the lips then is an area of making you feel good. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so. When I kiss a boy, I feel good in my tummy. Is that right?”
“How many boys have you kissed, anyway?” I asked.
“O Grampa. I only kissed a couple of boys,” she said with a reddening of the cheeks.
“Well, so long as it’s only a couple. The answer to your question is, yes; a kiss can make you feel good in your tummy. Another area is the neck, on either side, down to your shoulders. Gramma used to love for me to rub her shoulders. It made her feel so good all the way down her body. Down your shoulders onto your arms are all sensitive areas of arousal. Anywhere on your torso can be sensitive, as long as the touch is gentle and soft. For example, I can caress your shoulders and arms like this and can cause your belly to warm,” I said, caressing gently down her shoulders onto her bare, outer arms.
She thought for a moment, taking in the experience, then a smile came over her face and she said, “Yeah, I can feel it down in my tummy. Grampa, I can feel it! It feels kind of like an itch, no, more like a wanting. I don’t know. But I can feel it!”
“Does it feel good?” I asked.
She though another moment, then titled her head slightly to the side and said, “Yes, I think so. It’s almost like when you get a mosquito bite and you want to scratch it but you know not to touch it. I mean it doesn’t feel anything like a mosquito bite, but you have this urge to scratch the itch. Yes, I think it would feel good to scratch the itch.”
“Well, that is the first area of stimulation. Another is your leg, along the outer thigh, right here,” I said, running my fingers lightly down her bare leg. “When I rub along the outer thigh, it should give you the same kind of sensation as before. However, when I switch to the inner thigh,” moving my caress to that location and up under the pant leg of her shorts, “it should give you a much more intense sensation.”
“Grampa!” she exclaimed as she reached down and grabbed my hand. “What are you doing?”
“I was merely demonstrating the difference in stimuli and I think you got my point,” I said with a grin on my face. “Now, if you will let me, I would like to place my fingers on your inner thigh, right where it was, so you can experience the sensation. Okay?”
“Well, okay. But not any higher,” she warned.
“Not any higher.” I placed my fingers on her inner thigh once again and started caressing her soft skin, barely touching her leg, just caressing it. She felt the sensation course through her body and she closed her eyes and tilted her chin in the air.
“Grampa!” she suddenly barked, pulling my hand away once again. “O Grampa, stop! That was weird! I could feel it all to my, ah, you know, private parts.”
“Shelly, we’ve got to agree on a name for girl’s parts and boy’s parts. Technically a girl’s “Private area” is called a “Vagina” and a boy’s is called a “Penis”. But for the sake of this discussion, let’s call the girl’s part a “Bun” and a boy’s part a “Wiener”, okay.”
“Grampa? Why a bun?”
“Doesn’t it look like a bun?”
“O Grampa,” she said, turning a bright red. “Okay, I could feel it up in my bun.”
“Tell me how it felt?”
“Wow, it felt like when I climb a rope in gym class. It feels like something in there is pulling something out of my, bun, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” she said with a stammer, squeezing her legs together. “It just feels funny.”
“Did it feel good or bad?”
“I don’t know, Grampa,” she said, almost exasperated.
“Well, let me ask you this, would you want to experience that feeling again?”
“Not right now!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I don’t know. Yeah, I guess I would,” she gave in to the thought.
“This was not an invitation on your part but a realization of the power that nature has over a person when it comes to sex. You see, feeling that sensation down in your bun once, made you agree to want to feel it again and again and again. Each time, you will want to feel it greater, in more depth, with greater intensity. That is sexual desire. Sexual desire can make people do just about anything to feel that itch scratched.”
After thinking over my comments for a second, she turned her face to me and asked, “How can I ever scratch that itch?”
This is the question that I feared the most. I thought my answer through, then said, “There are several ways you can scratch that itch. The most obvious is to not get into a position to get that itch in the first place. But, I was once a twelve-year-old too, and I know that your curiosity is just starting, not finishing. So, I’ll be a little more practical with my answer. There are still ways that you can scratch it, safely.”
“Safely? What do you mean?” she asked.
“Have you ever heard of AIDS, or pregnancy, or, God forbid, rape?”
“You mean one way to scratch the itch is ah, “doing it”? You mean letting a boy put his thing in me? Grampa!” she turned back to the front, her face beet-red.
“Sweetheart, that is “one way”, I insisted, “not the preferred way, but it is “one way.”
“Well, what is another way?” she added, making a face of disgust, merely at the thought.
“Self-manipulation,” I said bluntly. “The act of simulating yourself or masturbation. Have you ever heard of this before?”
Now she was really embarrassed. She actually had to hide her face. “GRAMPA!” She shrieked. “I don’t want to go there, no way!”
“I take it from your reaction that you have some experience with masturbation then?”
“Grampa, please don’t ask me that,” she pleaded.
“All right, I won’t ask anymore questions then, but it appears to me that if you have some experience with masturbation, it could not have been a good one or you wouldn’t have asked me about sex in the first place,” I said firmly.
“Okay, me and Jenny, one night on a sleepover, started playing around and stuff, and she said to touch myself down there…”
“On my bun,” I interrupted.
“On my bun, so I did, but I got embarrassed and stopped before I felt anything. It just felt “dirty” or something, I don’t know. I just didn’t like it.”
“Wow, is that right,” I asked with surprise. “I can’t believe that you didn’t enjoy masturbating. I think you are the first teenager I’ve ever heard of that didn’t like to play with themselves. Are you sure you were doing it right?”
“I don’t know, Grampa. Can we talk about something else, anything else?”
“Shelly, Sweetheart, I’m concerned that you might have had a bad experience with masturbation. Like I said, I never heard of someone not enjoying masturbation.”
“Please, Grampa, can we just drop it?” she pleaded.
“Shelly, do you trust me?” I asked seriously.
“Why do you ask?” she replied.
“Because I want you to do something for me. Do you trust me?” I asked again, this time, sternly.
“Yes, I trust you,” she said looking up at me.
“Good. Okay, this is what I want you to do. Go up to your room, close the door and lock it. I want you to sit down on the bed and wait to hear my voice through the door. Will you do that for me?” I asked.
“Okay, but why?”
“Shelly, just trust me,” I assured her.
Shelly got up and followed my instructions to a tee and when I approached her door and tried the knob. I found it locked. So I settled down on the floor in front of the door and said, “Sweetheart, can you hear me okay?”
“Uh huh,” she said softly.
“If you want, you can close the blinds on your window so you are entirely in the dark, alone in your room. No one can see what you do to yourself and no one will ever know. Not even you’re Grampa. I will tell things you might what to do, but only you will know if you do them. Is that understood? No one will know.” All I heard was a sound like the blinds being pulled and closed.
“Shelly Honey, are you all set to start?”
“I guess,” was her response.
“Okay, now, if I were there, I would suggest that you lay down on the bed and get comfortable. You don’t have to answer any of these comments, if you don’t want to. You can just follow them or not, it’s up to you. After you are comfortable, lying there on your own bed, with the blinds closed, secure in the fact that no one will know what you are doing, you might try caressing your neck, shoulders and arms, just like you did before, slowly stroke down your neck. Feel the soft caress of your own touch. If you would like, as you would like, you can move your hands down to your shoulders and arms. Feel the warmth of your touch on your skin. Feel the sensation of the simulating touch in your belly. Yes, that funny feeling in your belly that always comes when you simulate your senses.”
I waited a minute to see if she would respond. Hearing nothing, I then proceeded. “Shelly Sweetheart, move your hand up to your neck. Rest it there on your throat and slowly caress the front of your throat. Now move your hand lower to your chest area. This is one of the most sensitive areas on a girl’s body. As you move lower down your chest, unbutton your blouse a little so you have access to the top of your bra. Trace your fingers over the top of your bra, up onto the straps over your shoulder and move your blouse off your shoulder.”
Again, I waited a minute, listening to hear a response. The only think I heard was the rustling of the bed cover and a squeaking of the bed itself. “If you have your blouse off your shoulder, you might as well continue to unbutton it completely and open it wide to expose your tummy. Your belly button is aching to be stimulated by your gentle touch, but just a little. Your chest wants it turn to be stimulated, also.”
I heard more rustling of the bed covers and then a voice directly on the other side of the door. “Grampa?”
“Yes Sweetheart, what is it?”
“Grampa, I can’t do what you say. I just can’t touch myself like that. I try to, I really do, but every time I try, I just can’t make myself. I’m sorry, I just can’t,” she said and started to cry.
“O Shelly Honey, don’t cry. It’s all right. If you can’t, that’s okay, so you can’t. No big deal,” I reassured her.
“But Grampa, I want to feel everything there is to feel about sex. I just can’t make myself do it.” There was a long pause, then the bomb. “Grampa, can you make me feel it, just like you did before?”
I didn’t know what to say. My gosh, how did this get so far? What can I say to defuse the situation? Do I really want to help my granddaughter get her rocks off? Just then I heard the click of the door being unlocked, then opened and there was Shelly, on her knees, crying her eyes out. She fell into my arms and I held her tight. She cried and I hugged for what seemed like a long time. Then the tears started to subside and I loosened my hug around her and she leaned back onto her haunches. Her blouse opened up, she had at least followed those instructions, and I could see her little, white training bra that held her small little breast. There was just a hint of a cleavage showing and as she noticed my gaze, she recovered her chest.
“Will you Grampa?” she asked again.
“Sweetheart, I can’t. It’s not right. I’m your grand father, I’m your relative and I’m much, much older than you. It’s against the law. I could go to jail. Honey, I just can’t.”
“But you did once before,” she reasoned.
“That was a big mistake. I’ve apologized for that mistake and I will not make another one,” I said firmly.
The look of Shelly’s face was devastating. It was a look of the inevitable was setting in. “Well, I guess if you won’t teach me, I’ll find someone who will,” she said defiantly.
“Shelly, now stop that! I will not be blackmailed into doing something against my will. So don’t even go there. I’ve offered to help you in the most inoffensive way I know how to and you couldn’t handle that. Now you want me to break the law and seduce you so you can experience the joys of sex. Well, it’s not going to happen, not with me.”
She looked at me for a second, and then said in her most sincere voice, “Please Grampa.”
“O God Shelly, why do you want me to touch you like that. Why me? Why now?”
“Because I trust you. You would never do anything that would hurt me. You would only do the things to make it a wonderful experience. I would never tell anyone about this. Grampa, do you trust me?”
“Of course I do, Honey. You know I do. But, even though you never meant to tell someone what went on here, you could let it slip accidentally.”
“Then you don’t trust me,” she said.
“Shelly, trust is not what I’m talking about. The pressure to always be on your guard about letting things slip, the pressure of knowing something and never, ever being able to share it with another person,” I tried to explain.
“Grampa, is there anything I can say or do to convince you that I won’t tell,” she finally said.
I just shook my head. She looked deep into my eyes. Hers were welling up to the brink again and then she begged, “Please Grampa,” and flung herself into my arms again. Sobbing those big innocent tears, she repeated, “Please Grampa.”
I could take it no longer. “Okay, Shelly, okay. I’ll do it.” I struggled to my feet, bent down and scooped my granddaughter up in my arms and carried her to the bed. I turned to close and lock the door. When I returned to the bed, she had not moved. She was shivering. Was it that she was cold or afraid? I assumed the later and gently bent down and kissed her on the lips. After a brief, affectionate kiss, I told her, “I will be as gentle as I can. I will not hurt you in any way. If you want me to stop at any point, just say so. Shelly, I want to give you the best experience you have ever had. Okay?”
“Uh huh,” she replied.
“Then let’s remove this thing and pickup where we left off,” I said, removing her open blouse. “Now where was I,” I asked, lying her down on her back. My lips met hers in a sensuous, brushing movement. She was a little shocked at first, but soon she was kissing me back. I moved my lips around and I parted them just a little. She followed my lead and pressed into the kiss with more force. My hand went up to just above her bra, to the open part of her chest. Gently resting there, they began their journey of discovery.
“O yes, now I remember where I left off, here at your chest. I must caress the softness of your chest, just barely inserting a finger under the bra cup. That’s right, slowly brushing the white silky softness of your breast.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she quickly inhaled and held it for a brief moment. When finally she exhaled, a slight, almost inaudible, noise escaped her lips. The noise was not quite a moan but it wasn’t a gasp either. I guess it would be best described as a pleasurable sigh.
“Now as I move that caress, under the bra strap, up to the shoulder, I move it off of the shoulder and down to the elbow, like this. O so gentle and slowly. We have all day. No need to rush. Now the other cup, with an insertion of a finger, gently touching the soft delicate skin of the other breast.”
Again the breath caught in her throat but as she exhaled this time, it was more of a moan than a sigh.
“Again, up to the shoulder, under the strap and off of the shoulder. Now both of the cups are nearly off of your tender little breasts so all I have to do is gently pull the front of your bra down and off of your breasts, completely exposing them for my inspection. Now let’s see just how beautiful they are.”
As I drew my hands up to her chest once again, then slowly moved them in unison downward until they were cupping them both. Shelly began to move involuntarily from the stimulus of my touch. And when I concentrated on her nipples, a shock wave went through her body and a gasp came forth from her open mouth.
“O yes Shelly, those tight little buds of your are so sweet looking, all drawn up and perky. They are so squeezible between my thumbs and forefingers, does that feel good?”
“Uh huh,” was all she could manage between tightly closed eyes.
“Good, Sweetheart, I want to make this experience good for you. But I wonder, they look so sweet, I wonder how they taste,” I asked bending down to run my tongue over one.
“O my gosh,” she cried out with shock and excitement. “O Grampa, that feels so good, O my gosh!”
Running my tongue around and around the nipple, getting it as hard as I could, I began to nibble on it gently and finally took it into my mouth and started to suckle. She pushed herself up to meet my suckling and place her hand on the back of my neck. “O Grampa, what are you doing to me?”
My mouth went to the other one and repeated my stimulation process. It was greeted with sighs, gasps and moans as she arched her back, offering her breast to be taken deep within my mouth. After several minutes of sucking and chewing, I left the two delicate rose buds and proceeded southward with my tongue leading the way.
“O Shelly, my tongue wants to explore your belly button,” I said between licks. “This tight little hole in your tummy is just right for the pointy end of my tongue.” As I stabbed her with my tongue, she shrieked with pleasure or pain, I’m not sure which. But her rolling tummy muscles led me to believe it was the former. In my continuing descent downward, ran into her bra, now lying uselessly around her tummy. Rotating it around, I found the clasp and pulled it out from under her. Then, while my face was away from her tummy, I looked down at her shorts and wonder about my next move. I slid my hands down her legs on her thighs. Her legs quivered slightly. I rubbed her legs gently at first and then I began rubbing her inner thighs, still below the legs of her shorts. With the back of my fingers, I slowly started to trace her inner thighs as far as her shorts would allow. It was far enough that, if I extended my forefingers up, I could feel them touch at the crotch of her shorts. I knew I was no more than an inch from touching her “bun”. She had stopped breathing. I ever so slowly extended my right forefinger upward until I barely touched her Holy Grail. She squirmed and let out a cry as if I had burned her with a hot poker. Breathing again, she cried out, “Grampa, please, o please!”
“Settle down Shelly,” I said, trying to calm her down. “I’ll take it slow so that you can enjoy it okay?”
“O Grampa, it feels so, so…”
“I know Honey, I know,” I said softly.
Withdrawing my hands from the leg openings of her shorts, she kind of relaxed a little. I retraced my steps back up her legs, onto her hips and they met at the button of the shorts. I slowly unbuttoned the shorts and gently slipped the zipper down, taking care not to come in contact with her crotch. Opening them up, I exposed her multi-colored, thin striped, cotton panties. They were exposed from her waistband, just a couple inches below her navel to just above her “bun” area. She was breathing heavily but her eyes were still closed. She was waiting expectantly for me to remove her small, white, denim, shorts. Her tummy would rise and fall with every breath. Her small little breasts barely mounded up as they lay flat on her heaving chest. Her abdomen rippled with anticipation.
“O Sweetheart, what do you want me to do now?” I asked to keep her involved. I knew what my next move was, but I wanted to hear her give me instructions.
“I don’t know, take my shorts off, I guess,” she panted.
“Do you want me to take them off?”
“Uh huh,” she said, confirming my next move.
“Raise your hips a little and help me so I can get them off,” I said.
She raised her little hips off of the bed as I tugged on the legs to the shorts. Friction between the shorts and her panties made the journey a little more difficult, but as they rolled the panties down a little, they gave way over her tiny hips and down her legs. Free at last, they were slung towards the pile of clothes beside the bed.
Looking down on my near naked granddaughter, the sight took my breath away. When did she grow up so much? She was no woman, but she was no longer a little girl, either. Tears started to well up as I continued to look down on my twelve-year-old beauty and question my actions and motives.
Looking up, she said, “What’s wrong, Grampa?”
“I was just looking at you, Sweetheart. You are so beautiful. Such a young lady you’ve grown up to be. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Grampa, you’ve made me feel so special. You have given me something that I will always remember and cherish. If you want to stop, I will understand. But, please, if you can go on, I want you to.”
I didn’t even answer. I just bent down to give her a warm, gentle kiss. As she kissed me back, I scooped her up in my arms and hugged her tightly. My kiss became more passionate and needy. Her response was more giving and hungry, as the feelings coursed through her small, eager body.
Sitting beside her as she lay on the bed, I started to again trace down her torso with my mouth. My hand, however, was running down to her stomach and abdomen. I heard her breath catch when she inhaled, as my fingers brushed over her bun and onto her inner thighs. I barely grazed my touch between her legs when I slowly started my ascent up to her bun. Reaching the cloth of her panties, I stopped and applied just a little pressure. She gasped audibly. Her legs tightened and she moved her hip away from the touch. Then she relaxed a little but kept her legs tightly together. I started rubbing up her bun with my fingers, with my middle one applying the most pressure. As I reached the top, she gasped again and moved away from the pressure. I slid my touch back down between her legs, this time I cupped her bun with my hand and pressed down firmly, rotating the pressure all around. I tried to insert my middle finger between her legs and in search of her opening, but she had clamped her legs so tight together, I didn’t make much headway.
I suckled her breast into my mouth and found her erect little nipple. Twirling it around with my tongue as I sucked, I moved my hand up to the top of her panties. They had resisted the removal of her shorts earlier and had gathered in a roll about half way off her hips. They still covered what they should, but were seductively lower than normal. As my hand reached the waistband and I made an effort to remove them, Shelly suddenly moved her hand to intercept my movement and cried, “Grampa, stop! O Grampa, don’t take off my panties.”
I stop any movement instantly as she rolled onto her side away from my body. “Shelly, what’s wrong Baby? Did I hurt you? Tell me what’s wrong,” I pleaded.
“O Grampa, it felt so good then that funny feeling came back in my tummy and I thought a was going to pee. Then you were going to take off my panties and see my priv…my bun and I didn’t want to show it to you because I’ve started getting hair down there and I was embarrassed for you to see my…bun. O Gramps, I’m sorry but I just can’t.”
She was crying now as her voice trailed away. “But it felt so good. O why can’t I let you do it?”
I just picked her up in my arms and cradled her. Rocking back and forth, kissing her forehead, I said softly, “It’s all right Shelly Honey, Grampa has got you. He’s not going to let anything happen to you. It’s all right.”
After about five minutes of my rocking and comforting her, she softly said, “Grampa, I’ve got to go the bathroom.” She got up out of my lap and walked to the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she turned and stole a glance at me. Then, looking down at her feet, she closed the door.
I went back to the kitchen to fix us a mid-afternoon snack. A tuna sandwich with chips and a coke seemed in order. I had looked at my watch and it was 3:30 already. I hope this won’t spoil our appetites for dinner. I had finished the preparation and was patiently waiting when Shelly came into the room silently.
“I fixed a sandwich for you, Sweetheart. I hope you like tuna.” I said.
“I do,” she said looking at me for just a second. A trace of a smile crossed her lips, but it was more of a polite smile than genuine. We ate in silence for what seemed an eternity. Shelly had gotten dressed again but had traded the shorts and blouse for a pretty sundress. She looked so petite and beautiful, I just wanted to hug and kiss her all over again. But knowing the outcome of the last attempt, I quickly put it out of my mind.
Shelly finally broke the silence by suggesting, “Why don’t we go for a walk on the beach, Grampa? Maybe we can do some more talking. I think I’ve got lots more questions,” she said, looking up and giving me a real smile.
“That would be fine, Sweetheart. Yes, that would be just fine.”
We walked along the beach, with the waves lapping at our bare feet. The tide was out now, so the waves were soft and gentle, just as my feelings for my granddaughter. Silence was the main contributor to our walk for about the first ten minutes or so, when suddenly Shelly broke in on the silence with, “Grampa, what we did this afternoon is sex, right?”
“Well, no Sweetheart. What we did this afternoon can lead to sexual activity, but what we did is not considered sex. Sex is when a boy puts his wiener into a girl’s bun hole. They get real excited and he squirts his stuff into the girl and sometimes fertilizes her egg. From this, they make a baby. This is a very simplistic description of what sex really is, but basically, it is true.”
She was silent for another minute, thinking, then she asked, “Well Grampa, if we didn’t have sex, what did we do?”
“Well, we explored our emotions and your body. We petted a lot. We got excited a lot. And we felt the pleasure of feeling the stimulation of having your body touched in new places. It was fantastic for me, but a little too much for you to handle I think. Do you agree?”
Again, she thought before she answered. “It was scary. Most of those feelings I‘ve never had before. Now looking back on it, I think they were exciting and kind of fun,” she said with a remembering smile on her face. “It was only when you quit talking to me, that’s when I got scared. The last things you were doing to me, you know down there? In my bun,” she remembered in time, “that was so new to me. I’ve only experienced that feeling once before and that was this morning. You know, when you were giving me raspberries on my tummy and everywhere,” she let her voice trail off.
“I forgot to talk you though the experience. O Shelly, I’m so sorry. I got so excited touching you, hearing your responses and feeling your body react to the sensations, I forgot to talk to you. No wonder you were scared.” I stopped our walk and turned into her, right in front of her.
“Shelly, can you forgive me. I am sorry. You let me explore your mind, your body, freely and openly. And what do I do? I get all wrapped up in what you are allowing me to do and I forget to make sure you are still alright with it. I’m so stupid sometimes.”
“Grampa, you’re not stupid. I was silly for getting scared. You promised not to hurt me in any way. I knew that, but when you quit talking and I didn’t know what to do next, I just got scared.”
Now it was my turn to think. If I suggested we go back and continue our exploration, she could wonder why I was so anxious to touch her. If I didn’t suggest it, she could wonder if I didn’t enjoy it and didn’t want to continue. All of a sudden, the answer came to me. “Shelly,” I said finally, “I had a wonderful time exploring your body today, but I don’t want to suggest anything you don’t want to do. So, it is your call when or if we do anything else. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to, is that understood?”
I turned to headed back up the beach to their house. Shelly fell in beside me not saying a word. We walked for almost a mile before Shelly asked, “Will you love me more, less or the same if we continue to explore?”
Her question hit me like a bomb. “What do you mean? I will always love you regardless of what you decide to do. What kind of a question was that?”
She was quiet for another moment, and then she said, “I think our relationship will change after today. I know you will still be my Grampa and I will still be your Sweetheart, but I think my feelings for you have changed already.”
“How have they changed?”
“Well, when you pick me up or give me a hug or a kiss on the cheek, I will always remember the feelings that you gave me this morning and I will love you in a different way.”
“Shelly, I don’t know what to say. Something in me says to thank you for the compliment and something else says to apologize for ruining our relationship. I guess I want to say both of these.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to say that you ruined anything. You, we, have just developed a stronger relationship, that’s all.”
“You’re very wise, Shelly, very wise indeed.”
We continued walking up the beach and soon we were approaching their house. Shelly dropped my hand that she was holding and ran ahead at a girlish fun pace. Her skirt flew up in the back and I could see her stripped panties under the flying hem as she dashed ahead of me. Then, after about a hundred feet or so, she twirled around, laughing and waved me forward, yelling “Come on Grampa, run with me.”
Since my running days had come to a stop many years before this one, I took off at a slow jog and laughingly shouted out at her, “Wait up Sweetheart. Grampa is coming.”
I finally caught up to her and she literally jumped into my arms. Giving me a big hug around the neck, she then looked me directly in the eye and kissed me right on the lips. “Let’s go fix something to eat, Grampa.”
Shelly was a big help fixing dinner that evening. We finished our meal, cleaned up the kitchen and settled down on the back deck in time to watch the sun make its exit for the day. We sat on the loveseat swing holding hands like a couple of love struck teenagers. What the irony was, that neither of us could claim that as an excuse. Neither of us was of that age. I gave her a gentle hug of her shoulders and she squeezed my leg, then said, “Grampa, I want you to touch me again. I promise I won’t get scared this time. You can do anything you want to me. I just want to enjoy your touch.”
“Are you sure, Shelly?” I asked.
“Absolutely. I love you and trust you completely. I know you won’t hurt me. This time I’m not scared.”
“All right then,” I said standing up. I took her hand and added, “Let’s go.”
I led her to her bedroom, the one we occupied earlier that afternoon. I closed the door behind us and flipped on the light. “Do you mind?” I asked. Checking to make sure the blinds were still pulled, she shook her head in the negative. Now she was getting a little nervous.
I went over to the bed and had a seat, tugging at her hand as I sat. With both hands now on hers, I had her stand directly in front of me. We were about at eye level with each other and I stared into to her eyes as my hands went up to her shoulders. I caressed them softly and gently. I messaged her shoulders and upper arms for a brief minute, then a put my fingers on the ties at her shoulders. I continued to look into her eyes. They did not waver from mine. Slowly I pulled on the ties until the knots released and the tension on the straps began to increase. Slowly the ties gave way to gravity and they fell away, leaving the protrusion of her small little breasts as the only restraint holding them up. This lasted but a second and the sundress made its way down over her chest, past her striped panties and gathered in a heap on the floor, surrounding her feet and ankles.
The sight was breathtaking. My beautiful Shelly, hers eyes not moving from mine, standing there in only her striped panties, waiting and watching for a hint of what’s coming next. I could not take it any longer; I had to cast my eyes upon the beautiful sight that I had just created. I leaned back a little so as to take it all in and moved my stare from her face to her tiny little, white breasts, to her tight tummy, to her panty covered mound. After staring at the latter for just a little longer than the rest, I continued my eyes down to her perfect, slender legs and stopped at the bunched up sundress gathered at her feet. I again looked up to her eyes. They hadn’t moved off of mine. I put out my hand once again to hers and aided her in stepping out of her dress.
“You are beautiful, Shelly. I don’t care if you are twelve, twenty or two hundred. You are simply beautiful.”
She turned a bright color of red and she finally looked away as she dipped her head. “O Grampa, you’re just saying that,” was her reply. But I was not, and she was the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.
She looked me in the eye once again and grinned. “Well, now what?” she asked.
“That’s up to you. It’s your move, now.”
She looked back and I could see the wheels turning. Then, a look of confidence came over her face and her hands went down to the waistband of her panties and they started south, taking the striped fabric with them. Slowly they traveled, painfully slow but any faster and I would have stopped her. Over her tummy to her hips, the band stretched and descended over of her little butt. She stopped the descent just north of her red hair zone, to gather courage, I suppose. Then looking into my eyes for strength, she slipped them over her little mound and off of her hips and let them cascade down her ankles. She stood up again and looked into my eyes, questioning. The sight of her red hair against the white of her skin was unbelievable. Just then, I felt a deep love for this girl that I had never felt before.
All I could do was to smile approvingly and reach for her hand to assist her in stepping out of her underwear. She stood there red faced for a moment, and then she asked, “Well? Did I do it right?”
“O yes, Sweetheart, you did it perfectly. Now I’ve got to make it perfect for you.”
I drew her into my embrace as my lips sought out hers. I kissed her passionately at first, but soon realized that this was not just any woman that I desperately wanted. This was my twelve-year-old granddaughter who was trusting me to do the right thing. I had to slow down.
I ended the kiss after awhile and moved my hands down and cupped her soft little mounds. The sentinels were already standing at attention, so I squeezed them gently and rotated them between my fingers. She just pushed them into my hands by arching her back. She was looking straight down at my fingers as they massaged her nipples and then all she could see was the top of my head. My mouth encompassed one, then the other, as I sucked and licked and bit on them with a growing need. I was hungry and they were there. With my mouth busy, my hands were free to explore down in the area of her bun. By way of her inner thighs, they made their way up to the red headed junction of her legs and, as they made contact with her bun lips, a cry escaped her mouth. Her knees buckled and came together, closing my fingers in her vice.
“O Grampa,” she cried. “That feels so good. Talk to me, Grampa,” she instructed.
I had done it again. You are such a fool! Why can’t you keep anything in you brain more than five seconds? “I’m sorry, honey, I will talk to you. I will tell you everything I want to do. I promise, Sweetheart. Come here, Honey, let’s lay you down on the bed, then you can relax and enjoy the sensations.”
I moved to allow her to lye flat on her back. She looked up at me as if to thank me but quickly closed her eyes and moistened her lips. I sat down beside her and placed the back of my fingers on her breast. She shuttered at the sensation and she let out a small moan.
“Does that feel nice, Sweetheart? Grampa is going to make you feel nice all over, from here,” I was rubbing her breast, “to down here,” I slowly cupped her bun. As I did she continued to moan and squirm.
“Now, I want you to spread your legs a little and I’m going to run my finger into your slit. That’s right, how does that feel?”
“O Grampa,” was all she could muster.
“All the way up here is the most sensitive place on a girl’s body. It is called your clitoris. Ready?”
As I came in contact with it, she jerked as if I had given her an electric shock. “O GRAMPA!” she screamed.
“Now I’m going to go down to your vagina, your hole,” I directed. I slid my finger into her hole just to the first knuckle, just to give her the sensation of entry. She pulled away as I entered her, but slowly relaxed and accepted the intrusion. Then, back up the slit slowly to the little nubbin. She jerked again and let out another cry, but this time it was a cry of excited anticipation.
“Now Shelly Sweetheart, Grampa is going to kiss your bun. I am going to lick you and place his tongue in your hole. It will feel wonderful and I promise I won’t hurt you in any way. Now I need you to separate your legs and draw up your knees. More, wider, now draw up your knees.”
As I gave her these instructions, I was relocating my body between her now spread legs and was raising her knees with my hands.
“Sweetheart, I’m going to kiss your bun now, so don’t be surprised,” I said, bending down to perform the task. Her reaction was to moan very loudly. “That wasn’t bad now was it? This time I’m going to lick your bun. This will feel entirely different.” She squirmed and cried out with pleasure. “Now I’m going to suck on your clitoris, just a little.” I barely got my lips around it before she jerked her hips and grabbed my hair with her fingers. She pulled my head away for a second, and then pushed my mouth back down onto her clit.
“O Grampa, that feeling is coming again. I’m going to pee in your mouth? Take it away! I don’t want to pee in your mouth!”
“Sweetheart, you’re not going to pee. Your juices are flowing out of your vagina and it feels like pee. Trust me, Shelly!” I commanded, as I plunged my tongue into her hole to lap up her flow, then clamped down on her tender little knob and gave it firm suction.
This was more than she could endure and, letting out a scream from the top of her lungs, dug her heels into the mattress and threw her hips into the air. She was pulling on my hair as she plunged my face further down on her quivering bun. Over and over again she rose up to feel the explosion of her climax erupting from deep within. Then she got tense, stiff as a bored. She stopped breathing for a full moment, and then she slowly let out a loud, full-throated cry of release. She almost crushed my head as she turned on her side, away from any further stimulation. She shook from her toes to her head. I watched her in disbelief as she recoiled from the release of emotions and I protected her against any further assault.
After what seemed like an eternity, she regained enough composure to open her eyes and breath, “That was…it was…my gosh Grampa, what did you do to me?”
I just smiled and gave her a big hug, knowing that our relationship was never going to be the same.