I'm Sorry, Grandma

I'm Sorry, Grandma

That Friday afternoon on the construction site just wouldn't end. Even though I'd been doing this job for five years, I still had that feeling. I kept checking my watch, then looking toward the container to see if the boss would notice we were packing up the tools early. It wasn't the same eager hunger for freedom I'd had as a beginner, when the job felt like a prison. That feeling stays with most workers. Still, I refused to let it win. Ever since I'd decided after high school--to my parents' disappointment--to become a construction worker instead of going to university, I'd been trying to prove to myself and everyone else that I could handle the job like a real man. I think I succeeded. Five years in, the work didn't break me the way it used to. But still, that Friday afternoon dragged on forever.

I started cleaning the tools and glanced toward the container. The boss was standing in front of it. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and his gut would have stretched even the largest coverall. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle that echoed across the whole site.

"David, come to the office before you leave!" he shouted so everyone could hear.

Jim was a good boss. Strict and authoritative, but fair. He knew how to yell. No -- more like a roar, and when you combined that with his two hundred and sixty pounds, it sounded intimidating. But above all, he was a decent guy and didn't hold grudges. He solved every problem with a talk. Usually over a beer after work.

We already knew from the way he spoke and the look on his face what kind of mood he was in and what he wanted. In those few seconds while I watched him, I realized he wasn't completely calm, but he wasn't angry either. I just nodded, raised the index finger of my right hand still covered by the dirty glove, and kept packing up. Still, it bothered me. Why was he calling me in? If I'd done something wrong, he would have come over and shouted in my ear. On the other hand, if it weren't important, he definitely wouldn't have called me into the office. While my coworkers were already thinking about the usual Friday beers that often turned into a lot more beers, I was thinking about the one-on-one with Jim in that narrow, makeshift office.

When we finally finished, I peeled off the dirty, sweaty coverall and headed to the neighboring container -- Jim's office. Trying to keep a cool exterior, I knocked before walking in but didn't wait for an answer. Jim sat behind his desk in the cramped space. The room was so tight his belly touched the desk while he sat on the wooden chair. He had already changed into civilian clothes -- a blue polo shirt with the company logo in the largest size, which he barely fit into.

"Boss, you wanted to see me," I said, but my voice no longer sounded as confident and carefree. I was still wondering what Jim had to tell me. He didn't look angry, so I had no real reason to worry, yet I still felt uneasy.

"I've got one good piece of news and one bad," Jim said, looking me straight in the eye and continuing right away.

"The bad news is the company is sending you to a new site in Westville for two months..." He paused, swallowed, probably looking for my reaction, then went on, "... and the good news is you'd be the foreman there."

Silence. While my brain processed the information, I stopped smelling the concrete, the sweat, the stinking feet, and all the usual construction-site smells. I was weighing the pros and cons. Westville, two months, foreman... I was stacking it all in my head. Between the appeal of a position that rarely went to someone my age and the fact that I had to leave for another town, away from my girlfriend and friends, only one thought kept echoing: my grandma lived there.

Jim broke the silence when he saw me struggling with the news.

"I know this is a shock. I know you're not happy about leaving while your girl and your friends are here, but it's only two months, and you'd be home every weekend. Opportunities like this don't come around often. David, go home. You've got the whole weekend to think it over, then tell me Monday what you decided."

"Alright. Monday..." was all I managed before walking out.

My coworkers were standing outside, and I couldn't avoid their curious faces. They were waiting for me -- not just for the beers, but because they wanted to know why the boss had called me in. On the way to the bar, I told them everything. Even though most of them were older than me and maybe expected one of them to get the promotion, they still congratulated me. I knew that night the drinks would be on me.

As always, someone left after the first round, someone after the second, and a good part of us stayed late into the night. That evening I was one of those who stayed. Like every construction worker, I could handle my alcohol.

After the second round, I stopped thinking about Westville, about Jim, about the job. It was Friday -- time to cut loose without worrying about going overboard, because tomorrow was Saturday and I could sleep as long as I wanted.

I don't remember what time it was when I got back to my apartment. Of course, it wasn't really mine -- I was renting. It was a small place in an unattractive part of town, furnished with stuff from before I was even born. The radiators leaked, the windows didn't close properly, and the water in the bathroom drained one drop at a time. Still, that apartment was the first thing I'd ever gotten for myself. The moment I started working, I paid the first month's rent from my first paycheck and moved out of my parents' house. I wanted to be independent, to prove to everyone I could do it. And mostly, I wanted to justify to my family that I hadn't gone to college.

It was noon by the time the phone woke me. I was still half-asleep, trying to figure out what was happening. When I was climbing out of bed and searching for my phone in the pocket of my jeans, the ringing stopped. The Nokia screen showed only a missed call from Nicole.

Nicole was my girlfriend, three years younger than me, and we'd been together a little over a year. Unlike me, she was in college. She was pretty dedicated to her studies and still lived with her parents about half an hour's drive from the city. During the week we'd see each other sometimes in the evenings, at least twice a week, and on weekends we'd be together from Saturday afternoon until the end of my night out. Sometimes she'd sleep over from Saturday to Sunday.

I called her back.

"Hey, you awake?" she asked right away. "I'm in the city now, so I'll be there in about an hour."

I had enough time to get myself together before she arrived. When she knocked, I was already decent. We hugged and kissed immediately. I went after her mouth hungrily, my hands all over her.

"God, I missed you. We haven't seen each other in two days," I said excitedly.

She liked the attention, but she still pulled herself together, slipped out of my arms, and led me toward the living-room couch.

"What were you talking about yesterday when you called me from the bar? You mentioned Westville, a promotion... I didn't really understand because you were drunk and it was loud," she asked as soon as we sat down.

"Hm, I don't even remember calling you, ha ha," I said, laughing at my own stupidity. Then I continued more seriously. "Yeah, the company wants me to go to a new project in Westville. Only for two months, and I'd be home every weekend. I'd be promoted to foreman there."

"Wow, really? That's an amazing opportunity!" she said enthusiastically. Her body language said everything.

"But still, that's a whole work week we won't see each other," I added.

"True, but it's only a few weeks. I'm busy with school anyway, so during the week we only see each other maybe once or twice. Then we'd have the whole weekend together. I really think you shouldn't pass this up. And you'll finally visit your grandma," Nicole said reasonably.

"True, I haven't seen Grandma since last Christmas."

Her support meant a lot. She was right. The decision was almost made. As for my parents, I wasn't worried; I'd get their opinion tomorrow when I join them for the usual Sunday lunch.

I went after her again. We started kissing passionately, and piece by piece, our clothes ended up on the couch and the floor. Her long blonde hair contrasted with the couch's dark cover. Our bodies tangled as we tore off the last pieces of clothing. As always, in these moments Nicole transformed -- from a sweet, proper, seemingly innocent girl into someone passionate and unrestrained. When the last scrap of clothing hit the floor and we were naked, my head ended up on her firm breasts while her arms wrapped tightly around my back. I sucked on her hard nipples, and the sight of her smooth, shaved pussy literally pulled me in. I couldn't resist tasting her again.

As I moved my head down from her breasts, kissing every inch of her soft skin on the way to her crotch, I whispered, "God, that sweet little pussy of yours..."

I immediately went at the pink slit with my mouth, the tip of her clit slightly protruding at the top. I sucked it and ran my tongue from the very top all the way down to the hole. Her young pussy got wet and open under my tongue right away. I licked her clit, sucked it, licked her lips, then pushed my tongue deep into the slit again. She had that bittersweet taste that you want forever, once you've tried it.

"Oh, I love when you do that..." she murmured softly, rolling her hips to the rhythm that felt good to her.

While my tongue focused on her clit, the middle finger of my right hand slowly searched for her entrance. I found it. I slowly stretched her wet inside, opening her as much as needed. When I pushed deeper, I curled the finger upward so the tip brushed the front wall where her G-spot was. Nicole jerked and shivered every time I hit that spot.

In the middle of that heat, her hand frantically searched for my cock.

"Ah, give it to me. I want it. Bad. Now!" she said in that soft but turned-on voice.

I pulled my head away from her pussy, licked my lips, and took my finger out. She adjusted--one leg pulled up against the back of the couch, the other spread, her foot on the floor, so I had better access.

I held myself above her with one hand. I kissed her on the mouth, so she tasted herself on my lips and tongue. With the other hand, I guided my cock to her entrance. My cock was average size but with a more pronounced head. I remembered our early days when we were still learning and weren't fully in sync; back then I'd been too fast and rough in the heat of the moment, and it hadn't felt good for her. Over time I'd gotten more experienced, and we had become compatible, so now I knew I had to enter her carefully.

The big head touched her pussy. I rubbed it up and down with my hand, from her clit all the way to the hole. Then I started pushing slowly. A little at first, then stopped, repeating the motion until I was all the way inside. Her pussy stretched and adjusted as much as it needed to. I stayed still for a few moments, then she started moving, looking for friction. I followed her rhythm and increased it until I was fucking her at a steady pace. The leg that had her foot on the floor lifted higher. After a couple of minutes, with my cock deep inside her, I moved the supporting hand so I could lower my full weight onto her. I grabbed her legs and bent them as far as they would go toward her body. That's how I fucked her best -- how I felt her the most. My cock slid in and out of her pussy while she got louder and louder.

I could have kept going, and we both would have come soon, but I wanted a little more. I pulled out and started kissing her legs. No matter how much she was enjoying it, she still felt relief after that unnatural position. Then she got on her knees and pushed her ass up, burying her head in the cushion at the end of the couch. She knew a round of harder fucking was coming. And she wanted it just as much as I did.

After she stuck her ass out, I first slapped that round butt, which only made her sigh. I brought my cock close and slowly pushed it in. In this position, the friction was greater; I felt her even more, and she felt me. At first I couldn't be rough. A few gentle thrusts for adjustment, then fucking at a much harder pace, the way that worked for both of us.

When she started moaning in shorter intervals -- "Yesss... yesss... yesss..." -- I knew she was close. Even though I could have delayed my orgasm by changing positions, that was no longer an option. This was one of those situations where you can only go forward, full force. Like an athlete who sees the finish line and knows he has to give everything. We had reached the point of no return. Just hard fucking. Nicole moaned loudly. She came while my cock shot streams of cum deep inside her.

Most Saturdays looked like that. We'd spend the afternoon that way; sometimes the sex lasted longer, sometimes shorter, and often we'd go again later. In the evenings, we rarely stayed home because Saturday night was reserved for going out with friends. Sometimes we went out together with my crowd or hers, sometimes separately, but by the end of the night we'd find each other and head back to the apartment. Of course, for another round of sex.

At the beginning of our relationship, Nicole's parents wouldn't let her stay in the city and sleep over at anyone's place. For a while, she sold them the story that she was sleeping at her girlfriend's place, but after some time they finally gave in, realizing she had a boyfriend and was staying at his place. Still, she had to be home in the morning because Sunday lunch at her parents' was sacred, just like it was at mine. I could have skipped it, but I realized that one lunch a week was the price of not having to call my parents for a whole week.

This Sunday, Nicole left for home in the morning. Of course, she got her "portion" before leaving, even though we'd already done it a few hours earlier, right after we got back from going out. Yes, both of us took every chance to fuck as soon as we walked through the door. After she left, I rested a little longer, then headed to my parents'.

The moment I mentioned the possibility of a promotion and going to Westville, my mom immediately took it as a done deal and enthusiastically called Grandma. That made my situation unequivocal: even if there had been a tiny chance I'd turn the offer down, the trip was now a certainty. Then came the talk with my dad -- really just his advice, since he'd spent most of his life on construction sites as a civil engineer.

"You'll have to be careful. Not so much because of the work itself, but you need to understand you'll be in charge of people who are older than you and who probably know more about the job than you do..." That's how my dad started while my mom cleared the dishes in the background.

That evening I was finally alone and had time to sit down and sort out my thoughts. Now that I'd accepted the offer and it was definite, I started imagining how everything would look: from tomorrow's meeting with Jim and telling him my decision, through taking over as foreman on the site, all the way to seeing Grandma. Most of the night went by with thinking about the future. Still, I knew I still had time to prepare and analyze everything in detail.

"Bravo, David, smart decision. Now go home and get ready, because you're leaving tomorrow!" Jim said on Monday.

"Already tomorrow? I thought it was next month," I answered, surprised.

"Yeah, we all thought that, but this morning they called and said everything's ready to start. Come on, it's nothing -- you'll be home Friday night for the weekend," Jim said and started pulling out some papers.

I was a little taken aback. My head was spinning with thoughts about packing, clothes, taking stuff to my mom to iron, calling Nicole, letting friends know... until Jim interrupted them.

"The crew will be staying in the residential containers near the site, but you, as foreman, have a rented room in town."

I immediately remembered my dad's words and advice and reacted on the spot. "No, I don't want to be separated from the crew. Wherever the workers are staying, that's where I'll be too!"

Jim smiled.

"Bravo. That's how a real construction man and team player thinks."

I spent the rest of the day in a rush. I bought the things I'd need, packed my bag, went to my parents', and in the evening met up with Nicole. We walked around the city a little, then went back to the apartment. We fucked like we wouldn't see each other for months instead of just five days. At the end, while we both lay naked and panting, she joked, "There, that should keep you from getting any ideas in Westville. I heard there are pretty girls there, ha, ha!"

It was a joke, of course, but with a grain of truth.

The bus ride went faster than expected; it was only a few hours. I had a pretty good idea of the accommodations: the residential containers weren't as bad as they sounded at first. And the first workday went very well. I worried more than I needed to, and it wore me out. But the important thing was that everything went according to plan. Even though I would have preferred to go straight to rest after work, I still had to visit Grandma.

Grandma Elisabeth is seventy. Since she lives in another town, we weren't in daily contact. We'd see each other a few times a year, and mostly when I was still a kid, I'd spend a few days with her during school breaks. At the mention of "grandma," the stereotypical image of an older woman in the countryside emerged, dressed in an old-fashioned way, conservatively, whose main concerns were food, cooking, and farm work. But Grandma Elisabeth was completely different. She was a typical Central-European city lady. She always had modern views, dressed fashionably, and kept up with technology. She loved to travel, and since she'd become a widow relatively early, she had both the means and the time. I can say she was the complete opposite of my mom, her daughter. Mom had come to Oldfield as a student, fallen in love, gotten married, and started a quiet, traditional life, while Grandma, even at this age, was constantly on the move -- the seaside, or calling from Budapest, Belgrade, or Vienna... While my parents could barely scrape together seven days for a vacation by the sea, Grandma was always going somewhere.

Grandma's small apartment in the center of town was furnished creatively. It might not have been high-tech modern, but it was clear that no traditional-minded person lived there. You didn't even have to see it; it was enough to always hear the sound of the old record player softly playing Otis Redding or Etta James.

Walking to the apartment, I remembered how I used to walk these streets as a kid when I visited. Grandma met me at the door wearing a black tracksuit. Like her whole life, she had long hair whose shades only changed with time. Now it was mostly dyed, and she wore a headband around her head the way women in the gym do so their hair doesn't get in the way. She definitely didn't look like a stereotypical grandma. She looked more like a woman who goes jogging. Only when you looked closer at her face could you tell she wasn't young, but you wouldn't guess anywhere near seventy.

"You came..." she said, and we immediately hugged. The hug lasted a little longer than I expected. She smelled the same as always, the same perfume I'd known for as long as I could remember. From the apartment came the familiar smell of old wooden furniture mixed with polish spray.

She led me straight to the kitchen, and I sat down at the table.

"First you have to eat, then we'll talk. I know you eat dry food on the construction site, so you need something hot on a spoon."

While I ate the soup, she watched every move I made and talked. I answered between bites, slower and slower as the tiredness took over. Afterwards we moved to the living room.

"I remember how angry your parents were because you didn't want to go to college," she said with a mild smile, looking off to the side. "Your mother talked about it for weeks. She said you'd regret it. And you just shrugged and said you wanted to work with your hands." I laughed tiredly. "Well, you've proven you were right after all."

The longer the conversation continued, the harder it was to keep my eyes open. My shoulders felt heavy, and my concentration was disappearing.

"Grandma, I should go. I'm really getting tired."

"You can stretch out here on the couch," she offered.

"No... then I'd have to get up even earlier to make it to the site."

"Alright. But come by tomorrow. I need your help with the computer. I don't really understand it."

"Okay. I'll come after work tomorrow."

We hugged. I kissed her on the cheek and left for my accommodation. I slept like the dead until morning.

The next day, everything went well at work. I saw both the advantages and the disadvantages of being a foreman. Another visit to Grandma was a perfect reset from work and a chance to relax. She didn't burden me with heavy questions or exhausting conversation.

After lunch, we sat in the living room. The television was on and served as background noise. Then Grandma got up, went to the cupboard and pulled out a thick family photo album. The pictures were arranged chronologically: from rare photos of her childhood, through her youth, the lavish wedding, all the way to pictures of the descendants -- including some of me I didn't even know existed.

I stared at one photo from her youth. She was about seventeen to twenty then. The picture was black and white. She was standing on the beach in a two-piece swimsuit, with three young men around her. In that photo, she looked truly perfect. It reminded me of pictures of the famous women of that time I'd seen on TV or in magazines -- Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Greta Garbo. The swimsuit designs of that era weren't like today's that reveal more than they cover, but you could still clearly see the line of an almost perfect body. And no one could miss her large breasts.

Leafing through the album, I stopped on that picture and looked at it longer than the previous ones. In the end, I had to say something: "You were really beautiful... and that body... I'm sure all the guys wanted you to be their girlfriend."

She smiled proudly. There wasn't a trace of embarrassment on her face.

"Yes... I really had a figure back then. The boys used to turn their heads when I walked by."

I thought to myself: yeah, you can see them looking at her in the photo. I'm not surprised. We continued leafing through the album, then I said, "You know, nowadays these photos get digitized so they don't get damaged or lost. You keep them on the computer, and you can look at them whenever you want."

"Eh, me and computers... All I know is how to turn it on and look up the sites I'm interested in. Nothing more."

"That's not really a problem. You just buy a printer with a scanner, and you can print whatever you want, and scan every photo or document and save it on the computer."

"Hm, I don't know... maybe if you show me one day. And while we're on the subject of the computer -- it's been acting up somehow. It keeps shutting off, overheating, pages won't open... Can you take a look when you've rested?"

"Of course. If it's something simple, I can fix it, even though I'm no computer expert either." I stood up from the couch.

"There, while I clean up the dishes, you can take a look," she said and went into the kitchen. I headed to her room. The monitor stood on the desk, and under it was the larger black computer tower.

I pressed the power button and turned on the monitor. As soon as I saw the blue Windows XP screen blinking for a long time, I knew what the problem was. First, I opened the case and cleaned out the dust. While the system was booting, I started deleting unnecessary files because the memory was full. Then I installed an antivirus program, which began cleaning the viruses and malware that were slowing it down. When it finished, I restarted the computer, and it worked as it should. The only thing left was to clean up the search history. I looked -- and then came the shock.

The whole page was filled with entries:

Young & Old - Granny gets young cock

Mature Threesome - Grandma in a sandwich

Old Lady Young Man

Young horny cocks

Dildo is enough for her

Lady likes black dick

Wow... Grandma watches porn?

Clicking on the search-entries, I found these were on the same sites I visit. I really had no idea that Grandma...

I didn't need to open the links. I knew perfectly well what was in those videos. Still, I quietly laughed to myself and deleted the entire history. I wouldn't say I was shocked. But surprised -- yes. Maybe not so much because it was my grandma, but because I'd never really thought about women of seventy watching pornography. Not even women of fifty. And when I thought about it properly -- why not? It's completely normal. I just never considered it before.

Just as I was updating the latest version of Mozilla Firefox, Grandma walked into the room.

"Well? Does it work?" she asked.

"Yes, it's fine now," I answered. I didn't want to go into details. She wouldn't have understood most of it anyway.

We sat in the living room a little longer. It was time for me to go. I was glad I'd fulfilled my "duty" of spending time with Grandma, but I still had one more promise to keep.

"Grandma, I'm going now. I promised the guys I'd have a drink with them tonight," I said as I slowly got up from the couch.

"Of course. You shouldn't neglect your friends," she answered and walked me to the door. As always, there was a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"See you tomorrow."

I headed straight to the bar where my coworkers were. Going for a beer after work is pretty much tradition everywhere, especially in the world of construction. Just like back home, the crew here went to the bar after work -- only with even more intensity, because we were field workers and didn't have to head home after one or two drinks. Free time was used to the maximum. The beer made time fly, especially since these were new people and getting to know them over drinks was a lot more dynamic than with people you already know. Luckily, in these five years I'd gained enough experience at the bar to know that a few beers didn't cause me any problems the next morning.

After work, I went to Grandma's for lunch and confirmed with the guys that we'd meet for drinks in the evening.

This time lunch was heartier than usual, and I was hungrier than usual too. Grandma watched with satisfaction as I cleaned the plates and asked for more. After the soup, meat, vegetables, and dessert, I felt tired.

When we finished our coffee, she said: "Lie down, stretch out on the couch so the food can settle, and I'll do my exercise on the stationary bike."

That's what happened. I lay on the couch, changing channels on the TV while she pedaled. Now and then we exchanged a few words, then she asked, "Could you please bring me the paper with the exercise plan from the room? It's on the desk."

I went right away. I stood in front of the desk, but except for the monitor and keyboard, I didn't see any paper. I logically thought it might be in the drawer, so I opened it.

And then came the real shock--not the mild one from yesterday.

In the drawer lay two artificial cocks. One was smaller, its size, shape, and color almost like a real one. Next to it stood a black one, twice as big.

I stood there stunned. In a second, I connected yesterday's discovery with these toys. Yeah... it made sense. In those few moments, my brain automatically created the image of Grandma watching porn and satisfying herself. I didn't want to imagine it. It just happened.

"Did you find it?" Grandma's voice interrupted me.

I closed the drawer and spotted the paper on the floor.

"Yes, here it is," I answered and picked it up.

With an outstretched hand, but with completely jumbled thoughts, I returned to the living room. She was still on the bike. I stood next to her while she took the paper -- and that was when I looked at her in a different way.

She was wearing a T-shirt soaked with sweat from the exercise, clinging to her body. The movements made her large, sagging breasts bounce. In my head, the dildos from the drawer, the porn from the computer, and that black-and-white beach photo all connected. I immediately thought: yeah, she has big tits. It had never occurred to me that I'd even think about the tits and the dildo-satisfaction of some seventy-year-old woman. Let alone my own grandma.

But watching her pedal--long, light hair, headband, T-shirt stuck to her body, the lower part looking perfectly decent--I realized that, in male terms, she wasn't bad at all. Not bad... I believe a lot of men would...

Then I tried to pull myself together.

Come on, man, you can't think like that about your grandma.

I managed to compose myself, hand her the paper, and go back to the couch. I tried to sort out my thoughts, but it wasn't working. The moment I looked toward her while she exercised, it was impossible not to notice her tits bouncing. And that image was immediately followed by the porn she watched and those two toys in the drawer. The best thing was to clear my head with a beer with the guys. I left while she was still pedaling.

"See you tomorrow," she called after me.

Being with the guys was fine, but when I lay down in bed, the thoughts started coming back. First, her tits bouncing while she pedaled, then her watching porn and satisfying herself with the toys. I tried not to think about it, but once my cock got hard, it wouldn't go down. I had to jerk off. While I was doing it, I really tried not to think about her. I tried imagining Nicole, some exes, celebrity girls... but it didn't work. The thoughts always returned to Grandma's tits and her getting herself off. I came with that.

I told myself: fuck, what a piece of shit you are. You jerked off to your grandma.

The next day I was a little calmer. When I went to her place after work, I decided to act normal and push those dirty, abnormal thoughts out of my head. At first it even worked. We ate, drank coffee. Then when I lay down on the couch and she went to do her exercises, everything started going downhill.

And, as if on purpose--she started exercising in a tracksuit, but after a few minutes, when she'd warmed up, she took it off. I looked up at the exact moment she was pulling the tracksuit over her head. Her tits clearly showed through the T-shirt. My cock immediately got hard, so I had to lie on my stomach so she wouldn't notice.

I spent some time like that, half-asleep, replaying the moment in my imagination. Maybe I even dozed off for a moment. Then, she stopped pedaling and said with a sigh, "I have to go shower right away."

I looked at her. She was completely wet with sweat. As she walked toward the bathroom, I looked at her ass for the first time. And it really wasn't bad.

When she closed the door, I got up. I adjusted my cock in my pants, took a few steps around the apartment, then sat down again. I tried to distract myself -- changing channels on the TV, leafing through the newspaper, going to the kitchen for a drink.

She came out of the bathroom at the exact moment I was coming back from the kitchen into the living room. She was in a yellow bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. As she walked, the robe opened enough that inside you could make out two large breasts that, both from gravity and from age, hung almost down to her navel.

Of course, I stared. I didn't manage to look away fast enough.

She noticed. She smiled, but not completely relaxed--more a mix of surprise and something she still didn't want to name.

"Are you staring at my tits?" she said in a joking tone, but her voice wasn't completely light.

I stood there confused. I felt the blood rush to my face. And not only to my face.

"I... no... I mean... the robe just..."

She looked at me a moment longer, then lowered her gaze, as if checking what could be seen. The robe was still open enough that almost her entire breasts were visible. She didn't close it.

Instead, she just said, a little quieter, "Well... you can't unsee. You already saw..."

I still stood frozen.

She watched me for a few seconds, then said quietly, almost surprised, "Oh... you're really staring..."

She didn't close the robe. She stayed frozen, motionless, and let me look. Just a moment. Maybe two. Long enough for us to realize what was actually happening.

Then she looked down at her own breasts, then back at me. There was no shame on her face, more like a quiet, almost curious expectation.

I felt terribly uncomfortable. My face was burning, and the cock in my pants wasn't even thinking about calming down. I couldn't speak. One part of me tried to reason that this was outside all social norms, while the other part comforted me that it was a natural reaction.

She saw my state. Of course she did -- she was an experienced woman, and still active, judging by what she watched online and what she kept in the drawer.

She stayed still a moment longer, then asked quietly, almost carefully, "It's not like you actually like them, is it?"

Her voice wasn't mocking. More curious. And a little vulnerable.

I exhaled, swallowed, and only mumbled, barely audible, "Hm... well... they're big."

She lowered her gaze to her own breasts again and gently lifted them from underneath with her palms, as if evaluating them herself.

"Eh... they used to be beautiful. Firm. But they're still not bad."

The robe was still open. The large, heavy breasts hung low, almost to her navel. The skin on them was a little looser, the nipples darker and wider than on young women, but the shape was still full and heavy. When she lightly brushed her thumbs over the nipples, they immediately hardened.

I said nothing. I didn't move. I just stared, as if hypnotized.

She watched me a moment longer. She saw that I wasn't moving, that I was still just staring at her tits. Then she asked quietly, almost carefully, "So... do you maybe want to see them completely?"

Her voice was calm, but I could hear something new in it--a mix of challenge and slight uncertainty.

I just nodded.

She gently pulled the robe off one shoulder. Then the fabric slid off her other shoulder and quietly fell to the floor. She stood in front of me wearing only ordinary light-colored panties. The large, heavy breasts were now completely bare, hanging low, with darker, wide nipples that had already hardened a little.

She looked at me calmly, almost testing, and asked quietly, "Do you like Grandma's tits, huh?"

I just stared. I didn't move. My face was burning with shame, and the cock in my pants was hard as a rock. I could no longer hide it.

She lowered her gaze and saw the bulge. Then she raised her eyes back to my face and said quietly, almost surprised, "Oh my... you're turned on."

She didn't laugh. She wasn't joking. She just stood in front of me, naked to the waist, in her panties, looking at me.

Then she asked quietly, carefully, "Do you want to... touch them?"

Her voice was calm, but there was no more joking in it, only expectation.

I nodded again. Slowly, almost uncertainly, I reached my hands toward her.

She didn't move. She just stood and watched my palms approach.

My fingers first touched the underside of her breasts. Lightly, almost carefully. Then I took them fully in my hands. They were heavy. Warm. Soft. Her skin was a little looser than on young women, but full and heavy in my palms. The nipples immediately hardened under my thumbs.

She sighed quietly. She didn't pull away. She just closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and looked at me while I held her breasts. Her breathing sped up a little. She was clearly aroused -- and she felt it herself.

In that moment it became clear to her that things had gone too far.

She said quietly, almost in a whisper, "Maybe it's better if you... stop."

I didn't move my hands. I only answered quietly, almost pleadingly, "Just a little more..."

She looked at me. She saw the plea in my eyes. After a short pause, she nodded, barely noticeably.

Then I got a little braver. With my palms I lifted her heavy breasts, felt their weight, then slowly lowered them. With my thumbs I circled the nipples, then brushed over them -- first gently, then more firmly. Occasionally I squeezed them lightly, just enough to feel the flesh yield under the pressure.

She stood still, but her breathing was audible. Sometimes she sighed quietly through her nose, and her hips moved almost imperceptibly. She didn't stop me.

Slowly I bent down and took one nipple into my mouth. Soft. A little salty from the skin. I sucked it gently, then ran my tongue over it.

She sighed quietly, deeply. Her head tilted back a little. Then she stepped one step back and leaned against the wall. She didn't push me away. She just moved, as if looking for support, and let me continue.

I pressed her against the wall with my whole body. I wasn't thinking anymore. Just instinct. My hand went down, over the thin panties, and I squeezed her pussy with my whole hand. I felt the warmth and the soft shape under my palm.

She moaned quietly, brokenly, "Oh..."

She didn't push me away.

"Sorry, Grandma..." I whispered into her neck and pulled her panties down in one motion. They slid to mid-thigh.

Now she was completely open to me. My fingers touched Grandma's pussy for the first time. The outer lips were thinner, slightly wrinkled, and darker than I was used to with younger women. The inner ones slightly protruded. The skin was warm and soft.

When I parted the lips, I felt she was wet--not soaked like a young girl, but enough for my fingers to slide. The entrance was tighter, a little more constricted, but clearly used to penetration.

I ran my middle finger up and down the slit, from the clit to the hole, then slowly entered. She was warm and tight. She sighed harder and squeezed her thighs around my hand. One of her hands went down and tried to grab my cock through my pants. She felt the hard bulge and squeezed it through the fabric.

The moment my cock was in her hand, I stopped thinking. I just pushed my hips forward, guided by her hand, and tried to push the head toward her pussy while we were still standing against the wall. I felt the heat and the wetness on the very tip.

She moaned quietly, but immediately, almost in the same breath, whispered to me -- aroused and gentle at the same time, "No... not here... please... not like this... To the room... in the room..."

We both almost ran toward the bedroom. At the first step out of the living room, she left her panties on the floor.

As soon as we entered, I stripped everything off in a few quick moves--pants, underwear, T-shirt. I stood naked. A worker's body: firm chest and stomach, broad shoulders, hands still a little dirty from work, cock hard, outstretched, the head already wet from her pussy.

She didn't waste time. She lay on her back in the middle of the bed, scooted up a little, and spread her legs. She wasn't ashamed. She just looked at me as I climbed between her thighs.

Her pussy was open, with natural, slightly thinning hair that had some gray strands in it. The lips darker, a little wrinkled, the slit wet.

I braced myself on one hand, took my cock with the other, and pressed the head against her entrance. With one decisive, but not too fast, thrust, I pushed inside.

I went halfway in. She was tighter and hotter than I expected. She gasped loudly and squeezed me with her thighs.

I buried myself to the hilt. After the first few thrusts, her pussy adjusted--it became softer, wider, but still tight enough to grip me. You could see the experience. She knew how to take a cock, how to lift her hips slightly to meet every thrust.

I started increasing the pace. Her tits danced to the rhythm of the fucking -- heavy, hanging low, swinging left and right and up and down, the nipples staying hard. Every stronger thrust pulled a new, deeper moan from her throat.

"Ooo... yes... ooo... aaaa..."

I looked at her while I fucked her. The same astonished, almost disbelieving thought kept circling in my head:

Fuck... I'm actually fucking my grandma.

And she's so good. Better than a lot of the young girls I've been with. How did I never realize it before? How did I never see that Grandma is... this good to fuck?

I didn't say anything audibly. I just breathed harder, held her by the thighs, and sped up, deeper and harder, while her moans got louder and shorter.

She followed the already rough rhythm perfectly. She only said quietly, brokenly, "Oh, God... Oh, God..."

Her hips started jerking to meet every thrust. Her hands gripped my back, nails lightly digging into the skin. Her breathing broke.

I felt my balls tighten. I knew I wouldn't last much longer. The thought flashed through my head--where am I allowed, am I allowed inside--but my body no longer waited for an answer.

She came first.

Her pussy suddenly clenched around my cock, rhythmically, hard. A long, muffled cry came from her throat as the orgasm shook her. Her legs jerked, and her whole body stiffened under me.

That clenching and her voice pushed me over the edge. With the last deep thrusts, I buried myself to the hilt and came inside her. I felt my cock jerk and pump stream after stream deep into her while I still held her pressed into the mattress.

We stayed like that while the tremors slowly faded, breathing hard, joined.

Then I carefully pulled out.

She stayed lying on her back, tired, legs spread. Between the lips of her old pussy my cum slowly leaked -- thick, white, running down the slit and dripping onto the sheet. She didn't move to stop it. She just breathed heavily and stared at the ceiling.

I started getting dressed. My hands were shaking a little. I was ashamed. She was uncomfortable too; I could see that, but she kept things under control. She didn't dramatize.

While I was buttoning my trousers, she said quietly, almost calmly, "Hm... this happened. It shouldn't have. But it was really excellent. I really needed it. And I can see it did you good too."

I just nodded.

"Yeah... it was. Really good."

I didn't know what else to say. I continued dressing. The guys were waiting for me for drinks. I had to go.

She stayed lying there, acting as if nothing special had happened. As if we hadn't just fucked. As if it was just another ordinary day.

When I was ready to leave, she raised her head and calmly said, "See you tomorrow for lunch."

I nodded once again and walked out of the room.

Of course, I could hardly wait to come back tomorrow "for lunch."