My Kinky Grandmother

My Kinky Grandmother Ch1

This story is about a young man’s incestuous relationship with his maternal grandmother, who turns out to have one or two kinks up her sleeve. It contains depictions of anal sex so if that’s not your thing, please pass by.

As always, comments are welcome.

Sylviafan

This story really starts with Uncle Jack’s funeral. Great Uncle Jack, to be precise, as he is, or rather was, the brother of my paternal grandfather. And that’s about as far as Great Uncle Jack gets to centre stage, but you could say his funeral really starts this story because that’s where I saw Grandma Debra for the first time after an absence of nearly three years.

I’m Matthew, by the way. Matt to my mates, but always Matthew to my family, especially my mum. In fact if she hears my friends calling me Matt, she corrects them and so they think she’s a snooty bitch, which she is, if I’m honest. I’m twenty-four years old, five ten and a bit, and a hundred and fifty pounds and I take after my mum rather than my dad, physically: dark-brown curly hair, a faintly Mediterranean complexion, brown eyes and regular features. Actually my mum’s a bit of a looker. I’m not saying that I am, it doesn’t always work like that, but I reckon most of my mates fancy her even though they think she’s up her own arse.

Dad thought pretty much the same, which is why he left about five years ago. Now he lives with a nice lady called Anne and he’s much happier with her than he was with mum. I still see him a lot and we get on really well. He was at the funeral, of course, because Jack was his uncle.

What I didn’t understand at the time was why Grandma Debra was there. After all, she was my mum’s mum and, as far as I knew, had only met Great Uncle Jack at weddings and christenings and suchlike. But there she was, near the back of All Saints Church, dressed appropriately in black.

I noticed her as I entered the church and she gave me a big smile and I felt a frisson of something surge through my gut as I remembered the last time I’d seen her. It was my graduation party, the family one that is; I also had one with my mates that involved a lot of wine and beer and shots and midnight skinny dipping in the river that runs through our town. But that’s another story. The family party was much more restrained, largely because it was organised by my mother who has almost no sense of fun. That must be why she hired a nearby village hall and invited every dim and distant relative so the average age was about fifty-five.

But there was a bar and there was plenty of booze because when the meagre supplies that my mum had ordered ran out, my dad and his brother went to the pub next door but one and got a whole load of drink and so the party got pretty lively and that was how I ended up dancing with Debra, my grandmother.

I remember it all quite vividly; I can even remember what we were wearing, although it’s almost three years ago. I was in a shirt and smart trousers; mum had vetoed jeans. Grandma Debra was wearing a dark-red dress of some shiny, satiny material and I remember thinking when she came across and asked me for a dance that she looked pretty good for sixty-four.

I guess now would be a good time to describe Debra: She’s about five foot two or three and probably weighs around a hundred pounds or less, so I’d describe her as petite. But she’s got a lovely figure for someone in their sixties. Narrow waist, shapely legs and a small, neat bust. Facially it’s easier to describe her because she bears quite a striking resemblance to the English Actress Lesley Manville, even down to the chestnut hair colour and those down-turned lines at the corners of her mouth. So if you Google Lesley, that’s what my grandma Debra looks like. They’re about the same age too.

Anyway, back to my graduation party.

I’d been alternately drinking and dancing with my female cousins and it was about nine-thirty when the DJ said he was slowing things down, so I left the dancefloor, went to the bar to get a drink and went and sat with my dad and Anne; I’m not much of a slow dancer and I assumed it was just a few slow numbers before the tempo increased again. I didn’t know that the hall was only booked until ten pm. Again, typical of my mother.

I chatted with dad for a couple of numbers and then the DJ played 10cc’s I’m Not in Love and next thing I knew Grandma Debra was coming across and asking me if I’d have a dance with her.

‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to the Graduate all evening,’ she explained to my father. ‘It seems the only way is to ask him for a dance! Would you mind, Matthew?’

I didn’t really want to but I couldn’t refuse. Grandma Debra’s husband, Geoff, had died about a year before and I knew she was a bit lonely so I stood up, told her I would be honoured and escorted her onto the dancefloor, where a dozen or so couples were dancing up close and revolving slowly to the music.

Debra surprised me by putting her hands on my shoulders and her head against my chest. I responded by slipping one arm around her narrow waist and the other round her back, feeling the silky material of her dress against the palms of my hands. Her bust was pressed lightly against my chest and occasionally I felt her thigh against mine as we twirled rather awkwardly across the floor.

‘So I’m “The Graduate” eh?’ I smiled at her. ‘Does that make you Mrs Robinson?’

Debra tilted her head to look up at me, her eyes dark. ‘If only I looked like Anne Bancroft.’

‘You look great!’

‘Yes, but she was so sexy! She smouldered! Don’t you think so, Matthew?’

The conversation was making me a bit uncomfortable so I asked Debra how she was and what she’d been up to, but they weren’t great conversational gambits and our talk stumbled to a halt and we just danced, close together. And as we danced, and as I felt the silkiness of her dress and the heat of her body and her slender shape beneath the material, my guts churned with an emotion I couldn’t quite place and I began to feel very aroused, and very ashamed of being aroused, and very afraid that my grandmother would realise I was aroused. My cock was straining at the zip of my trousers and Debra was very close to pressing against it with her pelvis.

I sweated it out through Marvin Gaye’s I Heard It Through the Grapevine, convinced that Debra was aware of my tumescence, but she just pressed her cheek lightly against my shirt and stroked my shoulders with her fingertips, which excited me even more and made me wonder what she was playing at.

Then, as the track ended, the lights came on and the party was over. Debra looked up at me with her dark eyes.

‘Thank you, Matthew. I enjoyed that very much,’ she said, quietly.

‘Sorry we never really got to chat,’ I replied, lamely.

‘It’s never easy in a place like this. We’ll have a really good catch-up soon.’

But that was the last I saw of my grandmother for nearly three years, because she went and lived in France in a little village in the Alps and although we spoke on the phone at Christmas and birthdays, she didn’t visit us at all in that time. And now here she was, back in Britain and sitting in a pew at the back of All Saints Church dressed in a black suit with a little hat and a gauzy veil thing.

I smiled back at Debra and nodded and went up the aisle to sit with dad and Anne. And after the service, and after the committal in the graveyard, my grandmother and I finally got to have our catch-up at the wake, which was held in a posh hotel in the centre of town.

Debra didn’t know many people and my dad, bless him, asked me to look after my grandmother so I found us a table and a bottle of house red and we sat and talked for a couple of hours and it was absolutely lovely.

As soon as we sat down, Debra removed the hat with the little veil and I saw that she had aged a bit since I last saw her at my graduation party. The lines on her face were a tiny bit deeper and the shadows under her eyes darker, but she had applied her cosmetics carefully, red lipstick and quite a lot of eye make-up and deep-red nail varnish. She looked like what she was: an attractive sixty-seven-year-old lady who took care of herself. And, despite myself, I felt a faint flush of desire.

‘When are you heading back to France?’ I asked her as I poured us a glass of the fruity red wine.

‘I’ve only just got here,’ she protested, smiling. ‘Actually, I’m not going back. I’ve got rid of the tenants and moved back into my old house and I’m selling my place outside Grenoble.’

‘Mum didn’t say anything.’

Debra gave me an enigmatic smile. ‘I don’t tell my daughter about everything I’m doing.’ She grinned at me. ‘You know what she’s like, Matthew. Always interfering, always right. Anyway, tell me all about this job of yours. Have you been at this place since you graduated?’

So I told her about my job and my hopes and aspirations and my friends and she told me about life in a French Alpine village and the characters she met and the times they had when the snows came and the village was cut off for weeks at a time and the time flew and before we really knew it the bottle was nearly empty and it was four o’clock and people were leaving.

We stood up and Debra came around the table to stand in front of me.

‘Matthew, I can’t tell you how lovely it’s been talking to you. It’s made me realise what I was missing living by myself in that little chalet in the mountains.’

‘Why did you go?’ I asked. I’d been meaning to ask all afternoon but somehow it hadn’t come up.

‘Well, I suppose I was still grieving for Geoff. And there were other things, too,’ she said, evasively. ‘Anyway, now I’m back you must come over to dinner one evening. I’ve learned a lot about cooking while I’ve been away.’

I said I could do the weekend after next and we settled on the Friday night and Debra said goodbye and then she hesitated before stepping up to me and going up on tip toe and kissing me on the lips. A brief touch of flesh against flesh, feeling her lipstick and smelling her scent. Then she was gone and I was looking around the function room in a bit of a daze.