LESSONS MY GRANNY TAUGHT ME by Oediplex

by Oediplex 8==3~

The graveyard was quiet. In the space enclosed by a cedar hedge, I sat on the bench toking a fat doobie in remembrance of my Granny. She would have shared it with me, if she was there. I felt her spirit like a presence, a wisp of pungent smoke rose ghost like from the joint and seemed to signal she was with me. The buzz pervaded my whole self; the tingling in my groin was a memory of our secret life. No one knew of what we had shared. We were more than simply family, not just close; she was my buddy, I was her lover.

She installed the seating and insured seclusion so that I could visit her in peace and privacy and enjoy the time when I was here. She had left me her wealth to make sure that I could live the good life after she died. I took another hit, holding it in, letting my mind wander as I pondered her final resting place. There, carved in the rock which stood upright across her plot from where I sat, were the words Granny had written herself.

Below this headstone lies the stoned head of
Grace Elizabeth BonGrasse
b. Jan. 7, 1946 – d. Dec. 28, 2008

I Hope to be High in Heaven

The marble that marks my resting place,
The rock which notes the grave of Grace;
Does tell the tale of how I coped,
By toking up my share of dope.
My marijuana made me full of mirth,
For being high was paradise on earth.
If I have gone to my hoped reward,
I’ll be talkin’ and tokin’ with the Lord;
So now in death I make my point,
Heaven must be a hell of a joint!
by Gracie B

Yeah! Granny was a real fucker, literally. I know. She called her cunt, ‘The Deceiver Beaver’, because she did it on the sly with me. I would be up in her room and we’d close the door – lock it – and have a quickie. Other times, when my folks were gone for a few days, we would romp on their queen-size bed. Of course we never left any sign or evidence of our playtime. Gran was a firm believer in being covert and stealthy. And she taught me those skills, passed down from generations of my ancestors. There were no angels on her side of the family, though she claimed that my dad seemed to have suppressed the training she provided when she was trying to raise him to be a rascal; though he proved to be something of a rake later on.

I inhaled more weed and thought about the wild heritage Granny detailed in our sharing of pot and sex and secrets. For the past hundred years at least, a skein of scoundrel seems to have been inherited through my paternal genes. But I’m getting ahead of my story, being high does that to me. My history lessons started on a hot August night a few weeks before my Junior year in college. I was out on the deck of our suburban home, when out of nowhere a gruff voice growled, “Don’t bogart that joint, kid!” I almost shit myself. My folks were gone for a week’s vacation and Grandma was in bed asleep, or so I thought.

It was her though, she stepped through the sliding glass doors from behind the curtains and boldly snatched the doobie I was smoking from my hand. She took a long drag, held it like a ‘old’ pro and gave me a huge wicked grin. The moment was frozen as I freaked out at my sixty year young Gran, who stood in her robe and toked my grass. “Primo!” was all she said before sucking deep again on it and passing the dope back to me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took another hit myself. I never would have guessed! Looking back, it ought to not have been so shocking, just that the topic had never been breached in my hearing. Grandma Gracie was good at appearing innocent when quite the opposite.

“Have you got any more of this?” she asked?

“Uh . . . a another already rolled and some in a baggie, Gran.” I confessed, astounded at her conspiratorial tone.

“Get the other joint and come with me!”

I was unsure of what she had in mind, but I dutifully handed her the doobie and fetched the second.

“Take off your tee and get bare foot.” She ordered when I returned. What the hell? What was this crazy coot planning? I shed my shirt and kicked off my sandals. She passed the smoldering marijuana cigarette to me and took me by the hand as I took a hit. “We’re going to the Benjamin’s pool!” she whispered.

Our next door neighbors, the Benjamin’s were out of town for this month, up to their cabin in Vermont. They had a nice swimming pool they didn’t mind us using, but that was always in the day. It was certainly warm enough for a late night dip, but I never expected Grams to initiate such an adventure. “I’ll get my trunks in a jiffy,” I offered.

“No need! We are going to skinny-dip. And don’t tell me you never did! You and your girlfriend slipped in, back in July at three AM! I watched the whole thing through my window.”

‘Jeez!’ I thought – ‘she must have seen us screwing too!’ “ Do you have your suit on under your robe?” I asked. Not getting the concept yet of grandma and grandson in the all-together in the Benjamin’s pool in the dead of night.

“Skinny-dipping is in the raw youngster, so I’ve just got my birthday suit on underneath. Savvy?” She scampered across the lawns still hanging onto my hand, like lovers eloping, we scurried.

“Jeez! Grandma, what if we get caught?”

“What if we do? It ain’t like it’s never been done before in the history of the world. Just keep it quiet ’cause I don’t want you busted for possession.”

I hadn’t considered that aspect, being befuddled by the prospect of swimming in the nude with my own flesh and blood. We reached the fence and she opened it silently. Going directly to the water she dropped the robe and the white of her skin was even paler in the moonlight. Gran walked down the steps, dipped to get wet all over, turned and came to the side, looking up at me.

“Fire up that roach, and let’s get a good buzz on!” I did, took a toke, then leaned down to give it to the wet and wild lady. “Been quite a while since I got stoned, too long.”

“Gran, I didn’t know you ever had smoked grass.”

She drew a big toke and then said – without exhaling, “ There’s lots you don’t know, kiddo – ’bout time you learned. We got so many skeletons in the proverbial closet that . . .” she ran out of air, expelled the puff and took a breath before she continued. “That . . . damn, what was I saying? I do that when I get high.”

“Skeletons . . . “

“Yeah, lots, back to your great, great grandfather at least. What are you waiting for? Get in, the water is wonderful!” I took off my jeans but left my jockeys on and began to climb down a ladder into the pool. “Come on! All the way. I know what a guy’s got. Don’t be shy! Let it all hang out!” I shucked my shorts and dived in bare-assed.

We swam around for a while then Grandma climbed out and sat on a lawn chair by the side of the water watching me. Her body was not so flabby, a bit thick but firm and while her breasts sagged some, the nipples were pink and pointed. Her thatch was still a brown bush. (Yeah I looked, not like she was modest. She acted totally nonchalant about her nudity.) I realized she was still attractive, maybe even sexy in a mature way. How come I had never been aware of that before, I wondered.

”Come up and let’s light up the other joint. You got matches right?”

I hauled myself out of the pool on the side right in front of my Grams, dripping all over, my cock dangling for her to see, a couple feet from her face. Shit if she didn’t mind, why should I? “They’re both in my back pocket.” She fished and came up with them immediately, lit up, sucked smoke and passed the maryjane to me. “Thanks, Gran.” I took a lounger and pulled it beside her and stretched out. My length lewdly displayed, lolling in my lap.

“You can call me Gracie when we are intimate like this. We are going to be best of buddies from now on.” For a while we toked in silence. She pinched out the end to save the last inch or so, to have for later. “Feeling mellow, my fine fellow?” She quipped. “I am nice and high, you?”

“Flyin’”

“Then, I’m going to let all the cats out of the bag and the pussy loose too! Your dad never told you, and your mom would have a fit if he had, but our family money came originally from Canada in the Nineteen-Twenties, the ‘roaring-twenties’.”

“How so?”

In gallon cans marked maple syrup, but it wasn’t. It was booze, my grandpa was a bootlegger. By the truckloads.”

“Gangsters? Like Al Capone?”

“Nah . . . he just ran an import operation that included the basic ingredients for bathtub gin. The rest was legit, so when Prohibition ended, he had the rest of the business to fall back on, while he set up to bring in Canadian whiskey of top quality, lumber and raw materials for the auto industry. Made a fortune. Since then my father and husband carefully nurtured the investments and diversified, so that today, while we ain’t Rockafellers, we are damn well off.”

“Cool!”

“My Grandpa bought land and had a cabin up on a lake in up-state, rather isolated. I wish we still owned it, but it’s all developed now. Anyway, that’s where my grandparents and their best friends Jack and Florence would go to and swap partners.”

“GRANNY! . . . Gracie . . you mean that they were swingers? ”

“Just between the two couples, but faithfulness was never a strong suit in our family. For sure about your dad too, I know; but you never can tell with us BonGrasse what naughty tricks we’ll think up next.” (Grandmother had kept her maiden name when she married in the Sixties.) I was beginning to get a boner from the thoughts of family infidelity. She went on , “Oh, Yes! My mom caught your Granddaddy with the babysitter, whom they regularly employed to watch me and my brother. And your great uncle Chuck woke up one night when he was ten and mother was balling my dad’s best friend on the floor right next to Chuck’s bed! She was getting even you see.”

“Wow!” I was getting stiff for thinking about the erotic tales I was listening to. “What about you . . . Gracie?” immediately I was embarrassed to ask her about her personal secrets, but she laugh musically and answered.

“I went to Woodstock, honey! Free love and lots of grass and I screwed the three guys in the tent we were sharing. All on that weekend! I went to a love-in in Greenwich village, which was our generation’s term for an orgy. My pussy still looks good, don’t you think?” She leaned back and raised her legs, spreading her thighs. I got a beaver shot of a red maw framed by a hairy tangle of damp pubic hair. I was now at full mast, my cock a flag pole with nowhere to hide.

“Grass always makes me horny. How about you?” her gazed was fixed on my crotch. I thought I had to be misunderstanding what she was suggesting.

“Uh-huh.” I dumbly replied.

“Wanna? I got a really tight pussy. I haven’t had any since Grandpa died. I’m hotter than a pistol and loaded to go bang. How about triggering me?”

That was the most unique and unusual proposition I had ever heard. My Granny just suggested we have sex.

“Let me do all the work.” She said softly as she got up and pushed me flat on the chaise. She assume that I had no objections, since I was too stunned to do anything but comply with her manipulation. She straddled me and took my penis in her fingers, as she squatted down on my form. Guiding the staff to her juicy cunt she made progressive penetration getting the tip lubricated with love lotion from her pussy, then sinking slowly so that I entered the burning hole. And she was right, that was one tight cunt! I enjoyed the sensation, as weird as fucking my grandmother was. She rose and dropped and found her rhythm.

I reached up and grabbed the double titties that bounced in front of my eyes. She leaned toward me and we Frenched, her fingers caressing my head lovingly. Then her hands clasped mine tight to her breasts and she began this awesome roll of her hips to and fro, creating a friction on my cock that was driving me nuts and I knew I was going to shoot in her soon. She began to moan, it built volume and climbed in pitch and was echoing in the dark. She bit her knuckle to keep from crying out as the first wave of climaxing washed over her. Her haunch hunched making me pound deep, hard enough to feel the nubs of her womb. The pace was a staccato of rapid slaps as I shot a huge wad; spurting inside the gripping cunt of Gracie.

She collapsed on top of my body, our sweat slick and sticky, as my cock shrank and slipped out of that special space. We both panted as the clock stopped time for our moment of intimate joining, hugging and kissing and murmuring words like ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, soo-goood’, and of course, “I love you” – “I love you too”. Then Granny Gracie, with unexpected strength stood and pulling me to my feet, toppled us back into the cool water to rinse the sex off. But it did nothing to cleanse my thoughts, they were as dirty as ever and I fondled my new lover all over and she me.

Then I turned her around so that my fresh woodie was between her ass-cheeks. She took the hint, bending at the waist and I crouched so that I was aiming at that place of Grace I had recently frolicked in. Grams reached back and guided my phallus to her pleasure palace and away we went again! The surface was choppy with our action, the contrast of cool and heat, liquid and flesh, heightened our physical passion. My hands held her hips and she reached for the edge to steady our stance, as my stalk sheathed in her sex cavity again and again.

Grunts and groans merged in a chorus, an erotic soundtrack adding to the mix of sin and sinsemilla which had seduced us both. At last, in a mutual spasm of orgasms, our bodies could take no more and our lust was slaked. Gracie turned and we clung to one another like honeymooners who can’t get enough of closeness. Kissy face and giggles ensued.

I raised my eyebrows and whispered in her ear, “Well there’s another boner for the family skeleton closet collection!” Grams howled with laughter, then I did too. But having made a racket, we grabbed our things and naked as jay-birds and guilty as jailbirds we walked hand and hand back to the house. Once inside, without either of us actually verbalizing the notion, we went to my parents bed and fell asleep on the spread, cuddling together like children; blanketed by only the warm night’s atmosphere and the after glow of our stupendous stoned fucking. It was the most special love making I ever had, that first time with Granny Gracie, no matter how many times we got it on following, number one was the most fun!

I looked at her plot, the lawn green, the grass making me emotional and I wept a little. But then I heard her words to me like she was speaking right at my ear, in soft dulcet tones, “Don’t cry if I die, be happy instead, and when I’m dead – remember our joy, lover boy. Get stoned for me, recalling our balling will make you smile, be high and get happy for Granny’s in heaven, and my spirit lives on in our love my sweet Kevin Kyle.” She was not a great poetess, but it was the thought which counted and I did grin and take another toke.

The rest of that summer was too short, as we snuck off every time we could to ‘make whoopee’, as she named it sometimes. I took a long weekend off from school in October and drove the six hours home, was back at Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation was not enough – so she flew down in February as my valentine gift. I was home for Spring-break, the whole week we partied, even renting a motel room one night, so we didn’t have to worry about my parents catching us sleeping together. I was back and out of school for the summer by late May and our shenanigans began again. It was the best of times when the folks went on their trip for two weeks and we had the house to ourselves.

Meanwhile she had no problem if I hooked up with girls at school. She made sure I had lots of spending money, and I was her personal dealer for dope. It worked beautifully. As our time in each other’s company gave opportunity, more dirty details of my family history were related. Chuck at one point ran a brothel in Nevada. Great grandpa and grandma almost got caught in a raid on a speak-easy set up in a Midwestern farmhouse. She tore her favorite dress climbing out of a window. Their car was faster than the local cops’ and they got away clean, save for the ruined dress.

My dad had been to the infamous Plato’s Retreat sex club during the Seventies in New York City, with his secretary; mom never suspected. But she did almost catch on when the college-age daughter of old friends of theirs came to visit. “Your father and she took a room at a motel, rather than go sightseeing in the City as they said.” Gram chuckled. “Evidently that was a continuation of a brief interlude from before, when she was in high school. If a colleague of his hadn’t covered for him there would have been hell to pay, and maybe alimony.” Grams finished the narration.

I shared losing my virginity a month after graduation with a good friend of mom’s. How I had been in a three way with my best friend and his girl. I told her of my fantasies about mom and how I used to sneak around the house to peek in her windows and watch her masturbate when dad was on long business trips. We swapped stories of getting drunk and high and how both of us had nearly gotten arrested for silly pranks. Gracie was right, we became the best of buddies, a bonding that would never leave me, even though she only lived a couple years more, before cancer killed her.

Jeez! Time for another toke! I laughed at how we did it under my folk’s nose there in the house, with the door closed and having to keep quiet as we had our little quick sessions; mom and dad none-the-wiser. She would be sitting in her easy chair and I on the big footstool in front of her. Gracie would raise her nightgown, no panties, I dropped my pants to my feet, no underwear either. I would go down on her for a few moments and if I needed it, she would suck me.

Often we were both hot to trot and primed for action. I’d stretch over her and supporting my weight on the arms of the chair pumping at that pussy with my prick, like to beat the band. Sometimes I would slow down and make long strokes, but it was never ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am!’ She was ever warm for my form, and readily came, even multiples if we had opportunity to mess around at our leisure, which never seemed to be enough.

Gracie grabbed my buns and squeezed as I pumped into her from that position inclined over her seat. She tilted hips and her cunt captured my cock in her clutches, milking the cream from my loaded balls. I shot gobs of goo into that sweet meaty cauldron. She had plenty of tissue to wipe up the aftermath of our messy merriment. Mother would sometime try to find out what we took so much time ‘chatting’ about, but the answer was always “old times” or “gossip about people”. Too bad mom was so conservative and shy, I think if she let her hair down she could be as wanton as Gran was. I wondered if I could get her stoned, and if the circumstances were just right . . . ?

Well, thank God for Grandma; and now Gracie is with Him, high in heaven. Of course, we never were angels!