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MF, Mf13, Ff13, inc, 1st, grandfather/granddaughter, fath/dau, moth/dau, cons, petting, oral, mild WS, slow

An erotic novel about a grandfather who's asked to take his granddaughter in for the summer - to get her away from bad influences that are making her unmanageable. He discovers rebellious Rachael isn't so rebellious after all. She's adventurous in unexpected and wonderful ways.



Chapter One

I took a puff of the cigar as I drove along the long dusty unpaved road, blowing smoke out the open window. I loved cigars, especially these; Cuban, Romeo y Julieta, very illegal.

The powerful v8 growled quietly. Ford had done a fine job with these new F-150 King Ranch pickups, I thought - well balanced, comfortable luxury, and enough power to handle any weather or terrain.

Ahead, the narrow, winding road sloped down through progressively smaller hills. Sparse stunted trees, scattered bushes, hardy yucca plants, and waving brown wild grasses couldn’t hide the ochre dirt-covered and rocky hills that undulated ahead. In the far hazy distance, the Santa Rita Foothills rose again across the valley to line the horizon. An intense early summer morning sun washed out colors and made me squint.

The temperature was rising as I approached the Sonoita Mountain View Highway nestled in the valley. It would eventually take me north to the Tucson International Airport.

I took another puff of the Cuban and let my mind drift back to the conversation with my daughter.

Cara was never a calm, logical girl. How could she be? It was in her genes to be passionate, opinionated, and forceful - even when she was in the wrong. It was my fault for marrying an Italian girl, but her mother had been such a dark, gorgeous beauty I’d been blinded to her shortcomings. Michaela had been everything I wasn’t. My style was more laid back, easygoing, non-confrontational; a trait I’d inherited from my father. Michaela, at first enamored with my laid back character, grew to interpret my calmness as disinterest and eventually used it as an excuse to divorce me and flee back to Italy, leaving me with a two-year-old daughter.

Luckily, the small food distribution business I’d started in Tucson had flourished, providing me with enough income to raise Cara in reasonable comfort.

My daughter’s telephone calls followed no pattern. She called me if she remembered me, called me if overly excited, or called me when she wanted a non-judgmental ear - although that was a rare occurrence. Our relationship was an electronic one. Cara, at eighteen plus one week, had moved to Los Angeles with her boyfriend, both convinced they’d be movie stars. Stardom wasn’t in their future. A surprise pregnancy led to a hasty marriage. The need to eat drove my daughter to work for a talent agency, and the prospect of responsibility for a newborn daughter drove my son-in-law all the way home to the East Coast. Divorce followed in short order. Stubbornness, pride, and a rift between us stopped my daughter from moving back, despite my offer.

Cara’s recent phone call had worried me. Puttering around in the rock garden, the cordless phone on the patio table had warbled.

“Hello?” I’d answered, wiping perspiration from my forehead.

“Dad! I’ve had it! I can’t take it anymore!” my agitated daughter exclaimed.

“Hi, Cara. Can't take what anymore?” I asked calmly.

“Your granddaughter, Rachael! I almost smacked that girl yesterday! I’ve had it, Dad. I don't know what to do, but I know one thing. We need space. We need to be away from each other or I’ll probably kill her!”

“Calm down . . .”

“I AM calm!” Cara yelled. “Yesterday I wasn’t.”

I chuckled. “If you're calm now, I’d hate to have seen you yesterday.”

“It's NOT funny, Dad! That girl . . . She . . . She . . .” Cara’s voice trailed off, replaced by heavy panting.

Somewhat cautiously, I prompted, “That girl . . . what?”

“She pierced her eyebrow!! Can you believe it? Without asking permission! It’s the last straw, Dad! Between that and constantly skipping school, sneaking out at night, and dressing like an I-don’t-know-what, I’ve reached my limit!”

It sounded like a teenage girl in full rebellion.

“Want me to come and stay?” I offered, an offer I’d made many times before and been turned down.

“No! What I want is an ocean between me and that girl so I don’t even think of her for a while!” Cara exclaimed. “And for her not to come back until she’s twenty-something and sane again!”

I grinned. “So how can I help?”

My daughter sighed. “Can you take her for the summer? Maybe being isolated in the middle of nowhere with you and away from bad influences is what she needs to come to her senses.”

“Sure. No problem,” I assured her. Having my granddaughter visit might be nice. She’d never visited me before.

Taking another puff of my cigar, I turned the Ford north on the Sonoita Mountain View Highway and thought about Rachael.

I’d seen her three times: at four months old when she was a cute, chubby baby with dark, intense, staring eyes. Her African American father had given her beautiful café au lait skin - the color of coffee ice cream, wild loosely curled hair, a generous mouth and an interesting nose. Cara’s side had influenced her Caucasian features. At six years old she sprouted, her hair raven black, shoulder length and hilariously uncontrollable. She was full of make believe and wonder at little things. I saw her again at ten years old. She was surprisingly taller, still as skinny as a drought-plagued bean pod, her face still childish, eyes very big, and her hair misbehaving and full of character. She was full of restless energy, unable to sit still, always busy, curious, and doing something. She developed a smile that was so radiant it brought light to darkness, her eyes sparkling and dancing with irrepressible personality.

Just under a month ago, for her thirteenth birthday, I’d sent her a book on amazing trivia from around the world hoping it would fascinate her curious mind, and I’d received a terse thank you email in response. What had happened to her in the last few years?

I knew from experience that raising a child as a single parent could test you. Cara had rebelled at thirteen, too, for no reason I could comprehend. I wasn’t a controlling parent, or demanding. At seventeen she’d met that idiot she married two years later, then divorced within six months. Cara’s rebellious period had lasted until she hit twenty and became a mother. Reality hit her. Stubborn as a mule, she’d refused my help, determined to make it on her own.

For that I felt pride, although I quietly wished she’d needed me; a fatherly desire, I think.

Motoring towards Tucson, I smoked my cigar and enjoyed the memories of Cara, pre-rebellion, that had kept me company for so long. Rachael sounded like she was passionate, opinionated, and forceful; just like her mother. No wonder there was conflict between them.

An hour later, I strolled into the airport and found a spot in the arrivals hall. The electronic arrivals board informed me American Airlines flight 3013 was scheduled to land on time, 12:05 PM, about three minutes from now. I leaned against a concrete pillar and waited.

I almost missed her. The girl that emerged from the arrivals gate looked like a malnourished vampire biker; black jeans, black jack boots with steel toes, black jean jacket, black T-shirt, what looked like dark lipstick, and a frown that matched her outfit. Only her mocha skin color ruined her Goth image.

She stomped along pulling a small roller suitcase behind her, her eyes not even looking around. Without moving, I watched her for a short while. She’d grown quite tall - five feet and a bit - yet had the slender, almost boyish physique I remembered from when she was ten. Her face, despite the frown, was still that of a young girl, hinting at the mature lady she’d soon become: beautiful exotic oval eyes, sculpted high cheeks and delicate jaw line, lips lush. Her eyes still dominated. I couldn’t tell if adolescence had changed her, her clothes hiding any hints of development. Most noticeably, her generous mouth missed that magnetic smile of hers. Her steps lacked the energy I remembered. Worry crept in. What had happened to change her so drastically?

I finally moved, weaving through the groupings of reunited families and smartly-dressed business people. As I approached, I relaxed somewhat. Rachael’s fingernails were spotlessly clean and cared for. It revealed a lot; self-destruction or low self-esteem wasn’t the problem.

She noticed my approach without changing expression.

“Hi, Rachael,” I greeted her, moving in to hug her. She remained aloof in my arms, not stiff but close to it. “How was your flight?”

“Fine.”

Hmm. Talkative.

“Want me to take your suitcase?”

“No.”

I shrugged, no longer worried. Teenage rebellion. Been there, done that. I was a master at ignoring it.

“This way.”

Leading her, we made our way to the pickup. I let her wrestle her suitcase into the rear. When she buckled her seatbelt, I said, “Welcome to Arizona. The state motto is Ditat Deus.” As I started the truck I informed her, “It means God enriches.”

With no response, I told her, “Our state bird is the Cactus Wren, a lovely speckled bird and the largest wren in North America. Interestingly, it was adopted by the state back in 1931, but only officially recognized in 1971, proving how fast governments operate.”

Rachael remained silent, staring out the side window with her arms crossed as we made our way onto the highway.

After a beat, I continued, “Unlike Texas, which has the Blue Lacy, Arizona has no state dog. I’m not sure why that is, but based on the time it took the legislature to recognize the Cactus Wren, I’m not holding my breath for them to act soon, although my vote is for the Belgian Malinois.

“I have no clue what a Blue Lacy looks like,” I added after a pause. “A blue dog must be quite a sight.”

A few miles later I informed her, “The state flower is the beautiful saguaro cactus blossom, usually found in the arid parts of the state . . . where cacti grow.”

More miles passed before I broke the silence.

“And here’s a fact you might find interesting. The Arizona trout is found only in Arizona. Actually, thinking about it, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If the Arizona trout was found anywhere else, why call it the Arizona trout?”

We left Tucson behind us. Silence.

“Unless it mates here. Like salmon, always returning home to spawn. Then we could still call it the Arizona trout no matter where it traveled.”

The silence was loud. I waited a couple of miles.

“On the this-is-weird front, the bolo tie is the official state neckwear. Obviously the government doesn’t have enough to do.”

Still no response.

“The Arizona tree frog is the state official amphibian. It’s ironic, don’t you think? Arid Arizona . . . official amphibian?”

I lowered the window completely, elbow comfortably on the door sill, and steered one-handed. I briefly considered lighting another cigar.

“The colors blue and gold are the official state colors . . . which is why the Arizona Cardinals are red and the cardinal isn’t a state bird. My bet is the Arizona ’Wrens’ wouldn’t have struck fear into the competition the way Cardinals scare people. I know I live in fear of seeing a cardinal. No. Wait. That’s the clergy type, not the avian type.”

I caught a slight curl of Rachael’s lip before it vanished. Perhaps there was hope for her yet. The long drive home passed slowly. Every so often I offered up an interesting tidbit about Arizona. Meanwhile, my eyes kept being drawn to the small silver ring piercing her left eyebrow. Why there? Did she look in the mirror and say, “Yeah, that looks attractive?”

It didn’t. Quite the opposite.

“Stop staring at me.”

I grinned. “She talks! Let’s celebrate!”

“What’s with you? How come you’re staring at me all the time?”

“I’ve never seen an alien before. Why didn’t you get a matching ring in the other eyebrow?”

Rachael shrugged her shoulders with attitude.

“If you like, we can stop and get your other eyebrow pierced on the way home. It would balance your face out. That’s important. Scientists have proven balanced and symmetrical faces are more attractive to the opposite sex. You are interested in the opposite sex, aren’t you? Not that I’d care if you had an attraction to the same sex. It’s quite the fashion statement these days. Can’t say I’ve any desire to be fashionable in that way, but who knows? Maybe I’ll meet an Italian Adonis wandering through the Santa Rita Foothills.”

I noticed her lips twitch.

“I imagine he’ll be wandering topless in chaps, with cut muscles, a six pack, and a great chin. I wonder what I’d say to him? Hey cutie, lost?”

Rachael snorted with laughter and turned her face away from me.

Job done, I shut up. Twenty minutes later we arrived home. I showed her the guest bedroom and left her to unpack.

By dinner time Rachael hadn’t emerged from the bedroom. I knocked and informed her it was time for dinner.

She answered, muffled by the door, “I’m not hungry.”

Undeterred - I could be stubborn, and as devious as Machiavelli - I went to the kitchen and hunted for aromatics.

Garlic and bacon fit the bill nicely. Armed, I started sautéing garlic, occasionally wafting the aroma towards the hall. Strengthening my assault on her reticence, I began frying bacon. With a dish towel, I wafted the aroma of bacon into the hall to blend with garlic, and sent both her way.

Satisfied with my olfactory attack, I dropped fettuccine into salted boiling water and tossed a crusty fresh loaf of bread into the preheated oven. Fifteen minutes later, I finished the bacon Alfredo with cream and butter and freshly grated parmesan cheese, tossed it with the pasta, waved the dish towel rather vigorously towards the hall, and served myself. With a plate on the table, I uncorked a bottle of Valpolicella Ripasso and poured a glass. Simple, classic, and delicious food.

The devious plan worked. Rachael edged into the kitchen as I took my first bite. I added a dramatic, “Mmmm,” and ignored her. When she sat at the table, I stood and made her a plate of food, placing it in front of her without a word.

She took a hesitant bite. I sipped wine. She reached for a chunk of crusty, warm bread.

“Can I have some wine?”

“The glasses are in the cupboard on the left.”

“Really? You’ll let me drink alcohol?”

I nodded and ate slowly. Rachael, after pouring herself a glass of wine, ate small bites, her eyes wandering around the kitchen, looking out through the window, and generally avoiding looking at me. Her dark hair was loose, shoulder length and full of curls. Every so often, her finger would push her hair behind an ear. It had too much character to stay in place.

After refilling both our wine glasses, I asked, “How do you feel about matching tattoos? I’ve been admiring neck barbed wire designs. What are your thoughts? It could be fun.”

A slight tug at the corner of her mouth made me continue.

“Can you imagine how pleased your mother will be? I bet she’ll want one, too. But, if you don’t like barbed wire, we could get a saying tattooed. Apparently they’re in fashion. Maybe something like, Live long and prosper, or Mom.”

Rachael snorted with laughter. “Stop! I could choke on the food!”

I smiled, sipped wine, then asked, “What would you like to do over the summer?”


Chapter Two

RACHAEL STRETCHED OUT ON the bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark room. The open window let in a lazy breeze that felt nice after the heat of the day.

Anger still burned inside her. As much as she liked Grandpa, she was pissed that Mom had banished her to the middle of nowhere, and for the whole summer! The whole effin’ summer!

She fingered the ring in her eyebrow, felt it tug her skin. She was beginning to regret getting it. It was ugly, but it had done its job by infuriating Mom. She deserved it! Mom was becoming stricter all the time, refusing to let her go to the parties that all her friends were allowed to go to just because of a bit of truth.

It felt like the older she got, the less Mom let her do. Who cares that she skipped school a few days? It isn’t like her grades are bad or she’s failing classes. Why didn’t Mom accept she was thirteen years old now and should have some freedom? Pam and Lacy got to do what they wanted. Their parents didn’t punish them for skipping school. And their parents didn’t banish them to the back of nowhere for the summer, either!

More infuriating than all was Mom taking her Smartphone away! Just because Jason had sent her the video of him and his friends at a party with her laughing in the background? That wasn’t her fault! It’s not like she’d been drinking!

Mom didn’t understand anything! All she did was yell and lecture and stop her from having fun. And she didn’t listen! It’s not fair!

Rachael’s mind turned to Grandpa. She had good memories of him. The few times he’d visited he’d been a lot of fun, playing with her, always with a smile. He hadn’t changed. Still really tall, slender and ropey, his pale blue eyes radiated kindness.

Despite his jeans, cowboy boots, and white cotton shirt, his silver hair, still thick and wavy, swept back and slightly too long, gave him a distinguished look. Rachael liked how his eyes would crinkle before his smile emerged. He looked full of amusing thoughts, then his smile would arrive, as if he was enjoying a private joke. She’d never seen him angry or upset. Maybe he was too old to be upset. He didn’t have a nagging mother to annoy him. Maybe that’s why.

He didn’t look like he was sixty-something. Maybe mid-forties. It was the way he carried himself that gave her that impression; long, lanky strides, like a . . . like a mountain cat. That’s it. No. There was more. Grandpa was quiet. Even in motion he looked quiet. He didn’t fidget or have restless movements. There was an air of pure calm around him, languid, unlike Mom who was more like a tornado.

Rachael rolled off the bed and undressed in the dark. Pale moonlight and a cloudless sky provided more than enough illumination. What was she going to do for the whole summer? How would she last without going crazy in the middle of this deathly silent wilderness?

Driving from the airport, Rachael had shuddered at the barren hills dotted with low bushes and stunted trees that greeted her when they turned off the highway. Then it got worse. The long, winding dirt road climbing through the hills felt like forever, civilization lost. As they’d wound around one hill, Grandpa’s house had come into view.

Her first impression was of an adobe prison. Tall walls formed a blank, featureless barricade with an arched entrance and a red terra cotta tiled roof just visible over the wall.

When Grandpa drove into the enclosed front courtyard, his house hadn’t looked much better: tan adobe walls; two smallish windows with intricate black cast iron security bars; and an arched, double wooden front door. To her, it looked bleak, reinforcing her opinion it was a prison she’d been banished to!

How wrong she was!

Pulling on thin cotton pajamas, Rachael looked around. The bedroom was neat, spacious, and nicely decorated with a large bed, side tables - one with a lamp, a colorful rug over hardwood floors, a dresser drawer, small clothes closet, and a separate armchair by the huge open window. All the furniture was simple, unembellished, classy. It reflected the house.

She’d been very surprised to find on the inside of this prison-like home, a beautiful U-shaped house, all the rooms facing a spacious center rock garden and patio. Most rooms had huge windows. The living area had floor to ceiling glass walls that slid on railings to open the house to the garden.

Terra cotta tiles covered the floors of the entry hall and the kitchen. Everywhere else had beautiful, polished wood floors. Like her room, the furniture was all modern-rustic, solid wood with colorful cushions and small pillows. She knew nothing about carpentry, but she could see the detail work in the interior was exquisite.

Moving to her bedroom door, she opened it silently and left, walking across the hall to the bathroom to wash and brush her teeth. She thought Grandpa suited the house; simple appearance on the outside, complex and intriguing on the hidden inside.

She didn’t know how she was going to survive all summer here, but at least Grandpa didn’t judge her. He didn’t seem to care how she dressed or behaved. In fact, he was really funny at times.

Rachael rinsed her mouth out, put her toothbrush away, and glanced at herself in the mirror. The eyebrow ring stood out like a sore thumb. She opened it and removed it. She didn’t like it that much, but it had done its job - driven Mom nuts.

Rachael studied her hair, took a brush to it hoping it would miraculously straighten as she brushed it vigorously. It didn’t. Why couldn’t she have had straight hair like normal people?!

Back in the bedroom, she crawled under the covers, the sheets soft and clean and smelling like they were just laundered. She settled and sighed. Unlike Los Angeles, it was too quiet. She’d never fall asleep.

Morning sun woke her, the cream plaster walls bright. Yawning, she stretched. She’d slept well! What time was it? Automatically, she reached out for her Smartphone that wasn’t there, and frowned in annoyance.

Dressed, she wandered through the house looking for Grandpa. Loud voices drew her to the front door. She cracked it open to find him standing with his hands shoved into jean pockets, a slouched stance, and looking at the ground as a tall, middle-aged blonde woman wearing jeans and a plaid shirt laced into him.

The woman turned back to her Ford Explorer, reached in, pulled a box out and threw it at him. It landed a couple of feet short of hitting him.

“And that’s the stuff you left at my house! I hope you rot in Hell, Jake Longstreet! You’re the most insensitive, inconsiderate man I’ve ever met!”

The angry lady jumped into her SUV, started it, and roared off, dust spewing from the rear wheels as they spun for grip. She raced out through the arched courtyard entrance, the rear bumper barely missing the stone arch.

When Grandpa bent to pick up the packing box, she noticed his slight smile of amusement. How could he smile after being yelled at like that? Why hadn’t he yelled back?

“Hey. You’re awake,” he said, carrying the box.

Rachael opened the front door fully to let him pass. “Who was that?”

Grandpa grinned. “A woman scorned. Hell hath no fury and all that.”

Rachael smiled with amusement. “Shakespeare, right?”

“Nope. William Congreve. Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned. From his work, The Mourning Bride.”

“Never heard of it or him,” Rachael informed him.

Grandpa grinned, his eyes twinkling. “And yet you know the words, more or less. Shows you the power of well written literature.”

Rachael shrugged. “What’s in the box?”

Grandpa looked inside as he walked towards the kitchen. “Shirts, and a sock.”

Rachael followed him into the big kitchen. He dumped the box on the table and moved to the counter to pour a mug of coffee. She looked into the box. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked, fishing through the clothes.

“Was might be more accurate.”

“What happened?”

“She had marriage in mind.”

Rachael pulled out three shirts. A single black sock looked lost at the bottom of the box. “And you didn’t want to get married?”

“I don’t know her well enough.” Grandpa sat at the table and sipped coffee.

“You know her well enough for her to want to marry you. How long was she your girlfriend?”

“Two weeks.”

Rachael looked at him in surprise. “Only two weeks?”

The corner of Grandpa’s mouth ticked up in amusement. “I know what you’re thinking. Two weeks and she wants to marry me. Either I’m exceptionally good or she’s exceptionally weird.”

Rachael smiled. “Actually, I was wondering how you could have forgotten one sock at her place. I mean, didn’t you feel a missing sock? And how do you forget a shirt? Do you usually go around town shirtless?”

Grandpa laughed. “Girlfriends’ rooms are like laundry machines. They magically eat items of clothing. No matter how hard you look, you never find the lost item. Then they turn up when you don’t need them.”

“Are you taking about clothes or girlfriends?” Rachael asked with a laugh. Shoving the shirts back into the box, she continued, “Was she serious about marriage?”

“Seems so. I would have been her sixth husband.”

“A serial wife, huh? I’ve heard about them. Did her other husbands die mysteriously? What’s for breakfast?”

“Cereal. Top cupboard on the right.”

SOMEWHAT AMUSED, I STUDIED Rachael as she made herself breakfast. The clean, unpolluted air of Arizona must have worked on her overnight - cleansed the smog of L.A. from her brain. Or perhaps it was being separated from her mother.

Whatever it was, Rachael had changed from the girl I picked up at the airport. She still wore a black T-shirt, but today her jeans were blue. She must have forgotten to put her eyebrow ring in, too. It was missing. She’d also forgotten she was angry with the world. Rachael had smiled several times so far this morning, each that wonderful, bright, beautiful smile I remembered.

She placed a bowl of corn flakes and a glass of orange juice on the table, sat, and started eating. Between spoonfuls, she asked, “What are we doing today?”

For fun, I said, “I thought we settled that yesterday. Matching tattoos.”

Rachael’s eyes opened wide. “You were serious?”

“Absolutely. Why not?”

“Mom would kill me if I did! She’d kill you, too!”

“Good point. So let’s read books instead,” I offered, keeping a straight face.

“That’s not as adventurous as getting a tattoo,” Rachael pointed out, taking another mouthful of cereal.

“So, it’s adventure you want?”

She nodded, thought for a bit, her expressive eyes brightened and with a big smile, announced, “Let’s get the tattoo. I’ll do it where Mom won’t see.”

“And where would that be?” I asked, wondering where her mother wouldn’t notice it.

“On my butt!” She grinned at me. “And you can get one there, too!”

I laughed. “An ass tattoo isn’t manly. Besides, I was joking about a tattoo.”

“Aw! C’mon, Gramps. Live a little. Be a rebel.”

I wondered how angry Cara would be with me if I let her daughter get a tattoo. Probably spitting mad. I had a vision of her standing in my face, all five feet seven of her, shaking her finger at me and castigating me like a child, “How could you, Dad?! I leave my daughter in your care and look what you do to my baby!!” It made me grin.

“Great!” Rachael exclaimed, mistaking my grin for agreement.

“Not so fast, Rach.”

“What now?”

“There are conditions.”

“Like what?”

“I have final approval on the tattoo. You can’t get anything rude or offensive.”

“Okay. And I get final approval on yours,” she said.

“Nope. I get final approval on mine.”

“That’s not fair!” she pointed out.

“Do you want a tattoo or not?”

“Fine. Is there a tattoo parlor in town?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Before she could protest, I added, “We’ll consult an expert. You can’t go to any old tattoo place.”

“Which expert?”

An hour later I led Rachael into Fred’s Barber Shop. Four dark red vinyl barber seats lined one wall of the small shop, mirrors facing each. Blue Barbasol glass containers had black combs and scissors soaking in them. An old leather strop hung at one station.

The shop was empty. It was early.

“Who’re we meeting?” Rachael asked as she followed me in, a small bell fastened to the door tinkling.

Fred emerged from the back room. Fred was in his mid-fifties. He was big, as in BIG. Six-four, bushy beard, and a build like a biker, his most amazing feature was the colorful tattoos covering his arms. Not one piece of natural skin was left untouched.

“Holy shit!” Rachael exclaimed under her breath.

“Hey! Jake!” Fred said with a welcoming smile. He saw Rachael. “Who’s this?”

“Fred, meet Rachael, my granddaughter.”

“You’re the Rachael he talks about?” Fred asked, moving towards us, his hand outstretched. His huge hand completely enveloped Rachael’s. “I thought you were a kid from what I’d heard. You’re not. You’re a young lady!”

“Thanks,” Rachael responded. I noticed color dust her cheeks.

Fred had that impact on everyone. At first glance you thought, tough biker, mean, crude. Nothing could be further from the truth. Fred was university educated, loved reading poetry, was happy being a barber, and was gay. He was one of those rare people completely comfortable in his skin, impervious to nasty remarks - just a genuinely good guy. A big teddy bear. He could put anyone at ease.

“I cut your hair two weeks ago,” he reminded me. “So, to what do I owe the honor?”

“Advice on tattoos,” I told him. “Rachael wants one.”

“Does she?” he said, smiling at my granddaughter.

“Grandpa’s getting one, too,” Rachael said.

Fred laughed. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “I want advice. Who do you recommend?”

“Hmm. Well, you get what you pay for. I’d recommend A Touch of Ink over in Old Vail Village. Ask for Gary. He owns the place. He’s a real artiste so you can trust him. Runs a clean shop. But you’ll pay for it. He’s expensive.”

“Thanks.”

“What design are you going to get?” Fred asked Rachael.

“A dragon spitting fire,” she told him.

“No, she’s not,” I informed Fred.

“Then I’ll get an American Eagle with a snake in its claw.”

“I don’t think so,” I replied.

With a grin, she countered, “How about an Arizona Wren? It’s the state bird.”

Fred laughed. “Just make sure it isn’t a boyfriend’s name or you’ll live to regret it. And watch out where you put it. Place it in the wrong spot and it’ll sag when you get older and look weird.”

“Got it covered,” I informed him. I shook his hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Really nice meeting you, Rachael. Your grandfather got it all wrong. You’re much prettier than he boasted.”

Rachael blushed again. “Thanks.”

It didn’t take long to find A Touch of Ink. Vail was a small place. Nestled amongst other small stores in a strip mall, it was unassuming.

We were the only customers. The store was clinically clean, the walls festooned with tattoo artwork. I asked the slender young man for Gary and he smiled slightly.

“That would be me.”

I shook his hand. “Fred Dyson recommended you. Said you were the only one he’d trust.”

Gary nodded. “He’s been a good customer. So, what tattoo do you want?”

I nodded towards Rachael. “It’s for both of us. Do you have a catalogue?”

“Yup. Three of them over there,” he said, pointing to a small table with two seats for clients to wait. “But I can do anything at all, if you have a picture.”

He looked at Rachael. “Are you sure you want one? I can give you a temporary tattoo.”

Rachael shook her head. “I want a real one.”

“Real tattoos are not painless.”

“How do you apply them?” she asked.

I left them to chat and sat, opening one binder to look at designs. It was impossible. There were hundreds of designs - a bewildering array - and none looked appropriate for a thirteen-year-old girl.

Glancing up, I found Rachael pointing to her upper arm. “. . . and the dragon should be coiling around my arm here, with fire spitting out.” Her finger was drawing on her bare arm.

Standing quickly, I walked over. “No dragons.”

“But . . .”

“That’s right! Butt! Not arm,” I said, interrupting her.

Rachael burst out laughing. Gary smiled with amusement.

“A fairy,” I announced. “Small.”

Rachael’s eye grew big. “A fairy? Are you kidding me? I don’t want a fairy!”

“How about a puppy or kitten or lion cub or a teddy bear or . . .”

“I don’t want a puppy or a kitten or a . . .” She paused. “Maybe a teddy bear would be fun.”

To Gary, I said, “Teddy bear it is. How long does this take?”

“That depends on how big you want it.”

“Small. Really small. Almost invisibly small.”

He shrugged. “Twenty or thirty minutes. Where do you want it?” he asked Rachael.

She pointed to her butt cheek.

“Okay. We do those tattoos in private back here,” he advised us, leading us past the vinyl padded tables to behind a curtain.

It wasn’t until Rachael sat on the table that it struck me. “You’re not getting undressed!”

Gary chuckled. “Relax. She only needs to pull her jeans down enough to expose the top of her buttock.”

I gave Rachael a stern look. She smiled with amusement. As she unbuttoned her jeans, I stepped out.

From the front of the store I listened to Gary telling her he’d applied a topical ointment to numb the skin. Buzzing started followed by an “Ouch! That hurts!”

Rachael was moving tenderly when she emerged, frowning. “You could have told me it would hurt!” she accused me.

“I did. So did Fred. So did Gary.”

A gleam of satisfaction emerged in her dark, oval eyes. “Your turn.”

It was just past noon when we got home. Rachael complained with every jostle over the dirt road, shifting her butt to ease discomfort. Gary had informed us it would take a few days for the tattoos to heal, the red inflammation would subside, and make sure to apply topical antibiotic cream twice a day. He also assured us the tattoos would look great eventually, not the reddened, swollen, distorted shapes they currently looked like.

I figured I’d been smart. Tattoos were never on my bucket list. Gary had shaved a spot on my chest and tattooed in small black script Cara & Rachael, less than an inch long, tiny, and chest hair would grow back covering it. I figured if I was going to desecrate my body, I might as well do it with the two people in my life I most loved.

For the next few days we hung out at home. Rachael was delighted to discover my desktop computer and DSL Internet connection. Between emailing and chatting with her friends on the computer and watching satellite TV, she seemed okay; only slightly bored.

Once her tattoo healed, she became antsy and very bored. The weather wasn’t helping, either. It was blistering hot as July approached. A thunderstorm would have been nice, if just for a change. Rachael couldn’t sit still. She didn’t complain, but I could see her restlessness growing in intensity. She needed to burn energy.

Friday morning, I made a trip into town and returned an hour later.

Rachael was on the computer in the study, typing at the keyboard. She paused, laughed quietly, and resumed rapid-fire typing.

“When you’re finished, I have an adventure for you,” I mentioned from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “What adventure?”

“All will be revealed in good time.”

“Now’s a good time.”

“When you’re finished.”

Rachael had always been a restless and inquisitive girl. She showed she still was by typing something fast, closing the computer chat program, and standing. “I’m finished.”

“You’ll need to change out of those shorts. Put jeans on, and while you’re at it, put those steel tipped boots on.”

“Why?” she asked, following me as I headed to the kitchen.

“Just change.”

I set about making a picnic; crusty bread, cheeses and cold cuts, a nice bottle of iced Mondavi Fumé Blanc, some sodas, and a selection of fruit. I had it packed in a backpack by the time Rachael clunked down the hall.

Black jeans, black boots, black T-shirt; I recognized the outfit.

“Let’s go,” I suggested, hitching the backpack over a shoulder.

“Where?” she asked, following me outside.

I led her to the garage, pulled the doors open and pointed to two four-wheel ATVs; one mine, one a rental.

“We’re going for a ride.”

Rachael smiled. I handed her a black full-face helmet and asked, “Have you ever ridden one of these?”

“Absolutely! It’s like riding a motorbike.”

She donned the helmet, sat astride the Yamaha, and it was immediately apparent that she’d never ridden an ATV, let alone a motorbike.

“Let me show you. These Japanese versions can be tricky.”

“Is this footy thing the brake?”

I grinned. She was damned cute.

It took twenty minutes of patient lessons for Rachael to become comfortable operating the Yamaha. I reminded her to take it slowly, not to race, and be cautious of loose soil.

A fat lot of good it did.

Before we were fifty feet away from home, Rachael went racing by me, laughing loud enough for me to hear. I raced after her, stopped her, and had a stern word, threatening her with canceling our excursion.

She behaved . . . almost. Every so often I heard her rev the engine. She’d dart up next to me, then slow down. With her face plate up, dark, expressive eyes glittered with pleasure.

Riding through the hills was relaxing, despite the noise. We wended our way up and down increasingly bigger hills, making our way into the fringe of the Coronado National Forest. Sometimes we’d follow dirt paths, sometimes crossing rough terrain. Heat built; sun radiating down from a cloudless azure sky, engine radiating heat from below.

Close to thirty miles later, I slowed and led Rachael down a long slope. Nestled in the confluence of three hills was a small lake, fed by a spring four miles away. Firs and old oaks grew more densely around the lake. We snaked our way through them and finally stopped at the shore.

Silence was startling when the ATVs were switched off.

Rachael pulled off her helmet. Her face dripped with perspiration. She took in the scene and smiled broadly.

“This is fantastic! Can you believe how beautiful it is? And so quiet!” she said overly loudly.

Dismounting, she stretched her back and placed the helmet on the seat, ran her fingers through her damp but still curly hair, ruffling it. It sprang into life, wild, untamable.

We found a piece of ground at the lake's edge that was covered in soft, sandy dirt, larger rocks popping out here and there. Rachael crouched at the water’s edge and swished the water with her hand.

“It’s warm! Look at how clear it is.”

I unpacked a small blanket and spread it out before laying out our picnic lunch. A smile never left my face. There’s great satisfaction in seeing pleasure in someone else, especially if you care for them. Rachael’s pleasure was wonderful to experience.

We ate slowly. I told Rachael about the area between bites. When she asked to try some white wine, I didn’t think twice, letting her have a half a paper cup full. Heat assaulted us even in the shade of trees. The hills surrounding us trapped it in, breeze nonexistent. Perspiration dripped down my temple.

Rachael kept wiping her brow. She announced she didn’t like the wine and switched to soda, drinking it deeply to cool off. With the heat too much, she finally said, “Let’s swim. It’s gotta be cooler than this.”

“We didn’t bring swimming suits,” I pointed out.

“So we’ll swim in our underwear. It’s no different than swimming suits,” she logically argued.

I shrugged. “Okay.”

As I wrestled my boot off, Rachael unlaced and kicked off her boots, pulled her socks off, and standing, tugged her jeans down. She lifted her T-shirt up and off and ran lightly to the lake.

While I unbuttoned my shirt, I watched her. From behind, I could see her white bra strap and plain white undies, both very white on her café au lait skin. She was very, very slender. Her legs seemed to go on forever, responsible for most of her height.

She waded in waist deep, sighed and announced, “This is heaven.” Then she crouched, covering herself to her shoulders in cool water.

Her enjoyment was obvious. Leaning back, she soaked her hair. I kicked off my second boot, tugged off socks, and lowered my jeans. For once, I was thankful I wore snug boxer style briefs.

Rachael was right. The water was beautifully cool, heaven after the dry heat. I floated for a while. Rachael swam. Then she asked, “Can we drink while sitting in the lake?”

I nodded. About to turn and get the drinks, Rachael beat me to it, rising from the water. I sat chest high in the shallows. She ran to the blanket and, with my wine and her soda in hand, she ran back towards me, smiling, dark eyes sparkling; clearly enjoying herself. Entering the water, she sat next to me, water up to her shoulders, and passed me a cup.

“This is fun,” she enthused.

“This was a mistake,” I muttered. It was. A big mistake. And I had no excuse whatsoever.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I responded.

Awareness is influenced by situations. What you see in one situation can have a dramatically different impact on you in others. I’d been caught off guard.

This granddaughter of mine wasn’t the one I knew. She was entirely different.

The otherwise conservative underwear, plain white cotton, changed dramatically when wet. Unlike swimming suits, they’d become translucent, and dear God!

While still on the skinny side, her cotton bra, plastered to her, revealed very small breasts, new, still-forming gentle swells. Through the wet cotton I had seen dark areolae that shocked me as much as seeing her breasts; such an intimate part of a female.

Her simple white cotton panties had plastered to her shapely, cute butt, conforming to her small butt crack which was plain to see. And when she ran back to the lake, the sight was even more astonishing. Her cotton panties had hugged her pussy so tightly a camel toe had formed. Her young pussy was sharply outlined revealing the surprisingly lush pad of her mons and remarkable fullness of her vulva below. And, taking my breath away, the slightest shadow of darkness, the hint of newly developing pubic hair, the first sign of maturity! It stunned me with its sexiness.

This girl, the one I had assumed was shapeless and not yet maturing, was blossoming! Adolescence had budded and the result was simply wondrous.

Until now, here at the lake, I hadn’t thought about how emerging puberty would look on any girl. I hadn’t realized how beautiful a young girl would look as she crossed from child to adult. It was a riveting dichotomy, a magical stage - her body still lanky, mostly curve-less, her face still holding on to childhood. Yet she was graced with intensely sexy, petite breasts so firm they hardly moved as she ran. Rachael’s pubis, on her slender physique, appeared full, almost plump, and so utterly female.

My reaction was uncontrollable. An erection stirred as I digested how attractive Rachael was. It didn’t matter that she was my granddaughter. My body didn’t care. I’d discovered something about myself. Rachael’s adolescence turned me on, excited me, aroused me. I couldn’t help it. She was a sensual creature unlike any I’d never known.

Now aware of her, I was forever changed. It wasn’t reversible. I couldn’t undo it, un-see her, un-appreciate her.

Perhaps most disturbing of all was the intensity of my attraction. Shame was rudely shoved aside by arousal and desire. In the cool water, my erection strengthened, becoming stiff, hard.

I’ve always loved women. I’ve never been shy about dating. I’ve never had a type, either. All females, when they feel they’re attractive, are beautiful to me. Add personality to the equation and I’m hooked. But, in my sixty-six years, I’ve never responded quite this way. When Cara was growing up and passing through her adolescent stage, I’d been too busy working and providing and dealing with her rebellion to notice changes in her. I’d been preoccupied. Had she looked as spectacular as Rachael back then?

“What ’cha thinking?” Rachael asked, leaning back to wet her hair. “You're very quiet.”

“This was a mistake.”

“Why?”

How do you tell a thirteen-year-old girl, a child, that you sexually responded to her without seeming like a dirty old man? How do you tell her when she’s your granddaughter? I tried to be diplomatic.

“Swimming in underwear isn’t the same as swimming in a bathing suit,” I told her.

“Sure it is.”

“No. Trust me. It really isn’t,” I insisted.

Rachael looked down at herself in the crystal clear water and, as if noticing how revealing it was for the first time, she simply said, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

I didn’t really expect any other reaction from her. Of all her personality traits, shyness was one I’d never seen in her. Like her mother, she was confident. I couldn’t remember her, or her mother, ever being embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. It’s not like I have something you haven't seen before. I’m sure you’ve seen a few women in your life.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what? I don’t understand.” She waited a beat and added, “C’mon, explain. What’s the problem?”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Didn’t have the words.

Rachael’s eyes opened wide in understanding. “You like what you saw! That’s it, right?”

I opened my mouth to deny, deny, deny, then stopped. Why lie? Instead, I simply nodded.

Rachael laughed brightly, tossed her empty can of Pepsi onto the shore, and plunged into the lake. She swam out several yards, turned and swam back, this time towards me.

I rearranged the erection between my thighs and closed my legs, hiding it.

She returned to my side, looking into the water at my groin, then settled next to me, much closer, her arm touching mine.

I felt the need to explain.

“Listen. It’s not you. But you’re becoming a young lady and it’s hard not to notice. It’s normal for any guy to respond to beauty like yours.”

Rachael smiled. “You think I’m beautiful?”

I nodded.

“How beautiful? Like, more beautiful than that blonde woman who wanted to marry you?”

“Hell yes!” I exclaimed before I could think.

My granddaughter’s smile was broad and radiant, her exotic eyes twinkling with pleasure. She started swimming again, a lazy, relaxed swim, enjoying the coolness.

I joined her and eventually my erection waned into a thick, soft state; much more presentable. It didn’t last.

I hadn’t considered how we’d dry off. Not planning on swimming, towels were conspicuous by their absence. We’d need to air dry before dressing. When the problem finally registered, I made a hasty exit from the lake and sat on the picnic blanket, knees up, crotch hidden.

Now knowing how I’d react, I deliberately looked away when Rachael emerged from the lake. I kept my eyes averted when she settled next to me, instead, studying the beauty of this small oasis. Fir and old oak trees lined the edges of the odd-shaped lake. The water was still, without a ripple, a mirror reflecting the blue sky above and trees around.

There was absolute silence. Hills protected from any breeze. It was a beautiful grotto; private, pure, unspoiled by visitors.

“You don’t have to look away. I really don’t mind,” Rachael said, breaking the silence.

“I think it’s safer if I don’t,” I advised her.

“Kay.”

Eventually, Rachael stirred. She dressed. When I was sure she was decent, I dressed. We headed home.


Chapter Three

RACHAEL WOKE SLOWLY. WARMING morning sun streamed through her open window. She relaxed, loving the feeling of having slept deeply. In the last few days she’d changed. She could feel it.

She didn’t feel anxiety at being disconnected with her friends back in Los Angeles. In fact, she didn’t miss being there. Slowly, without being conscious of it, she’d grown to like the peace and isolation here. It was nice not to worry about fitting in, being part of the right group, or trying to rebel against Mom for more freedom.

But, she missed Mom. She wished Mom could be here, be relaxed, and not constantly working to provide. When Mom was happy, she was wonderful. A stab of guilt hit Rachael. She shouldn’t have reacted to Mom dating that guy, but he was such a sleaze and Mom couldn’t see it. He’d been responsible for the big fight she’d had with Mom, and it was that fight that made her so angry she’d done everything she could to punish Mom. Maybe it was wrong. But no one should treat her mother so rudely!

Rachael sighed aloud and stretched under the covers.

Here, with Grandpa, she had complete freedom. He didn’t make her work, didn’t comment about how she dressed or behaved, didn’t set rules. He simply accepted her and enjoyed her presence.

She really liked Grandpa. He was so calm. He never rushed even when working in his vegetable and herb garden. She liked his sense of humor, too. The way the corners of his eyes would crinkle before having fun was really nice. And he’d never get flustered . . . except for a few days ago at the lake.

Rachael smiled at the memory. Grandpa had actually become flustered! Just remembering, Rachael felt herself respond. Her feet and fingers tingled. Her body felt hot and her stomach felt hollow. Her nipples grew sensitive to her cotton pajamas and warmth emerged in her pussy; a feeling of fullness, pulsing. Like every time since the lake, Rachael felt moisture build in her pussy, an ache arrive. Her heart beat faster.

Every time she let herself think about the lake she’d get horny. She loved that she could turn Grandpa on. It was a new skill she was proud of. Even if her boobs were too small and she felt too skinny, too unattractive, too young, Grandpa made her feel beautiful and sexy and mature; a wonderful feeling.

Rachael resisted the urge to touch herself. She liked the feeling of being horny, aroused. A spark of pleasure hit her when she squeezed her legs together.

She pictured Grandpa at the lake in his boxer briefs. For his age, he was in amazing shape. Tall and lanky, he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. She liked the grey hair on his chest. It looked so soft she’d wondered what it would feel like to run her hands over it. Why was his chest hair grey yet the hair on his head silver?

She squeezed her thighs again. Grandpa’s mouth looked so kissable. What would it be like to kiss him? She’d never kissed a guy. How did it feel to brush lips against each other? To press mouths together? That first touch of his tongue? What did it taste like to kiss a guy?

Rachael groaned loudly and rolled out of bed. Maybe being so horny wasn’t a good idea.

She found Grandpa in the living room watching news on the satellite and sat next to him, close, their arms and thighs touching. She caught the scent of cigar smoke and inhaled deeply. It smelled good on him.

“I was thinking I’d like to go back to the lake today,” she suggested.

“That’s not a good idea.”

Glancing at him, she smiled. “Even with real bathing suits?”

Grandpa shuffled slightly. He looked at her, his blue eyes warm, no crinkles of amusement. “Even with real bathing suits.”

“Why?”

“Rachael, honey, you can blame the Greeks.”

“The Greeks? Why?”

“Pandora’s box, which was, in fact, a jar.”

“Huh?”

Grandpa put his arm over her shoulders. She leaned against him.

“In Greek mythology, in Hesiod’s Works and Days, a box - or jar - was given to Pandora. The box contained all the evils of the world. Pandora opened the box letting all the evils out. By the time she closed it again, only hope was left trapped inside. Today, most people refer to opening Pandora’s box as something happening that, while it seems small or innocent, has far-reaching consequences.”

“I still don’t get it,” Rachael said.

“At the lake, Pandora’s box was opened. For the first time I realized you’re maturing into a beautiful young lady and that changed my perception of you.”

“I still don’t . . . Oh.” She looked at Grandpa, disappointment rushing in. “So your perception of me changed for the worse? Like Pandora’s box?”

“No, honey. It changed me for the worse, not you.”

For a few moments, Rachael pondered it. Then she understood. “So, seeing I’m growing, like getting boobs and all, you’re a bad man now?”

When he didn’t answer, she added, “Because you liked what you saw?”

“Honey, I’ve always liked what I’ve seen in you. But, yeah. You’re beautiful and maturing and I shouldn’t have seen you like that. It brought out feelings and wishes in me that shouldn’t be there.”

Rachael thought about what he’d said. She smiled slightly. “You think I’m sexy, don’t you?”

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to respond. Then, with a sigh, he admitted, “Yes. I think you’re sexy and I shouldn’t. This is wrong on so many levels and, no matter how pretty, you’re still very young, not to mention related to me.”

Rachael smiled, pleased that he thought she was sexy. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it? It’s okay for me to think an older guy like you is sexy, but you’re not allowed to think a younger girl like me is sexy.”

“Life’s not always fair.”

“Does that mean we’ll never get to go back to the lake?”

Grandpa smiled. “Not until I calm down a bit.”

“Kay.” Rachael eased away from him. “I’m getting breakfast.”

She made herself a bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice. Her step was light, as if dancing. She liked the idea that Grandpa was attracted to her. It made her feel so mature and pretty. As she sat at the kitchen table to eat, her mind pictured Grandpa in his wet boxer briefs at the lake. She’d seen the large outline of his penis and couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to hold. How big did he get? How thick? What would an erection feel like?

She’d seen stuff on the Internet and heard the whispers of her friends - some claiming to have actually had sex - but it hadn’t really interested her beyond being fascinated - and uncomfortable with some of the things people did. Seeing Grandpa had changed her mind. She wanted to kiss him. Not only was he sexy and dashing and distinguished, he was in great shape. And jeez he smelled good. That hint of cigar was really sexy.

Eating slowly, her thoughts aroused her. Already horny when she woke up, she could feel her horniness intensify. It was physical; aching below, panties a little damp, her soft cotton bra feeling rough against her nipples.

Rachael understood how wrong incest was and how wrong it would be to do anything with an older guy. But this was Grandpa, not some strange old man. It wasn’t the same. Was it? No. Not if it was her that wanted to have fun with him. That’s not being taking advantage of or coerced. It’s entirely different.

Satisfied with her reasoning, her mind turned to how to convince Grandpa that some sexy hugging and kissing, and maybe touching, wouldn’t be bad. Just imagine! What would French kissing a guy feel like?

A devious thought jumped to mind. Grinning, Rachael finished breakfast, rose, and put her dishes in the sink. She had a plan.

I RELAXED SLOWLY AS the day passed. My chat with Rachael this morning had been rational and mature and nothing close to how I actually felt inside. I hadn’t been kidding about Pandora’s box. In my eyes, Rachael was beautiful in a way I’d never appreciated before; new, fresh, sweet and spicy.

My granddaughter was a female unlike any I’d known in my life. At just over five feet tall, she had a very slender body; a child’s body with impossibly narrow hips, no waist, and arms I could easily wrap my hand around. Yet now, with awareness from the lake, I saw the slight hint of her bust and knew what was underneath her T-shirt. I saw her narrow ass and knew the shape of her buttocks inside her jeans. And, Lord Almighty, I noticed how her jeans were tight to her crotch and knew the shape of her pussy inside.

It was the dichotomy that affected me so powerfully. It was Rachael being a child-woman, an intoxicating in-between female. Emerging pubescence was unbelievably sexy. I couldn’t deny how I was reacting, either. Warm arousal came in waves throughout the day. I’d look at her and feel a physical response; penis thickening, pulse rising, desire for the taboo.

I knew nothing would happen, but I enjoyed the possibility that fantasy provided. I found myself thinking about sexy acts when seeing Rachael bend over the kitchen counter to grab an orange, or walking away from me, her small ass moving with such beauty. I let myself imagine holding her young body against me, cupping her beautiful jean-covered butt. I let myself imagine what it would be like to kiss her.

As the day passed, I enjoyed the feelings inside me. They were familiar from long, long ago when I was a teen and desperately desired Heather, a pretty blonde in school.

Rachael was giving me a gift, even if she didn’t know it. She was letting me experience feelings I hadn’t felt in a long time.

As evening arrived, when I settled to watch the news channel on television, Rachael joined me, sitting next to me. She smiled.

“Can I see your tattoo?” she asked.

“Sure.”

When I reached for the buttons on my shirt, she brushed my hands away, saying, “Let me.”

Rachael opened each button slowly; a delicate move of her fingertips. It seemed different, although I couldn’t put my finger on why. With buttons opened almost to my navel, she brushed the shirt open exposing my chest, and shuffled closer to me.

The three-inch shaved spot was still bare. Inky black, small script stood out against my skin. It might have been unconscious on her part, but as Rachael studied the tattoo, her hands rubbed the hair on my chest gently. Then she brushed her fingers through it, her palms coming to rest over my nipples. It was a powerfully sensual act to me; intimate and aware.

Her beautiful, exotic oval eyes twinkled as she smiled at me.

“Want to see mine?” she asked.

As if in a stupor, I nodded.

Rachael stood, moved in front of me, turning to face away. I heard the sound of a zipper lowering. Time slowed down, or maybe Rachael moved slowly. Her hands gripped the waist of her blue jeans and she eased one side down. Gorgeous, flawless, light mocha skin was revealed. Then the top of her butt crack appeared. Slowly, so slowly, a sexy buttock was partially exposed and there it was; a small, colorful, cute teddy bear.

Without thought, I leaned forward and kissed the teddy bear. Rachael’s buttock was silky, the tattoo rough against my lips. Still not thinking, I held the sides of her ass, sensual yet small, and pressed my lips against her buttock. Arousal rushed in, hot and demanding, strong and disorienting. Jesus! I was kissing Rachael’s ass!

For just a moment, I closed my eyes and appreciated the illicit gift. It felt like Rachael pushed her buttock against my mouth. When I opened my eyes, I realized I was caressing the sides of her rear lightly; without question an intimate act expressing appreciation and more.

Too soon, Rachael straightened and turned, her hands holding the waist of her unzipped jeans. Her face had a hint of flush and a look of success. Her eyes twinkled. Her smile was broad and beautiful.

“Like it?” she asked.

I nodded. “Very nice.”

“How about the tattoo? Like it too?” she asked, then giggled.

I groaned mentally. Horniness dulled better judgment. Arousal softened restraint. And as Rachael slowly pulled her jeans back up over her cute ass, I reached out and drew her onto my lap.

Rachael’s smile softened, her dark eyes glittering; so unbelievably pretty. Before rational thought could interfere, I kissed her softly.

My senses were overwhelmed. Her lips were warm and silky, her mouth still small against mine, and that excited me. Arousal swamped me. The excitement of kissing such a young girl, a barely thirteen-year-old, was more powerful than anything I’d experienced. The illicitness of the kiss, of my attraction, of an overt sexual act with my granddaughter hit me like a powerful narcotic - intoxicating. Nothing in my life came close to that moment. Nothing!

Rachael gave me a sweet, almost shy smile when our lips separated, pleasure radiating from her eyes. I felt liberated, as if shackles had fallen away and, without shame, I kissed her again.

This time Rachael pressed her lips harder against mine. This time her arm slipped around my neck. This time I eased my arms around her slim body. She felt so deliciously delicate.

Her eyes closed. We kissed, then kissed again, ending with me sucking her lower lip slightly. Under her, my erection ached, pulsed. My heart thumped. Jesus I was turned on!

Rachael rested her cheek on my shoulder. She sighed audibly. Her hand played with the hair on my chest, rubbing then combing.

“That was my first kiss,” she informed me quietly.

I smiled. “That was by far the best kiss I’ve ever had,” I told her.

Easing her off my lap before I did something she’d regret, I suggested, “Let’s make dinner.”

Rachael was unusually quiet while I collected ingredients. She sat at the kitchen table watching me. Every time I smiled at her, she gave me the cutest shy smile, so pretty.

I set about making a Dijon, garlic, chicken, and cream sauce to serve over broad noodles.

“Are you ever going to speak?” I asked. “It’s weird when you’re quiet; not like you at all.”

“I was thinking how much I liked it,” she said.

“It was pretty fantastic,” I agreed.

“Did you really like my kiss?”

Pausing, I turned towards her. With a smile of reassurance, I said, “Rachael, honey, when I told you it was the best kiss I’ve ever had, I was telling you the truth.”

She smiled. “So we could, like, kiss again sometime?”

“You better believe it!”

Resuming cooking, I wasn’t in the least surprised that just talking about kissing her brought back soft arousal, my penis thickening. Intimacy with my granddaughter, so taboo, was intensely exciting.

“Does that mean we can go back to the lake tomorrow? Now you’re not scared of me anymore?” she asked.

“I was never scared of you. I was scared of me,” I clarified.

“And you’re not anymore?

“I’m even more scared of me now. I have an unreasonable need to kiss you again.”

Rachael laughed brightly with pleasure. “You can kiss me anytime you want, Grandpa. But only if we can go to the lake tomorrow.”

“Bathing suits?”

“I'll think about it.” She laughed again.

That night, in the dark quiet of my bedroom, I had to smile. Rachael had recovered from her brief shyness, becoming vocal and opinionated and energetic; perhaps a bit more so. But, when I’d drawn her into my arms at bedtime, wrapping her slim, young body in a hug, and pulled her against me, smiled and kissed her, Rachael had softened against me. She’d pressed her silky lips against mine. And when the chaste kiss ended, she gave me such an enchanting smile, shy pleasure radiating, I felt it in my chest.

Lying in bed, mildly tumescent, with warm arousal washing through me, I let myself enjoy the memory of kissing her, the excitement of holding such a young girl. This turn of events was completely unexpected, right out of left field, and intense.

Getting a tattoo had been an inspired idea! It had opened the door to the taboo in spectacular fashion.


Chapter Four

Hot wind blew through the open faceplate of my helmet as we raced across the side of a hill. The handlebars jittered as the ATV bounced across rain-formed ruts and loose rocks. Rachael kept pace next to me. I could see the shine of excitement in her dark, exotic eyes, and her concentration as she controlled her ATV.

The sight of a slight, young girl riding a four-wheeler was quite something. It was so different. I enjoyed watching her.

Cresting the hill, we slowed and cautiously rode down the slope, entering denser firs and beautiful oaks, and finally arrived back at our picnic spot. Silence was wonderful after the loud, full-throated roar of ATVs.

Rachael dismounted and pulled her helmet off, grinning broadly. She placed the helmet on the seat and ruffled her curly black hair. It sprang out, full and thick, glossy from perspiration at her hairline.

Pulling my helmet off, I took a moment to inhale deeply. The air was clean, pure, and scented with evergreen trees - wonderful. I wondered how anyone could live in smog-polluted Los Angeles. I knew I couldn’t.

Before I had the picnic blanket spread, Rachael had removed her steel-tipped black boots and socks and was wiggling her toes.

“I love riding the ATV,” she announced. “Are there other places we can explore?”

“There are lots of places. There’s a spot high up in the mountains that has a hundred mile view southeast. When the sun dips towards the horizon, air becomes crystal clear and it’s amazing.”

“Will you show me?”

“It’s a dangerous ride. Perhaps when you’ve mastered the ATV.”

“Aw! C’mon, Gramps! Be a rebel! Live a little!” She laughed brightly. “I’ll give you a kiss if you do!”

I smiled and reminded her, “Yesterday you told me I could kiss you anytime I wanted, young lady.”

“I’ve changed my mind now I know how much you like kissing me.”

“How very female of you,” I observed.

“That’s right! It’s a girl’s prerogative to change her mind. What did you bring for lunch?”

“Sandwiches. Salami and Velveeta cheese spread.”

“Not! What did you really bring?” she asked. “Have you ever gone camping?”

“Fried bologna sandwiches with sliced potatoes,” I said, pulling out cans of ice cold beer and soda.

“Yuck! So have you ever gone camping?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take me camping?”

“I don’t know.”

Rachael grinned. “I’ll tell you what color panties I’m wearing if you say yes.”

“White cotton boy-short style with small blue and red flowers.”

Her eyes opened wide. “How did you know?”

“I saw you this morning in a camisole and panties.”

“You were spying on me!” she accused.

“No I wasn’t. You were going to the bathroom.”

“Well, you’re wrong. So, take me camping. Please?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Kay. What’s for lunch?”

“Herring and fried onion sandwiches.”

Rachael laughed. She seemed very happy.

We ate lunch - ham and Swiss on toasted crusty sliced bread with spicy arugula and aioli mayo. Rachael begged me to take her camping until I promised to consider it.

Heat finally became too much. “Let’s swim,” I suggested, draining my second beer.

“Kay!”

I anticipated a wonderful show and felt a stir of excitement.

Rachael stripped, revealing a simple yellow and blue bikini. Not what I’d hoped for. She noticed my expression.

“It was your idea, so don’t give me that frowny face. C’mon, let’s swim.”

She entered the lake as I undressed. Knee high in water, she dove in giving me a flash of a very nice looking butt.

While I wished my granddaughter had worn plain undies, I’d made a mature and modest choice by wearing swimming trunks. I’d made a mistake. Tight boxer briefs would have been less revealing.

After swimming and playfully dunking each other, an activity that gave me the opportunity to touch Rachael’s bare skin, we relaxed and ate lunch. Evaporating wetness brought with it cooling relief from the heat and, after consuming three beers, lethargy arrived. With lunch over, I stretched out on my back. Rachael did the same next to me, her hand shading her eyes as she studied the azure sky. Occasional white cotton ball clouds passed slowly.

It was relaxing. We chatted. At one point, Rachael made a comment about wishing her mother could see this place and I put my palm on her thigh, rubbing slightly.

“Maybe one day she will,” I told her.

My hand stayed on her bare thigh. It changed the course of my thoughts, bringing awareness of how slender and firm her legs were, and how silky her café au lait skin was, and how warm she was. Rachael’s legs reminded me how young she was, and that appealed to me strongly. I caressed the top of her thigh slowly until the first tingle of blood began to flow south, threatening an erection.

When I removed my hand, Rachael rolled onto her side to face me, rising onto her elbow. She moved closer, looking down at my face, and smiled softly. Her dark exotic eyes studied mine, then studied my mouth.

She touched my lips very softly with the pad of her index finger, tracing the edges.

“You haven’t kissed me today,” she said quietly.

Her hand dropped to the hair on my chest. She played with it lightly, her fingertip eventually tracing the small tattoo.

“Would you like to kiss me?” she asked.

I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all morning.”

Rachael shuffled closer, her body settling against my side. Her knee eased over my leg. I slipped an arm behind her and she rolled partially onto me, her small breast pressing to my chest. A sweet partial smile formed on her lush lips, her eyes locked on mine. She moved closer. Her breath, clean and warm, washed against my face.

As her silken lips touched mine, I caressed her bare back, feeling her spine and prominent shoulder blades.

Rachael’s eyes closed. She pressed her mouth against mine, her lips moving, and I fell into a vortex of emotions; love, illicit desire, arousal, and excitement. They overwhelmed me. I couldn’t get over how exciting it was to kiss such a young girl. And as the turmoil gained strength, I tasted her lips for the first time, a light touch with the tip of my tongue.

Movement stopped abruptly, lips still touching. Rachael’s eyes popped open and studied me. They crinkled in a smile, closed slowly, and the tip of her tongue lightly touched my lips.

Mentally, I groaned at her sweet intimacy. Physically, I became erect, and my erection strengthened when my hand grazed down her back and over the swell of her little ass, so compact my hand almost spanned both buttocks. In a strange way, kissing was even more intimate than touching.

The kiss ended. Rachael rested her cheek on my chest, looking down my body towards the lake. My hand still cupped her ass. Above, soaring high in the sky, an eagle made lazy loops as if watching us.

Rachael sighed. “I like kissing you,” she informed me.

“You sure can kiss,” I told her. “I love kissing you.”

Her hand rubbed the hair on my chest. Casually, she said, “I aroused you. You have an erection.”

It was hard to miss. Thick and lying on my stomach, the bathing suit couldn’t hide it. The interesting thing was, as aroused as I was, it suppressed embarrassment. I didn’t mind Rachael seeing it. I liked her seeing the impact she was having on me, how I was responding to her sexually.

I caressed her scrumptious ass lightly. “It shows you how wonderful your kisses are. I can’t help responding.”

Several moments of silence followed. I enjoyed the feeling of being aroused; that tingle of excitement, the heaviness of my erection, illicit intimacy with a young girl. I caressed her gorgeous ass lightly, loving its sensual shape, how exquisitely petite it was. And I wallowed in touching her this way. It was intensely pleasurable, so taboo.

Then Rachael asked, “What does it feel like to have an erection?”

I pondered it for a moment. “Physically, it feels heavy and aches in a good way. Emotionally, it feels warm and comfortable and exciting. Being aroused is a wonderful feeling. It makes my heart beat faster. My skin becomes more sensitive.” I inhaled deeply. “And I can smell your scent; warm and alluring with a trace of soap or shampoo and limes. Really beautiful.”

Rachael was silent again, her hand gently caressing the hair on my chest. “I like being aroused, too,” she eventually said in a soft voice. “I like that I can make you horny. It makes me feel . . . mature.”

She raised her face from my chest and smiled at me, her eyes bright. “You turn me on, Grandpa. You’re sexy. I like the smell of cigars on you, too.” She studied me intently. “Would it be okay if we did more of this together?”

I had to smile. Any common sense I’d had was rudely shoved aside by the exciting prospect of more intimacy with Rachael; of experiencing this intense desire again and again. The combination of an illicit relationship with my granddaughter and intimacy with such a beautiful, young girl was powerful, intoxicating.

“We can do as much of this together as you want. I’d love it.”

Rachael gave me one of her big, big smiles. She eased up and kissed me softly. Mouths pressed together, the tip of her little tongue touched my lips. I met it with mine, just the tip, just one touch, but it was intense, so erotic. The kiss ended.

Eventually we swam again, played, dunked, and floated, comfortable with each other. We didn’t kiss again. My erection softened but didn’t fade. Instead, I relaxed and enjoyed being with Rachael. I let myself drown in her laughter when I dunked her and enjoy her revenge, lunging at me and pushing me underwater.

We air-dried late afternoon, dressed, and headed home. Dusk was just arriving when we parked the ATVs in the garage. Rachael headed off to shower and I unpacked the picnic. As I did, I reflected on how one touch had changed us; the touch of our tongues. Our relationship had changed, intimacy accepted. It was an exciting time.


Chapter Five

Intimacy between two people, no matter their ages, is impossible to miss. It's not the same as familial intimacy. When there’s attraction, you enter the personal space of the other with ease; bodies closer. There’s touching, gentle touching. Fingers brush arms, hands rest on backs, and spontaneous hugs are frequent and linger longer than friendly hugs.

It’s impossible to miss the expression in eyes as you look at the other person. There’s softness and love at times, excitement at other times. And there are a plethora of other small signs: a soft sigh after a hug, a pause to watch the other in appreciation, soft contemplative smiles when you think the other person isn’t looking, and more.

It’s an intense experience and, for me, made more so by the fact that this was with a thirteen-year-old girl. I was enchanted by her. I hadn’t experienced so many erections since I was a teenager - not hard erections, but those soft ones that come with arousal and desire for someone.

Rachael’s blossoming sexual awareness was precious. The morning after our visit to the lake, Rachael wandered into the kitchen in a simple, short, white camisole, and white cotton boy-short panties, combing her fingers through her wild curls, and looking sleepy; utterly adorable.

She noticed me admiring her with a slight, pleased smile, and showed no shyness at her attire, which led me to conclude she’d deliberately not dressed.

I didn’t comment. However, I did openly admire. Once again, I was enraptured by the dichotomy of her; a child’s body blossoming with the first signs of pubescence. I appreciated her small butt, narrow with indents in her buttocks as they flexed, and felt the urge to caress them. Arousal stirred.

Rachael’s personality changed as well. She was still a bright, energetic, and out-going girl, but when I’d grab her, pull her into a hug, and she understood I wanted a kiss, Rachael would soften. Her smile would show shy pleasure, and then our lips would touch, her head would tilt, her eyes close, and we’d flirt with our tongues; little touches of intimacy. I loved wrapping her in my arms. Every time I’d get aroused by her slight body, so small, so young - such exciting forbidden fruit.

Kiss over, Rachael would come alive, bouncing on her feet, talkative, with her expressive eyes alight.

She was utterly charming. Even her vociferous disagreements with me were spirited but never angry.

In the evenings, she’d sit next to me as I read a book and she watched television. I found my hand constantly caressing her slender thigh and her hand would settle on top of my hand, almost unconsciously.

I kept her occupied with trips here and there, and tried to get her interested in working the vegetable and herb garden. That lasted all of ten minutes.

Two days after the lake visit, as Rachael ate her breakfast cereal, wearing a T-shirt and panties at the kitchen table, I told her, “We’re going for another adventure today.”

Her eyes lit up. “Where? Camping? The mountain?”

“I’m taking you to see a rose bush.”

Stunned at my considerate gesture, she asked, “A rose bush? Are you kidding me?”

“My understanding is girls like rose bushes,” I said with a straight face. “You’re a girl, so . . . rose bush.”

Rachael looked at me as if I’d suffered from sunstroke. “I’ve seen a rose bush. They’re not interesting. And that’s not what I call an adventure, Grandpa!”

“Young lady, you must have faith,” I insisted. “We leave in half an hour.”

An hour and a half later, give or take a few minutes, Rachael stood at my side and said, “Holy Shit, Batman! THAT’S a rose bush!”

I grinned. “This particular rose bush, the Lady Banksia Rose, was planted in 1885, eight years after the town was founded. It’s trunk is twelve feet around and the bush covers nine thousand square feet.”

“Are you sure it’s not a tree? It looks like one.”

“Could be. It’s called the Tombstone Rose Tree. But it’s those trellises holding it up that give the impression of a tree.”

Rachael was silent. I added, “Just imagine how jealous your friends are going to be when you tell them you saw this piece of magnificence. Well, let’s go home.”

“Go home? We drove an hour to see a bush and nothing else? I want to see the town and the Boothill Graveyard and the OK Corral.”

“If that’s what you want.”

We strolled though the old town and I gave Rachael a running commentary.

“Everyone thinks the Boothill Graveyard was named for the occupants. They’d have you believe that the graveyard is full of people who died violent or sudden deaths and were buried with their boots on. In truth, the graveyard was named Boothill in the 1920’s, not the 1800’s, and named after a cemetery in Dodge City. They hoped it would bring tourists to Tombstone. It didn’t.”

“Huh.”

We walked along and I observed, “The 1881 gunfight at the OK Corral didn’t actually happen at the OK Corral. It happened over there,” I said, pointing. “That lot on Fremont Street was vacant at the time. Everyone thinks there was a half hour gunfight with thousands of shots fired, but the real gunfight lasted all of twenty-four seconds. Only thirty shots were fired.”

Rachael frowned. “Is this whole town fake? Is anything true?”

“The Earps and Doc Holliday really were part of the gunfight. The Tombstone Rose Tree really is the biggest in the world.”

My granddaughter seemed a little disillusioned. “Let’s go home.”

“Don’t you want to see a reenactment of a gunfight in a saloon? Or an underground tour of the old silver mines? We could ride a stagecoach or get an old fashioned photograph of us in period costumes at Madame Mustache. Or would you rather grab an Italian gelato ice cream cone?”

“Italian? Jeesh! This place is a tourist trap! It’s tacky! I vote we go home.”

“It’s only eleven-thirty and there’s so much still to see.”

Rachael grabbed my hand and tugged me back towards the parking lot. “We’re leaving.”

On the hour drive home, Rachael asked, “Next time you take me on an adventure, can it involve the ATVs? I like riding motors, now I’ve got a tattoo and everything. Hey! We should get leather jackets!”

I grinned. “Leather in this heat?”

“We’ll ride fast. C’mon, Grandpa. Be a rebel!”

We stopped at Taco Bell for lunch and arrived in Vail early afternoon. I drove us to Fred’s Barber Shop to consult my knowledgeable biker friend. Fred was trimming a bald old man’s comb-over hair when we entered.

He glanced up at the tinkle of the door bell and smiled. “Rachael, great to see you again. How’d that tattoo go?”

Rachael beamed broadly. “It went fine. Wanna see it?”

I cleared my throat and told her under my breath, “You’re not exposing your naked ass to anyone.”

“I’d love to see it,” Fred assured her. “Let me finish with John, here.”

John piped up, “Can I see it too?”

“No,” I informed him firmly, and sat in a waiting chair.

Fred trimmed hair carefully and asked me, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Before I could speak, Rachael announced, “I’m getting a leather jacket!”

Fred smiled. “You’re a real biker girl at heart.”

“That’s right!”

“I wanted to consult you on leather jackets. Any recommendation on where to buy one? Or special considerations?” I asked.

“Black,” the old man offered.

“Thanks. That’s useful.”

Fred paused and thought. “Are these jackets for actual riding or for fashion?”

Rachael piped up before I could answer. “For real riding. I’m riding an ATV now!”

Fred smiled slightly with amusement. To me, he said, “Jake, you should know better. It’s illegal for anyone under the age of sixteen to ride ATVs.”

I grinned. “Don’t worry. Emotionally she’s a woman.”

Rachael frowned and asked, “What does that mean?”

“That you’re mature for your age,” I told her.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“If you’re looking to buy a leather jacket for riding,” Fred said, “look for heavier leather with reinforced elbows. An under- or over-flap on the zipper is good. It helps keep wind from getting through. Don’t be dazzled by silver studs or fancy stitched decorations. They look great at the beginning but are tough to clean.”

He continued trimming John’s sparse hair. “When you try it on, make sure it’s big enough to wear a thick sweater underneath. You’ll be grateful come winter. That’s all the advice I have.”

“Any recommendations on where to buy one?” I asked.

“You can try Renegade Classics in Tucson. It’s on East Speedway. They have a good selection.”

“Do they have leather pants?” Rachael asked. “And leather boots?”

“We’re getting a jacket. That’s it,” I informed her.

Fred brushed almost no cut hair from John’s shoulders and removed the apron. “All done.”

We waited for John to pay and leave. Fred looked at Rachael. “Now, let’s see that tattoo.”

“Not here!” I exclaimed as she started unbuttoning her jeans.

We moved into the back room. Rachael eased the side of her jeans and panties down exposing her butt cheek. Fred bent and studied the small teddy bear.

“That’s fine artistry,” he commented. “Very cute.”

“Thanks!” She tugged up her pants, smiling broadly.

“And where’s yours?” he asked, turning to me.

“On my chest.”

“Show me,” Fred suggested. When he saw it, he grinned. “You’re a wimp, Jake. It’ll be hidden by chest hair. No one will see it.”

“That’s the idea.”

He shook his head. “Wimp.”

By six o’clock we made it home. Rachael was perspiring in her new leather jacket but refused to take it off. She smelled it frequently, too. I had to admit, it did look good on her; a cute rebel in black.

Later that night, while I watched a news channel, Rachael entered the living room. She amused me. In light cotton red pajamas, bare foot, and wearing her new leather jacket, she looked so damned cute.

She settled next to me, curling her legs up.

“I really like my jacket,” she informed me, needlessly.

“I gathered. Are you going to sleep in it?”

“Maaaybe.” She leaned against me, her head resting on my shoulder. A couple of minutes later, she pulled my arm over her shoulders and cuddled closer. “Did I thank you?”

“Not nearly enough,” I informed her, even though she’d thanked me profusely.

A few minutes later, she sighed, rose up on her knees, and straddled my lap. I leaned to the side to watch the TV behind her, trying not to smile. Her hands held my face and pulled it back. She stared at me, smiled slightly, tilted her head and kissed me softly.

“Thank you,” she whispered when the kiss ended.

“Still not enough,” I said.

She kissed me again, her soft lips pressing.

“Not enough,” I told her.

A small smile played across her mouth, her dark eyes amused. The next kiss was different. This kiss included the tip of her tongue brushing my lips.

I held her butt. “Getting there,” I said.

Her smile of amusement grew. She bent in again, her mouth settling on mine. When her tongue brushed my lips, I met her with mine. Then magic happened. Rachael’s eyes closed. She murmured into the kiss and opened her mouth wider. Suddenly I was kissing her passionately, tongues caressing. Suddenly I was in an intense kiss and I physically responded, thickness growing below, warm arousal washing over me.

I caressed her small ass, the cotton pajamas moving. I felt her panties underneath, and the shape of her buttocks, just exquisite. As the kiss ended, I nibbled her lower lip and it seemed to excite her. She pressed her mouth to mine in another kiss with more force, her tongue more active, and moaned!

It was the moan that hit me hard. A simple sound communicating so much; pleasure, desire, arousal. It seduced me, demolished the restraint I’d been trying to exert. As we kissed deeply, I eased my hand under her leather jacket. I couldn’t help it. Desire was in the driver seat. I caressed the side of her body, caressed higher.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do and before I stopped myself, I gently touched her developing breast over her pajama top. She wore no bra, just thin cotton separating my hand from her skin. My erection surged as I explored the delicate shape of her breast - so small, gentle mounds rising, topped by the bump of her nipple. She was too small for my hand so I used my thumb to trace its shape.

Inside, I physically trembled. I couldn’t believe how exciting it was to touch a thirteen-year-old intimately, to feel puberty’s magic. Excitement pulsed through me.

When our kiss ended, I removed my hand and slipped it behind her under her leather jacket, and rubbed her back.

Rachael’s eyes were softer when she opened them. She smiled shyly making me ache anew with desire. Almost reluctantly, she eased off my lap and stood.

“Night, Grandpa.”

My erection strained inside the jeans. I watched her walk out of the living room. Horny as heck, so damned aroused, I went to bed.

In the dark, in bed, with complete silence around me, I still ached, erect, excitement pulsing through me. I replayed the kiss and the softness of her tongue, the shape of her small butt and feel of her panties underneath pajamas. I could still taste her; sweet and clean with a hint of mint toothpaste.

And then, replaying touching her small breast, I reached down and stroked myself. Rachael’s breast was so small, a slight mound, so new, and because of it, it excited me beyond reason. A maelstrom assaulted me; the excitement of touching such a young girl intimately, the fact that it was my granddaughter - so taboo, and actually feeling her breast. I couldn’t get over how it appealed to me so damned much, but it did, and to an active imagination, stroking myself, I let myself dream. I let myself imagine Rachael sitting up in my lap, her shy delight as I unbuttoned her pajama top one button at a time, her flawless mocha skin revealed, and seeing the side swell of her new breasts. Stroking myself, precum suddenly making me slippery, I imagined easing her pajama top open to reveal her breasts, seeing them naked, touching them, caressing them. What would it feel like to kiss her areolae? To suck them gently? To taste a thirteen-year-old’s young breasts?

With a quiet groan, I came, semen spurting hot on my stomach, pulses of bliss hitting me, my pulse racing. I stroked my spurting cock and found sweet release in my orgasm; the first time in a long time I’d masturbated.


Chapter Six

Rachael arrived in the kitchen wearing a small white undershirt, white cotton printed boy-short panties, and her leather jacket, her dark curly hair sleep-mussed.

She approached me at the counter and hugged me, still sleepy and smelling warm and cuddly. For a wonderful minute I hugged her, then bent and smelled her hair.

She eased back, smiled, and said, “Make me breakfast.”

“Please,” I corrected.

She smiled. “Please.”

“You haven’t thanked me enough for the jacket.”

A sparkle entered her enchanting eyes. A small smile played across her lips. She tilted her face up.

I bent and kissed her, my hands sliding down over her leather jacket to cup her scrumptious little panty-covered ass. She tasted of mint toothpaste. Her small tongue teased. I held two of the sexiest little buttocks in my palms, and just like that, I was horny again, desire and loose morals rushing through me. Tongues teased sensually. I had a vision of lifting her, of Rachael wrapping her legs around my waist, and me carrying her off to bed.

The kiss ended. She eased out of my embrace and moved to the kitchen table.

“Well? Get cooking,” she instructed.

I grinned and, below the counter, adjusted my erection to be less conspicuous. “Cooking what?”

“Scrambled eggs and toast, please.”

I got busy. Simple scrambled eggs are easy. Delicious scrambled eggs require a bit more effort. I chose delicious over simple. Whisking eggs, I added thick cream, salt, pepper, and diced chives while the frying pan warmed.

Toast started at the same time as eggs were added to a medium hot buttered skillet. I stirred slowly, letting the eggs cook gently. High heat changes the texture of scrambled eggs, making them rubbery. Slow cooking brings out silky smoothness.

“I happen to be free today,” I said as I cooked. “Any thoughts about what to do?”

“Go for a ride on the ATVs! I need to initiate my jacket!”

“Back to the lake?” I asked hopefully.

“Isn’t there anywhere else we can explore? We can be rebel riders, ride all day, and take a picnic with us.”

I laughed. “Okay. We’ll be rebels without a cause, or without an agenda. We’ll just ride for the pleasure of it and go wherever the land takes us.”

I plated breakfast and served. Even I had to admit I’d done an outstanding job after the first bite. Rachael gave me a heartfelt, “Mmmm.”

By eight-thirty we were off. Rachael raced ahead to lead. I let her. She’d demonstrated a natural skill in handling the ATV. I liked the view from behind, too. Watching a skinny little girl astride a big machine, her legs spread, her cute little ass nicely formed by blue jeans, was really pleasurable. The thought that I was kissing that sexy girl, and fondling her small breasts, made my jeans tighten at the crotch. I felt like an old lech; a lucky old lech.

Rachael led us south across scrub brush covered hills that dipped into bare valleys. As we entered the outskirts of the Coronado National Forest, scrub brush gave way to copses of evergreens and oaks, the hills steadily growing taller, valleys deeper.

She followed no path. The terrain dictated her direction and I was sure she had no idea where she was. Rachael was just enjoying the ride.

As noon approached, we were deep into the National Forest. It wasn’t really a forest. Trees formed groupings along ridges and clung to open rock faces. Wide swathes of brown, dusty soil, wild grass, and rocks wended sinuously between the tree clusters. And still we climbed, each valley followed by a higher hill. Cresting the hills, in the far distance, tall mountains lined the southwest. Land flattened out to the southeast. The intense summer heat abated, giving way to slightly cooler temperatures, but still very warm.

Rachael cut across dirt trails, ignoring them, leading us ever higher until, cresting the top, she slowed and stopped abruptly. Before us, the high hill dropped in a precipitous cliff, the valley floor several hundred feet below us.

I pulled up beside her and turned the engine off. My watch said it was just after one. I was hungry and thirsty.

Rachael, face flushed and dripping with perspiration, set her helmet on the seat, ruffled her hair, and exclaimed, “I’m suffocating! Too hot!”

Shrugging the backpack off, I watched in amazement as she tore her jacket off, bent and unlaced her boots, removing them along with her multicolored socks. She didn’t stop there. Her T-shirt came off revealing a thin cotton undershirt. She unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down and off. Cute boy short panties hugged her little ass beautifully.

Satisfied, she stretched and sighed. “Better. Phew! I thought I was going to do a Wicked Witch of the West!”

Rachael noticed me staring. She grinned. “Melted? Wicked witch? Literature, Gramps!” She laughed and turned back to the view. “We shoulda gone to the lake.”

I unpacked slowly, spreading a blanket on the bare rock and pulling food and drinks out, all the while looking at her. She wasn’t wearing a bra, her very small breasts nicely outlined by her undershirt. Her panties looked old. The leg elastic was loose, the front only hinting at the swell of her mons. Still. Sexy, illicit, and illegal!

“I don’t think you should be undressed like that,” I told her.

She looked down at herself, then at me. “It covers more than the bikini.” A cheeky grin flashed at me.

“Be that as it may, underwear is just as dangerous.”

“These old things? How?”

“It’s very intimate.”

She grinned again. “You mean sexy.”

I looked away and nodded. “Yes. Sexy.”

“You should take your shirt off. It’s hot. Take your jeans off, too.”

This time I grinned back at her. “Only my shirt. I don’t want you to get hot again.”

Rachael laughed brightly.

I unbuttoned it and removed my shirt, sat on the blanket, and opened a bottle of spring water, drinking deeply. It was still partially frozen, the water ice-cold and refreshing. I sighed with pleasure.

Rachael sat on the blanket, knees up, and admired the expansive view. “You can see for miles. Shame there isn’t a lake up here. Then it would be perfect.” She grabbed a bottle of water and drank deeply. “Ahhh. Nice. Take your jeans off.”

“Nope.”

“You’ll feel good,” she suggested.

I grinned. “Nope. I’m just fine like this.”

“Party pooper. What’s that tall peak over there?” she asked, pointing south west.

“Mount Wrightson.”

“Is that the one you were telling me about? The one with the hundred mile view?”

I nodded.

“Can we go there after lunch?”

“It’s too far to get there and back before dark.”

Her beautiful dark eyes looked at me. “We could go camping there.” With a cute grin, she added, “Yes? Wanna? C’mon, Grandpa. Be a rebel. Take me camping!”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s what you said last time! What’s for lunch? I’m hungry.”

We consumed chicken sandwiches and potato chips and fruit, eating in silence. Rachael gazed at the view, her eyes studying. It let me look at her and admire the view. She was very pretty. With childhood still lingering in traces, maturity peeked out, promising a girl of arresting beauty, her coffee ice cream skin flawless. Her nose was slightly broad around her nostrils but suited her wide, expressive mouth, her lips very lush.

“You’re staring,” she observed without turning her head.

“I’m admiring, not staring.”

“Same thing.”

“Not really. You’ve got holes where you pierced your eyebrow.”

“I know. They’ll go away in a while.”

I asked, “Care to tell me why you pierced your eyebrow instead of your ears?”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

“Rebelling?” I asked.

“Punishing.”

“What does that mean?”

Rachael refused to answer. Instead, she changed the conversation. “You should wear a Stetson. It would suit your squint. You’d look like an old, handsome cowboy. Weather beaten. Sorta sexy.”

“Well, thank y’all,” I drawled. “You’re a purdy handsome looking filly, yourself.”

Rachael burst into laughter. “Handsome? Filly? You’re a hoot!”

She turned and sat cross-legged, facing me. “Why do you live so far away from everything?”

“You hear that?” I asked.

She tilted her head, listened, then asked, “What? I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s why. Your mom probably told you she grew up in Tucson. I lived in the city all my life. It’s a nice place, but I grew to hate the noise. So when I retired, I wanted peace and quiet.”

“You succeeded. The quiet’s nice in a way. Los Angeles is noisy, too. I thought I’d never be able to sleep the first night here, but I slept really well. I have every night since.”

She leaned forward and reached for an apple. I caught a flash of flawless skin and the top swell of her petite breasts as her undershirt draped open. Then the sight disappeared.

I dropped my eyes from her chest before she caught me looking. At that moment, she swiveled to face the vista, uncrossing her legs. Through the too loose leg and of her panties I caught a flash that made me inhale sharply.

Looking away from her, I didn’t see the magnificent sweeping land. I couldn’t. I was blinded by my mind’s eye. For the briefest second, I’d seen Rachael’s pussy through the loose elastic and Jesus Christ! It was small and sensual and hairless with the lightest dusting of newly formed, sparse, small black pubic hairs on top of her mons; silky soft looking and so fresh.

Arousal arrived, an erection forming, and I struggled. Rachael really, really attracted me. It was more than the powerful draw of her developing pubescence. I liked her. I liked this sweet, articulate, smart girl pretending to rebel. I adored her. I couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than an intimate relationship with her, and that desire was an aspect of my sexuality I’d never known I had.

I looked at my hands and saw age; skin slightly looser than in my youth, scars and calluses from a lifetime of work. I was old. I might not feel it, but I was an old man in the eyes of the world.

It was wrong. This wasn’t a complex situation. I was wrong.

I opened my mouth to tell her and blurted out instead, “You haven’t thanked me enough for the jacket.”

What the fuck?! Where had that come from? Had I lost control of my Goddamn mind?

Rachael’s reaction made my chest ache. She gave me a pleased, bashful smile; so damned beautiful. Her eyes twinkled. Then a mesmerizing change took place that made me catch my breath. Her bashful, pleased smile faded to be replaced by . . . by the feline look of a ravenous cat with a cornered mouse.

“How expensive was this jacket?” she asked.

I smiled, pulse spiking. “To be honest, the first kiss was payment enough. But it was so good, I’ve been a bit selfish.”

She smiled slyly. “So you've been taking advantage of me?”

Still smiling, I said, “Maybe a little. Just a bit.”

“You like kissing me.”

I nodded. “I do. A lot. You're a great kisser.”

“I wanna go camping. Promise me you’ll take me camping and, maaaybe, I’ll give you a kiss.”

RACHAEL FELT WARMTH BLOSSOMING inside her, a heat that made her skin feel sensitive. The twinkle in Grandpa’s eyes, the corners crinkled with amusement, his face so handsome and rugged, made her heart beat faster. He looked at her like she was a dessert and he was hungry. Her nipples became sensitive to the soft cotton undershirt. Heat flowed south, her pussy throbbing. Weightlessness formed in her stomach, as if riding a roller coaster.

Why did Grandpa turn her on so much? She didn’t understand it, yet she reacted to him like no one else. Warmth hit her face as she pictured kissing those lips. The memory of being held in his arms, the safety and comfort and excitement it gave her, his gentleness, woke desire inside her

Secretly, she was proud she could turn him on. She liked that he wanted to kiss her. She liked being desired. It was a new sensation she still wasn’t used to, but it was intoxicating.

Heart thumping, she stood, moved to him, smiled and settled astride his lap. She touched his soft chest hair and rubbed as she studied his face, craggy yet handsome, almost rugged.

His large hands settled on her hips. She smiled again. He smiled back at her, his warm blue eyes excited. Slowly, very slowly, she bent and kissed him. Lips touched.

It was like being shocked with static electricity. Her lips tingled. His lips were soft and warm. Grandpa’s arms wrapped around her and hugged her, drawing her against his large body, and she closed her eyes, drowning in the pleasure and excitement of the kiss.

A shudder hit when his tongue touched her lips. Horniness hit her, flooding through her body, her nipples aching. She teased his tongue with hers and, when she heard a deep rumble of pleasure from him, Rachael fell. Tilting her head, she eased her tongue between his lips. The faint scent of cigar smoke hit her.

Heat rushed down to her pussy. Below, she thought she could feel Grandpa’s erection inside his jeans. Kissing him harder, she wished he’d touch her breast again so she could feel the sweet pleasure of it, the rush of arousal, the excitement of being touched. She wiggled on his lap, needing stimulation, wanting stimulation. And when his tongue teased her lips, she opened her mouth and let him in.

When the kiss ended, she was breathless. Her heart raced. Her body was tense. She felt tremors in her stomach. Gawd, she needed to cum!

Why wasn’t Grandpa touching her? She sat up on his lap and smiled with pride at the heat in his eyes. She’d done that! She’d made Grandpa horny!

Rubbing his chest, she said, “I really, really like kissing you.”

He grinned. “Not nearly as much as I like kissing you,” he said, his voice a bit husky.

Rachael, feeling so mature, so desired, both wonderful sensations to her, reached behind her, finding his wrists. Staring into his eyes, she guided his hands to her chest and shuddered when they settled on her breasts.

His hands were so large, warm, slightly rough, yet his touch was so gentle. She loved the pleasure blossoming in his eyes and his smile of pleasure. Then his thumbs scraped over her sore nipples and a flood of horniness hit her. She couldn’t stop herself. She kissed him again, harder, her tongue playing with his. Sensations bombarded her; his scent strong in her nose, his tongue soft against hers, his caress making her nipples ache, his lips warm against hers.

A pulse of pleasure hit her suddenly. She reacted automatically, rubbing her pussy against his lap, and warm excitement blossomed where her clit pressed. Kissing him, she moaned when another wave of pleasure hit; Grandpa caressing her breasts, her pussy rubbing on him. The intensity grew, disorienting, heat inside, need, desire, so close to cumming.

Then the kiss ended before she was there. His hands moved away from her breasts to her back.

Opening her eyes, she saw Grandpa smiling at her. “Don’t stop now!” she complained.

“Why?”

“Because I was . . . Because . . .” Embarrassment washed through her. She couldn’t tell him she was about to cum!

“Yes?” he asked with a little knowing smile.

He knew! She could see it in his eyes. He knew she was close and he’d stopped deliberately! Fine! Two could play this game!

She wiggled her butt on his lap, noticed the slight squint of his eyes, smiled with satisfaction and stood up. “I’m getting dressed.”

Grandpa shrugged and smiled. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna put my jeans back on,” she threatened.

He grinned. “Okay.”

“And my T-shirt.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to be able to ogle me anymore.”

He laughed, a deep rumble. “Okay.”

“And I’m not going to kiss you anymore.”

Still grinning, he shrugged. “Okay.”

“What’s with you?! Why are you agreeing?” she yelled, now frustrated at not being chased and still aching from having been so close to a climax. She grabbed her jeans and tugged them on.

“Because it’s what you want.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“You’re a guy. You’re supposed to stop me. Show some enthusiasm or something!”

He laughed! “Don’t laugh at me!” she exclaimed.

“You’re funny.”

“I am not!” she insisted.

“Cute, too.”

“I am not!”

He laughed. “Trust me, you’re very cute.”

Rachael noticed the mischievous gleam in his eyes. Jeans on and T-shirt in hand, she stopped. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because you’re gorgeous when you’re flustered, and because you should be able to tell me what you want.”

“I told you not to stop,” Rachael insisted.

“And when I asked why, you wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s because . . . because . . .”

“See? You still won’t tell me.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

Grandpa’s expression softened, his smile fading. “Rachael, honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about intimacy between two people, not if you really like each other. There’s nothing embarrassing about how you feel, or what you feel, or how your body reacts. You might not know it, but guys like hearing stuff like that. It turns us on.”

“Really?”

“Yup. With guys, it’s pretty easy to know when we’re aroused. It’s obvious. But with girls, we guys can’t tell that easily. The signs aren’t obvious. That’s why we like hearing a girl tell us.”

“Huh.”

Rachael thought about it all afternoon and through the ride home. It wasn’t as easy as Grandpa made it sound. Talking about sexy feelings wasn’t something she’d ever talked about before. They were new to her and it was really personal.

After dinner, Rachael took a shower, put fresh panties on, a red T-shirt, and socks. After debating, she left her leather jacket on the bed. It was still warm despite open windows.

She smelled him before seeing him. The aroma of cigar smoke reached her in the hall. He wasn’t in the living room. She found him sitting in a comfortable wicker armchair on the patio in the back courtyard, a beer in one hand, cigar in the other, bare foot.

The night was inky dark. She saw more stars in the sky than she’d ever seen before, a carpet of twinkling, shining diamonds. It was beautiful.

Rachael took the chair next to him and studied the rock garden, lit by light spilling from the living room. She liked it. Every nook and cranny had a succulent plant or cactus. It looked wild, like the country around them.

“I’ve been thinking and have some questions,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Ask away.”

She was glad he couldn’t see the heat in her face. “What does it feel like to have a penis?”

Grandpa puffed on his cigar. “What does it feel like to have a vagina?”

“I dunno. It’s just part of me.”

“There’s your answer.” He took a sip of beer and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s it like to have breasts now?”

She glanced at him, thinking he was making fun of her, but he wasn’t. He looked like he was really interested. “It was weird at first when they started growing but I’m glad they did. Most of my friends started getting them before I did. At first, they hurt a bit if I brushed against anything.”

She paused, then asked, “What does it feel like to a guy to be, you know . . . horny?”

“That’s a hard question to answer.”

Rachael giggled quietly. “Hard, right!”

Grandpa grinned. He continued, “When I get . . . horny, I get warm. I feel pressure inside that’s like a weight inside me. I get an erection, and desire builds, yearning and need. When I’m really turned on, my erection feels heavy and aches and throbs.”

He puffed his cigar and studied the glowing tip. “My turn. When did you first discover pleasure with your body?”

“Last year. Although it might have been before.”

“Tell me about it.”

Rachael turned her face up to the sky. Embarrassment returned. She inhaled deeply. “I think it was when I was riding my bike. I’d get these tingles in my . . . in my . . .”

Conversationally, Grandpa said with a slight smile, “Personally, I call it a pussy. Feel free to call it whatever you want.”

“My pussy,” Rachael continued. “I didn’t know what it was, just that it felt sorta nice. But last year, I was taking a shower and used the shower head to rinse my . . . my pussy. It made me horny. When I went to bed, I was still sort of aching but didn’t know what to do. I pushed a pillow between my legs and squeezed and, well, that was the first time.”

Rachael, surprisingly, felt relief at talking about it. “My turn. Do you masturbate? And how do you do it? How often? What does it feel like?”

Grandpa chuckled. “Every guy masturbates. It’s normal unless you’re raised a Roman Catholic, and even they do it. As for how often, not that often. I used to masturbate almost every day when I was in my early teens. These days, it’s mostly when I get turned on by someone.”

When he stopped, Rachael pointed out, “You didn’t tell me how or what it feels like.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen this stuff on the Internet. I’m no different. I stroke my erection. As for how it feels, there are different types of orgasms. Some are hard and intense, some are softer, but they always make me feel wonderful. My turn. What was your first climax like?”

“It was with that pillow I talked about. I rubbed my pussy on it. Pressure kept building until I thought I had to pee. I stopped and went to the bathroom, but couldn’t pee. In bed, I scrunched the pillow up again, lay on top it and rubbed - sorta humped it. It started with tingles, then an explosion went off. It was so hard I couldn’t breathe and, when I calmed down, I was really sleepy.”

Rachael squeezed her thighs together at the memory of her climaxes, her pussy tingling. She was getting horny just talking about sex with Grandpa!

“My turn,” she said. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

He replied, “You’re beautiful more than pretty.”

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

Grandpa nodded. “I do. Very.”

“What about me is sexy? I mean, I’m sorta skinny and young and my boobs are small.”

“It’s not that simple. Sexy comes in all shapes and sizes. I think everyone is different in what they find sexy.” He stopped and puffed his cigar, inspected it, then tapped the ash off and continued. “Sexy starts with attraction. I can be attracted to a woman physically, emotionally, or both. Physical attraction is easy. You see a girl and think she’s pretty. Emotional attraction comes when you get to know the girl. It doesn’t matter what she looks like when you like her personality, and that can be sexy, too. And occasionally, you get both in a girl. Then she’s really sexy.”

Rachael waited for him to continue and finally said, “You didn’t tell me what you think is sexy about me.”

Grandpa looked at her. “Everything. Absolutely everything.”

“Are you being honest?” Rachael asked, thrilled.

Grandpa shifted in his chair. He sipped beer and said, “Rachael, honey, I can honestly say you’re about the sexiest girl I’ve ever known.” He puffed his cigar. “And I’ve known a few women.”

About to ask another question, Grandpa spoke again.

“You make me want things that are illegal and illicit, exciting and new.”

“Thanks,” she said, pleased. “I’ve heard sex the first time hurts. Does it?”

“I don’t know. For some it probably does, others maybe not so much. It always hurts the first time you tear your hymen, but how much, I don’t know. Otherwise, I think it’s a matter of how slow or fast you take it, how aroused you are.”

Face warm again, Rachael told him, “I think I already tore my hymen. I was curious after sex ed and tried putting a Sharpie pen in.”

Grandpa smiled, leaned to the side to stub his cigar out, and asked, “How did it feel? The Sharpie, I mean.”

She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. Not as good as rubbing my button.” She paused, then asked, “How big are you?”

“Six-three.”

Rachael laughed lightly, face heating even more. “Not that. You know, your, um . . . “

“Penis?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grinned. “Flaccid or erect?”

Rachael giggled, feeling even more relaxed talking about sex. Grandpa made it easy. So did the darkness. “Is there a big difference?”

“Well now, if you were to ask me in the middle of winter, the answer would be definitely. Old Faithful doesn’t like the cold. Sort of shrinks from it.”

Rachael laughed. “Old Faithful?”

Grandpa grinned. “Seemed like an apt name. He never lets me down and always performs right on time.”

She giggled. “So how big is Old Faithful?”

“About yay big,” he said, his hand apart. As she looked, he grinned and spread his hands wider and wider apart.

She had to laugh. “Sorta like the fish that got away?”

He chuckled and nodded.

“Will you show me?”

“Old Faithful?”

Slightly quieter, she clarified, “No. Sex. Will you show me what it’s like?”

Grandpa was silent, studying her. “Would I like to? Absolutely. But you need to be very, very sure it’s what you want. There’s no going back; no undoing it. It would be better to wait and experience sex with someone you love.”

“I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you, too. Let’s agree on this. You give it serious thought. Ask any questions you need to. And if you still want to, we can discuss it.”

“I guess that means not tonight, then?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he warned in a lower, gruff voice, his eyes twinkling.

Grinning, Rachael said, “I’ve thought about it. How ’bout tonight?”

He laughed. “Think about it some more.” He checked his watch. “Eleven-forty. It’s been a long day. Bed time,” he announced.


Chapter Seven

MY EYES POPPED OPEN when the bed moved. The room was shadows and darkness, the open window a bright rectangle. I rolled over, knowing Rachael had just slipped into bed.

She smiled at me. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Not enough,” I countered. Her smile faded, making me conscious of how much courage it must have taken to take the initiative. Not wanting her to feel rejected, I added, “But you can sleep in bed with me and experience what it’s like to be with someone.”

Her smile returned. “Kay.” The smile faded. A serious expression emerged. “But you should know I’ve thought about it and decided.”

“We’ll see.”

With that, I drew Rachael into my arms. She cuddled close, her arm draping over my hip. Her beautiful eyes watched me. I smiled and kissed her gently.

“Night.”

Rachael looked a bit surprised, then smiled and settled. I could smell her, soap and shampoo and a faint hint of lime. She closed her eyes. I watched as she fell asleep. Her face relaxed and became even more childlike, so sweet.

As if we’d slept together forever, Rachael eventually turned away from me and cuddled back until we were spooning. She hugged the arm I draped around her.

That’s the position I woke up in; cuddled up behind a sexy young girl in panties and a red T-shirt, my arm draped over her. Rachael’s curly black hair tickled my nose. Her small bottom pressed into my groin. And her scent had changed, now muted with a hint of warm sleepiness. It was, I thought, a perfume that could make millions if bottled.

Dawn was just breaking, the sky turning from dark purple to navy blue. A cooling breeze wafted over me. Surprising myself, I lay quietly enjoying her presence without becoming aroused. She was warm and alive and cuddly and cute.

Eventually, I eased away from her and went to the bathroom. She was still asleep when I emerged. I dressed quietly, thought about waking her up and decided to let her sleep. Yesterday had been active. Before leaving the bedroom, I paused and admired. She looked so sweet, so young. For some reason, seeing her asleep in my bed aroused me. There was something so forbidden and exciting about having a barely pubescent girl in my bed.

I took that thought to the kitchen and made coffee, my penis comfortably thick. Why was I resisting what I really wanted? I was sure sex with Rachael would be an experience like no other. My first lover had been seventeen, well developed, and not a virgin. I’d never had sex with a virgin. How different is it?

Being honest, I loved the prospect of sex with a thirteen-year-old, too; especially one just blossoming into puberty; a child-woman. My penis thickened even more.

Serving myself, I sat at the kitchen table and pondered my attitude. Kissing and hugging is one thing. Sexual intimacy is a major, irreversible step. I wouldn’t regret it, but Rachael was young, still immature, and she might regret it no matter what she says now.

And then there was my daughter. If Cara discovered her daughter in a sexual relationship with me, God knows what Hell would result. Cara was still cool towards me, distanced. The relationship, after almost twenty years, was just beginning to thaw.

But, damn! I really liked Rachael. My attraction to her was stronger than any I’d felt before; stronger than my attraction to my ex wife at the beginning, and that’s saying something.

“Morning, Grandpa,” Rachael said, walking into the kitchen in her tee and panties.

Already slightly horny, in the light of day, I saw how snug her simple powder blue cotton panties were. The leg elastic dug deep at the sides. Her pubis strained against the cotton, small yet plump and oh so sexy.

A little of my resistance weakened.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

Rachael smiled broadly, blindingly. “The best ever! There’s something to be said about sleeping with another person. I hope you slept well, cuz I’m sleeping in your bed tonight!”

I smiled. “I slept very well. Better than usual.”

Rachael beamed. “Great! What’s for breakfast?”

“Anything you can find.”

While I sipped coffee and watched her cute ass moving as she hunted through cupboards, she told me we were out of cereal, out of granola bars, out of orange juice, out of sliced bread, and only had one egg.

She plopped down in a chair and pouted. “There’s nothing to eat!”

“I think there’s leftover pasta in the fridge, or cheese. We have some potatoes and onions under the sink. There’s plenty to eat.”

She frowned at me. “That’s not breakfast and I’m hungry.”

“All you need is some imagination,” I informed her, getting up from the table.

I started cooking. Rachael kept asking what I was making. I refused to tell her. Diced potatoes were sautéed and browned. I added diced onion and a touch of Tabasco. Opening a can of Corned Beef, I cut it up and added it to the frying pan. Finally, I whipped the one egg with a touch of milk and added to the pan. A dash of salt and freshly ground pepper, and I plated the meal.

Rachael looked at the plate, leaned forward and sniffed, picked up her fork and tasted it reluctantly. “Mmmm,” she announced and inhaled her breakfast.

Between mouthfuls, she asked, “What is this?” and “How come I’ve never had this before?” and “Wow, this is goooood!”

Making me smile, she jabbed her fork at me and said, “You can cook, Gramps! It would have been better with toast, though.”

By mid-morning we were off to the supermarket to replenish supplies. Rachael had donned short tan shorts that formed to her exquisite little ass very nicely, sandals, a loose pale green top that teasingly hinted at small breasts, and her black leather jacket.

She was a power shopper. Unlike clothes shopping, which she took forever to decide, our excursion in the supermarket was speed shopping. She grabbed items and tossed them in the cart, then moved briskly to another section, grabbing more foods. I couldn’t decipher her choices. None made sense or constituted a meal, so I surreptitiously tried to put things back on the shelf when she wasn’t looking.

After a quick glance at the cart, she grabbed what I’d returned to the shelf. The fourth time, she told me, “Stop putting things back.”

Thankfully, Rachael didn’t demonstrate the same eclectic enthusiasm with fresh vegetables or meats. I managed to add several meals while she meandered into the frozen dessert section.

The rear of the Ford’s cab was loaded when we headed home. Rachael helped bring the bags in, then disappeared. As I unpacked, I heard the roar of the ATV. Curious, I followed the sound to the front courtyard. Rachael was driving circles around the pickup, dust and gravel flying in a billowing cloud.

Despite yelling at her, she didn’t hear me. I walked into her path and prayed she wouldn’t run me over. The ATV came to a skidding halt three feet from me.

“Watch out!” she exclaimed. “I almost hit you!”

“Turn it off.”

“Why?”

“Turn it off, Rachael.”

She did. Blessed silence arrived. “What?” she asked.

“Where’s your helmet?”

“Oh. I forgot.”

“Do it again and I’m hiding the keys. I’m not joking, honey. These machines can kill you.”

“Kay. Sorry.”

I watched her find and put her helmet on before returning to the kitchen. For the next half an hour Rachael roared around the property. From the sound echoing through the open kitchen doors, I could tell when she was racing and when she was cruising and, smiling, I noted how racing dominated.

Eventually silence returned. I sat to read a book in the rear garden courtyard after checking on my granddaughter. She was busy at the computer, occupied with a chat program.

The afternoon passed calmly. Weather was hot, sun intense; typical Arizona. When evening approached, I started the charcoal barbecue and puttered around in the kitchen preparing a salad and soaking corn on the cob in strong brine. The steaks, thick and aged to perfection, sat on the counter to get to room temperature.

With everything prepared, I opened a bottle of Argento Pinot Noir, a nice red wine from Argentina. Glass in hand, I went in search of Rachael to let her know dinner would be starting soon.

I found her in her bedroom, on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, her knees up, and reading a magazine she’d picked up at the supermarket.

She didn’t see me. I stood in the doorway and studied her. Feet on the bed, slightly spread, drew my eyes down. And there they stopped. The seam of her tight tan shorts pressed into her cleft, her labia swelling at each side. Her small pussy bulged, straining against her shorts, and I admired the sexy sight. Below, where her buttocks pressed to the bed, the shorts had ridden up enough to expose the edge of her panties.

Rachael wasn’t trying to be sexy and because of it, she was very, very sexy. My body responded, blood flowing south. She noticed me, looked up, and smiled broadly, her eyes bright.

“I’m about to start dinner.”

“Good. I’m hungry. Can I have some wine?” She rolled off the bed and followed me to the kitchen. “What are we having?”

Catching sight of the steaks on the counter, she gave her approval, “Mmmm. Steaks,” and opened a cupboard, grabbed a wine glass, and held it out to me. “Wine, please.”

I poured a quarter glass.

“More.”

When it was a third filled, I stopped. She sniffed and tasted. “I like the other one more. The one you had when I arrived.”

“You shouldn’t like any wine at your age.”

“I don’t like any wine, only red wine,” she smartly retorted, giving me a smirk.

I collected the corn on the cobs in brine and the steaks, and led her outside to the barbecue. She hovered, watching me spread glowing coals.

Corn hit the grill.

“What about the steaks?” she asked.

“You char the corn first, then set it aside and start the steaks.”

Sipping wine, we chatted. Every time I went to turn the corn, I dipped it in the salty brine.

“Why are you doing that?”

“You’ll see.”

“When do you start the steaks?”

“Soon.”

“I want more wine. Want some?” She wagged her empty glass at me, smiling.

“Bring the bottle,” I suggested.

“Kay! Are we eating outside, too?”

She walked into the house without waiting for an answer. I watched her cute ass. Damn, it was so small and sexy, her bare legs so long and slender.

To distract myself, I dipped and turned the corn cobs for a final time, and salted and peppered the steaks. “Bring the salad!” I yelled. “And butter. And plates and cutlery!”

Rachael emerged with the bottle of wine. “What?” she asked.

“Salad, butter, plates and cutlery.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The two-inch thick steaks hit the grill with a sizzle. Sixteen minutes later we were eating succulent, melt in your mouth, prime steer.

Rachael enjoyed her meal, ate more corn than I did, and couldn’t finish her steak. At one point, she jabbed a lettuce-loaded fork at me. “I’ve thought about sex some more.”

“Not enough.”

“It’s not complicated, Grandpa.”

“Do you like lying?”

“Not much. Why?”

“You haven’t thought about it enough.”

“Yes I have.”

“No you haven’t.”

She frowned at me, eating distractedly. By the time dinner was over, the wine bottle was empty. Rachael was a bit unsteady on her feet and prone to giggling as we cleaned up. She dropped cutlery with an “Oops!” and wobbled trying to pick it up. I grinned. My granddaughter was tipsy!

“Go to bed, Rachael,” I ordered. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“Kay.” She wobbled off. From the hall, she yelled back at me, “I’m going to bed!”

“Don’t forget to change and brush your teeth!” I yelled after her.

“Right! Teeth!”

Smiling with amusement, I cleaned up and went back outside to finish my glass of wine in peace and quiet. By eleven I was ready to retire.

Lights off, I found Rachael in my bed, asleep and snoring lightly. I got ready and slipped into bed. She didn’t stir. In light cotton pajamas she looked like the young girl she was.

For a while, I lay beside her, then I turned on my side and gently manhandled her, spooning her from behind. She slept, snoring cutely, completely pliable, gone to the world. With her in my arms, I fell asleep.

When morning broke, our positions hadn’t changed much, just in one small way. My arm was draped over her and my hand was resting on her chest. My palm was pressed against Rachael’s small breast over her pajamas.

A full bladder called for attention and I ignored it. I didn’t move. I held Rachael, smelled her, felt her against me, kept my hand on her breast, and I was in heaven. For almost half an hour I luxuriated in having her in my bed and touching her intimately. Then she woke up.

“Oh Gaaawd! My head hurts! Turn the sun off!” She tugged the covers over her head with a groan.

I rolled out of bed and went to hunt for relief. Tylenol and water in hand, I returned to my hung-over patient.

“Take these pills, honey.”

A muffled “No,” came from under the covers. “It’s too bright.”

I lifted the cover up and passed pills and water underneath. The glass was passed back half empty, cover closing.

Grinning, I let her sleep. She didn’t emerge for three hours and when she did, I laughed at her. Still in her wrinkled, colorful cotton pajamas, her dark hair a curly mess as if she’d been caught in a tornado, bare foot and frowning, she looked utterly adorable.

Rachael glared at me. “It’s not funny. I hate wine!”

I made her an omelet and toast, with a large glass of orange juice. Her cheek was resting on crossed arms on the kitchen table. She moved slowly, raising her head, looked at the food and groaned.

“Eat if you want to feel better.”

“Not hungry.”

“Eat, Rachael. It’ll make you feel better.”

Still frowning, she jabbed her fork into the omelet, took a chunk from the middle and stuffed it in her mouth, chewing lethargically. Slowly, she ate the center of the omelet, put her fork down, sipped orange juice and announced, “I’m going back to bed.”

Rachael didn’t emerge until just after three o’clock, still in pajamas and looking sick. She curled up on the couch, leaning against me.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, putting my arm over her shoulders.

“A new head, and a new body. Why do people drink alcohol? It’s horrible.”

“You drank too much last night. A good lesson. Excess always kicks you in the ass.”

“No kidding,” she grumbled.

“We’ll eat early. I’ll make something easy on your stomach and you’ll feel better.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Kay.”

While reading, Rachael fell asleep at my side. At six, I woke her up, made plain Basmati rice with a roasted pork tenderloin marinated in puréed onion, garlic, turmeric, and sumac spice - a very mild flavor. She ate voraciously, emitted little “Mmmm” sounds, and as her stomach filled up, her eyes brightened. Smiles returned. Energy was restored.

A day sleeping wrought havoc on her circadian rhythm. She was wide awake at eleven-fifteen, still energetic when she strolled into my bedroom in the same pajamas she’d worn all day and climbed in. She was frisky, too.

Leaning over me, breath minty, eyes bright, she smiled. “So. I’ve thought about it even more and still want to try it.” She added clarification I didn’t need. “Sex.”

“And what about lying?” I asked. “Have you thought about that?”

“I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth.”

“I’m sure you are. But what happens when your mother asks you?”

“Oh.”

“What happens if your friends ask you?”

“Huh.” She pondered it and said, “It’s a conundrum, isn’t it? What would you do if Mom asked you?”

“I’d lie. I’m good at lying. I’ve had years of experience.”

“What have you lied about?” she asked, now interested.

“Lots of things. I’ve lied about how good a meal is when it’s made for me by someone who can’t cook. I’ve lied when asked if pants make a lady’s butt look big. I’ve lied to myself more frequently than I care to remember.”

“Those are fibs, not lies,” Rachael decided. She became thoughtful for a moment, then her expression cleared and she grinned. “I’ve got it! Your name is Humphrey!”

“And that helps how - aside from being a stupid name?”

Smiling, Rachael said, “If anyone asks, I don’t have to lie. I can say I had sex with a guy called Humphrey! No lie! See?”

I chuckled. “I’m not a Humphrey.”

“How ’bout Ralph, Hubert, Umberto, or Chandler?”

She amused me enough to laugh, grab her, and draw her into an embrace. Dark eyes twinkled at me. A small smile played across her lips, so cute. With her lying partially over me, I kissed her and fondled her pajama-covered little ass. Rachael’s tongue teased me with a brush and the kiss ended.

“Or Billy Bob, or Morris, or Thaddeus . . .”

I grinned and kissed her again, this time tasting her lips. Watching me, she let the tip of her tongue touch mine then scoot away, her lips closing tightly. She smiled as we kissed, mischief flitting through her eyes. The kiss ended.

“Or Heathcliff, or Geoffrey, or . . .“

I laughed again. “Jesus, Rachael! Enough!”

She grinned, pleased. “So you pick a name.”

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, kiss me.”

A small smile emerged. She kissed me softly, a gentle, surprisingly intimate brush of her lips, her clean, minty breath washing over me. Her lips pressed harder and, as she murmured, as her eyes closed and I felt her lips part, her knee slipped up my thigh and rubbed against my partial erection.

Fondling her cute butt, the kiss deepened and her knee gently rubbed me into a full erection. Desire settled its seductive fog over me and I reacted, easing my hand up and inside her pajama bottoms to caress her pantied rear. Like a teenager, just touching her cotton panties drove my arousal higher and it intensified our kiss, tongues caressing, breath deepening.

Rachael murmured and responded, and as I considered slipping my hand inside her panties to caress a bare buttock, she ended the kiss with a sigh.

Shiny dark eyes smiled at me. Her lips looked flushed. “That was . . . yum. Night, Gramps.”

She eased to my side, plumped a pillow and settled.

“I thought you wanted this?” I said, a bit confused.

“I do. But I’m dirty. I haven’t showered. And I want to dress up and flirt and feel sexy. Speaking of sexy, I want some sexy underwear. All mine are plain.”

“All yours are sexy,” I corrected her.

“No they aren’t. Can you give me some money so I can shop?”

“For sexy underwear? Absolutely!”

She smiled. “Thanks. Tomorrow. Maybe I need some clothes, too. What do you find sexy?”

“You in anything . . . or out of anything.”

Rachael giggled. “Tomorrow,” she confirmed, rolling and giving me her back. “Cuddle me, Billy Bob.”

I laughed silently and spooned her. She wiggled her little ass and my erection, safely confined by underwear, found the valley between her buttocks. It was impossible to hide and I didn’t try. Instead, I luxuriated in the experience, feeling her in my arms, bodies pressed together - so deliciously forbidden.

“Is it normal that I’m excited and scared at the same time?” Rachael asked quietly.

“I guess so. But there’s no pressure, honey. You do what you want when you’re comfortable, or nothing at all. I’ll be happy with hugging you like this, and some kisses. I want the kisses.”

Rachael’s body shook with silent laughter. “You’re too laid back and calm, Billy Bob. I want to drive you nuts to the point you where you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“Works for me. But fair warning, it takes a lot to drive me nuts.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured, clenching her buttocks against my erection.

I gave her a quiet, desperate groan for her effort and she giggled with pleasure.

Somehow, despite sleeping all day, she fell asleep. I didn’t. Not right away. It felt too good holding her while being horny.


Chapter Eight

Tucson was the same as ever - a constantly growing, busy city bustling with activity. Laid back, dressed-down Westerners mixed with trendy youth, both excited by the novelty of Starbucks stores popping up next to the profusion of Country and Western bars. Interestingly, Macy’s and Saks flourished, as did Michael Kors, Porche, and Whole Foods, attesting to the growing wealth of the population.

I stood out in the sun, leaning back against the fender of the Ford pickup, smoking a cigar and waiting patiently for Rachael to shop. I wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t antsy. Laziness sort of suited me, that and watching women entering and leaving the mall.

I’ve observed over time that cigars have an odd effect on women. They’re polarizing. Some frown at me and wrinkle their nose in distaste. They’re the tight-ass ones in matronly clothes, conservative and carefully coiffed. They probably see me and think they’re going to be ravished. In their dreams!

Other women smile and study me. They’re measuring and assessing - am I as rough as the jeans, shirt, and cowboy boots suggest? They inspect my clothes for signs of a poseur and, when they see that my jeans are well worn and there’s no fashion label on my shirt, their smiles grow. Occasionally, one will stop and flirt.

I’m a handsome cad. A full head of silver hair helps. I have no shame. I flirt right back. It makes them feel good, harms no one, and brings a little fun to both our days. Women love to be appreciated. Thus, when Rachael emerged carrying four or five shopping bags, she found me chatting to a pretty, tall, busty, and well presented thirty-something blonde by the name of Sue Ellen.

A frown warned me Rachael wasn’t amused, and the frown deepened when Sue Ellen commented that Rachael was a pretty little girl.

Rachael tossed her shopping bags into the back of the cab and slammed the half-door shut with attitude.

For a moment I was concerned. Then Sue Ellen said, “Well, I have to be going. Nice meeting you, Billy Bob.” She sashayed away.

Rachael burst into giggles; so cute it made me grin.

“Billy Bob, were you flirting?”

“I was polishing my skills. They’re a bit rusty.”

“No they aren’t,” Rachael said, climbing into the pickup. “You flirt with every lady you see, being charming and helpful and pretending to be interested in them.”

I grinned again. “I am interested in them. There’s no harm in window shopping and admiring as long as I keep my wallet firmly in my back pocket and don’t buy.”

She buckled up. I started the truck and asked, “Speaking of shopping, what did you buy?”

“Stuff.”

“Give me my credit card. How much did you spend?”

“Not much. Maybe a bit. But I bought you a present!”

She fished the credit card out of her jeans and handed it to me. I could have sworn it was hot from use.

She twisted in her seat, reached back, fumbled around, and proudly presented me with a Stetson hat. “Try it on.”

I did, amused by her.

“Sexy, cowboy! It’s perfect! Give me a squint!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Y’all be nuts, young lady. A purdy little thang, but crazier than a one-armed rodeo rider on an angry bull,” I drawled.

Rachael hooted with laughter.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we rolled into the forecourt at home. Rachael grabbed her bags and disappeared. I kept the Stetson on after seeing myself in the hall mirror. I did look dashing.

With a chilly bottle of Stella Artois beer in hand, I moseyed on out to the back patio and settled. My granddaughter had given me so much pleasure today, I didn’t care what the financial damages were. Her giggles still echoed through my brain. This girl was radically different from the one that had emerged at the airport. I wondered what my daughter, Cara, would think if she could see Rachael now.

Maybe I should call her. Check in. Give her a progress report. What had happened to cause a rift between the two? I checked the time. Five after five. That meant Cara was still at work. Maybe later.

My mind turned to Rachael. She excited me. What would a thirteen-year-old think is sexy? What would it be like to have a barely pubescent girl flirt with me? An over-active imagination tried to picture undressing Rachael, slowly exposing her small breasts, peeling her panties off to see her young pussy, and arousal stole in. I shifted in the chair and rearranged myself. She hadn’t appeared and I was already horny. She was so deliciously young. Extreme jailbait, made more so by my age - just intoxicating.

Five minutes later, she came out. Surprising and amusing me, Rachael was wearing a very, very short jean skirt, short cowgirl boots, and a plaid buttoned shirt. Making me smile broadly was the cowboy hat tilted back on her head. She was all legs; long, very slender legs. With her mocha color, she was slightly exotic.

She smiled and posed. “Howdy,” she said. “What do you think, Billy Bob?”

To me, Rachael looked intensely cute, not sexy in the way my mind had imagined. “You look right at home and very cute.”

She meandered over and sat next to me. That’s when I saw, in the open neck of her red and black plaid shirt, the top of a pure white, lacy camisole. I automatically wondered if she was wearing matching panties and shifted again, my partial erection swelling.

“Would you like some wine?” I offered.

Rachael grimaced. “Yuck! No thank you!”

“A Coke?”

She nodded.

In the kitchen, I rearranged myself, pressing my partial erection down. I couldn’t stop thinking about intimacy with her, the concept so exciting. With a Coke and Stella Artois in hand, I headed back.

Sun was slipping towards the hills. Shadows from one wing of the house slowly crept towards us. We chatted about the day, Sue Ellen, and how I seemed to attract women without trying.

At one point, Rachael turned in her chair and put her foot up on the seat, leaning back. She was chatting away, but I lost the conversation.

Pure, virginal white caught my attention. The material was as shiny as silk. Rachael’s panties were tight to her vulva that strained against the slinky material as if ready to burst. Her pussy was small, yet full and pouting and indescribably erotic. I could see the edges of her panties at the bottom of her buttocks, the fold where sensual material gathered below her pussy, and the amazing, lush shape formed by her labia straining against satin white.

She shifted again and the sight disappeared, hidden by a short, short denim skirt. Her legs came together as she sat up and waggled her empty glass at me.

“Want another beer? I’m getting more Coke.”

I held out an empty bottle and watched her cute ass move under the skirt.

When she returned, she handed me a new beer, sat down and said, “Did you know, in Tombstone, if you’re over eighteen, it’s illegal to smile if you’re missing more than one tooth?”

“Nope. Makes sense to me.”

She smiled. “Here in Arizona, it’s illegal to have more than two dildos in a house. How many do you have?”

I grinned. “Three. One in each bedroom for visiting ladies’ pleasure.”

“I haven’t found the one in my bedroom yet.” She sipped her Coke, her beautiful eyes full of mischief. “In this crazy State, when being attacked by someone, you can only defend yourself with the same type of weapon the attacker is using.” She waited a beat and added, “What happens if he has a scimitar? Do you stop, stand still and say, ’Oh shit!’?”

“Have you been researching Arizona?” I asked with a laugh.

Smiling, she replied, “I sure hope you don’t have a donkey sleeping in your bathtub. That’s illegal, too.”

Grinning, I countered with, “It’s illegal to hunt camels. Just remember that when we’re out on our next adventure.”

“Really? There are wild camels in Arizona?”

“Nope. And it’s illegal in Arizona for me to do what I’m contemplating.”

Rachael’s smile became sly. “What are you contemplating?”

“If I had my wish, breaking about five laws.”

Rachael tilted her head. “Five, huh? What are they?”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll find out.”

Rachael’s retort was immediate. “You mean, if you’re lucky!” She gave me a satisfied smirk. “What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite. Pizza.”

“Pizza’s not my favorite! It’s yours!”

“Right. I forgot.” I sipped beer and contemplated her. She was very sharp for a thirteen-year-old, articulate and funny, and oddly sweet. “So, when are you going to start flirting with me?”

She smiled. “I have been.”

“Huh. How?”

“I’ve been charming and conversational and paid attention to what you’re saying, and I’ve let you ogle my legs, which you’ve been doing a lot of.”

“I think I should give you some pointers on flirting.”

“I don’t need them,” she countered.

Rachael was very cute. I reached for her hand and tugged. “I feel like breaking the law. Come here.”

Her marvelous, dark, dark eyes narrowed. “Like how?” she asked.

“A kiss to start.”

“To start? What about the pizza?”

“You choose. Kiss or pizza.”

“Pizza, definitely,” she said, a wonderful smile emerging. She stood, turned and sat sideways in my lap.

With a hand on the nape of her neck, I drew her face close. I caught the scent of soap or perfume and that entrancing hint of fresh lime. She studied my eyes, then my mouth, and we kissed softly.

I felt her body relax. The kiss ended and another started, this time with more pressure, lips moving. She teased my lips with her tongue and backed off. A gleam entered her eyes.

“I think my flirting worked,” she observed. She wiggled on my lap with pleasure and kissed me again.

This time, the kiss grew passionate very quickly. Tongues touched, lips parted, and I eased my hand up the side of her body in a caress. When I brushed her small breast, two things happened. Rachael murmured with pleasure and I became fully erect.

The excitement of touching her breast far surpassed my experience of touching other lovers’ breasts. Rachael’s was so petite, a gentle mound, reinforcing her youth, and it was a powerful aphrodisiac.

I loved touching her intimately, so much so that, when the kiss ended and she rested her head on my shoulder, I kept caressing her, and she didn’t stop me. I was in heaven.

She sighed quietly and fidgeted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Non-verbal communication is often clearer than verbal. Rachael’s hand settled over mine when I dropped my hand to rub her bare thigh. Her expression was slightly bashful, evident in the way her head tilted and face looked down, avoiding my eyes. I thought I knew why. She was confident and open when joking about us, but with real intimacy her insecurity emerged and I was sure it was a result of what she was feeling - aroused, her body feeling new desires.

I remember the conflict I’d suffered from in my youth, driven by horniness but unsure of how to proceed. Should you make a move? What if it wasn’t reciprocated? What if you did something embarrassing? I remembered the angst and yearning and hope and excitement. And I remembered wishing it could be simple, not so complex and intimidating.

That, I could do for her. I could make her comfortable.

One hand rubbing her back, the other caressing her slender thigh, I said in a soft voice, “I’m pretty turned on right now. You’re incredibly sexy. How about we move inside and get comfortable? There are a few more laws I’d like to break.”

She shook silently with laughter. “Like what?”

“It’s easier to demonstrate. It involves a lot of touching and kissing and really naughty things. You might like it. I know I will.”

Rachael laughed softly. “Kay.”

She stood up. I took her hand and led her. Turning off outdoor lights and closing the doors. We continued through the living room, lights switched off, and into the kitchen. When the kitchen lights went off, we were plunged into darkness.

I drew her against me and hugged her. She hugged me back, pressing her cheek to my chest.

In the pale moonlight, she turned her face up to me when I caressed her back and smiled. She rose onto her toes and we kissed, standing in the kitchen, our lips touching. My hands slipped down to her narrow hips and then around to cup her sexy butt, and Rachael responded, her tongue emerging, the kiss intensifying.

My erection returned in full force and she felt it, pressing her body against it. The sweet flood of desire washed through me, my pulse rising, yearning.

I didn’t resist. Easing my hands down further, I touched the back of her bare thighs and, excitement mounting, with an erection now tight inside my jeans, moved my hands up under her short skirt.

The quiet moan that broke the silence was mine, involuntary, driven by the feel of silken panties on her small ass. I explored her mouth with my tongue, kissing her passionately, and cupped two gorgeous, petite buttocks that filled my hands almost perfectly, narrow yet rounded, so exciting.

With her beautiful ass in hand, I pulled her crotch against mine and Rachael responded. Her tongue became frisky. She rubbed her pussy against the lump of my erection. Her breathing sped up; wafts of clean warm air against my cheek.

Arousal, like a thick fog, muted rational thought, maturity, restraint. I lifted her by her sexy buttocks. She was very light. Rachael wrapped her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. Still kissing her, my desire for her rising to dangerous levels, I carried her out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into my dark, unlit bedroom.

Pale moonlight was enough.

At the side of the bed, still holding her, I bent and slowly lowered us, settling across the bed, me on top. Dressed or not, it was an incredibly sexy position.

The kiss ended. Rachael smiled, her lips rather plump. In the moonlit room, her eyes were inky black, exotic, beautiful. She stared into my eyes and I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing the lump of my erection against her crotch, her legs still around my waist.

In a sexy, suggestive move, Rachael rubbed her pussy against me and smiled with pleasure at my quiet moan. God, she was so attractive, so damned slender and young underneath me, so damned illicit.

Easing my hands off her small butt, I settled my full weight onto her. We kissed again, dry humping each other, and I could imagine how incredible it would be to be naked with her in this position.

Excitement building, restraint crumbling, I ended the kiss by sucking her ripe lower lip, eased the side of my body off her, reached down between us, and cupped her pussy.

Silky panties slipped and slid against my palm as I caressed the remarkable shape of her mons and sexy, sexy fullness of her vulva below, warm to the touch. Rachael’s eyes narrowed slightly when I traced her cleft. Excitement punished me. She moaned almost silently and pulled me back into a kiss, her passion more intense, mouth moving. Against my palm, she undulated her pussy, responding, aroused.

Still kissing, she reached down between us and felt my erection, rubbing me over my jeans. Heat hit me. My cock ached, uncomfortably constrained, awkwardly positioned downwards.

Rachael explored the shape, rubbed and caressed. She moved her crotch, scrubbing her pussy against my hand and my arousal intensified even more. I traced her cleft, pressed her silky panties into her soft, lush cleft, and rubbed her clit.

Rachael gasped, ending the kiss, her breath rapid. She fondled me harder, pressing and exploring my crotch, then let me go and wrapped her arm around my neck, holding on. Her eyes closed, nostrils flared. Damn it was exciting! Was she about to climax?

She did! In a spectacularly erotic display, Rachael held her breath, her body tense, pausing, on the cusp. With an explosive gasp, she tumbled into her orgasm, hips moving, pussy scrubbing. A look of pain flitted across her face, brows furrowed. She gasped again and, breathing through her mouth, she humped my hand, body shaking. It felt like forever. I forgot my need, enraptured by her sweet ecstasy. And slowly she calmed. Her face relaxed. Her body stilled.

I held her pussy and felt small passing tremors of pleasure fade away. Eventually, she opened her eyes and she graced me with a bashful smile. I kissed it lightly.

“That,” I assured her, “was absolutely beautiful, and very, very sexy. How did it feel?”

“Amazing,” she sighed. “I feel like I have no bones anymore.” She felt my erection. “You’re still . . .”

I nodded. “I am.”

“What should I do?”

“Nothing. I like being turned on by you.”

“But, don’t you want to . . . you know.”

I smiled. “All in good time. There’s no law that says both of us have to cum. Sometimes, giving pleasure to your lover is enough.”

Rachael’s smile broadened into radiance. “I’m your lover now!”

“Yup. You are. Are you hungry? I am. We can eat before continuing.”

“There’s more?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Rachael, honey, we’ve just started.” I grinned, adding, “I have more laws I’m planning to break.”

She giggled, such a cute sound. “What’re your plans?”

“Eat to restore your energy, and then I thought I’d ravish you and make you beg for mercy.”

She laughed, amused, her pleasure and excitement plain to see. “I never beg for mercy.”

“Want to bet?”

“Nope.”

Before I moved off her, I caressed her cheek, kissed her lightly and said, “You’re the sexiest girl I’ve ever known, Rachael.”

She gave me a pleased little smile. “Thanks.”

Retuning her smile, I rolled off her, saying, “You’re welcome. Time for pizza. You’re going to need energy.”

When she made to roll off the bed, I stopped her with a hand on her hip. “I have a favor to ask.”

“What?”

“Can I undress you first?”

Rachael’s eyes opened wider. “You want to eat naked?”

Grinning, I clarified. “While that thought’s definitely worth trying sometime, I want you down to your underwear. I’ve been dying to see what you bought today.”

“If I say yes, you have to undress, too, down to your undies.”

“You do realize I have an erection?” I reminded her.

“Uh-huh. It’ll be fun!”

“I’ll look stupid.”

“And sexy,” she added. “I like that I can turn you on. It makes me feel sexy, too.”

“Okay. Me first. Stand up.”

I turned the bedside lamp on and took a moment to contemplate Rachael. She was really cute, still fully dressed - a young, sexy cowgirl without a hat. Huh. “Hold on a sec.”

I searched and found her hat in the hall, returned and put it on her. “That’s better.”

Kneeling, I held a hand out. “Foot, please.”

She wobbled slightly, held my shoulder, and raised her foot. I slipped the ankle-high boot off and left her white socks on. “Next.”

When it was off, I stood and moved close to her, smiled into her beautiful eyes, and undid one button on her plaid shirt. She smiled. Before opening the second, I tugged the tails out of her short skirt and undid the bottom button. Then I opened the middle one.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“You have no concept. Undressing a new lover for the first time, seeing her in intimates, is one of the most erotic experiences in life.”

I opened the remaining buttons from bottom up, and then came the best part. I actually held my breath, concentrated, and eased her shirt open. My breath came out in a soft sigh of delight, “Oh man.” Rachael had bought a pure white, shimmery, silky looking camisole with spaghetti straps. The top two inches were delicate lace. It fell loosely with two small mounds breaking the plane. But it was the very small bumps of her nipples that made my hand twitch with the need to touch her.

Pushing her shirt off her shoulders, it fell to the floor. I held her narrow hips first, slipped my palm to her mons over the skirt, and drew it up, stopping at the waist button.

Rachael inhaled deeply, her eyes dilated and fixed on my face. I opened the button, excitement thrumming through me, and slowly lowered the zipper.

Her camisole obscured my view. Easing fingers into the waist, I slipped them to her sides and edged her jean skirt down. I took my time. It was so damned arousing to be undressing such a young girl.

The skirt dropped to the floor. I stepped back, looked, and my pulse spiked. Jesus! Pure white, slinky, shimmery panties hugged her, the rear and gusset solid. But, my God, the front was matching delicate lace. Through that lace, I saw a sight that brought home just how young Rachael was. She had small, short, black pubic hairs that were obviously newly sprouted; not even a bush, just a sexy sprinkling. Her panties hugged her narrow body, her mons swelling out.

I stood frozen in place, erection tight in my jeans, lost in the erotic sight.

“And?” Rachael asked almost shyly, as if seeking my approval.

“Breathtaking. Absolutely stunning.”

She smiled with pleasure. Yet there was a sweet insecurity about her, this first time of blatant intimacy, as if she didn’t understand how deeply attractive she was; a newly pubescent girl yearning, not accustomed to her sexual side.

It hit me deeply, very deeply.

Her hands finally reached for my shirt. She smiled, unbuttoned me, and slipped the shirt off. Before moving on, she rubbed the hair on my chest, her touch so gentle.

Then she knelt and reached for my boot. I looked down, lifting my foot, and saw a sight I’d never imagined. Rachael’s camisole top draped away from her and, in the small gap, I finally saw her breasts.

They were more than perfect. Small, swelling gently, topped by dark, dark areolae and dark nipples. Rachael, in so many ways still a child, was more. The onset of puberty clashed with her in an intoxicating blend that made me ache for her.

She pulled my boot off. I offered the other while enjoying the sight, my erection now, through strength alone, was straightening inside my jeans.

Boots removed, she stood, glanced up at me and smiled, not aware of the intensity of my desire or the impact she’d had. Her fingers opened the button at my waist, lowered the zipper, and, with a bit of a struggle, pulled my jeans down.

I was wearing my usual boxer briefs. They were tight on my body, which is why I preferred them to regular boxers. Yet the tightness couldn’t protect Rachael’s innocence. My erection was obvious, large, straining to rise.

Color dusted her cheeks when she noticed. She stared at it. I gave it a flex and it broke the spell. With a quiet giggle, she proved her sharpness by saying, “I didn’t think Old Faithful would be that big, or move like that.”

“I’m perfectly average for a guy my size.”

She grinned, looked up at me and said, “You’re a big guy.”

I had an urge to grab her and kiss her, fondle her sexy panties and small ass, but resisted. If I did, we’d never eat. Besides, being selfish, I wanted to spend some time admiring her, enjoying an almost naked thirteen-year-old girl in my house. It was an illegal, illicit, and thrilling pleasure that excited me so much.

“Dinner,” I announced, grabbing her hand. I led her to the kitchen and turned on the light over the sink. It gave enough light for us to see, not too much to make reality harsh or ruin the mood.

Rachael headed to the fridge and pulled open the lower freezer drawer.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Getting the pizza.” She peered into the drawer and asked, “Where is it?”

“In the fridge.”

Closing the freezer, she opened the refrigerator, studied it, and asked, “Where?”

I reached in, pulled out a pepperoni, a package of mozzarella, homemade tomato sauce, and, on a lower shelf, pizza dough. From the crisper drawer, I grabbed a bunch of basil, and finally, from the fridge door, a small container of heavy cream.

Rachael followed me to the counter. “When you said pizza, I didn’t realize you were going to make it by hand.”

“Turn the oven on to five hundred, please.” I pulled out cornmeal and Sriracha chili sauce, fished under the counter for the large flat stone, and handed it to Rachael. “Can you put it in the oven?”

“Kay. How come you make pizza? Isn’t it easier to have it delivered?”

“Have you forgotten how far from everywhere we are? Besides, hold that question until you've tasted it. Can you get me a beer?”

“Kay. Can I have one?”

“I thought you’d sworn off alcohol,” I said.

“Just red wine. Maybe I’ll like beer.”

“Try the Coors. I’ll have a Dos Equis.”

She bent slightly and looked into the fridge. I ogled her little ass in pure white panties and how the shimmery material had folded in her butt crack. Her slenderness made her legs look so long, and the sexy gap at her crotch brought on another throb of my erection. With white socks, she looked adorable.

Shaking myself mentally, I resumed making the pizza. In a saucepot, I warmed tomato sauce, tore up a couple of basil leaves and tossed them in, added a dash of Sriracha for heat, and a bit of heavy cream to smooth out the heat.

Rachael set the bottle of beer next to me, leaned against the counter, opened her beer and watched me. She took a sip of Coors and set it aside with a grimace.

Stretching pizza dough, grating cheese, and slicing pepperoni distracted me enough for my erection to fade. I assembled the pizza, opened the oven, and slid it onto the searing hot baking stone.

Rachael sipped on a Coke she’d served herself at some point. She sat at the kitchen table. A glint of amusement flitted through her eyes. She grinned at me; very cute indeed.

“What?” I asked, sipping beer and leaning back against the counter.

“How long does it take to cook?” she asked, scratching her stomach.

I watched as her camisole pressed tighter to her, her petite breasts more clearly outlined, nipples nicely showing.

“Grandpa? Billy Bob?”

“About fifteen minutes or so, depending on how crispy you like the crust.”

She crossed an ankle on her knee. “I like it well done so it doesn’t droop.”

Pure white panties stretched on her suddenly prominent pussy, a hint of a camel toe teasing. Sitting on the chair, her pussy pressed against the seat, bulging it was so ripe. It was an astoundingly sexy sight and I reacted, an erection returning.

When, after what felt like forever, I dragged my eyes away and looked at her, Rachael was smiling; a small, satisfied smile, her eyes twinkling, curly hair framing her face, the cowboy hat still on.

I was impressed. Did all girls know how to be so seductive? So delightfully sensual? Was it instinctual?

The oven timer went off. Dinner was served. Rachael decided she’d never eat a delivered pizza again. I thought she was trying to be polite, but the volume of pizza she consumed revealed the truth.

Finally finished, we were both surprised to find it wasn’t far off midnight. Where had the time gone? Rachael yawned, stretched, and groaned, “I ate too much.”

I was pretty tired, too, what with the shopping, flirting, and multiple erections. I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore and, contrary to what people think, old men need sleep . . . preferably taken in small doses throughout the day.

When Rachael slipped into bed, smelling of minty toothpaste and soap, she cuddled, kissed me lightly, and rolled over. It seemed our sexual adventures had been beaten by a pizza.

“Hug me,” she ordered, reaching behind her. She grabbed my arm and tugged.

I spooned her. Her hair tickled my face. Reaching around, I said, “I’m not tired.”

“Yes you are.”

Smiling to myself, I eased my hand up, covered her small breast with my palm, snuggled closer to her rump, and relaxed. The day might not have gone quite as I’d hoped, but the end was simply wonderful.


Chapter Nine

Sun was already up when Rachael woke me by slipping back into bed. I cracked my eyes open. Rachael obviously didn’t know I was awake, which made her actions all the cuter.

She edged close, raised my arm, slowly turned, and edged back against me. Her small butt nudged against my groin and she guided my hand back onto her camisole, my palm on her breast. The smell of fresh mint wafted at me making me smile. She’d sneaked out of bed to brush her teeth; a very female act indicating intentions and hopes.

This could be fun. I waited a suitable time, then gently explored her sexy little breast. I stopped, pretending it was an unconscious act in my sleep. A couple of minutes later, smiling to myself, I traced the shape of her nipple with a finger pad, keeping my breathing slow and deep.

It turned out to be too enjoyable. My sleeping cock woke up, growing despite it being pointed down and I knew the moment Rachael discovered it. In a subtle move, she pressed her compact ass back at me.

Still playing, I stretched my hand open, moved it slightly, and another wave of excitement hit me when I managed, with one hand, to span both her sweet breasts, feeling two small but distinct nipples. It brought home, yet again, how slender and young she was; a newly thirteen-year-old in bed with me was so extraordinarily erotic.

I kissed her shoulder. “Morning. I think I was having a sexy dream,” I told her quietly.

With a cute wiggle of her ass against my groin, she replied, “I made you horny.”

I smiled to myself. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I wake up in this condition every morning.”

“No you don’t.”

I kissed her shoulder again, gently, and eased my hand down to her stomach, then lower, my excitement growing. When the tips of my fingers touched the beginning swell of her mons, Rachael raised her leg and I cupped her panty-covered pussy. Jesus! How could something so small be so prominent? So full? So damned arousing?

The lacy front of her panties teased my palm. My fingers touched the smooth, slinky gusset. Her vulva was full, sensual, with deep sides; a plush and surprisingly soft mound that had my erection straining and desire running hot in me.

Pulling my other arm out from under the pillow, I slipped it under her to hug her. She held my arm. I heard her inhale slowly and deeply when I traced her short cleft with a curl of my middle finger. Her silky panties yielded, my fingertip hugged slightly by her labia. Her exhale was a bit shaky - a response to me finding her clit.

My cock ached for release. It was now stiff and pointed down, held in place by tight boxer briefs. Fondling her pussy reminded me of the remarkable gap between her thighs and my mind automatically envisioned my erection pressing into that gap, cradled by her slender legs, a thrilling thought that caused a strong pulse below.

But I had plans this time. I had a sexy young girl in bed with me. I had a willing girl in bed with me, and I wanted to touch her, actually feel her pussy and that sprinkling of newly formed pubes, the first sign of developing fertility. I wanted to feel her wetness, experience her arousal, and, most of all, make her cum from my touch, hear her gasp of pleasure.

Easing my hand up while nuzzling my face deeper into her neck, I searched for the waist of her panties, found it, and wormed the tips of my fingers inside.

Excitement thrummed in my body, taut, tense. My erection strained and a strong pulse hit, precum leaking. With care, now kissing her neck and inhaling the scent of sweet youth, I slipped my fingers deeper inside her panties and felt the start of her mons. My heart beat faster. I was going to touch her pussy! I was going to feel a thirteen-year-old’s pubis!

Once again, Rachael, while holding my arm around her, raised her leg in an invitation, her bottom firmly pressed back against my groin. I almost missed it. Slipping my hand down over her remarkable mound, I almost didn’t feel her baby soft pubes. They were too new, too fresh, too young. I touched the top of her cleft and traced it down, touching lightly, gently, my body almost trembling with excitement at this illicit act.

Finally I was there, holding the sexiest little pussy in the world, so warm and soft and erotic, her silky panties pressing my hand against her. Rachael lowered her leg, trapping my hand in place.

The silence that followed was probably short, but it felt like forever. Eventually, I said in a very quiet voice, “I can’t remember being this excited or enjoying someone so much. You make me feel things I’ve never felt.”

“Like what?” she asked softly.

Still cupping her pussy, not moving my hand, I gave it thought, then said, “It’s hard to explain. You know what we’re doing is illegal, and that excites me. It’s a new experience for me. But it’s more than that. I thought it was your youth, and that you’re my granddaughter. It is, in part.”

I paused, then continued. “All those things pale in comparison to how much I like you. I like who you are. I like your personality. I like being with you. I like making you smile, and when you laugh I feel good. I like looking at you. You’re so damned beautiful, Rachael, and you have eyes of mystery that draw me deeper.”

I paused again, pondered it, then said, “You’re the most exciting young lady I’ve ever met. I wish I could have met you when I was young. I would have been hooked. I am hooked.”

Rachael sighed quietly, “Kay.” She moved her butt against me and added, “Can I feel it?”

Somewhat reluctantly, I pulled my hand from inside her panties, rolled my hip away from her, tugged the waist of my boxer briefs down, and my erection sprang out, released. When I rolled back to her, the tip nudged against the back of her thigh, slippery precum touching her bare skin. Rachael raised her leg. I reached around her again, easing my hand inside her panties, cupped her sexy pussy and cuddled close. She lowered her legs trapping my erection, her soft thighs pressing, testing. I throbbed. It felt so damned good.

“It feels bigger like this,” she commented, squeezing me again.

The sweet fog of arousal settled over me - that feeling of freedom from restraining mores, of living the moment, of not caring about anything but now.

I curled my middle finger along her cleft, her labia hugging my fingertip in a silky caress, and time seemed to stop when I discovered warm, slippery moisture. I touched a young girl’s excitement and it almost drove me mad with desire. My body reacted uncontrollably with a small thrust, the tip of my erection emerging at her front.

Rachael let my arm go and reached down, lightly touching my tip, finding precum, rubbing with exquisite gentleness.

She asked softly, “Did you . . .?” Her voice trailed off.

“No. That’s precum. It happens when I’m extremely turned on.”

I pressed my hand against her pussy. Rachael moaned quietly. She moved her hand off my erection and pressed it against the back of my hand, silky panties separating us. I curled my finger again, slipping the tip into her cleft. Curling my finger, I touched the soft cowl protecting her clit and she physically shuddered.

Erection straining and clasped by her thighs, I probed down her cleft and touched the entrance to her vagina. I wasn’t planning on penetrating her, but Rachael pressed the back of my hand harder, forcing my fingertip into her tight entrance to the first knuckle. Jesus Christ I was turned on, my cock pulsing with excitement!

Rachael was wet, hot, and so very, very tight. When I eased my finger out and drew her slippery dampness up to her clit, rubbing gently, she moaned. Her body twitched. Her buttocks clenched.

With my face nestled to her neck, with her beautiful scent filling my nose, and her curly hair tickling my face, I caressed her, her soft warm labia cradling my finger, and slowly pulled my cock back through her thighs, then reversed, spreading slippery precum, her thighs caressing my shaft, her buttocks once again pressed firmly against my groin. It felt so good, I repeated the movement. Then I did it again, almost dizzy from excitement.

Just like that, I was gently fucking her thighs, precum making it feel like I was having intercourse with her. I rubbed her clit harder, faster, and Rachael responded, clenching her thighs, and moaning almost silently, her hand encouraging my mine against her pussy.

Sooner than I wanted, our pace increased. Rachael started undulating her ass against me in counterpoint to my gentle thrusts, her buttocks clenching and relaxing. She trembled and groaned with pleasure, and it drove my arousal to new heights. I fucked her thighs, held her slender body against me, teased her slippery clit, dipping my finger down to penetrate her tight vagina, then back to her clit. We moved together. Soft breaths became pants. Smooth body movements became firmer thrusts. My cock swelled, throbbed, and precum made her thighs very, very slippery. The excitement was almost too much. I reached the point of aching, on the cusp of ecstasy, and I couldn’t believe I was going to cum with her, cover her panties with semen. Holding my orgasm back was increasingly hard. Sweet bliss called to me, urging me on with promises of ecstasy.

Rachael inhaled sharply. I rubbed her soft clit harder, faster, and fucked her thighs, cock straining, hard, stiff. She gasped. Her body tensed. She froze for just a second then her body shook and undulated as she climaxed, her hand pressing mine against her pussy so hard. She scrubbed her pussy against my palm, groaning and panting, and I let myself go.

Fucking her clasping thighs, my cock swelled. A moment of pure ecstasy arrived, pressure, pressure. Groaning deeply, fucking her faster, I exploded, semen racing up and erupting with exquisite pleasure. Her thighs became very slippery and I tumbled into an amazing orgasm, thrusting and exploding, bliss slamming into me. My straining cock pulsed and spurted with each glorious thrust, flooding her crotch with hot, wet semen, and soaking her panties. Eyes tightly closed, I felt each exquisite spurt, rode my orgasm up and over the crest, spurts weakening, thrusts slowing, and descended into the warm fog of satisfaction, stopping, hot, relaxed. Peace permeated me; that languid post-orgasmic relief, familiar and comforting.

Silence arrived. Rachael was quiet, breathing deeply. When my erection waned, she squeezed it with her slippery, cum-covered thighs. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.

Eventually, Rachael sighed and commented, “I didn’t realize how messy it is.”

“Good sex is messy and wet and exciting,” I told her.

“Then this was very good,” she observed. “Can I ask you something?”

Still spooning her, I kissed her neck. “Anything you want.”

“That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. I feel like all the energy has left my body and I don’t have any bones left. So why do I still feel horny?”

“It’s mental. There are times I’ve had sex with someone and felt embarrassed and ashamed afterwards. It happens most often when I have casual, selfish sex. Then there are times like now, where I’ve experienced extreme pleasure with someone I love, and my mind is still turned on. I’m still excited, I still desire, and I want more.”

“That sounds like how I feel,” she said softly. After a brief pause, she added, “You said you love me.”

“I did.”

We were silent for a while. Then Rachael stirred and told me, “I need to wash up.”

“Would you like to take a shower?”

She was quiet, as if thinking, then asked, “Together?”

“That’s what I meant. Yes.”

She didn’t reply right away and I suspected it was the idea of being naked together which, given what we’d just done, was cute. It was a reminder that she was a young, inexperienced girl. I like it.

Tightening my hug, I said, “Please?”

Her response was a soft, “Kay.”

“Does being naked with me embarrass you?”

“A bit,” she admitted.

“It shouldn’t. I’ve seen you in wet underwear,” I reminded her.

“It’s not the same.”

“No. You’re right. It’s not the same. Naked is much better. You have a beautiful body and you should be proud of it.”

When she didn’t respond, I asked, “Haven’t you wondered what I’d look like naked?”

Rachael nodded, still not speaking.

“Well, I’ve done the same. And every time I’ve imagined you naked it’s turned me on.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” I nudged her with my body. “Come on.”

“You go first.”

I eased away from her, pulled my underwear up, and rolled out of bed. In the bathroom, I started the shower, dropped my shorts and stepped into the shower stall. Warm water washed over me. Through the glass enclosure, Rachael appeared, still in her camisole and panties.

She’d wiped herself, cleaning up my semen. Her panties were damp and stained. When she didn’t look at me, I understood how significant this step was for her. Opening the shower door, I grabbed her hand and pulled her in. Cascading water soaked her camisole. It stuck to her body exposing the shape of her small breasts, such gentle mounds so widely spaced.

She finally looked up at me. Water soaked her hair, straightening her curls. She smiled and finally looked at my body, her eyes trailing down to stop at my groin. She studied my penis, still thick but softened.

Standing so close together, the top of her head only reached the top of my chest. Being so slim with long, long legs, had given her the appearance of being taller than she actually was. I liked how petite she was. It tickled the illicit thrill in me, of being intimate with a very young girl.

A thought occurred to me. A way to make her comfortable. “Will you let me wash you? Then you can wash me. It’s a wonderful feeling to be washed by someone else.”

She looked up at me, eyes large. She nodded slowly.

Looking into her dark eyes, I reached down for the hem of her camisole. Still looking in her eyes, I drew it up. She raised her arms and I pulled it off. Before I could look, her arm crossed her chest covering herself. I said nothing, just smiled, and took the waist of her panties, pushing them down over her rear, then the front, the whole time smiling and looking at her eyes. The panties fell. She stepped out of them.

A slight coloration tinged her cheeks before she dropped her arm and stood naked, letting me finally look at her beautiful body.

I stepped back. “You’re incredibly pretty,” I told her with a smile. “You’ve got an amazing body.” Her eyes twinkled with pleasure.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” I assured her.

She was. God, she was! Rachael was a beguiling child-woman, lanky as a new-born foal, yet bursting with sexuality. Her small breasts mounded gently from her chest, topped with deliciously dark areolae and small but distinct nipples. No wonder my palm covered them and more!

Her body lacked curves, her small hips were narrow, sharp and prominent. But the sight that had heat flushing through me was her pussy. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph it was gorgeous! Almost bare, her mons swelled out from her stomach, tapered sensually and plunged between the gap at the top of her thighs. Plump labia formed a sexy, tightly closed cleft. I couldn’t see her clit. Contrasting her youth, little black pubic hairs decorated the top her mons, her cleft still hairless. Her pubes were short and wavy, not yet curled, and looked baby soft. They screamed emerging puberty so loudly I thought my ears were ringing. Rachael was just enchanting.

“Jesus, Rachael. You’re more than pretty. You’re stunning!”

Rachael smiled again. “You already said so.”

“I know, but this time I mean it more. I mean, Jesus, Rach!”

She laughed lightly. Her body relaxed from the stiffness I hadn’t noticed. “You’re funny.” Demonstrating a newfound confidence, she asked, “Aren’t you going to wash me?”

I moved close again and rubbed her bare shoulders, slipping my hands to her upper arms.

Rachael smiled at me, eyes bright with amusement. “You forgot soap.”

“Oh!” I had!

She reached for the bar and passed it to me. “Do my back first.” She turned around.

Two small, exquisite buttocks formed a sexy butt crack, her buttocks plump and sensual. There was a little crease where they met her thighs and that damned alluring gap below.

Grinning, I moaned, “God, Rachael,” and watched her body shake with giggles. “I’ve seen a lot of asses in my time, and let me assure you, yours ranks in the top ten of all time.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “In the top ten? Not number one?”

Smirking at her, I responded, “I haven’t fondled it yet.”

She laughed brightly, all shyness gone. “Wash me, Billy Bob.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, lathering up my hands. “Gladly.”

Soap is a wonderful accessory. Sure we need it to get clean. But I appreciated its other feature more. Soap is slippery. It lets hands slip and slide over skin. With soap you can feel every hidden curve and swell, the texture of skin, the fineness of bones. I started on her shoulders, then her arms, followed by the sides of her body before sweeping up to wash her back. Prominent shoulder blades led to her sweeping spine, and then I slowed where her bottom swelled out.

Taking my time, I washed her ass, each gorgeous cheek fitting my hand. When I eased a finger into her butt crack, she clenched her cheeks tightly, her buttocks indenting. I continued down, kneeling to wash her legs and there, on my knees, I could see the gap perfectly; her sexy pussy plump, almost ripe, and hairless cleft tightly closed. A tingle of excitement returned.

I washed her legs and stood. Lathering my hands again, I moved closer to her and slipped my hands around her waist, washing her stomach. Her bottom touched me.

Ever so slowly my hands rose, skirting her petite breasts. I washed her neck, her upper chest, and finally, slowly, I cupped her exquisite breasts. I took my time, my touch turning into a caress. Then I circled her areolae with my fingertips and felt them crinkle. I teased her nipples and they hardened and rose.

Satisfied, I headed south across her flat stomach, lower, ever lower, until with a sigh of pleasure, I held her pussy. Soap came into its own. I explored more than washed, loving how small she was in my hand.

Rachael suddenly shoved my hand away, stepped away and turned. Her eyes were heated, dark and beautiful.

“You did that deliberately,” she accused.

“Do what?” I asked, trying to look innocent.

“My turn.”

She lathered up her hands, stepped close to me and reached around, staring into my eyes. Her hands washed my back, slipped down to wash my ass. She imitated me, washing slower, then eased her finger between my buttocks. Then she rubbed her breasts against me, side to side, smiling like a Cheshire cat. Unlike me, she ignored my legs, and her hands passed my hips, came around and rubbed my stomach.

She backed away and looked down. I was partially hard. Her hand gently circled my penis and she washed it, stroking me slowly. When I deliberately flexed Old Faithful and it moved, she jerked her hand away as if electrocuted, looked up at me and laughed brightly, blushing slightly.

I grinned, stood under the water to rinse and stepped out, leaving her to wash her hair. Dressed, I went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

RACHAEL INSPECTED THE BOTTLE of shampoo, opened the top and sniffed. Shrugging, she soaked her hair and started washing. She was going to have to wash her body again after her hair. That’s how it was done to be clean.

Eyes closed, fingers massaging, Rachael felt it again; the tingling in her breasts and heavy warmth in her pussy. How did Grandpa know just the right way to touch her to make her horny?

Heat returned to her face as she thought about how surprised she’d been when his penis twitched. It was such an immature reaction. But how was she to know? It was alive!

She’d really liked washing it. In her hand, she’d felt it thicken, and that was amazing! What did it feel like to have an erection, she wondered?

Rinsing her hair, she washed it again. Her mind wandered back to earlier this morning. It was the first time she’d woken up before Grandpa and, hoping that he might kiss her, she’d sneaked out of bed to brush her teeth. Seeing herself in the mirror, she’d brushed her hair vigorously, hoping her curls would magically disappear. They hadn’t, but at least they were soft curls, not tight ones.

Back in bed, at first, she’d thought Grandpa was asleep when he’d gently explored her breast. Rachael grinned. He’d almost convinced her until he started teasing her nipple. Then she knew he was really awake.

Rachael rinsed her hair again, looked for conditioner and couldn’t find any, so she started washing her body. It wasn’t until she washed her pussy that another stab of horniness hit her. Her hand slowed. She touched herself. In her mind, she relived that incredible moment. Horniness seemed to get rid of her shyness about sex. Feeling Grandpa’s erection between her thighs was exciting. It felt so big. But it was what happened when she was in the middle of cumming that still excited her. She’d loved feeling Grandpa’s erection moving. She’d loved Grandpa’s hand on her pussy, touching her, his finger inside her! But, Gawd! Feeling him spurt was incredible. His semen was so hot and wet, and there was so much of it!

Rinsing her body off, she turned the shower off, stepped out, grabbed a big, thick towel and dried herself. She wrapped it around her body and took another towel to dry her hair. The mirror was fogged over. She wiped it and studied her distorted face. Did she look older? More mature? She had to be. She used to think a guy’s semen would be disgusting. It isn’t!

She wanted to see Gramps cum, see his erection spurting, to see what she’d felt. Would he let her bring him off by hand? Would he like her to? He’d made her cum that way, so fair’s fair. Didn’t guys like hand jobs?

Rachael leaned closer to the mirror and studied the small holes left by the eyebrow ring. What a mistake that was! Had she really been so angry at Mom?

Glancing around, she spotted her soaking wet panties and camisole. She collected them and went to her room. Opening her dresser drawer, she looked through her selection of panties and bras, smiling with pleasure. Grandpa hadn’t asked how many she bought and now she had lots! Sexy ones, too!

A picture of his blue eyes jumped to mind - last night when she’d given him a peek at her panties outside on the chair. He still didn’t know she’d done it deliberately, his eyes staring at her crotch. But when he'd undressed her! Wow! Did he ever make her feel sexy! She was still amazed at how easy sexy play was with him. He made it fun!

Smiling with pleasure, she selected her underwear. She unwrapped the towel, paused, and dried her pussy again. Being desired was such a turn on!

Rachael found Grandpa serving fried eggs when she entered the kitchen. He spotted her and smiled, a great smile that reached his eyes. He studied her.

“Nice shorts. You’ve got some gams on you, Rachael.”

“Gams? What’re gams?”

“Legs.”

She sat and ate, suddenly ravenous. “What are we doing today?”

“Well, let me see. I thought I’d work in the vegetable and herb garden for a while, then take a nap. After that, I have a riveting book to read and maybe take a nap. It’s a busy day.”

Rachael laughed. “You never take naps. What are we really doing today?”

He ate a final bite of egg, wiped his plate with toast, popped it into his mouth and chewed, his blue eyes studying her. With a sip of coffee, he smiled and leaned back.

“Well?” she asked.

“I thought I’d take you to Sierra Vista.”

“What’s in Sierra Vista?”

“It’s a cornucopia of attractions. We can see the Sierra Vista Farmers Market, Brown’s Canyon Ranch - that’s a ranch in a canyon, The Hoppin’ Grapes Wine and Beer Tasting Shop, and the pièce de résistance . . . Betty Millar’s Canyon Apiary and Orchard.”

“It doesn’t sound like much fun,” she informed him. “Maybe we could do something else that’s fun, like ride the ATVs!”

“Then you’d miss the renowned Sierra Vista Visitor Center.”

Rachael noticed little crinkles of amusement in his eyes. He was kidding her! Okay . . . “I think that’s a great idea. When do we leave?”

“Careful. I really will take you.”

Rachael grinned. “I dare you!”

Two hours later, she stood in front of the Sierra Vista Visitor Center. “It’s nice. I’m glad we came.”

Grandpa’s mouth twitched with a suppressed smile.

“Let’s go home,” she continued, turning back to the pickup.

She could feel his eyes on her butt. She’d picked these tight red terry shorts deliberately, noticing how often he’d stare at her ass, though God knows why. Her ass was too skinny.

She chatted as Grandpa drove, not paying attention to where they were going.

“I’m sooo glad we drove two hours to see the Visitor Center. It was so worth it. Just wait until I tell my friends about it. They’ll be sooo jealous,” she said sarcastically, hiding her grin. When he turned off the highway unexpectedly and headed towards mountains, she leaned forward to look out the windscreen. “Where are we going?”

“The Ramsey Canyon Preserve.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to leave you with the Visitor Center as the only memory of Sierra Vista. I can’t be that cruel to Sierra Vista.” He smiled at her.

“How ’bout cruel to me? I’m young and impressionable. You could have scarred me for life.”

He glanced at her and his smile broadened, blue eyes twinkling. “I have the rest of the summer for that pleasure.”

As it turned out, the preserve was beautiful. She liked hiking along the creek. Catching sight of deer wandering around was great. But better than that was Grandpa, casually walking next to her, suddenly groping her butt! She’d jumped in surprise and laughed when he announced, “Scrumptious. Nature is truly amazing,” with a straight face. She’d known he liked her ass and he just proved it!

Being admired, the focus of his attention, and being desired, was wonderful, exciting. She couldn’t help but respond, too. It was like a low-level hum in her body, a constant tingling, arousal flirting with her, promised but not quite there.

Gramps’ obvious pleasure and the way his eyes would eat her up made her feel special, adored, very happy. All in all, she was glad Mom had sent her here. She hadn’t even thought about her friends at home!

She reached over and took Grandpa’s hand, hiking at his side, she was overcome with affection for him. “I’m glad I came here, Gramps,” she told him.

“It’s really pretty,” he observed.

“Not here! I’m talking about being here with you,” she clarified.

He smiled slightly and squeezed her hand. An hour later, he led her into Jimmy’s Roadside Smokehouse for lunch. The ribs were fantastic. She didn’t like the loud Country and Western music as much. And on the drive home, when Gramps turned the radio onto a Country and Western station, she pushed a button changing it to a Pop station. Two minutes later, he switched it to a Classical music station. She switched it back. Not long after, he tuned it to an evangelical religious channel with a sermon droning on. She switched it back.

For two hours she fought with him, grinning to herself when he grimaced at a techno dance station that rattled the speakers. Time flew by.

By evening, as darkness arrived, with a full stomach from dinner, Rachael sat on the couch next to Grandpa, leaning against him. She paid little attention to the television. Her mind had been busy all day, preoccupied with how she felt. There was that constant buzz inside her, excitement, and flushes of warmth would hit her, all because of this morning. She’d daydreamed about sex, especially when masturbating. She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy, be touched, and even touching a boyfriend’s penis, always imagining how she’d excite him, how he’d get an erection, and often wondered if she’d do some of those things she and her girlfriends had talked about; the things she’d secretly watched on the Internet.

Some of the things had grossed her out, like anal sex, or letting a guy cum in her mouth. So why did she feel different now? Why did thinking about doing things with Grandpa excite her?

She shifted on the couch at a stab of horniness, her pussy pulsing. It seemed to her that the hornier she got the more she wanted to try those things. Was she a slut?

She frowned. She didn’t like being unsure. She never had. She didn’t like not understanding things. And she really didn’t like feeling nervous or embarrassed about anything, but she was about sex. Was it okay to talk about it? Should she ask? Or, maybe wait?

Grandpa’s hand settled on her bare leg and rubbed gently. “You’ve been very quiet. Is anything wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

“Is what we did this morning bothering you?”

“No!” she exclaimed. She inhaled deeply. Heat washed into her face. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Can we talk?”

He looked at her, his blue eyes soft. Small crinkles formed as he smiled and nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

“Sex.”

His smile grew. “I like talking about sex. I have lots of questions.”

Surprised, Rachael asked, “You do? Don’t you know everything?”

“Nope. Sex is always a mystery. Why do some things attract you and others not? Why do you like blondes and not brunettes? Big breasts or small breasts?”

He rubbed her thigh and added, “I’ve always wanted to know what an orgasm feels like to a woman. And what’s it like to be able to have multiple climaxes. As I said, sex is still a mystery to me.”

“I have questions, too,” Rachael said. “Some sex stuff I’d heard about grossed me out. But now I’m not so sure. It doesn’t sound so gross anymore. Why?”

“That I know. It’s confidence and trust. I imagine, if you thought about being seen naked by a random guy at school, you’d feel embarrassed. But I’d bet you didn’t feel embarrassed being naked with me in the shower this morning.”

“I didn’t. I felt more embarrassed about getting into the shower than I did when you took my underwear off.”

“Confidence and trust, as I said. If you trust your partner and know he respects you, you have confidence. You’re comfortable even if you do something wrong.”

“So why do I think some things are exciting now, but before I didn’t?”

Grandpa grinned. “Because I’m a dashing, handsome devil, and you can’t resist me.”

Rachael laughed. “Maaaybe.” She glanced up at him. “I trust you. I know you won’t make fun of me.” Glancing away, she added, “And I think I’d like to try those things with you.”

When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him again and found him smiling. His sexy eyes were twinkling. “What?” she asked.

“You’re cute. You have no problem telling me what to do, or arguing with me, and then become shy when you talk about your feelings or sex.”

Rachael frowned. “I know. And I don’t like it.”

“I gather you don’t talk to your mother about you these things. You two seem to be at odds.”

“I don’t want to talk about Mom.”

“Okay. What’s it like to have multiple orgasms? I’ve always wanted to know.”

Rachael grinned. “How would I know? I’ve never had more than one at a time.”

Grandpa put his arm over her shoulders, drawing her close. “If I give you multiple orgasms, will you tell me what it feels like?”

“I don’t think I can have more than one. I get pretty tired after it.”

“Can I try? Please? Pretty please?”

Rachael laughed, relaxing again. “What ’cha gonna do to me?”

“I have some thoughts . . . very illegal. Break some laws.” He grinned and turned his attention back to the television. “I think you might enjoy it.”

“What thoughts?” When he didn’t respond, she nudged him with her elbow. “C’mon. What thoughts?”

“You’ll find out when we go to bed.”

“It’s late. I’m ready for bed.”

“I’m not.”

I PULLED RACHAEL CLOSER to my side. She just charmed me. This side to her, almost bashful when talking about intimacy, was so contrary to her normal self and I found it charming.

She wasn’t as rebellious as my daughter had made it sound. In fact, Rachael was nowhere close to Cara’s rebellious streak. I thought back to my daughter as a new teen and had clear memories of her cutting a swathe through boys, all of a type, as if she’d chosen them to bother me. I hadn’t cared that they were badly dressed, or without ambition, or even those that smoked.

What had infuriated me was their lack of respect towards my daughter. It had been the source of the only yelling match we’d had; my daughter yelling at me about how I didn’t understand her, didn’t pay attention to her, didn’t care about her, didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. I’d never understood the source of her anger, attributing it to her mother’s temperament or hormones for lack of a better explanation.

With the TV news over, I suggested bed. Rachael jumped up and left, muttering what sounded like, “Finally.”

She wasn’t in my bed when I settled. I was beginning to wonder if she’d join me when she entered the bedroom wearing a body-hugging pastel yellow cotton camisole that ended just above her panties; sexy little matching yellow string bikini panties that exposed a lot of skin, yet hugged her small pubis remarkably well. I almost sighed at the sight.

“I thought you didn’t have sexy underwear,” I commented, rolling onto my side to face her.

“I didn’t. I got these yesterday. Do you like them?”

“Yup.”

“The cotton’s combed and really soft. Wanna feel?”

“Yup.” The act of simply placing my hand on her tummy was arousing. I caressed her flat stomach.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“Wonderful.”

Rachael grinned suddenly. “You’re not talking about my cami, are you?”

“Nope,” I confirmed with a smile. “Since you trust me, put this on.” I handed her a sleeping mask.

She immediately became suspicious, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not planning anything kinky, are you?”

Pushing her shoulder, I rolled her onto her back. “Define kinky.”

“Well . . . I dunno. Weird?”

“I don’t consider handcuffs weird.”

“You’re gonna put me in handcuffs?” she asked in shocked surprise.

I chuckled. “Not this time. Just put the mask on.” When she did, I pulled the covers off us, knelt at her side and told her, “The largest organ of your body is your skin. It’s sensitive and responsive. Wearing a blindfold intensifies what you feel.”

I brushed her arms lightly, wrists to shoulders, and trailed my fingertips down her chest between her small breasts to her exposed stomach. Goose bumps emerged on her arms. Moving on, with a feather light touch, I trailed my palms down the sides of her bony hips, along the outsides of her legs, and then into the insides, moving up past her knees and slowing at her thighs. I felt body hair on her legs, still invisible.

Moving very slowly, palms sliding up, I edged closer to her plump little pussy coddled in pastel cotton. Rachael inhaled slowly, deeply. At her crotch, I skipped her pussy, running the sides of my fingers close to her, and caressed her hips, her flat stomach, and around her remarkable mons straining up against her panties.

“When you’re blind, your mind fills in sights you can’t see,” I murmured, bending and kissing her exposed belly lightly. Her body tensed briefly, her face relaxed.

“Anticipation heightens excitement,” I murmured, drawing the front of her camisole up to expose more of her stomach, kissing bare skin. The base of her rib cage appeared. I stopped.

“You have a beautiful body,” I said softly, trailing my fingertips up between her breasts. Leaning over, I kissed her upper chest lightly. Then I combed my fingers through her hair to expose her neck. Rachael’s hair was fine strands of silk, thick, curly with amazing body, the color of black onyx.

Bending further, I whispered in her ear, “You turn me on like no one I’ve ever known,” and kissed her neck, inhaling her scent; warm floral with a hint of lime. Nuzzling her neck, I traced the outside of her small breast with my fingertips, then the other, teasing her.

She reacted, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring.

“I . . .”

“Shhh,” I whispered. “No talking.”

Sitting up on my heels, I returned to her arms, this time brushing my palms up the insides, onto her chest, and with the lightest touch, I ran my palms over her breasts.

Rachael inhaled deeply.

When I touched her nipples with my fingers, they beaded up and she trembled slightly. Pleased, I slowly drew the hem of her camisole up. My sigh, when her gorgeous small breasts were revealed, was silent. She let me pull her camisole off, her arms rising.

Once again I was stunned by the sight of new breasts on a still childlike body. It was so arousing, so deliciously illicit. In my boxer briefs, my cock slowly responded.

Her gentle mounds were even smaller with her on her back. Flawless café au lait skin swelled up, topped by delectable dark chocolate areolae and very small beaded nipples. The urge to taste her was powerful. I didn’t.

I caressed the silky skin of her body avoiding any erogenous zones. It let me study and appreciate her. She was so slender. The way her hips stood out sharply like small hills, the way the string waist of her bikini panties stretched across like a suspension bridge, and sight of soft cotton pressed up by her small pubis, aroused me like crazy. My erection strengthened and strained, desire for her washing through me like storm waves; pulses of desire.

I stopped touching her. Leaning over, I kissed her stomach lightly, her skin warm and soft. I kissed higher, kissed between her breasts, her upper chest, and then gently brushed her lips with mine, backing off before she could react.

She frowned slightly. Smiling, I kissed her again, this time with more pressure. Rachael’s lips reacted, moving, and as they parted, I ended the kiss. Her hand found my knee. I removed it.

“Concentrate now,” I whispered.

Moving down, I brushed her areola with my lips, her beaded nipple firm. Then, very slowly, I parted my lips and sucked her areola, just the tip of her small breast. Jesus it was exciting!

Rachael moaned quietly.

I teased her nipple with my tongue and sucked slightly harder. She arched her back seeking more. At the same time, I caressed her other breast, gently squeezing the small mound, rubbing her nipple. Rachael inhaled sharply, mouth opening to breath. Her hands curled into fists and, from the corner of my eye, I saw her cross her ankles, legs tight together. Recognizing the signs, I sucked her breast harder, caressed the other harder and, when I lightly pinched her nipple, Rachael actually climaxed! Her body trembled lightly. She gasped, then moaned almost silently, stomach muscles tightening and relaxing.

Her climax was short and soft and sexy. As she calmed, I eased my mouth off her breast, shuffled to lie beside her, and slipped my hand down across her stomach, over her soft cotton panties, and onto her mons, using the heel of my palm to rub her lush mound.

Time for phase two; tactile and aural seduction.

With her side against me, I said softly, “You have beautiful breasts, Rachael. They’re so responsive. So very sexy. They turn me on so much.”

I pressed her mons harder, rubbing in a circular motion.

“I’m so hard right now and all because of you. I love touching you. You have such a sexy body. You’re perfect.”

Removing my hand, I grabbed the waist of my underwear, pulling it away from my body. My erection sprang up and I released the waist, the stretchy material pressing my cock to my body.

Nuzzling her neck, I took her hand and guided it. “Feel how you turn me on,” I whispered, placing her hand over the outline of my erection.

Rachael inhaled sharply. Her fingers explored the shape and God was it exciting! I touched her panty-covered pussy and caressed, easing my fingers between her thighs to cup her, squeezing gently. Plump yet small, it was so soft, yielding sensually to pressure. I traced her cleft and kissed her cheek softly.

For the next minute or two, I teased and fondled her and through her body, sensed her returning arousal; breath slightly short, small body twitches when my finger passed across her clit.

“Are you aroused?” I asked in a whisper. “Are you wet?” Easing my hand up, I worked my fingertips inside the waist of her panties, and whispered, “I’m going to touch you now. If you want, you can touch me.” With that, I eased my hand inside her little yellow cotton panties, my fingertips touching the beginning swell of her mons, up and over it, touching the exciting baby soft sprinkling of pubic hair. I felt the beginning of her cleft and followed it down.

Rachael’s pussy was warm, soft, and so damned small. When I felt slippery dampness at the base of her cleft, I shuddered. My erection throbbed strongly. Rachael responded, mimicking me, her hand working inside my underwear, moving down and, making me ache, she pressed her palm over my erection, feeling carefully. Skin against skin was a completely different sensation than over my underwear. It was the ultimate of intimate, touching each other’s most private parts, and Jesus it aroused me.

With Rachael touching me, I explored her pussy, gently rubbing her cleft. Very slowly, her slit became slippery and my fingertip eased between her labia to find even more dampness, her clit, and below, the tiny entrance to her vagina. My heart thumped.

I kissed her softly, then whispered, “You’re wet. I love it. It’s so sexy to feel you horny. It excites me so much.” At the same time, I started lightly caressing her clit.

Rachael inhaled sharply. Her breathing deepened. I started strumming her clit and she reacted, her fingers closing around my shaft. I throbbed, precum leaking. Damn I was horny! I tamped down my desire. I wasn’t finished with her yet.

Leaning over her, still strumming her clit, I kissed her again, teasing her lips with my tongue. Rachael moaned. Her lips parted and, as I probed into her mouth, I slipped my finger through her tight cleft to her vagina and penetrated her snug entrance, slipping the tip of my finger in to the first knuckle, finding liquid heat.

Rachael’s body jerked slightly at my touch. Still kissing her, I returned to her soft clit, strumming faster. She groaned quietly and curled her pelvis, pressing her slippery pussy against my hand.

The kiss ended. I nestled my face to her neck, inhaled her scent, and whispered, “You smell so good when you’re horny.”

Her hand gripped my erection. Her body twitched. She moaned, froze for a second, and tumbled into another soft climax, pussy undulating, body moving. With quiet gasps, Rachael came, her orgasm peaking and passing, body stilling, breath now ragged.

I moved, rolling away from her, her hand pulled from my erection. She brought her hand up to the sleeping mask and I stopped her. “Not yet. I’m not finished.”

She opened her mouth to talk and I shushed her. “No talking . . . yet.”

Moving down, I peeled her panties off, exposing her incredible pussy. Fuck it was sexy! Dropping her panties onto the bed, I lifted her leg and shuffled down, settling between them.

“What are . . .”

“Shhh. No talking.”

“But . . .”

“Hush.”

This close, I could see her young pussy perfectly. I caught her scent; subtle with a hint of something pleasingly earthy - Rachael’s arousal. Legs spread, her hairless cleft opened slightly, her labia a darker color. Her clit, slightly reddened and flushed, peeked at me. Below, small immature wing-like inner lips hovered over the deeper, smoother inside. Her urethra glistened, red, flushed, and lower, at the base of her short cleft, I saw her tiny entrance partially protected by her hymen; a ragged opening.

For a moment, a powerful urge overwhelmed me - a desire to take her, penetrate her, feel how tight a thirteen-year-old virgin would be, and my erection swelled even more, pulsing fast, hard and thick where it pressed to the bed. A few deep breaths calmed me. I’d been close to cumming!

I kissed her cleft, so silky soft. I tasted her with my tongue, her flavor almost sweet and dizzying in its impact. And then I licked her cleft and Rachael shook, letting out a surprised gasp. I loved her pussy. I loved how slippery and soft it was, and my erection strained when I probed the entrance to her vagina. It resisted, still partially blocked with her hymen. I’d never felt, let alone tasted, a virgin before and it thrilled me.

Returning to her small clit, Rachael reacted again, gasping, her body twitching. She was sensitive now, responsive, and started rubbing her pussy on my mouth, her hips undulating. I tried sucking her clit and she let out a cute yelp. Before I could ask if I’d hurt her, she exploded, her whole body heaving, hands curling into fists. Her legs snapped closed against my head, hips curling her pussy up.

“Oh, Gaaaawd!” she exclaimed. “Stop! Please God, stop!”

I almost did, but she cried out again with another wave of pleasure, humped my face, her body shaking as if she was having a fit. Suddenly her pussy was soaking wet. She gave a final trembling, tense heave, whimpered, and collapsed, gasping for breath.

I stopped sucking her, settling for light kisses, and eventually moved back up to lie at her side.

Rachael was completely limp. Perspiration coated her brow and upper chest. She was breathing deeply and small tremors randomly shook her like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

I gathered her in my arms and held her. Her eyes were closed when I pulled the sleeping mask off. She murmured something and cuddled to me like a kitten, her arm around my waist. My aching erection pressed against her soft stomach.

Three orgasms. I smiled. Each different, each intensely arousing. I wondered what it would feel like to be buried inside her and feel her climax through my cock.

Silence filled the bedroom. Holding her naked body was a true pleasure; a warm, exciting young girl.

“So, how was it?” I eventually asked.

Rachael didn’t respond. I looked at her face. She’d fallen asleep. It had been a busy day; an orgasm in the morning, a sexy shower together, a long car ride, a long hike, and three climaxes to finish the day seem to have tuckered her out.

My erection was going to be lonely tonight. But on the positive side, I had a warm, cuddly, naked thirteen-up year-old girl sleeping in my bed emitting the sexiest aroma of soap, limes, and arousal.

Could be worse.


Chapter Ten

RACHAEL STIRRED. SHE FELT strange. Something was different. In that special waking moment where dreams blend with approaching reality, she smelled him first - a musky guy aroma with a lingering trace of cigar smoke. Then she felt him, warm and large against her. Her senses kicked into high gear and she felt his skin against hers. Under her hand she felt his soft chest hair. Then she heard his breathing.

Something still felt strange. Dreamy thoughts ebbed and faded, and she realized what it was. She was naked. She could feel the sheet touching her body. Nakedness gave her a feeling of freedom, different and exciting.

Last night came to mind and she groaned at the memory. Holy cow!

Grandpa’s eyes opened, sharp blue. The edges crinkled. He smiled and said, “Morning.” His hand caressed her bare back. “Are you sick?”

“No. Why?”

“You groaned like you’re in pain.”

“I just remembered last night. You didn’t warn me it would hurt,” she accused.

“A good hurt, right?”

“After. But at the time, that last one almost killed me. I had no bones left. It’s like I lost control. Not nice.”

He grinned. “You seemed pretty drained. You fell asleep before answering me.”

“Did you ask me something? I don’t remember.”

He nodded. “I asked you what a multiple orgasm felt like.”

“Is that what sex feels like?”

Grandpa chuckled. “That was sex.”

“I mean real sex.”

“That was real sex.”

Rachael shoved him. “You know what I mean!”

A twinkle emerged in his eyes. “Which one? Like yesterday morning’s orgasm, or one of the three you had last night?”

“Jeesh! Four times in one day! I’ve never done that before! I’m not doing it again, either.”

“Why not? You seems to enjoy them.”

“I’ll die young.”

“But happy.”

Rachael giggled. Sometimes talking to Grandpa was like trying to get slippery spaghetti to stay on a fork. “I need to pee.”

“Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”

Rachael looked around, searching. “Where are my clothes?”

“You weren’t dressed when you came to bed last night.”

“I’m talking about my panties.”

Grandpa searched under the covers, smiled, and held them up between his fingers. “Found them. They’re really small. I like yellow. Can I keep them?”

“No!” Rachael laughed and grabbed them, rolling out of bed and dashing for the bathroom, her bladder calling. She closed the door, sat and sighed as she peed. She still felt strange. Why?

It took her most of the morning to figure it out. She’d changed. Those awkward feelings she’d had about sex and intimacy were gone! She felt liberated and mature and excited. Sex was fun! How come no one ever talked about how much fun it could be? Why did everyone make it sound dirty and wrong and something to be ashamed of? Everyone, except for Grandpa.

She walked outside, around the back, and watched him inspecting his vegetable and herb garden. Tall, lanky and relaxed, he really didn’t look his age. Maybe the hair. Silver was better than grey - sexier.

She suddenly remembered holding his erection inside his underwear last night. Heat rushed through her, her pussy responding. Jeez, it had been so exciting to hold him! It had felt alive and warm and soft but hard. Her hand twitched at the memory. Grandpa’s erection had been much thicker than she’d imagined, her hand only just able to surround it. Her pussy throbbed. She squeezed her thighs together.

How could she be horny again after yesterday?

The familiar ache grew stronger. She wanted to be touched and kissed and loved some more. Yesterday had been the most amazing experience she’d ever had.

What would real sex feel like? Her and Grandpa? Grandpa inside her? Rachael’s face warmed up as she remembered how big his fingertip had felt, and his erection was much, much bigger! Could she even stretch that much? Wouldn’t it hurt like crazy?

She tried to picture it and couldn’t, but the idea of sex!

Horniness blossomed making her groan quietly. She felt a slight dampness in her panties, her breasts sensitive again. Damn! Damn!

Turning, she wandered off looking for something to distract her. When she spotted the ATV, her pulse jumped. Man, she loved riding it! But, even better was how the engine vibrated when running. Suddenly, she grinned. There was the answer to her horniness!

I STOPPED INSPECTING HERBS. Basel, thyme, parsley, chives, and sage were flourishing. The roar of the ATV was impossible to ignore in the silence of the hills. It echoed. Rachael was at it again. She was addicted.

I strolled around to the front and saw her riding the ATV in a straight line, going nowhere fast, a lazy pace. At least she had a helmet on. Then she leaned forward on the handlebars and rode for a while, still in a straight line. Where was she going?

Her head fell slowly, coming to rest on the handlebars as if exhausted, and the ATV slowed to a stop. She didn’t move. What was she doing? Was she hurt?

I took two steps towards her, worried, when she sat up, the engine suddenly roaring, and took off, dirt flying.

It occurred to me that if she took a tumble, those shorts - no matter how good they looked, weren’t going to protect her from serious scrapes.

She turned suddenly, rising off the seat and leaning to counter g-forces. For just a second, the inside wheels rose into the air and my gut clenched. Dirt sprayed behind her. She raced back towards me, skidding sideways into a stop. Her faceplate was open, face flushed. She grinned at me and blipped the engine, revving it.

What was it about a waif-like young girl riding and manhandling a big machine that excited me? She was very, very cute.

With another blip of the engine, Rachael took off. She circled around and raced directly at the garage. I winced. Skillfully, she brought the ATV to a halt next to the other one, switched it off and dismounted. Removing her helmet, dark, beautiful eyes sparkled at me. She gave me a huge smile and just like that, I wanted to take her to bed.

I was still suffering from no release last night and had been unable to shake the image of Rachael naked, a glorious young girl. She was so dam desirable. Today, there was something different about her. Rachael had changed, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

I reached out to grab her and she danced away. “Gotta go to the bathroom.”

Desire slanted my perspective for most of the day. It affected my actions as well. I hugged Rachael frequently and took the opportunity to fondle her spectacular ass. She laughed brightly every time, gave me a look with a teasing gleam in her eyes, and smiled broadly, obviously enjoying my attention. I wasn’t trying to please her. It was me being selfish and horny.

Early afternoon, we headed to town. Some bug was eating my vegetables and I needed anything that would kill the invisible thieves. A food grade, atomic bomb-rated insecticide seemed fitting. I also wanted to go to the book store for more books.

Rachael teased me about that. She threw comments out like, “What does a book store look like?” and “You’re stripping the environment of trees by buying books,” and grinning at me, “There’s this new-fangled thing called the Internet, Gramps. You can get books electronically! Want me to show you?”

I let her rib me, enjoying her mood.

Then before we left town, out of the blue, Rachael asked, “Do you have condoms at home?”

Her question startled me. I hadn’t even considered birth control. I’d been too absorbed by the sexy journey we were on. “I don’t,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize you’re having periods.”

“I’m not. Not yet, anyway. But that’s not why I asked.”

“Why did you ask?”

Rachael smiled. “I’ll tell you later. Can you pick up some? Look! There’s a drug store over there!” she said, pointing.

I decided, as much as I hated condoms, safety was a sensible idea. I had no doubt that, sooner or later, we’d make love and, man, was that an exciting prospect!

Rachael followed me into the store instead of waiting in the truck. I wasn’t ashamed about buying condoms. That was something I’d left behind in my teens. But Rachael had me chuckling, then laughing, then embarrassed.

“What’s the difference between lubricated and not?” she asked, studying the shelf.

“It . . .”

“And why does ribbed for her pleasure make it better?”

“I . . .”

“Look! Purple ones! And black ones! How come there aren’t any sizes offered?”

“Because . . .”

“What’s ’Natural warming sensation’ mean? Does that mean it gets hot? Why do you need it to heat up?”

“Rachael . . .”

She pointed and continued as if not hearing me. “Look at this one. What does snugger fit mean? Is that code for guys with smaller . . .”

“Rachael!”

“What?!”

“We’re in public.”

She looked around, adding, “And alone. So what’s the problem? Are you embarrassed?”

“No. Just lower your voice.”

When she picked two packages up and, in an equally loud but deep, gruff voice said, “Get these two so we can see the difference,” I burst into laughter.

It was the type of laughter that made my sides ache. People peeked into the aisle to see what was so funny, and all Rachael did was grin at me. Damn, I adored her!

Turned out I did get embarrassed when we paid, just like a teenager again.

On the drive home, Rachael turned in her seat and informed me, out of the blue, “I want to play with your erection.”

The pickup swerved slightly, back wheels fishing back and forth when I inadvertently pressed the accelerator and we lost traction.

“Pardon me?” I asked, surprised by her openness, although, given her behavior in the drug store, I didn’t know why.

“I said, I want to play with your erection. I felt it last night but was a bit distracted at the time.”

Amused at her honesty . . . That’s it! That’s what was new. Rachael was showing ease and familiarity without the tinge of shyness she’d exhibited when sex was the subject! This could be fun!

“I have to have an erection before you can play with it and, contrary to popular belief, guys don’t walk around with a constant hard on.”

Rachael smirked at me. “I can make you hard. No problem.”

Smiling with amusement, I teased, “I’m not some teenaged boy. It takes a lot more than a look to get me going.”

“We’ll see,” she countered confidently.

I wondered what she had in mind, and found out before dinner.

She interrupted my book and cigar by flopping into an armchair. When I glanced up, she asked, “What ’cha doing?”

I waggled the book at her.

She ignored it and continued, “Why do people frown upon talking about sex? And when you do, adults react as if you’ve blasphemed. What’s wrong with talking about something that feels good? And why am I supposed to be embarrassed about it?”

“It’s . . .”

“And then they complain about how uninformed we are. What’s with that? It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It’s . . .”

“I haven’t finished.” She paused to take a breath. I grinned. She flashed a smile at me and said, “You’re different. You actually talk about sex. I like that it’s easy to talk to you.”

“It’s harder to talk to you,” I pointed out.

Puzzled, she asked, “Why?”

“Because you never let me answer your questions!”

“Yes I do. Go ahead. Enlighten me.”

I scratched my head. “Which question?”

“Why is it easy to talk about sex with you?”

I puffed the cigar, blew some smoke rings, and smiled at her.

Eventually, impatient, she prompted, “Well?”

“I’m demonstrating my answer.”

“Huh?”

“It’s something you might want to try. It’s called listening.”

Rachael sat, silently staring at me. She didn’t look amused.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, I asked, “Did I upset you?”

She shook her head, watching me.

“Are you sure? I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

She finally spoke. “Well, I tried it - that listening thing. It’s boring. I didn’t learn a thing. So as I was saying, it’s nice that I can talk about sex with you. You make sex fun, which is good since I like it.” She grinned at me. “I’m bored.”

“There’re books over there.”

“With pictures?” she asked, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

I laughed. Rachael was mentally very agile. She had a brain working for her and it made her ever more attractive. I had no patience for dull companions.

Checking my watch, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No. I’m bored. I told you. Maybe you should practice using that listening thing you’re so fixated on.”

I let out another laugh, smiled at her, set the book aside, and stubbed the cigar out. Without an ounce of shame, I suggested, “Did I hear you say you wanted to play with an erection?”

“Uh-huh. Do you have one?”

“Nope.”

“Shame. It would’ve been fun.”

“You could change my lack of enthusiasm,” I suggested, hopefully.

“Too late. I’m hungry.”

“I’m not. If you’re hungry, you’ll have to make dinner yourself,” I threatened, knowing she didn’t enjoy cooking.

“Kay.”

She jumped up and left for the kitchen. Cupboards opened and closed. The fridge door was opened, then shut. She returned and slumped into the armchair.

“There’s nothing to cook for dinner.”

“You could use the ground beef for burgers.”

“I can't make burgers.”

“You could warm the chicken mustard sauce up and serve it with pasta,” I helpfully suggested.

“Couldn’t find it.”

“It’s in the freezer.”

“I looked. It wasn’t there.”

“You could roast the pork tenderloin in an Asian rub and make some rice.”

Her eyes brightened. “Or you could! That sounds delicious.”

Grinning, I said, “Bribe me.”

Proving she was remarkably sharp, she immediately responded. “I’ll let you have those yellow panties you like so much.”

“Nope. What panties are you wearing now?”

I liked the way her eyes opened wide, then narrowed. “Plain old panties. They’re not sexy.”

“All your panties are sexy.”

There’s a look females get when they start plotting. It’s a gleam in their eyes - conniving with a delicious hint of mischief that makes me mildly scared at the unpredictability that might ensue. It’s exciting, and Rachael had it down pat.

“So, if I show you my panties, you’ll make that Asian pork with rice?”

“Nope. Burgers.”

“But I want the Asian pork.”

“Are you wearing a bra?”

“Uh-huh. An old one.” She grinned. “I’ll show you my bra and panties and you make the pork.”

“Nope. The pork’s a lot of work. If you want it for dinner, you have to show me both and do it sexy enough to turn me on.”

Rachael pondered my offer. “How do I know if you’re turned on?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Not good enough.”

“I’ll pant and leer,” I offered with a smile.

“I don’t trust you. Take your pants and underwear off so I can see you get horny.”

Interesting! Grinning, I asked, “And what if I don’t respond?”

“You will,” she replied with confidence.

“Okay. Here’s the deal: I’ll take off my jeans and underwear. If you get me excited, I’ll make the Asian pork with rice for dinner.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Kay. Strip, Billy Bob!”

It didn’t occur to me until I was sitting naked from the waist down how ridiculous it felt. I took my shirt off. Better. “Ready. Get to it. Be sexy, Rachael.”

Rachael smiled slightly as she stood. “I’m always sexy.”

It took less than ten seconds for me to know I was in the presence of a maestro. Rachael confirmed seduction was an innate female talent.

The moment she stood, her face changed, smile vanishing, and a sultry expression emerged, her face slightly downturned, eyes darker and mysterious. Her stance changed, a hip cocking, knee turned inward. Her fingertips played with the button of her cute, tight tan shorts.

It popped open. She moved her weight to her other hip and lowered the zipper, opening the fly of her shorts just enough for me to glimpse printed cotton panties inside.

She distracted me by slipping her sandals off. When I looked up, her fingers were slowly gathering the hem of her solid blue T-shirt at her stomach. Watching me, she lifted the hem exposing her navel, then her stomach, inching it higher and higher until the bottom of her bra appeared; just the edge. Then she lowered it, smiled at me, let the tee drop, and crossed her arms, grabbing the opposite sides of her tee.

She drew it up over her head in one move, dropped it to the floor, and paused to look at my groin for a response.

I exerted some willpower despite the allure of her simple cotton bra. Two small white triangles, printed with tiny blue and yellow flowers, did an admirable job of cradling her small breasts. It was the small embellishments on the edges, decorative stitched loops, that almost made me react. On Rachael, her bra was anything but sensual. It was a girl’s first bra, chaste, no support provided, and because of it, intensely sexy.

“Very nice,” I observed with an encouraging smile.

She smiled back at me. Slender as a waif, she dropped her hands to her shorts and eased the unbuttoned waist apart. Her hands moved to the sides. She gave a small ass wiggle and the shorts slipped down, left side, right side, a bit more on the left, a bit more on the right, and her panties emerged.

They matched her bra, cotton, perfectly ordinary, high-waisted, almost chaste, with tiny blue and yellow flowers; a child’s panties. As her shorts fell to her ankles, she looked at my groin again checking for a response.

I should have responded, but Rachael was adorable. It was the small things that made her so cute. Her movements weren’t smooth and seductive and polished, but slightly jerky with inexperience, fingers fumbling, and I loved it.

A frown emerged on her face.

I smiled and teased. “I guess it’s burgers for dinner.”

The frown deepened. “I’m not finished yet.”

She kicked off the shorts and moved closer, standing in front of me. Her arms reached behind her. She unhooked her bra, covered her breasts with her arm, and magically shrugged off her bra.

Her arm edged down exposing the top swell of her petite breasts, then lower, and the dark tops of her areolae emerged. My cock twitched as blood flowed. Her arm dropped exposing exquisite little breasts, so firm, so sensual, so edible.

Now smiling slightly, please that she’d made me react, she slipped her fingertips inside the waist of her cotton panties and edged them down, slowly, her eyes now looking at mine. Two bony hips were exposed, then the up swell of her mons. Delicate dark pubes appeared, sprinkling her mons lightly, so soft looking and glossy. The tip of her cleft appeared. My cock flexed as the heat of desire welled.

Ever so slowly, her panties lowered, the deep vee of her pubis emerging, the sexy gap between her thighs, and my penis thickened at the intensely erotic sight - such a forbidden sight.

Cotton panties fell to the floor. Rachael pushed my knees together and straddled me. As she did, her succulent hairless cleft flowered open to reveal her small clit and, making my pulse race, glistening moisture below.

She sat in my lap and, underneath her, my growing erection rose to touch her butt crack.

Rachael’s eyes twinkled with success. But she didn’t stop. Taking my hand, she guided it to her chest. A delightful, sexy little mound pressed to my palm and I reacted again, arousal strengthening, hot blood flowing. She took my other hand and placed it on her other breast, her smile growing.

She played with the hair on my chest, rubbing and caressing, then one trailed down, reached between her spread legs, and rising, she gently grasped my erection, bringing it up to rest thick and heavy on my stomach.

Smile growing into a grin, eyes twinkling, she shuffled forward slightly and her sexy, sexy pussy settled onto my shaft. She gave it an exquisite stroke and announced, “Asian pork for dinner!”

Fuck me!

When Rachael made to get up, I grabbed her waist. “Not yet.”

Success danced in her shining eyes, pleasure and satisfaction. “Why?” she asked sweetly.

Before I could answer her, Rachael rubbed her pussy up my shaft. She was trying to tease me, successfully, too. But something else happened. Rachael’s smile faded away. Her eyes narrowed slightly, amusement displaced by arousal, focus fading as sensations bombarded her.

In the blink of an eye, Rachael became soft and sensual - an intensely sexy and exciting young girl, and I reacted, desire for her slamming into me.

A teasing game had ended.

When she focused on me again, there was no amusement. She held my shoulders, stared at me, and humped my shaft slowly, her warm pussy slipping up, then down in a sensual caress; overtly sexual. I’d never experienced anything so erotic. My cock swelled. She felt it.

Leaning in, Rachael kissed me. Our lips moved. I cupped her small breasts, rubbing her nipples, and the kiss intensified, lips parting. Tongues touched. It was electric!

In the sweetest, sexiest move, Rachael humped my shaft, shivered, and moaned into my mouth. Dinner was forgotten, displaced by excitement, horniness. Sitting astride me, Rachael started humping my shaft. Her moisture made me slippery and warm, her labia caressing, and my cock grew, straining and thick, leaking precum.

Her nipples responded to my touch, beading into hardness. It felt like she was fucking me, my cock stroked by the sexiest pussy in the world. Desire for her overwhelmed me. I reached behind and held her bare buttocks, guiding her movement, drawing her pussy along my shaft and back.

Extreme arousal suppressed rational thought. So lost in the incredible sensation of an adorable thirteen-year-old pleasuring herself on me, I missed her hand movement.

When she touched my erection, I was too gone, too turned on, too excited. I didn’t stop her when she eased her pussy up off my shaft. I didn’t stop her when she pressed the swollen head of my cock back through her warm cleft. Her kiss became passionate, tongues wrestling, breath panting.

And then the moment arrived.

The tip of my aching erection nestled into her short cleft, pointing up, Rachael’s pussy poised above, soft labia cradling me. Time stood still. For the briefest second I thought about stopping her. The thought fled as she pressed down carefully.

I held her small buttocks, each a perfect fit for my hands, and supported her, holding her up.

Rachael moaned into my mouth as if starved and desperate. She pressed down again, her fingertips holding my crown in place, and pressure increased on the tip of my cock. Better judgment fled, shoved aside by the onslaught of desire, the pressure of arousal, the desperate need I felt to have her, take her, make love to her. The tipping point arrived and I succumbed. I stopped holding her up.

Our kiss broke. Rachael stared into my eyes. She pressed down and winced. So lost, I didn’t stop her. She eased up and pressed down again, her cleft slowly encompassing my crown. Another wince of pain flashed through her eyes. About to stop her, she pressed herself down harder and it was too late.

Gasping in pain, Rachael’s entrance stretched, her hymen yielded, and the bulbous head of my cock penetrated her. God she was tight! Almost painfully tight! We both froze.

This wasn’t how I’d envisioned our first time together; on the couch in the living room. I’d imagined being in bed with her, sexy play, a gradual build towards intercourse; something she’d remember fondly. And yet, with my tip lodged inside her, pulsing and throbbing, gripped so deliciously tightly, it was so erotic and exciting I couldn’t stop. I didn't want to stop. Now I wanted to feel myself buried inside her, filling her, stretching her . . . fucking her.

My cock swelled again. Holding her narrow hips, I pressed up and penetrated her tight pussy a bit deeper - exquisite, thrilling.

Rachael inhaled audibly, a shaky breath. I was hurting her!

“I . . .”

She reacted immediately. “No,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”

Her dark, intense eyes stared at me, determined, as she pressed herself down on me making no progress, her pussy simply too tight. I lifted her gently, part of my erection oozing out of her, then let her settle and I penetrated her a bit deeper.

Waves of pleasure washed through me. I’d never felt anything like it. She was so impossibly tight, almost too tight, and I reacted again with another hard throb, my cock swelling.

Still staring into my eyes, Rachael lifted herself and settled down again, more easily this time, my erection penetrating her deeper, stretching her, half my shaft buried in her pussy. Fuck!

A little smile of success danced across her lips. She lifted herself and settled, her tight vagina squeezing down my shaft and enveloping me in heat. Another rise, another more confident press, and my cock penetrated her fully, completely, the tip touching her end, her pussy nestled to my groin.

Movement stopped. Jesus effin’ Christ it felt good!

Pleasure and pride flitted through her eyes. She smiled slightly, clenched her pussy on me and, when I groaned at the exquisite sensation, her smile broadened into radiance.

“Jesus, Rachael,” I gasped when she did it again. I couldn’t believe I was actually having sex with her, with a child - only thirteen for Christ sake!

“Do I feel good?” she asked. “Do you like it?”

My cock throbbed, aching and so damned rigid.

She smiled with pleasure.

“Does it hurt too much?” I asked.

“Not so much anymore.”

With her weight on my groin, I let her hips go and caressed her petite breasts.

Her eyes softened. She relaxed. “Can we stay like this?” she asked. “I like feeling so full.” She put her palm on her lower stomach; a sexy action, as if trying to feel me inside her, and I throbbed strongly in response.

Teasing her nipples lightly, Rachael shuddered. Goose bumps formed on her arms, and her dark areolae puckered up. She sighed.

Then I glanced down and almost lost it. Rachael’s pussy was plump where it pressed to me. The sight of short, glossy pubes dusting her mons brought home how young she was and it excited me beyond belief. My body cried out for stimulation; move, stroke, fuck her! It was so powerful I almost succumbed, my cock flexing rapidly.

I tore my eyes away from the arousing sight. She smiled at me as if knowing how excited I was. Reaching around her, I drew her to me and kissed her. Soft lips brushed mine, then settled, moved, pressed. Her quiet murmur of pleasure, like the purr of a kitten, intensified my desire and I reacted, my tongue probing, touching hers.

The kiss deepened, her mouth opening to me, her eyes closing. And then she lightly scrubbed her pussy on my groin. Deep inside her, in her deepest spot, the tip of my cock rubbed against her end. Christ Almighty!

Driven by selfishness, I held her slender back, cupped her cute butt, and edged forward on the couch. Transferring my weight, I stood. Rachael wrapped her legs around my waist. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she nuzzled my neck, her breath warmly brushing against me.

I carried her to the bedroom, buried inside her. Late-day sun slanted across the foot of the bed. Bending, I lowered us to the bed, still penetrating her young body, her pussy so snug.

She kept her legs wrapped around my waist. She held my neck. And as I settled my body on hers, it registered how small she really was. Height couldn’t hide her slenderness. Beneath me, Rachael seemed delicate, almost fragile - a child, and desire slammed into me, excitement zinging like electricity through my veins. God I wanted to fuck her more than any girl I’d ever known!

Groaning deeply, I eased my erection out of her snug vagina, just a bit, her pussy gripping me as if reluctant to let me go. I eased back into her, pleasure washing through me. When I did it again, Rachael responded, moving, joining me. Small movements started. Rhythm emerged, strokes still short, my groin rubbing against her clit.

Rachael moaned quietly and took the lead, moving her pelvis in counterpoint to me and our strokes grew longer, an endless withdrawal and slow, exquisite thrust, buried again, her pussy so damned tight.

Muscles trembling, I hugged her tightly, fucked her slowly, fully, and arousal intensified, pleasure flowing through me, my cock swelling impossibly thick. I’d never been so excited!

Rachael wrapped her arms around me, hugging my body, her legs tightening around my waist. She curled her pussy up at my slow thrusts and moaned almost silently with pleasure. Small tremors shook her when I rubbed my groin against her clit. She inhaled sharply. Her pussy clamped down on my cock and suddenly became slippery. Stunning me, Rachael climaxed, soft, panting and groaning quietly, her pussy milking me.

Selfishly, I continued fucking her slowly, a steady pace, long strokes, each exquisite. She was so sexy. The next few minutes were heaven. I fucked her as gently as I could. She rejoined me, moving again, curling her pussy up at me, the head of my erection touching her end, crown almost breaching as I withdrew. Her vagina was tight yet slippery, a velvet sheath caressing me, warm and thrilling, and slowly signs of an orgasm stirred; my muscles tensing, pulse racing, cock straining impossibly hard. Pressure inside me built. An ache developed deep in my gut and I started struggling. I didn’t want to cum. I didn’t want this to end. I wanted to fuck this beautiful girl all night, feel this intensity, hold onto the excitement of sex with a young virgin - a child experiencing sex for the first time.

I might have lasted a bit longer, but Rachael groaned loudly, “Oh Gaaaawd!” and climaxed again, this time harder. Her vagina clamped down on me. Her small body shook, legs locked around my waist.

It was way too much to take. What little restraint I had was shattered. Holding her, I thrust into her hard, pulled back, and thrust again burying myself as deeply as possible, pure heaven, my cock swelling. Pressure built to the point of hurting and suddenly I lost the battle. Closing my eyes, I thrust almost desperately, semen pulsed up my shaft and I came, erupting deep inside her, bliss, utter bliss! Like a raging storm, my orgasm took control. I fucked Rachael, thrusting and exploding, spurting cum deep into her tight pussy, ecstasy punishing me. Each pulse hurt. Each spurt felt endless, as if I was filling her up. And I drowned in exquisite pleasure, thrusting, fucking her, emptying myself into her until nothing was left, and still I strained in the clutch of my orgasm, body hurting, fucking her, fucking her. At the point of real pain, my orgasm passed, releasing me, thank God releasing me, and the dry pulses slowed. I, too, slowed and gradually came to rest on her, my heart racing.

Rachael’s legs loosened, they slipped down my thighs to rest on my calves. Still buried inside her, my erection softened, engorged, held snugly. Eventually, the ringing in my ears faded and energy flowed back. I rose onto elbows and smiled down at her. She smiled back. I kissed her gently, her lips so soft and warm. A twinkle emerged in her dark, beautiful eyes. I recognized the look; playful mischief.

“Was it okay?” I asked, rubbing her cheek.

Smiling, she answered, “It wasn’t how I’d planned it. There was no romancing or flirting, or wining and dining me, or groping me.” She gave me a fake frown and added, “You didn’t even seduce me.”

About to comment, Rachael’s expression softened. She became sweet and cute; intensely beautiful. “It was unbelievable,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Was it good for you?”

I noticed the insecurity in her tone, or perhaps a need to know she pleased me. It did some strange thing to my heart. I’d never experienced someone like her in my life, and boy, had I missed out!

“Rachael, honey, trust me when I tell you I’ve never experienced anyone like you. No one has come close to you. Ever.”

She blinded me with her smile of pleasure. Her eyes did that sparkling thing, and she announced, “You owe me Asian pork and rice. I’m hungry. And you’re heavy.”

I grinned and started to roll off her.

She hugged me tightly, stopping me. “Kiss me first,” she ordered.

I did, brushing her lips with mine. While in the area, I sucked on her plump lower lip. It had an unexpected impact. Rachael sighed and pulled me into another kiss. Her eyes crinkled with a smile. She sucked my lip and caressed it with her tongue; a hugely sensual act. Then her eyes popped open in surprise. Mine probably did, too.

Below, my cock throbbed inside her. I definitely felt blood flowing back, a slight thickening. This was very new. It had never happened before.

Randy thoughts tumbled through my mind. Before I could act on them, she shoved me off, exclaiming, “No way, Billy Bob! You owe me food!”

Flopping onto my back, I laughed and watched her sit up and start fishing through the tangled sheet and blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my panties.”

“They’re in the living room where you left them when you seduced me.”

Rachael rolled off the bed and stood. She froze. Her cheeks flushed. She reached between her legs, cupped her pussy, and darted from the bedroom, her sexy ass shaking delightfully. Rachael had just learned the other side of sex. I chuckled and hoped I’d forever remember that moment.

Then it sunk in. Jesus Christ! I’d just fucked my thirteen-year-old granddaughter! I’d just fucked a child!


Chapter Eleven

Rachael strolled into the kitchen as I finished the last of the French toast I’d made for breakfast. She’d changed yet again. My granddaughter was quiet. She sat at the kitchen table and every time I looked at her she smiled gently, not shy but demure.

She studied my face as if looking for some reaction or an answer to an unasked question.

Last night, after we’d finally eaten dinner, her bubbly excitement had been replaced by softness, and when she came to bed in panties and a small T-shirt, she’d cuddled close. I’d asked if she was alright and she’d assured me she was.

Placing the breakfast plates on the table, I sat and started buttering the French toast.

“I’m not psychic,” I said, pouring maple syrup.

“Huh?”

“You have to tell me what’s going on inside your head. If you have regrets or questions, tell me.”

She ate slowly. Finally, she spoke. “Um . . . Well . . . This is sorta new to me.” She took a deep breath and continued. “If I wanted to, you know, make love again, how would I know if you want to, too? And, if I wanted to try something, how do I ask without sounding . . . crude? And, what if you don’t want to try it?”

I took her question seriously. She was thirteen and inexperienced in intimate relationships, so of course she’d be unsure. Rather than reply flippantly or jokingly, I chose to answer her openly and honestly.

“There’s no right or wrong way, Rachael. You know how to flirt. That’s one way. If the other person doesn’t respond, then you know the time isn’t right. But the truth is, if you both respect each other and love each other, there’s nothing you can do that’s wrong. Just be open and honest.

“That said,” I continued between bites, “arousal is a strange and wonderful emotion. There are sexual desires that might sound rather crude and lewd when you’re not aroused, and exciting when you are. It’s surprisingly easy to know if your partner is in the mood, and if not, flirting and touching and teasing lets them know that you are.”

“I have another question. Some of my friends say that if you have a lot of sex you’re a slut. Is that really true?”

“It depends. If you have a lot of sex with your boyfriend because you like it, then you have a healthy sex life. If you want sex so badly you have sex with different guys, then you’d be perceived as loose, a slut, because the sex is more important than the relationship.”

“Kay. Thanks.” She brightened visibly, smiled, and asked, “Will you teach me what guys like?”

“I’d love to,” I told her with a smile, “under one condition.”

“What condition?”

“You have to promise me you’ll speak up if anything makes you uncomfortable. I’m not kidding, either.”

I was pleased to see Rachael give it serious consideration.

She finally nodded, said, “Okay,” and went back to her French toast.

Sipping coffee, I waited. Rachael wasn’t the type to drop any subject until she’d drilled it deep, and her brain was clearly working. I could see it in her eyes.

As I waited, I studied her carefully. I liked the way she ate, her generous mouth, and the way her lips moved as she chewed. Her free-falling curly hair was lustrous in the morning light, black onyx, healthy. In jeans and a yellow T-shirt, she looked even younger, her arms slender, the small mounds of her breasts almost invisible.

Yet again I thought, I had sex with her! I actually had sex with her! Arousal stirred as I replayed her being in my arms, beneath me, so slim and sexy . . . so young and forbidden. And the amazement of being buried inside her, actually fucking her, had been unbelievable.

Shifting, I relieved the awkward position of my renewed erection. Rachael ate the last bite, her fork rattling on the plate. She chewed slowly and studied me. The corners of her mouth twitched up. Her eyes twinkled.

“What’s your favorite position?” she asked.

Deciding to have some fun, I answered, “On the couch in the living room with my feet up on the coffee table, a beer or glass of wine in hand and a fine Cuban cigar . . .“ Rachael’s expression was turning puzzled as she tried to picture it. I kept a straight face and continued, “. . . and a Sunday afternoon NFL game on the TV, with the scent of tender roast beef coming from the kitchen, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and snow falling thickly outside.”

She was silent. Staring. Still puzzled. Then she frowned. “That’s not what I meant! I mean, what’s your favorite position to have sex in.”

“Ah. Well, in that case . . . On the couch in the living room with my feet up on the coffee table with a fine . . .”

Rachael laughed. “Gramps!” She threw her napkin at me. “Stop being goofy!”

I grinned at her. “Okay. It depends.”

“On . . .?” she encouraged.

“My mood.”

Now frustrated, Rachael said loudly, “Stop playing the laconic cowboy, Billy Bob! Go to town! Use three words! Be a rebel!”

Damn she amused me!

“There are times when I’m feeling romantic and loving, and any position where I get as much of the other person’s naked body against mine is my favorite. Then there are times I’m just horny and want to have some fun and feel the joy of sex. Those times, any position where I can see us is my favorite. I like the sight of sex, the sight of a beautiful naked female, and the sight of my partner experiencing pleasure.”

With a grin, I added for her amusement, “And looking at Old Faithful always makes me swell with pride.”

Rachael giggled furiously and quieted. She fiddled with the fork on her plate and studied the floral design. “What type of sex is your favorite?” She glanced up at me and added, “Be serious, Grandpa. I want to know.”

“I think outdoor sex, or sex in unusual places. I always find it a bit more thrilling, unexpected and a tad dangerous.”

Rachael shook her head and frowned at me. She stood, picked up her plate and glass and carried them to the sink. Had I misunderstood her?

“Rachael?”

Leaning back against the counter, she gave me a firm look. “That wasn’t what I meant. You know what I meant.”

“I really don’t,” I assured her.

“What ’type’ of sex? As in oral or . . . you know.”

“Ahhh. All is clear. Sorry. I really didn’t understand. It depends on the situation. Of the five plus ways, I think . . .”

“Five plus?” Rachael exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Not three? Five?”

“Don’t schools have Sex Ed classes these days?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s mostly about safe sex and reproduction and abstinence.” She thought for a moment and added, smiling at me, “I sorta failed on the safe sex and abstinence front.”

Oh shit! Safe sex! Just because Rachael hadn’t had her menses didn’t mean she wouldn’t at any minute.

Rachael returned to the table and sat. “Okay. Educate me.”

“I’m getting you an appointment with Doctor Kelly, today,” I informed her.

“Why can’t you tell me? It’ll feel weird to have a doctor explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

“The five plus ways to have sex.”

“I’m not talking about that.”

“Why not? We’ve had sex. Are you shy now?” she asked.

“Huh?” I gave myself a mental shake and started over. “I’m talking about birth control.”

“Oh. I thought we were talking about sex.”

“We are. No sex until you get birth control.”

“Jeez,” she exclaimed, adding sarcastically, “And I’m feeling horny with all this graphic sex talk.” Then she grinned at me.

By mid-afternoon, I was driving Rachael to a doctor’s appointment and arguing with her. Rachael insisted she wasn’t interested in the pill. It was too much work remembering to take it every day. She didn’t like the sound of a cervical cap, shuddering when I explained how it was inserted. She countered with condoms and we settled on the convenience of an IUD. It was proven safe and didn’t require discipline on either of our parts and would last until she was of legal age. Altogether, a fine solution.

Doctor Kelly agreed.

A newly safe Rachael was excited on the way home. She turned in her seat and said, “Okay. Five plus. Explain, Billy Bob.”

“What ways do you know?” I asked.

“Well . . . oral and, like, regular, and you know.”

How cute! “I know what?”

“You know!” she insisted, adding, “In the butt.”

I smiled. “You can say anal sex. It’s what it’s called. Or sodomy if you prefer, or, as the English call it, buggery.”

“Yuck, Grandpa! That sounds disgusting!”

“What would you like to call it? I’m pretty flexible. How about Nancy? Whenever we mean anal sex, we’ll say Nancy instead.”

I waited a beat and said, “It would be like, ’Feel like Nancy tonight?’”

Rachael burst into laughter. “And, ’That Nancy was really good!’ Or, ’I can’t believe I had Nancy last night!’”

I laughed with her. The truck bounced as we turned off the paved road onto the long rutted dirt drive climbing to the house.

“So, oral, and vaginal, and Nancy you know about.”

Rachael laughed again.

“Then there’s manual and naked frottage, both with variations,” I continued. “That makes five.”

Rachael pondered for a while. “Okay. I think I get manual, but what’s frottage?”

“From the French word for rubbing. It’s the act of rubbing bodies against each other. You probably know it as dry humping. But naked, with some oil and a sexy massage to start, then finding a position to pleasure each other, it can be very, very satisfying.”

“That sounds like fun! Can we try? Tonight? Do you have oil?”

“I have a well aged 10w30 in the garage.”

Rachael laughed. “How do you stop the bed from getting greasy?”

“Towels.”

Excited, she asked, “What type of oil do you really have?”

“Do you like vanilla?”

The rest of the late afternoon and evening passed slowly. Anticipation does that. Time slows. Rachael was restless, fidgeting, changing channels on the TV. She talked because silence bothered her. She graced me with smiles and bright eyes.

Every so often, I asked, “You sure you like vanilla?” and she’d grin.

As darkness set, she jumped up suddenly. “Where do you keep the towels?”

“In the hall closet,” I told her as she left. “Go ahead and start without me. I’ll be there soon.”

Laughter floated back to me.

By the time I’d turned lights off and put away empty glasses, Rachael had left a pile of bath towels on the bed. She was nowhere to be seen.

It was interesting how inanimate objects could arouse. The simple act of removing the blanket from the bed and laying out towels had me partially hard. Perhaps it was my imagination on overdrive, trying to picture Rachael, a naked thirteen-year-old, sprawled on the bed for my pleasure.

Brushing my teeth, I wondered if I should be naked or wearing boxer briefs when she arrived. With underwear on, she could undress me. Would that turn a girl on? I knew undressing her was a hugely exciting prospect.

I’d wear underwear. She’d probably wear hers. Exciting!

Rachael still wasn’t in the bedroom when I returned from the en suite bathroom with minty-fresh breath.

With the bedside lamp on low and a small bottle of massage oil ready, I sat and waited, my partial erection waning slightly. Then, bored, I did something I rarely did; turned the small television on, sound off, and watched Barbara Stanwyck cajole Fred MacMurray into murder on the classic movie channel. The old black and white movie had an ambiance to it that most modern day movies lacked.

Rachael appeared, wearing a ratty old T-shirt that looked suspiciously familiar. It fell to her thighs hiding a favorite sight - her panties. Smiling at me, she approached the bed and sat on the opposite side, one knee up and resting on the bed.

From my position, her cocked knee tented the tee and exposed her crotch. Plain white cotton stretched, her small pussy pressing, and a stir of interest returned to my groin. Would I ever tire of seeing her panties?

“So, how do we do this?” she asked. “Should I get undressed?”

“Heck no!” I exclaimed. I laid on the bed, the towels under me, and reached for her. “I want to neck for a while.”

Rachael smiled with pleasure and crawled on the bed toward me. She settled against me, in my arms, bodies pressed together. We kissed tentatively, small, soft pecks, her eyes bright.

Rachael felt so good in my arms. In my mind, there was no question I loved her adolescent physique. It aroused me, adding to the illicit pleasure of kissing such a young girl, a sweet girl who responded when she felt my cock thickening against her leg.

She smiled, pleased by my response to her and, in a very sexy act, gently rubbed my cock with her thigh, a caress, encouraging, intimate. I slipped my hand under her tee and up her back, stroking her warm skin. Rachael responded with a kiss, a murmur, her lips active.

When her tongue flirted with my lips, I felt the swirling sensation of desire unfurl in me. The kiss deepened and my hand magically found her panties, caressed the sexy shape of her small ass, and lightly traced the valley between her buttocks.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, tongues intertwined, her mouth warm and moist. Desire intensified, cock slowly strengthening into an erection, pointed down and desperate to rise.

The kiss grew passionate, eyes closing, murmurs of pleasure, and I eased my hand off her ass, over her bony little hip, around and under her tee, and slowly stroked up her body to cup her small breast, bare skin, soft and warm, her nipple already beaded.

Tweaking her nipple, Rachael squirmed against me, responding, her tongue becoming forceful.

I was a bit breathless when the kiss ended. She eased away from me as I drew her tee up. She rolled and pulled it off, then rolled back into my arms.

“This is nice,” she said with a smile, and kissed me again, her hand slipping around to caress my back.

Our kisses were short and sweet. I liked kissing her cheek and the corner of her mouth, and loved how her lips sought me out, active and enthusiastic.

Then her hand swept down my back and inside the waist of my boxer briefs. She edged the waist down. I mirrored her, first fondling her fine rear, then easing my fingertips inside her cotton panties. Before edging them down, I indulged, fondling her gorgeous buttocks, and my erection grew again.

“Take your panties off, and roll onto your front,” I instructed. While she did, I pulled by underwear off releasing my cock and reached for the oil.

Rachael turned her head to look back at me, her arms slipping up under the pillow. Her beautiful eyes twinkled; so pretty. She glanced down at my erection and back at me, smiling.

Straddling her legs, while opening the bottle of oil, I studied her body. From behind, despite her slenderness, Rachael had curves; sexy curves. Her back swept down, shoulder blades prominent. At the lowest point of her spine, her ass swept up, twin buttocks, narrow yet rounded, formed an utterly gorgeous ass, her valley deep and tight.

There was a slight curve where her buttocks met her thighs at the sides, and, where her cheeks merged with her legs, small creases formed. Shadowed darkness filled the gap at her crotch, alluring, teasing me and making me hornier.

Rubbing my hands together to warm the oil, I started at her shoulders, a caress more than a massage, soft and sensual. The scent of vanilla filled the room. My erection settled in the valley of her thighs - so arousing. Under my hands, Rachael’s body was contoured, firm, her skin so silky soft. Excitement intensified and my erection strained, thick and heavy, as I arrived at her compact rear. Rachael was silent. Her eyes were closed, face relaxed. She was breathing gently.

I caressed her gorgeous buttocks, loving the sight of her butt crack opening to expose her small rosebud and the sexy, sexy sight of her cleft; a remarkable swelling between her thighs.

Shuffling down, I caressed her toned thighs, her calves, and, when I squeezed her feet, Rachael finally made a sound; a moan of pleasure.

“Turn over,” I instructed quietly.

Rachael rolled onto her back. She smiled at me. Her eyes dipped to my erection and her eyes sparkled at me.

Leaning over her, I whispered, “You have a gorgeous body,” and kissed her lightly, then settled on her legs.

With more oil, I started at her shoulders again, caressing her silky skin. This time, I rubbed oil on her arms, hands, and each finger. In the meantime, I enjoyed looking at her. On her back, her widely spaced, small mounds almost disappeared, forming gentle swells, her areolae dark and delicious. Her small nipples had softened.

With more oil, I caressed her upper chest and down her sides, skipping her breasts. With her legs together under me, her lower body was a topographical marvel. Her hips formed sharp hills. Her bottom, pressed to the bed, swelled out slightly. Rachael’s stomach was concave, dipping down from her chest, and it emphasized the remarkable ripeness of her mons with baby soft, jet black little pubes decorating the top, her hairless cleft plunging deep into her crotch to meet her buttocks.

I caressed her stomach, avoiding any intimate contact and, looking into her eyes, slowly, very slowly, brought my hand up to the undersides of her breasts. Pausing, I ran the pad of my thumbs across her nipples and back.

Rachael inhaled deeply. Heat entered her beautiful eyes. Then, as I covered her small mounds with my palms, her eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and when caressed, she sighed almost silently. For the next few moments I caressed her breast and her areolae puckered up and nipples tightened. Her breathing intensified.

Smiling at her, I said, “You have beautiful breasts, Rachael. They’re perfect and very sexy. I adore them.”

Finally, I shuffled down again, her sweet pussy exposed, and my erection bobbed, so hard now. I loved the feeling of arousal, the excitement, the sweet anticipation of release.

Sweeping my palms down her sides to her hips, I slowed and brought one hand to her center, feeling the sensual swell of her mons. It was so small, yet plump and full, soft and beautiful. I pressed and rubbed. Rachael moaned quietly with pleasure, her eyes briefly closing.

Time to move on.

Adding more oil to my hands, I started on her legs. First her thigh, knee, then calf. I caressed her other leg and, when at her ankles, I moved my hands to the insides, gently caressing up past her knees to the insides of her firm thighs.

I urged Rachael’s legs apart and inhaled sharply, her small pussy exposed in all its glory, achingly sexy.

The first thought that flashed though my brain was: how could something so small have taken me in? Rachael’s cleft was tightly closed. Her lush, hairless labia were wonderfully full, tapering and meeting the swell of her buttocks. Her cleft merged almost seamlessly with her butt crack, just a slight indent that hinted at the entrance to heaven.

Above, her mons rose in a spectacular mound. Eyes locked on the amazing sight, I now massaged the insides of her thighs, inching higher and higher towards her pussy. When my thumbs nestled to the sides of her pussy, Rachael moaned quietly. I squeezed her labia together and rubbed, stimulating her clit still hidden from sight, then eased my thumb pad up along her cleft, bottom to top, pressing gently, and higher over her sexy mons.

Rachael’s eyes were tightly closed. Her brows were furrowed, nostrils flaring. Sweeping my hands up, I returned to her small breasts and caressed, bending over her.

“How do you feel?” I asked, kissing her cheek.

Rachael groaned. “Horny and relaxed.”

“Your turn.”

“Do I have to?” she asked, eyes still closed.

I stopped caressing her breasts. “If you want a happy ending, yes.”

Moving off her, I settled on my front at her side.

Rachael groaned and stirred. “I should’a done you first,” she complained.

“We’re far from finished.”

RACHAEL FELT LIKE SHE had no strength. Her body was so loose and relaxed, yet tense from arousal. Her pussy still tingled from Grandpa’s careful touch. Her breasts felt bigger, fuller, almost heavier. Were they?

“Where’s the oil?” she asked.

“On the side table.”

Seeing it, she grabbed the bottle, poured some into her palms, and moved down the bed on her knees. She straddled his legs and, realizing how tall he was, edged up to his thighs.

On his front, Grandpa had a vee shape; narrow hips and broad shoulders. Muscles were easy to see, ropy and limber. She leaned forward and started on his hard shoulders, rubbing gently.

She couldn’t get over how sexy his touch had been. She’d even felt his erection against her thighs and it had felt heavy, exciting her.

She rubbed oil down his back, over shoulder blades to his lower back, pausing to study his ass. She grinned. Sexy! Shuffling down, she caressed his butt and down each leg.

Excitement building, she said, “Roll over.”

Grandpa’s blue eyes smiled at her when he turned. She glanced down and held her breath. His erection looked huge, thick, the tip mushroom-shaped. She’d had that inside her! No wonder it had hurt! Her pussy ached at the memory of being so full, stretched. Tearing her eyes away, she poured more oil into her hands and shuffled up again, reaching out to his shoulders. Her pussy brushed the base of his erection and she froze, a shudder coursing through her. Man, she was horny!

As if knowing what she was experiencing, Grandpa’s smile broadened. His eyes trailed down her body and she felt it like the heat of the sun.

Easing back a bit to break contact with him, she smiled and rubbed his shoulders, then caressed his chest, enjoying his soft chest hair. She loved his flat stomach, firm and toned. Edging lower, she rubbed the sides of his body, avoiding his erection, and continued to his legs.

Her heart beat faster when she started the journey back up, caressing the insides of his legs, her hands reaching his thighs. She looked at the sack holding his balls and, taking a deeper breath, cupped it.

Grandpa’s cock bobbed up off his stomach. She felt both testicles and fondled them gently. His penis fascinated her. It moved, bobbing up and down, and a clear bead of liquid oozed from the tip to drool onto his stomach. It thrilled her. Her nipples felt tight. She glanced up and almost gasped at the intensity in Grandpa’s eyes, blue fire, desire.

She smiled to herself with pride. She was making him so horny! Then she looked at his erection and shivered lightly. Holding her breath, she slowly wrapped both hands around the thick shaft.

Grandpa groaned deeply. His erection was alive in her hands, jerking suddenly, swelling. She caressed the length of it with both hands, so thick and hard, yet surprisingly soft.

Grandpa groaned again when she stroked him, his erection straining in her hands. He reached down suddenly, grabbed her, and pulled her up on top of him.

Rachael settled on him, his erection pressed to her pussy and stomach, a huge lump, hard and exciting. She smiled. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You! Who taught you to be so seductive?”

She smiled again. “You did.” She kissed him and shivered when his hands slipped down her back to hold her buttocks. She relaxed her legs, her knees sliding off to his sides and, oh God, the pressure on her pussy was so good!

Still kissing him, she rubbed her whole body up his, her breasts pressed to his chest, and she groaned quietly at the amazing sensation on her pussy, his cock so hard. Easing back was just as pleasurable.

She couldn’t stop herself. With Grandpa’s hands holding her ass, Rachael started sliding up and down, oil making their bodies so slippery. Her pussy rubbed up and down his erection sending bolts of pleasure through her. She ached deep inside her, need, desire. Face buried in his neck, Rachael humped him, her body sliding smoothly, faster, her heart racing. She slipped up higher and gasped. The head of his cock rubbed her cleft, her clit tingling. Shuddering, she did it again, then again, now panting. Her whole body slipped up and down. His hands on her butt started moving her, pulling and pushing her. Deep inside she felt the first stirring of her climax, like weight inside, pressure, her pussy throbbing.

Slipping up too far by accident, when she slid down, the tip of Grandpa’s erection pressed against her clit, then ran along her slit, up and through her buttocks. She brought her legs together trapping it against her pussy and started humping it, pulse racing, heat blossoming, God so good! It felt so big between her legs, hard yet soft. She humped his erection faster, clit tingling, so close, so close.

Then, well then Grandpa groaned, “Jesus, Rachael,” and she felt it!

She actually felt Grandpa’s erection stiffen and swell between her thighs, and suddenly hot wetness spurted on her ass, Grandpa cumming!! Her climax slammed into her and she humped him, feeling a hot spurt of cum land high on her back. She grunted uncontrollably, pussy pulsing, sheer bliss hammering her, her climax erupting. Pulse racing, pussy clenching, with Grandpa’s cock swelling and jerking, cum spurting hot and messy on her, ecstasy punished her. Gasping to breathe, Rachael climaxed hard, so hard.

It felt like hours before she stirred. Her body had no energy left, no bones either. She liked how Grandpa hugged her gently and his hand held her ass. She was hot, perspiration dampening her hair, and Grandpa’s penis was soft and smaller between her thighs. It felt like her back and ass were covered in cum.

Finally, she lifted up and crossed her arms on his chest, rested her chin on them and grinned. Gramps blue eyes twinkled at her. He smiled.

“Is all sex so good?” she asked.

He rubbed her ass. “It can be.”

“Great! You and me, Billy Bob! We’re gonna try everything!”

He laughed. “I like your thinking. But first, I think we should shower.”

Rachael wiggled on him. “Why? I sorta like feeling your cum on me. Hey! Do you think I could watch you cum on me sometime? Wanna?”

He laughed, hugged her tightly, and effortlessly sat up. He carried her to the bathroom and into the shower.

“Frottage is my new favorite word,” she announced as the shower started.


Chapter Twelve

TO ME, RACHAEL LOST all vestiges of shyness about intimacy after our oil adventure. Perhaps, more than intercourse, touching each other, letting ourselves be touched, and finding sexual pleasure together had been more intimate. We knew each other’s body - every small nook and cranny. We’d explored in the light, not protected by darkness.

Maybe it had given her the last bit of confidence she needed - knowledge she could bring me as much pleasure as I could her. Or perhaps she was completely comfortable with me now.

Whatever it was, Rachael changed. Radically.

It was evident when we went to bed after our shower. Rachael turned and ordered me to spoon her, pulling my hand to her breast. It was evident the next day when she finally got out of bed and found me in the kitchen. She turned me, slipped her arms around my waist, rose up on tiptoes and ordered me to kiss her. It wasn’t a hardship.

But the real proof was later that day.

We were sitting outside late morning in companionable silence, the sun hot, when Rachael spoke. “Let’s go camping. I want to see Mount What’s-it’s-name.”

“There’s no running hot water,” I cautioned. “Or mattress to sleep on.”

“I don’t care. It’ll be fun! Come on, Gramps. Live a little. Be a rebel!”

I laughed with amusement. “Okay. Friday. The day after tomorrow. We need to go into town for supplies this afternoon.”

Rachael jumped up. “Why wait till this afternoon? We can have lunch in town. C’mon, move it old man!”

Like most things, Rachael took a real interest in camping gear. I'd taken her to the store to buy a sleeping bag. The first inkling of her weird shopping habits was the sleeping bag.

She liked the green one. That’s it. It didn’t matter that it was big enough for ten people. She liked the green color. Then she had to try it, climbing in and rolling around inside it on the floor, announcing her satisfaction. A brief argument that a smaller one would be warmer was dismissed by her.

I headed to the checkout and Rachael intercepted me.

“Look! Ice spikes for your boots! You strap them on,” she enthused, shaking them at me.

“It’s summer,” I pointed out. “No snow.”

“But they’re fun!” she insisted.

“No. Put them back.”

Rachael pouted and left, only to return with camping pots.

“Look! Aren’t they cute? They all fit inside each other like Russian nesting dolls.”

“I have those, Rachael. Put them back.”

“Are yours so new and shiny?” she asked.

“Put them back.”

She pouted and left, only to return with a propane lamp. “Hey, Gramps! Check this out! It’s a gas light. Let’s get it!”

“I have one. Put it back.”

“Fine!” She pouted again. “You’re no fun!”

The clerk at the checkout waited. “All done, Sir?”

“Yes. And make it quick before she comes back.”

“Hey, Gramps! This is amazing! Can you believe this knife has a spoon, and a fork, and a cork screw, and a saw, and a nail file, and a tooth pick, and five blades, and a can opener, and it fits in your pocket! This’ll be really useful.”

“No. Put it back, Rachael. All we need is this sleeping bag for you.”

Rachael pouted and ignored me when we shopped for food supplies. She refused to talk to me when we finally loaded the pickup to head home. The climbing shorts she’d wanted and I’d acquiesced to, hoping to placate her, had no impact. She’d accused me of taking all the fun out of camping. I wondered how stubborn she could be and how long she could carry it.

Not long, as it turns out.

She suddenly pointed out the window. “There’s the drug store we went to! I totally forgot about the condoms! We’ve gotta try them tonight!

“We solved the birth control issue,” I reminded her.

“It’s not for that!”

Now fascinated, I asked, “What’s it for?”

She grinned at me. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

It seemed her snit was over in the blink of an eye. Good trait, I decided.

“Are we going to blow them up like balloons?”

She laughed. “No!”

“Fill them up with water and have a fight?”

“No.”

“Then what?” I asked.

“Not telling.”

“I get grumpy when I don’t know things.”

“You get grumpy when the coffee’s too weak, and when your cigar drops its ash too fast, and when you run out of chives. Chives! Who gets grumpy over chives? I’ll tell you. You do! So be grumpy, Billy Bob.”

I grinned. “Okay. I’ll wait. But it better be good.”

Rachael watched the passing scenery. “Don’t worry. It will be.”

It was! It was the funniest, oddest experience I’d had in a long, long time.

Unloading the pickup, unpacking, and preparing dinner distracted me. It wasn’t until I was in bed waiting for her to join me that the condom comment came to mind. It was Rachael, in a tee and rather sexy powder blue panties, entering the bedroom with a box of condoms in each hand, that reminded me.

She studied each box, walking and climbing onto the bed. “This one, I think. It’s Extra Sensitive.” She looked at me and asked, “Is that extra sensitive for me or for you?”

As she opened the box and withdrew a strip of condoms, I suggested, “Maybe it’s extra sensitive for both of us.”

She smiled. “Good!” Tearing one off, she ordered, “Take your underwear off.”

I did, telling her, “I’m not erect.”

“No problem. You will be,” she informed me confidently.

“What are you planning?”

Kneeling, she sat on her heels at my side, looked at my flaccid penis, then at me. Smiling, she announced, “I’m going to give you oral sex - a blow job. I've never done it before.”

“We don’t need a condom for a blow job.”

“Yes we do,” she contradicted me. “I don’t want you to cum in my mouth. I smelled your semen and it was hinky, sort of chemical smelling. I don’t want to swallow it.”

I proposed a solution. “I’ll let you know before I cum, then you can stroke me off and watch me cum.”

“It won’t work.”

“Yes it will.”

“No it won’t,” she insisted. “I want to feel you cum in my mouth. See?”

With a laugh, I agreed. “So, make me horny.”

Her hand was cold when she started fondling me, defeating the purpose. I suggested, “Take your tee off so I can play with your boobs. It might help.”

Rachael pulled it off, exposing her lovely little mounds. Kneeling, her breasts looked just a bit fuller, sensually shaped, and very, very young.

She continued fondling my flaccid penis, then my balls, while I admired her breasts. They really were delightful - shaped like the top of a small muffin, I decided. She was destined to have beautiful boobs.

“What’s wrong with Old Faithful?” she asked. “Are you tired? Never mind.”

Catching me off guard, she took my penis in hand, bent and kissed it. Then, in slow motion, she sucked the head into her mouth and I reacted, blood flowing at the sight of a newly thirteen-year-old with my cock in her mouth. Blood rushed. My cock swelled and slowly became erect, encouraged by a teasing tongue, a warm mouth, and actual sucking!

With my cock in her mouth, she looked at me and grinned, stroked my shaft, popped her mouth off and announced, “Ta-da! Told ya not to worry.”

Laughing at her unrestrained enjoyment, I caressed her bare thigh, then edged my hand up until I was touching her pantied crotch. She stroked my shaft. I explored the remarkable plumpness of her pussy and my erection strengthened.

Rachael bent and took me into her warm mouth again, bobbed her head a couple of times, then straightened and admired her achievement.

A please smile emerged. She grabbed the foil condom package and tried to open it. Still teasing her pussy, I watched as she struggled. A frown emerged. She wrestled with the package and it slipped from her fingers.

“Damn!”

Grabbing it, she tried again. It was obvious she had no experience with condoms, and it was very cute. Then she bit the package, tearing it open with her teeth. Pleased, she extracted the rolled condom and inspected it, turning it over and over.

Demonstrating her lack of attention in Sex Ed classes, she unrolled it and grabbed my cock. I stayed silent, enjoying the show. Everything she was doing wrong reinforced her youth and innocence, and I found it hugely attractive.

I had no problem maintaining an erection, either. Fondling her sexy little pussy over soft panties was more than exciting.

Rachael tried to put the condom on. Unraveled, she had no chance of success. She couldn’t get the opening over my crown. Realizing it, she let my cock go and used both hands to pull it on. She managed to get the ring over my crown and the trapped air ballooned the condom.

At that point, I started laughing. Rachael gave me a disapproving frown and faint blush which added to my amusement. An unfortunate side effect was my erection flagged.

“Would you like some help?” I asked.

“No! I can do this.”

“Can I explain how to do it?”

“No. I’ll figure it out,” she insisted, still frowning as she tossed the condom aside. She grabbed a new one and tore it open with her teeth.

This time, she picked at the condom to inspect the bulbous tip, figured out which way the condom unrolled, and smiling again, tried to roll it onto my softened erection. The condom slipped.

I was more amused than horny at this point. The harder she struggled, the softer I became.

“No wonder you don’t like condoms,” she said, still wrestling with it.

“It’s easier if I’m erect.”

She sighed, dropped the condom on my stomach and grabbed my cock. Stroking it, she bent and slipped her mouth over the top, sucking and caressing me with her tongue. Damn it felt good!

I teased her pussy with my finger, pressing her panties into her cleft. Slowly, my erection returned, excitement building, arousal intensifying. Her mouth was so moist and warm, her gentle sucking so good.

When she popped her mouth off, she gave me a couple of long strokes, saliva spreading.

“There,” she muttered to herself.

Rachael picked up the condom and, demonstrating greater skill, held my shaft, put the condom on the tip, and tried to unroll it down. She might have succeeded if she’d put it on the right way, but she hadn’t. However, her stroking did feel awfully good.

“Turn it over,” I suggested.

Flashing me an embarrassed smile, she did, and tried to unroll it. It slipped off. She tried again. It slipped off. Her saliva had made me too slippery.

“Jeez, this is hard!” she exclaimed.

“It is,” I agreed, nodding and grinning. “And the more you stroke it, the harder it’ll get.”

Rachael laughed. “Not that . . . Well, that too. I mean putting a condom on. No wonder there are so many unplanned pregnancies.”

“Let me show you.”

“Kay.”

I held my shaft. “Now try rolling it on.”

Using both hands, Rachael successfully rolled the condom over the flared head. She brushed my hand away and used her fist to roll it down. “There! Finally!”

Glancing at me, she grinned. “Ready!”

“No. Take your panties off.”

Rachael moved, pulled them off and rolled onto her side, taking my erection again. As her mouth engulfed the crown, I played with the sprinkling of baby soft pubic hair, then eased my index finger along her cleft, pressed it in, and started rubbing.

It was an amazing experience. At first dry, I actually felt Rachael become aroused. It started with a trace of moisture that slowly spread under my finger, warm and slippery. Rachael, with her mouth full of my cock, moaned quietly with pleasure. Dampness increased. She became wet. And when I eased my fingertip into her very tight vagina, she moaned again, louder this time.

“Lie on me,” I instructed, pulling her leg.

Rachael shuffled. Her knee swung over my head guided by my hands, her mouth locked on my cock.

Astride me, her pussy in my face, I caressed her buttocks, and pulled them apart. Her hairless cleft flowered open revealing the glistening interior, a small clit, and the incredibly tiny entrance to her vagina.

Cock straining, I kissed her pussy, tasting her clean, almost sweet arousal. She trembled lightly at the touch of my tongue. She moaned quietly when I strummed her clit. Her mouth paused and her hand stroking my shaft stopped when my tongue probed into her vagina, velvety and warm.

Returning to her clit, I sucked it and used my lips to rub it. Sucking slightly harder, I caressed the tip of her clit with my tongue, probing and touching the delicate pearl.

Rachael gasped. Her ass trembled. My cock strained at her reaction. It was so damned exciting. Tonguing her clit, she reacted again by pressing her pussy to my mouth. She started moving, humping slightly, my erection now ignored.

Slowly, I intensified the oral attack, sucking harder, tongue strumming, and Rachael gasped. Her small buttocks started shaking, pussy humping. Enjoying myself, I brought her higher and higher until, with a gasp, and an, “Oh Gaaaawd!” she climaxed, humping and convulsing, her pussy releasing a flood of hot liquid into my mouth. She gasped again, gripping my erection as if holding on for dear life, and shuddered, her thighs trembling. She shook and climaxed, letting out cute, quiet, rhythmic grunts, then collapsed, her weigh settling on me.

Small residual shudders shook her. She calmed. Silence arrived.

Eventually she stirred and stroked my erection. With my hands, I urged her off me to the side. “I want to watch you,” I told her when she glanced at me.

“I’m tired now.”

“Hey! Fair’s fair!”

She grinned. “Just kidding. That was fantastic! Thanks!”

“You’re welcome,” I responded, chuckling. She was very cute.

She wrapped her fingers around my shaft, contemplated me briefly, then lowered her mouth, lips parting, and took the head in. It was an incredible sight - unlike anything I’d experienced with the women I’d been with. Rachael still had the face of a child, and seeing a child with an adult erection filling her mouth was unbelievably erotic!

My cock swelled, now aching and stiff.

She eased her mouth off, studied my erection again, then took me in again, this time taking me deeper and deeper and, as her lips touched her fist, she gagged and yanked her mouth off.

“How can anyone deep throat something this big?” she asked. “I thought I got most of it in, but I only took this much,” she said, pointing to where her fist was.

“It’s not important how much you can take,” I assured her.

She looked at me. “Good. I’ll choke if I try to get more in my mouth.”

She bent back and engulfed my crown again, this time moving her mouth up and down, her head bobbing. When she started stroking my shaft at the same time, pleasure flooded me, arousal surged, and my cock strained. Condom or not, the sight turned me on like nothing before. It was deliciously illicit and so damned illegal to be sucked off by a such young girl!

Rachael set her own pace. Sometimes she sucked. Sometimes she teased the head with her tongue, her mouth easily taking almost three inches in. When, out of the blue, she hummed, “Mmmm,” arousal surged again and I inadvertently thrust up. Rachael gripped my shaft, stopped moving her head, and let me fuck her mouth. Jesus Christ it was sexy! Watching my thick erection fucking her mouth, her lips stretched around me, was enough. A wave of pleasure slammed into me. My cock strained, ached, balls tightening, and, with a groan of excitement, I came. Semen burned up my shaft. Bliss erupted as I spurted into her mouth. Before I could inhale, another hard, hard throb hit. Cum exploded in a burst of ecstasy, hot semen flooding the condom. Suddenly my orgasm took over and I came hard, spurting in rapid pulses, pleasure flooding me, swelling and cumming, fucking her mouth, swelling and exploding with sweet relief. Rachael started bobbing her mouth, fucking my spurting cock and stroking my shaft, and my orgasm peaked, body strained, and I gasped, slowed, pulses softening, then stopping.

I was drained. Warmth and relaxed pleasure suffused me. Jesus it had been good!

Rachael removed my softening erection from her mouth. She looked at me, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. The condom was filled with milky-white semen.

“That was amazing!” she announced enthusiastically. “I actually felt you cum! I could feel each pulse with my hand! Did you know your penis swells when it shoots? It does! I felt it swell in my mouth and actually felt you spurt! Your semen’s hot!”

I smiled, still drained and relaxed.

Rachael studied the cum-filled condom. “There’s not as much as I thought there would be. It felt like much more in my mouth.”

Looking at me again, she asked, “Did you like it? Did I do it right? Maybe, and I’m only sayin’ maybe, next time we can try it without a condom.”

Damn, I loved her enthusiasm! Reaching for her, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her.


Chapter Thirteen

Rachael topped up the gas tanks, gasoline vapors filling the air. I finished loading our gear into a small utility trailer, strapped them down, and hooked it up to my ATV. We were ready. The sun was rising, casting light obliquely over the land, topographical shadows slowly fading, the morning undulations flattening.

I checked the weatherproof GPS. It was functioning well with new batteries. In my back pocket I had a folded paper map. Technology has a habit of failing at the wrong moment and I was taking no chances.

Rachael straddled her ATV and put her helmet on. She started the engine and blipped the throttle. With an impish grin, she pulled the faceplate down and took off, gravel and dirt spraying into the air, her rear knobbed tires fishtailing before gripping.

I shook my head and straddled the Yamaha. A minute later, I followed her away from the house at a more sedate pace.

She knew the way to the lake. We’d be going past it this time. Our trip to Mt. Wrightson would take just under seven hours. With her in sight, I let myself relax and enjoy the trip. I loved being outdoors.

Today, Rachael was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, her steel-tipped boots on. But yesterday, she’d actually worn a short skirt. I hadn’t seen it before and it was beyond nice. It was sexy. Turquoise, with white lace trim, the loose material managed to cover her to high-mid-thigh leaving her long, slender legs bare.

Rachael, demonstrating a conformist fashion style I wouldn’t have associated with her, had paired the skirt with a short-sleeved yellow top. Barefoot, with her glossy hair brushed, she’d been sweet, cute, and sexy in an innocent way. Contradicting her appearance, she’d flirted and teased me all day. She’d accidentally on purpose flash pale yellow panties at me, giving me enough of a peek to know her panties were those very small, string bikini ones that hugged her little pussy and only partly covered sweet buttocks - the ones I loved so much.

Rachael had been full of blinding smiles and giggles, showing a childish, fun side, and every so often she’d approach, hug me, rise up on tiptoes, and we’d kiss. At first, I tried to play cool, but too many flashes of sexy panties wore my restraint down. The first time I groped her panties under her skirt when she kissed me, she giggled, shoved my hand off her ass, and danced away.

From that point on, I groped and fondled her with every kiss, cupping her small bra-less breast or slipping my hand under her skirt to fondle her pussy enough to tease but not satisfy. It was a wonderful experience to see desire emerge in her. It showed in her eyes, softening yet excited. It showed in her kisses, slightly more pressure and lingering. It showed in her posture, pressing herself against me harder and rubbing her crotch subtly against my groin.

The last straw happened mid-afternoon when her hand overtly rubbed my crotch as we kissed yet again, and I’d had enough. I’d been horny and suffering an on-again off-again erection that left dampness in my pants. Common sense took a hike, shoved aside by urgent desire.

I grabbed all eighty pounds of her, hefted her over my shoulder and, to furious but pleased giggles, I carried her to the bedroom.

She protested the whole way, “Let me go, Grandpa!” and kicked her legs playfully. I grabbed her butt and squeezed, growled a bit for the fun of it, and when I entered the bedroom, I put her down - face first, bent over the side of the bed.

She tried to wiggle away. I stopped her with a hand pressed firmly to her back.

“I’ve had enough, little lady. Time to pay,” I growled at her, and flipped the back of her skirt up exposing little yellow panties partially covering a scrumptious small ass.

“Y’all have a fine looking rump,” I drawled, and slapped it lightly.

Rachael laughed until I fondled her ass and traced the dip of her butt crack all the way down to her succulent little pussy pooching out from behind.

“Billy Bob!” she exclaimed loudly, wriggling anew.

I almost laughed. “Now calm down, pretty thang. Y’all more jittery than a newborn foal.” Grinning, I rubbed her small cleft. “Yes indeed, a fine specimen.”

“Let . . . me . . . GO!” she yelled, squirming and laughing.

“What’s the safe word?”

She stopped moving. “We don’t have a safe word.”

“Isn’t that a shame,” I observed, edging the waist of her sexy panties down. The top of her butt crack emerged. I slipped my hand inside and caressed two stupendous, silky buttocks.

“Grandpa!” she exclaimed, wiggling to escape again.

“Nice. Keep struggling. It turns me on.”

She stopped suddenly. Finally, she looked back at me through the mess of her dark, curly hair. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning on tying me up, are you?”

I glanced around the bedroom. “Well, gosh darn! I knew I forgot the lasso.”

She grinned until the fingertip of my burrowing hand brushed her cleft. I touched silky dampness and shuddered slightly. Christ! Rachael’s horny! She fell quiet. My fingertip glided between her moist labia and touched her clit. When I did, Rachael exhaled slowly, her eyes closing, and my erection became uncomfortable confined in jeans.

Pulling my hand from inside her panties, I unbuttoned my jeans and lowered the zipper, my other hand still holding her firmly to the bed.

Rachael’s eyes popped open. She looked back at me and had me in a fit of laughter by saying, “Are you planning on mounting me, Billy Bob? Is Old Faithful up to it?”

I laughed so hard, tears started. I had to sit on the bed before I fell over.

Rachael didn’t move. She grinned. “Why did you stop. It could’a been interesting this way.”

Wiping my eyes, I gasped, “Jesus, Rachael. You’re too much.”

She smiled broadly, far too pleased. “You bet’cha boots, cowboy! C’mon. Giddy-up!”

Another wave of laughter took control. My stomach cramped. Damn! I hadn’t laughed so hard in years!

Rachael waited me out, smiling at me, her curly hair a mess. She didn’t straighten her skirt, leaving her sexy ass and panties exposed. When I finally calmed, drying my eyes, she wiggled her little ass slightly. “Wanna?”

Flopping onto my back, I shove my jeans and underwear down, my erection slapping onto my stomach. While I kicked boots off, Rachael inspected my cock. She didn’t move, just smiled slightly as if she’d won some war.

Standing, I moved behind her, too horny to think. I admired her exquisite ass and sexy panties, then pull them down exposing her succulent cheeks and, Jesus, her pouty pussy framed by slender thighs, the gap so sexy. My cock strained up at the sight.

Without pausing, I knelt, pulled her small buttocks apart and kissed her cleft, tasting her, running my tongue between moist labia. God she tasted good!

Standing, gripping my shaft, horny as Hell, I asked, “Ready?”

Rachael wiggled her sweet ass and said, “Ride ’em cowboy!”

That did it. I burst into laughter again, this time falling on top of her back. “You're killing me,” I told her between laughs.

Rachael giggled. “This is fun. I haven’t heard you laugh so much since I got here.”

“I haven’t laughed so much in years,” I informed her. Then it registered. My erection was nestled into her butt crack, coddled by her small buttocks. It throbbed.

Rachael squeezed her buttocks and murmured, “Mmmm.”

Playfulness vanished in the blink of an eye. I kissed her cheek and rubbed my cock through her crack. Her scent of youth and a hint of lime filled my nose. She clenched her bum and I reacted, rubbing my erection against her. A hard pulse of pleasure hit me. Suddenly, precum made the crown slippery, the shaft dry. It was an amazing feeling; humping her butt crack, the crown caressed, Rachael so slender and young under me. I could have enjoyed it, continued, and cum. But I needed more, horniness now a powerful driving force.

Kissing her cheek, I rose off her, my cock jutting out. I admired her fantastic ass and, looking at it and my erection, it brought home how petite she really was.

Moving back, with her pussy swelling out from behind, I gripped my shaft and, bending my knees slightly, let the damp tip kiss her closed cleft. Jesus I looked huge! As wide as her pussy! Excitement raced through me, my cock swelling.

Rachael turned her head and looked back at me, smiled and wiggled her ass. Her pussy caressed my tip. I pressed forward gently and Rachael closed her eyes. I looked down. Fuck! Rachael’s cleft remained stubbornly closed, her hairless labia bulging from the pressure. I gripped my shaft firmly, pressed harder, and made no progress. A side-to-side movement succeeded in prying her cleft open, glistening moisture appearing. Pressing, excited, pulse racing, I pressed again and made no progress. How had she taken me before?

Then Rachael moved her legs apart slightly as if forced by the bulk of my erection. My tip oozed into her cleft, her labia bulging around the flared crown. Fuck me it was a sexy sight! I eased back and pushed gently. The inflamed head was squeezed. I felt her entrance. And then I felt her pussy dilate reluctantly, as if resisting the massive intrusion.

Rachael groaned quietly as I penetrated her. It thrilled me. The ridge of my crown slowly, slowly oozed into her, her small pussy stretched obscenely. Suddenly, the helmet slipped into her, gripped tightly, so tightly. Rachael groaned again. I swelled, cock rigid, and she clenched her pussy bringing on a beautiful twinge of pain.

I couldn’t get over the sight. It was outrageously erotic; Rachael’s small ass, sexy buttocks, and a thick erection penetrating her. Holding the sides of her gorgeous buttocks, I eased back slightly and pressed again, her vagina stretching, caressing me with velvet, so fucking tight. With gentle strokes, more and more of my straining shaft penetrated her until an inch remained, her buttocks teasingly close to my groin.

My cock swelled dangerously. Easing out, my shaft glistening, I reversed and buried myself inside her with a shove. A shudder of pleasure hit me. Desire raged like an out of control bush fire. I loved fucking her. Withdrawing, I thrust again, my groin nudging against her buttocks, the tip of my cock touching her deepest part. Loss of control was threatening me and I tamped it down. I wanted to watch this all night - me fucking Rachael.

Holding the sides of her cute buttocks, I started withdrawing, thrusting, fucking her slowly. Pleasure and excitement made me thrust harder, a bit faster, my groin bumping against her cheeks. I fucked her faster, shaft glistening, her vagina slippery yet tight, almost inverting as I withdrew. My cock felt tight, as if ready to split, and I wanted more. I wanted to look into Rachael’s face when I came in her.

Pulling out of her suddenly, her vagina gaped then closed. Rachael groaned. I turned her over.

“What happened? Are you done already?” she asked, eyes surprised.

Lifting her under her arms, I moved her up on the bed and followed her. “I’m nowhere near done.”

She smiled.

Moving between her legs, I gathered her knees. Rachael watched me with the same small smile, as if pleased by my manhandling of her; a sign of how she excited me.

Lifting her legs, I bent them over her, her knees close to her shoulders when I leaned over. Her smile broadened. She reached up to interlock her fingers behind my neck. Unaided, the tip of my erection touched her pussy. I glanced down between us and shuddered. Once again I was gifted with the unbelievable sight of my erection poised at her small pussy. The baby soft sprinkling of pubes were so sexy. Hands-free, I pressed forward. Her slippery cleft bulged again, her cleft slowly parting to expose her clit. As I squeezed my cock into her, her clit dipped to kiss my shaft. In a smooth stroke, I buried myself in her tight pussy.

Rachael let out a quiet expulsion of breath. Bending further, I kissed her. She kissed me back, her tongue meeting mine. Without moving, we kissed with more and more enthusiasm. Inside her, my erection pulsed rhythmically and Rachael responded with massaging clenches.

Finally, I couldn’t hold back. Withdrawing, the head almost emerging, I stroked back into her. Pleasure washed through me. I did it again. Exquisite. I paused and pressed as deep as I could possibly go, rubbing my groin against her clit. Rachael inhaled sharply, her dark, beautiful eyes loosing focus. I did it again; a long slow withdrawal, firm thrust, slow rub, and Rachael sighed, her eyes closing. A pattern was set. I fucked her slowly, each time rubbing against her clit, and she started breathing faster.

Then she moved; one hand dropping from my neck to her pussy to play with her clit, her body shuddering, and she let out a long, drawn-out groan, her brows knitting. I fucked her with long strokes, her pussy exquisitely tight. I fucked her faster, pleasure intensifying, bliss promised, need driving me. I swelled, impossibly hard. An ache in my groin formed. It felt like I was close to exploding, ready to cum so hard she’d be unable to take it all.

My world narrowed to fucking her, watching her, striving for sweet release, fucking her hard. Then Rachael gasped suddenly, her finger strumming her clit. Her body cramped, shook, and she climaxed, frowning and crying out, a free hand gripping and squeezing her breast. Panting, she fucked me, her pussy tightening almost painfully with each wave of pleasure, and I lost it.

Fucking her hard, long strokes, thrusting into her, I reached the point of pain, cock aching, and the moment where I couldn’t breathe. Thrusting almost desperately into her, I paused, erection swelled impossibly thick, and my orgasm hit, semen burning up my shaft to explode into her, exquisite bliss slamming into me. Suddenly I was thrusting fast, semen erupting with dizzying pleasure. I thrust and spurted, thrust and spurted, her pussy suddenly slippery with cum. Rachael’s climax passed, her body relaxing, released from the strain, and she opened her eyes and watched me as I fucked her, thrusting and spurting in shorter strokes, my spurts almost painful, my heart racing. Then I reached the crest and fell, pulses weakening, thrusts slowing. I came to a stop, panting, and, exhausted, I released her legs and lowered myself onto her. She welcomed me in her arms, her legs falling to the side.

Eventually, I raised my face from her neck and kissed her. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” I told her. “You’re one of a kind.”

Rachael smiled at me. “Good. Cuz, I think sex is just about the best thing in the world. Forget camping. Let’s stay in bed and make love and never stop.” She added, pushing my shoulders, “Except to pee. I think I need to pee.”

The present rudely interrupted my musing. Rachael, ahead of me on her ATV, disappeared over a ridge with alarming speed, her four wheels actually leaving the ground. I strained to hear the crash and sped up.

Cresting the ridge, I saw her skidding diagonally across the open terrain almost out of control, copses of firs and oaks forming a broad runway. My gut clenched until she slowed and brought the ATV to a controlled halt. She turned on her seat, flipped her faceplate up, looked at me and waved, a big-assed grin on her face.

When I pulled up next to her, I checked the time. Just past eleven. We’d been riding for four hours.

“How you feeling?” I asked when our engines fell silent.

“My butt’s sore.”

“I warned you it was a long ride.”

“It’s not the ride,” she replied.

“Then what?”

“None of your business.”

I shrugged. “Let’s take a break for lunch. We’ve another three hours ahead of us.”

“Kay.” She dismounted carefully.

We sat on the ground and ate. Rachael kept shifting.

“You really are sore,” I observed.

“Uh-huh.”

I mulled it for a moment and asked, “From yesterday?”

She frowned at me - so cute - and nodded.

“Sorry,” I offered.

Rachael shrugged. “Maybe it’s like exercise; you get used to it.”

“I sure as heck hope so,” I responded.

She laughed and leaned back on her elbows. “Another three hours, huh?”

I finished the last bite of my sandwich, wiped my mouth with a napkin and crumpled it up. “Ready when you are.”

We resumed our journey, me leading. The terrain changed as we climbed higher and higher along a winding trail. Our pace was slow. Dirt and pine needle-covered ground gave way to patches of bare bedrock. Trees grew denser in spots, then sparse, and the air cooled noticeably.

It was the most grueling part of the trip. Controlling ATVs over uneven surfaces was hard physical labor. I kept a close eye on Rachael behind me and saw her visibly tire, her ATV moving in spurts and jerks as wheels were wrenched from side to side.

At just after two in the afternoon, we curved around a densely wooded slope and I brought the ATV to a halt.

Rachael parked next to me. Engines off, silence rushed in. Neither of us spoke. I let her take in the view.

We were on a small, level shelf several hundred feet from the summit. The shelf dropped precipitously and ahead of us the southeast land dropped in a series of smaller and smaller undulating, fir-covered hills. Beyond, some fifty miles away, the land flattened into brown and spread as far as the eye could see, mesas and valleys.

A falcon soared on rising thermals, making wide circles. The air was crisp yet warm, clean, and heavily scented by the evergreens around us.

Rachael removed her helmet, dismounted, and walked towards the edge. Then she sat, crossing her legs.

When I joined her, she commented, without looking at me, “This is incredible. I’ve never seen a view like it.” A moment later, she observed, “Can you believe how quiet it is?”

“Your ears will adjust,” I told her. “The air is full of sounds. They’re just different from those you’re used to.”

“Huh.”

I left her and went to unload our supplies. To the right, there was a spot for the tent. The exposed bedrock made a safe place for a small, carefully managed fire. It wouldn’t be used for cooking, just for ambiance and warmth.

Oddly enough, Rachael surprised me. She jumped up and threw herself into unpacking and organizing. She wanted to help me pitch the pup tent and was fascinated when, with a couple of twists, the fiberglass rib poles automatically unfolded and the tent formed on its own.

With a folding spade in hand, I walked back along our tracks. Rachael followed me, asking what I was doing. When I found a spot and dug a hole, pointed to it and told her it was the latrine, the reality of camping hit her. Romance fled in the face of reality.

“Uck! You’re kidding, right?” she exclaimed, her dark eyes wide.

I attached a plastic bag to the nearby tree trunk. “And this is where toilet paper goes. All toilet paper.”

Jabbing the folding spade into the small pile of dirt excavated from the latrine, I informed her, “One shovel of dirt after you’re done. It’ll keep bugs and smells away.”

“I’m not so sure about this camping thing anymore,” she informed me.

She was fine as soon as we were back at the campsite. Setting stones out to form a fire pit and unpacking equipment brought back the excitement of roughing it.

By late afternoon we were set. We found a spot where we could lean back against a massive rock and enjoy the magnificent view spreading in front of us. The sun slipped lower to the west and the air became crystal clear, shimmering heat passing.

Rachael sighed. “This is amazing.” She smiled at me, then jumped up. “Hold on a minute.”

She went over and rooted around in the utility trailer, pulled a bag out, fished around and, making me grin, extracted our cowboy hats. Smiling broadly, she put hers on and returned, putting mine on my head.

She sat, studied me, and adjusted my brim, lowering it in front and said, “That’s better. You look like a rugged cowboy now.”

I touched the brim. “Why, thank y’all missy.”

She laughed and leaned against me.

Rachael was a constant source of surprises. I’d expected her to bore quickly. I expected her to talk to fill the silence. She didn’t. She appeared to be comfortable doing nothing but admire the magnificent scenery.

But . . .

As darkness descended, the air lost what little heat it had and chill arrived. Rachael was excited to be eating with tin plates and cups, telling me it was like we were real cowboys. She inhaled our dinner of canned beef stew warmed on the portable burner, expressed real excitement at the bottle of Valpolicella Ripasso I’d brought, and loved the small fire, constantly playing with it.

Then she shivered. She donned a sweater, then her leather jacket, huddling and shifting closer to the fire. The temperature wasn’t that cold, but when bodies had adjusted to intense summer heat, a small drop in the temperature felt worse.

By bedtime, Rachael was shivering as if we’d been accosted by a winter storm. The tent, large enough for two, was cramped. Her massive sleeping bag didn’t help. Nor did her trying to undress inside it. She writhed and rolled and muttered, tossing out items of clothing, and jostled me.

A small gas lamp hissed. Rachael, having stripped to her underwear, tried to pull her sleeping bag tighter around her, complained it was cold, and reached out to grab her clothes. One by one, she put on her shirt, then her sweater, then, complaining about cold feet, rummaged around for her socks and disappeared inside the sleeping bag to put them on.

Finally, face peeking out, she frowned at me and said, “It’s friggin’ cold, Grandpa! How come you didn’t warn me? And this sleeping bag is useless. Why did you let me buy it?”

“It’s green,” I reminded her.

Making me laugh, she muttered, “Screw green!”

Taking pity on her, I suggested she join me in my sleeping bag. The zipper was opened, she scrambled out of hers and wiggled into mine.

In all fairness, she really was cold. With no insulating fat on her body, her hands were icy, her feet inside socks were chilly, and she huddled against me shivering. I couldn’t complain.

I hugged her. She snuggled close, her nose cold and pressed to my chest.

Then the warmth of two bodies built surprisingly quickly. Off came the sweater. The shirt was removed with much jostling, and tossed out. Socks followed and I had an almost naked girl cuddling to me.

Hugging her, I discovered panties and bare skin. She snuggled. I caressed bare, silken skin.

She murmured, “This is much better,” and pressed her knee between my legs.

I caressed her scrumptious ass, small and proud. She rubbed the hair on my chest, her breath warm on my neck. Her knee edged higher. My response was predictable. Holding an almost naked girl, so slim and delicate, an erection slowly formed. Her scent filled my nose. Randy thoughts blossomed.

Remembering her soreness, I said, “Stop wriggling.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Her knee touched my erection.

“How sore are you?” I asked.

Rachael, her knee now rubbing my erection, giggled quietly. “Maybe not so sore. Why? What ’cha have in mind, Billy Bob?”

Without answering, I slipped my hand inside her panties, groped her exquisite small ass, and eased her panties down. She reached down and pushed her panties off, kicking her feet.

I shoved my underwear down. My erection was released and sprang up. “Turn over.”

Rachael rolled. I cuddled her from behind. She lifted her leg and my cock slipped through her thighs, nestled to her pussy, her buttocks pressed to my groin. She lowered her leg trapping me and gave me a squeeze. Once again I was in Heaven.

Hugging her, I caressed the gentle mound of her breast.

A wildcat called out, breaking the silence.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Sounds like a lynx. It’s too high pitched to be a cougar.”

Rachael moved her bum, rubbing my erection slightly. Her hand settled on the back of mine, pressing it to her breast. I joined her, moving slightly, pressing my groin against her ass and relaxing, pressing and relaxing. I loved the feel of her small butt against me.

Silence reigned. For minutes we moved against each other, lazy and relaxed. When precum leaked, her thighs and pussy became deliciously slippery. Rachael stilled and let me stroke between her thighs slowly, my cock thick. There was no rush, no driving need, just comfortable intimacy, slow loving.

It was too comfortable.

Rachael had me smiling broadly when she emitted a quiet snore. She’d fallen asleep! The long, hard trip, coupled with excitement, had taken it out of her.

Still smiling with amusement, I reached out and turned the lamp off, hugged her gently and, with my erection comfortably nestled between her thighs, I relaxed, despite being horny.


Chapter Fourteen

A full bladder woke me up. Rachael complained in her sleep when I extracted myself from the sleeping bag.

She hadn’t emerged when I poured coffee and sat quietly admiring the rising sun and the vast land spread out before me. Oblique light gave the hills shadows that emphasized the undulation of the land, valleys dark, hilltops bright.

She hadn’t emerged when I organized breakfast. I poured myself a second mug of coffee and waited, enjoying the silent beauty. I loved it here. The real world was somewhere else, not here. Life was simple and stress-free. I had to smile when I understood how Rachael made me feel younger. She was giving me the gift of experiencing emotions and desires I hadn’t felt since being a young man and now, through the lens of maturity, they were so much better.

Rachael eventually emerged from the pup tent fully dressed, frowning and carrying the roll of toilet paper.

“Morning,” I said with a smile.

She grunted something and left. When she returned, she was still frowning. It looked very cute.

“That’s disgusting,” she informed me, dropping the toilet paper roll.

I handed her a glass of orange juice and started the scrambled eggs.

Taking a sip, she grimaced. “What is this? It’s awful.”

“Orange Tang. Breakfast orange crystals.”

She put the glass aside. “I can’t drink it.”

Then, when I served her scrambled eggs, she took a bite and frowned again. “There’s something wrong with these eggs.”

“They’re freeze dried.”

“Why did you bring freeze dried eggs? What’s wrong with real eggs?”

“Real eggs wouldn’t have survived the trip. In case you’ve forgotten, they break easily.”

She put her plate aside. “Do we have any real food?”

“Oatmeal.”

“Kay. I’ll have oatmeal.”

While I prepared it, Rachael took in the vista and finally smiled. “It’s beautiful here.”

Her pleasure was short-lived. She took a spoonful of oatmeal and grimaced. “What did you do to this? How hard can it be to make oatmeal? You pour hot milk over it, add sugar, and it’s done.”

Grinning, I told her, “We don’t have milk. I used hot water.”

“Jeez Louise, Gramps! This camping thing isn’t as much fun as you made it out to be!”

Pointing, I told her, “I promised a view. There it is.”

Still grumpy from hunger, she announced, “I’ve seen it. Can we go home now?”

“Then you’ll miss canned baked beans for lunch and reconstituted Beef Stroganoff for dinner and sex in the open.”

“I don’t care. I don't want baked beans and . . . Did you say sex in the open?” Her eyes lit up.

Smiling, I nodded. “As soon as it warms up.”

“Okay,” she said brightly. “Sex. Then we go home.” Her eyes sparkled when she smiled and announced, “I’m not sore anymore!” She rolled her butt on the ground. “See?”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“We should pack up first, then have sex, and then leave,” she told me. “I might be too tired to pack after sex and I don’t want to stay here another day. I want real food.”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“It is. Let’s pack.”

Packing takes longer than unpacking. Rachael made that observation several times. I didn’t comment. She had a plan in mind and was executing it. I wondered how she’d approach sex.

An hour of packing in increasing heat made me sweat. Finally done, I went and sat on the exposed bedrock, leaning back against a huge freeze-thaw-loosened boulder.

Rachael meandered over to me and handed me a bottle of water. She sat next to me and leaned in. I put my arm around her shoulders.

“It’s really incredible here,” she said, taking a sip of water. “I wish there was a lake here, then it would be perfect.”

We sat in comfortable silence until Rachael commented, “Maybe we should stay.”

“Excuse me?”

Her hand settled on my thigh and rubbed lightly. “I’m just sayin’. It’s so peaceful and warm.” Her hand edged down my thigh, stopping when the side of her hand touched my crotch.

Without looking at me, she put her hand over my crotch and squeezed. My reaction was predictable. Blood flowed. My penis woke up and thickened.

“Maybe freeze dried Beef Stroganoff will taste good,” she opined, fondling my crotch as I became erect.

“You’re kidding, right? We just packed up.”

Rachael traced the growing bulk inside my jeans. She rubbed lightly, then her fingers walked up the zipper to the button. Demonstrating remarkable digital dexterity, she popped the button open.

Now I started enjoying myself. “Have you forgotten about the latrine and cold nights and watery oatmeal and orange Tang?”

She lowered the zipper, peeled the fly open and fished inside. Her hand burrowing down over my underwear to settle on my awakening penis.

“Oh. Well, if I’m hungry enough, maybe the food will taste better, like food at a picnic.” She squeezed my erection, then caressed the tip with her finger.

Casually, she extracted her hand and burrowed inside my underwear and grasped my shaft. She caressed the tip with her thumb rather expertly. I throbbed. A small amount of precum leaked and she spread it around; an amazing sensation. Then, struggling slightly, she repositioned me, bringing my erection up. With my cock pointing up she laid her hand along it. I was very aware of how her hand couldn’t cover me completely.

“Or we could go home if you want,” she added, her hand burrowing down to cup my balls.

“How long are you planning on keeping this up?” I asked.

She finally looked up at me and grinned. “How long can you keep it up?”

Reaching down from her shoulder, I played with her small breast over her T-shirt, twirling the tip of my finger around her little nipple, then palmed her. She smiled softly. I bent my head and kissed her, and once again I was taken away by her soft lips.

I was beginning to recognize her kisses. Sometimes, when feeling frisky, Rachael’s tongue would tease and dart away. Sometimes, when feeling happy, she simply pressed her lips to mine. Sometimes her kisses were deep and passionate, a sure sign of her being horny.

I enjoyed them all. But this kiss was the one I loved the most. This was the one where she showed affection. She moved her lips, pressed, and murmured as if my kiss was ambrosia to her. Rachael expressed love and adoration and I felt it in my chest.

Then her hand gently gripped my erection and stroked slowly. The kiss ended. She opened her eyes, smiled at me, and said, “Number four.” She paused, then added, “Maybe you should open my jeans.”

Opening the button of her jeans, I told her I was lost. “Four what?”

“Oral is number one. Vaginal is number two. Nancy is number three.” She laughed brightly. “Manual is number four, and frottage - a personal favorite - is number five. That’s what you said.”

I chuckled. “You remembered it?”

“I memorized it,” she clarified.

Trying to ease my hand inside her jean was a fruitless endeavor. They were far too tight. “Take your jeans off.”

“You take yours off, too,” she ordered, untying her boots. She kicked them off and stood.

“Keep your panties on, please,” I begged as she reached for the waist of her jeans.

She paused. “Why?”

“I like putting my hand inside your panties. It’s exciting and much more arousing that way.”

“Kay.”

With us both in underwear, I leaned back, legs stretched out. Rachael, instead of sitting at my side, straddled my thighs and sat. Her simple printed cotton panties looked childish. But what they protected was very, very obvious. Cotton stretched at her crotch, pressed tightly to her pussy. Feet on the ground, knees up, butt on my thighs, her pubis strained, bulging, a slight camel toe forming.

I responded to the contrast of childish panties being exposed in such a sexual way. It touched an illicit spot in me.

Rachael, smiling, took the waist of my boxer briefs and pulled it down, releasing my erection. I touched her bulging pussy and caressed soft cotton, following the sexy mound from one side to the other.

When she held my erection, I caressed the short length of her cleft. Jesus it was arousing! My cock throbbed in her hand. Rachael stroked it slowly, studying it. Her fist stroked up. Precum oozed. She rubbed the tip with her thumb then stroked down, back up, and rubbed the tip.

It was a remarkably skillful demonstration and I wondered if she’d done it with some other boy before. Horniness growing, I rubbed her lush pussy concentrating on her cleft, trying to tease her clit. It must have worked.

Rachael sighed with pleasure, brushed my hand away, and shuffled up. Still holding my erection, she slowly settled her panty-covered pussy on my shaft. Cotton bulged, her labia forming to my shaft. She sighed louder when she let her weight down.

Her finger teased the slippery tip of my erection. I pulsed with pleasure and more clear precum leaked, the head shining in the morning light. Before I could suggest what I had in mind, Rachael rubbed her pussy up my shaft, cotton pulled even tighter, a camel toe forming. Then she rubbed back, cotton folds forming on her panties. She shuddered and exhaled.

Leaning forward, her hands on my stomach, head bowed, Rachael watched her crotch as she scrubbed her pussy up my shaft and back. She did it again and exhaled, a quiet, “Mmmm,” sounding.

I loved the sight. It was so taboo. Rachael’s pussy pressed to my thick erection was unbelievably arousing. Then she took my arousal even higher.

“I love sitting on you like this,” she said. “You look so big. I still can’t believe I got all of it inside me.”

She shuddered lightly, stopped, stood up, pulled her panties off, and slowly lowered herself back into position. My eyes were locked onto her pussy, the sprinkling of baby soft pubes, and the way her tightly closed cleft slowly flowered open to reveal her clit.

Warmth settled on my shaft. Her pussy pooched out, hairless labia hugging my thick shaft. Then she let her full weight down and knelt astride me, her head bent staring at our crotches.

Hands on my stomach supporting herself, Rachael scrubbed her pussy up my shaft. She was slippery, horny. Her cleft oozed over my crown and reversed, her clit showing as she stroked back down my shaft to the base, the tip of my erection rising off my stomach. She reversed, slowly rubbing her pussy up. I throbbed. A bead of precum leaked. Her sexy pussy engulfed my tip. She reversed, now slippery with precum, her pussy bulging around me, and stroked down.

“Gaaawd, this feels good,” she sighed, still staring at my cock.

Rachael proceeded to hump my erection, slow strokes, intensely pleasurable. She didn’t look at me once; just stared at her pussy and my cock. She humped me slowly, full strokes, and through my hands on her thighs, I felt small tremors, her muscles trembling lightly, taut.

With teasingly slow strokes, Rachael made me ache, cock pulse. Then she whispered, “I think I'm gonna cum.”

She did. It was an incredible sight to see her body tense, tremble, her thighs shaking as she rode me, her pussy very slippery and soft. She inhaled, moaned, and humped my shaft faster, pussy scrubbing.

Suddenly, she groaned, “Oh Gaaawd,” and lost it, humping me fast, hips churning, using me to pleasure herself.

It was so damned arousing, my cock strained, thick, rigid. When Rachael lost her rhythm, thighs shuddering and tightening, I came. My crown swelled, cock strained. Semen burned up my shaft and, with a burst of pleasure, a long rope of cum erupted, spurting onto my stomach. Waves of pleasure hit me, each bringing a strong spurt, cum pulsing out, Rachael’s small pussy rubbing and milking me. It was an exciting orgasm; seeing everything, and as it peaked and passed, the pulses weakened and stopped, my stomach decorated with opalescent semen.

Rachael came to a stop, breathing deeply.

She looked at me and said, “I reeeealy like this frottage thing!”

Twenty minutes later I was leading her on the ATV as we headed home. So much for camping. Rachel preferred creature comforts. She’d explained in one long breath how real food and a real bed and a real toilet and a real shower and a real chair and a TV and the Internet were much better.

We arrived late afternoon. Rachael made a beeline to the shower leaving me to unpack.

Exhausted, we both fell asleep quickly that night.

Grocery shopping was the first order of business the next day. I also needed to extend the rental on Rachael’s ATV.

With shopping done. I suggested lunch before heading home. Rachael was enthusiastic, assuring me she was starving.

We stopped for lunch at Sneaky Pete’s in Vail, a genuine smokehouse. Food was incredible. I ate too may ribs and took a lot of ribbing from Rachael. A couple of beers had me comfortably relaxed. I thought a cigar might be in order.

Walking to the pickup, two young men strolled towards us heading for Sneaky Pete’s. They were well presented - jeans, clean T-shirts, and sneakers - and in their mid-twenties.

As they almost passed us, one glanced at Rachael, sneered and said, “Skunk. Your mommy go for black meat?”

I slowed, stunned by the crude comment. Rachael’s laugher died instantly. Her face paled. She looked down at the ground and seemed to physically shrink.

Anger burned up my gullet. “What did you say?” I asked in a growl.

The taller one, about my size, sneered at me. “What’s the matter grandpa? Afraid of the truth? She’s a mulatto.”

It wasn’t a conscious act. Rage erupted. I lashed out and decked him with a right to his jaw. He went down, out for the count. His wiry friend stepped in and threw a punch at my face, hitting my cheek. Stars burst. Rage dulled the pain and I slugged him. Blood burst from his nose and he backed off. A police cruiser blipped it’s siren. He ran.

I didn’t appreciate being booked for assault. I didn’t like Vail’s police station. Detective Johnson looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry about this, Mr. Longstreet, but you did put a guy in hospital. I know those two and wish it was me knocking some sense into them; still assault is assault.” He finished filling in the paperwork. “Okay. That’s it. You can go home. We know where you live. It’ll be up to the county District Attorney to decide if formal charges are laid. We’ll see what those two have to say for themselves.”

“Assholes,” I muttered.

“That they are, sir.” He gave me an amused smile. “And get a steak on that cheek.”

Rachel, waiting in the hall, jumped up from her chair when I left the interview room.

“What the Hell were you thinking, Grandpa?” Rachael asked. “There were two of them! You should have ignored them. They always go away.”

I shrugged. “You okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “You know you’re beautiful, don’t you? Like absolutely gorgeous.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Let’s go home.”

In the pickup, I said, “Let’s not tell your mother about this.”

After a period of silence, Rachael commented, “You really like breaking the law, Grandpa. You’re a rebel!”

I glanced at her. She grinned at me, impish and cute. “Did that fight turn you on? I hear guys get off on fighting. Testosterone and all that.”

Clearly she wasn’t as upset as I was.


Chapter Fifteen

Life with Rachael settled down, albeit into a strange world. In this world, I was having frequent and often inventive sex with a new teenager who exhibited an unrestrained enjoyment and enthusiasm. In fact, I was having more sex than I ever had in my life, and I absolutely loved it. It was illegal, illicit, and intoxicating.

July passed too fast. I received a phone call from Detective Johnson letting me know charges were dropped after the two young men were threatened with prosecution under the hate crimes law. I’d completely forgotten about them.

I took Rachael on frequent trips to show her the beauty of Arizona. However, she was happiest when she was riding the ATV. She had a passion for it. She didn’t need my company. She’d race off and, by following the sound echoing across the landscape, I could not only tell where she was, but what she was doing; her engine revving hard when she drove fast, suddenly racing when she went airborne, or motoring along going nowhere for the fun of it.

It was one of those days - baking hot, intense sun, arid, and a late afternoon, when things changed.

We were both on ATVs, racing towards the house in a fight to be first. Rachael was edging ahead of me; not hard given her ATV had hardly any weight to carry. Cooling hot wind blew through our open faceplates. The helmet couldn’t dampen the roar of the engines.

Perhaps three feet apart, Rachael, up in her seat and leaning forward in excitement, suddenly swerved. The three-foot gap disappeared in the blink of an eye and our wheels touched at just the wrong angle.

The result was immediate and horrific. Rachael’s ATV launched into the air twisting to the right. My ATV bucked up suddenly onto two wheels, leaning precariously to the left before rolling onto its side at speed.

The world dissolved into a twisting, twirling, disorienting miasma of dirt and dust. Stupidly, I held onto the handlebars in the ridiculous hope I might be able to do something, although God knows what.

I hit the dirt hard, my head slamming down, shoulder scrubbing across the ground, shirt ripping. Then the ATV crashed down on my leg and pain erupted; excruciating pain radiating up from my foot, exploding inside me and taking my breath away.

The ATV engine died. Silence arrived. Stars danced in my vision. Dazed and confused, it took a few moments for my brain to kick in. Rachael! Fuck!

The moment I tried to extract my leg from under the ATV, pain lanced through me again making me groan aloud, the fog of unconsciousness hovering at the edge of my vision. Breathing deeply, panic increasing, I tried to lift the ATV off me and failed; my position was all wrong. With my free foot, I violently shoved the seat away and another excruciating wave of pain hit me, my trapped leg screaming complaints.

I stopped moving, breathed deeply and shoved my fear for Rachael down. With more control, I tried again, this time carefully pushing the ATV with my free foot. It rose slowly. Gritting my teeth, I pushed harder and it rolled onto all four wheels, my leg released.

I didn’t know if I was bleeding. The boot, very tight on my foot, prevented me from seeing, but it felt like I’d broken something. Moving it hurt but panic returned when I called Rachael’s name and got no answer.

Sitting up, I saw her. She was twenty feet away, sprawled and lifeless with the ATV on its side.

Hauling myself up, I tried a step and fell over, pain slamming into me. Unable to carry my weight, I crawled towards her.

“Rachael! Rachael!”

Panic intensified when she didn’t respond. It took a lifetime to reach her. The first thing I did was check for a pulse. Thank God she had one, steady and strong. Inspecting her, she looked unharmed except for her hand and wrist trapped under the end of the handlebar that speared her.

When I eased the handlebar up, I groaned loudly. Rachael’s wrist had been crushed. She stirred, regained consciousness and, before I could say a word, screamed and passed out.

It took me far too long to make it to the house. The emergency responders took far too long to arrive. And all I could do was cradle Rachael’s head, wait for her to stir, and listen to her cry of anguish before passing out. To me, four years passed before the ambulance siren finally echoed up from the valley.

The Northwest Emergency Center in Vail conducted triage on Rachael. They informed me I had fractured my ankle in two spots and chipped something called the talus bone. They strapped my swollen ankle up tightly and put some plastic, air-inflated, strap-on contraption that supported and cushioned my calf and foot, gave me painkillers, crutches, and told me to keep my leg elevated and weight off it. Four to six weeks and I’d be better.

Rachael wasn’t so lucky. X-rays revealed torn ligaments and extensive broken bones in her wrist which were beyond the capabilities of the staff. She needed a specialist to repair the damage, and soon.

Stabilized, she was immediately transferred to Tucson. I went with her. Rachael, doped up to her eyeballs, kept telling me to stay still and stop swaying. I wasn’t moving. She asked me where she was several times, not remembering my answer.

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I hurt for her every time I looked at her, and admonished myself for letting her ride that damned ATV.

The Tucson Medical Center was a bustling, busy hospital. There was an impersonal feel to their efficiency. Admitted, processed, and assigned a room - private at my request, Rachael had blood tests and x-rays repeated. A short consultation with a young doctor and an MRI was ordered.

Thankfully, Rachael was out for most of it and highly drugged when not. It was close to nine at night when Doctor Williams, the bone and ligament surgeon, arrived. I was thankful to see grey hair and bright, intelligent eyes behind tortoise shell glasses. He checked on Rachael and then came over to me.

“Mr. Longstreet?” he asked.

I nodded and struggled up with crutches. He smiled slightly, studied my leg, and extended his hand. I shook it. It was dry and firm.

Before I could get a word out, he lost his smile. His eyes hardened and he became very, very serious. “Here’s the situation. Your granddaughter’s wrist is shattered in several places. Her ligaments have been severed.”

His words stabbed into me.

“I’ve scheduled her for surgery first thing tomorrow morning. The faster we fix the ligaments, the better her chances are for a full recovery. I’ll also reconstruct her wrist bones with pins and screws.”

“So she’ll be okay?” I asked.

“We won’t know for a while. She might have limited use of her hand, or recover fully, or need more surgery. I won’t know until I’ve operated. Either way, she will need extensive rehab therapy.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re worried, but try to keep her spirits up. She’ll do better with a positive attitude.”

I nodded. “Just make her whole, Doctor. Please. Make her whole.”

He nodded and left. I was exhausted and had the hardest part still ahead; calling Cara to tell her. This was not going to help our slowly improving relationship. In fact, it might set it back a bit, I thought.

Good news has no lifespan. It can wait to be delivered and still have the same impact. Bad news can't. It becomes worse the longer you wait, like bananas, or dead bodies, and eventually, if held back too long, bad news becomes toxic.

Sighing deeply, I went in search of a telephone. I should have brought the cell, but at the time, it hadn’t been top of mind.

Two rings and she answered, her voice so familiar.

“Hi, Cara, it’s Dad.”

“Hi, Dad. Has Rachael driven you insane yet?”

“Cara, honey, Rachael’s been in an accident. She’s in the hospital.”

And that was the high point of the conversation. It deteriorated from there, shock followed by concern followed by accusations of neglect. Informing me she’d be out on the first flight, the call ended abruptly.

I was of two minds. I always liked seeing my daughter, but when she was angry, not so much. Running naked in an electrical storm waving a metal cane in the air was more attractive than facing her.

The night passed extremely uncomfortably. My ankle pained me. Seeing Rachael in a hospital bed pained me. Knowing Cara would be arriving pained me.

At six-thirty in the morning Rachael was moved into pre-op. She was in surgery at seven and wasn’t pushed out of the surgical suite until ten-thirty.

Dr. Williams emerged in scrubs and informed me the surgery went very well. His prognosis was for a full recovery with no limitations on hand motion or dexterity, but the rehab would be long and arduous.

Rachael, barely conscious, was wheeled back into her private room. I smiled and kissed her forehead.

She managed to say, “Grandpa,” and slipped back asleep.

Seriously drained, I hunted down a cup of coffee and chucked a crutch away. One would suffice, even if I looked like an unshaven, drunken street bum using it.

The trip down the elevator to a coffee shop and back involved several stops to rest. It was on the final stop - on seats in the long hall leading to Rachael’s room, when the elevator door opened and Cara made her entrance.

She looked even more Cara, if that was possible. She’d have been gorgeous if it wasn’t for the stern expression on her face, her lips thin and tight. Her black hair was longer than I remembered; full, thick waves flowing loosely past her shoulders. She had lost weight, even more slender. In black slacks, a cream blouse, and black high heel shoes Cara looked very professional.

She spotted me. Pulling an overnight case behind her, she strode towards me.

“Where is she?” she demanded.

I pointed down the hall. “Room one-oh-three.”

She continued right by me without pausing. To her back, I yelled, “Third on the left.” I added under my breath, “Nice to see you.”

I gave her time to be with Rachael. Opening an amber prescription pill bottle, I popped two painkillers and chased them with coffee. I was exhausted and a bit woozy. I hadn’t eaten in almost forty-eight hours and cat-napped a grand total of two.

Eventually, coffee finished, I levered myself up, wobbled a bit, and took a step towards Rachael’s room.

Cara came steaming towards me, frowning, her remarkable blue eyes flashing icy fire. Before she even reached me she started in on me.

“I sent my daughter to you to get better! Look what you did, Dad!”

This slender, almost five-seven fireball hit me and, already a bit unsteady, I went over backwards to the sound of her yelling, “You broke my baby!”

I went down hard, head smacking into the floor. Stars burst as I heard Cara cry out, “Oh God! Oh God! Dad!”

Consciousness returned. I found Cara on her knees leaning over me and two nurses hovering. Cara’s eyes were soft and full of worry.

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

Worry vanished from her eyes like a puff of smoke. She glared at me. “What the Hell’s wrong with you?! Since when can I knock you over? You! You’re supposed to be as strong as an ox!”

“It must be the painkillers I’m taking for a fractured ankle, or lack of sleep, or lack of food for almost two days.” I struggled to sit up. “You pick. Any one of them’s good.”

Worry returned. “You broke your ankle?” She glanced down my body. “You broke your ankle!”

She helped me sit up. “Why didn’t you tell me, you stubborn old man?”

A nurse arrived with a wheelchair.

“I thought the bandages, leg brace, and crutch might have given you a clue,” I said, not surprised she hadn’t noticed. The nurse helped me up and guided me to the wheelchair. She raised my leg and adjusted the support.

“Why were you walking?” Cara asked. “Why are you using one crutch? You should be using two crutches, not one. And you shouldn’t be walking anyway!”

When the nurse started wheeling me away, Cara told her curtly, “I’ll take him. He’s my father.”

She wheeled me towards Rachael’s room. “What did the doctor say?”

“I have a . . .”

“Not about you! About Rachael.”

I explained the doctor’s assessment in a quiet voice. Cara remained silent - odd for her. She pushed me to the side of Rachael’s bed and moved to the other side, parking her butt on the bed. In a motherly gesture, she brushed a stray lock of hair out of her daughter’s face and tried to curl it behind her ear. Rachael’s hair still had too much character to stay put.

When I finished explaining, Cara looked at me. Her voice low, she told me, “I’ll take her home. The best surgeons in the world are in Los Angeles.”

“She’s already had surgery. From here on in, it’ll be rehab she needs.”

“Then I’ll take her home for rehab,” Cara decided.

“Why don’t we wait until Rachael wakes up. She’s going nowhere until tomorrow.”

Stress caught up with me. I closed my eyes. Cara had hit me once before. Sixteen years old in full revolt, she’d yelled at me, for what, I don’t remember and probably didn’t understand at the time, her eyes spitting blue anger at me. Her right to my chest had carried no weight. It was full of sentiment and fury. I’d been more amused by a five-foot nothing girl taking a slug at me to get how wrong and strange it was for a daughter to strike her father. I was just happy when she returned after disappearing for two days.

What had it been about?

I drifted off to sleep like the old man I was.

Mid-afternoon Rachael was awake, drugged but alert. She was surprised to see her mother and, surprising Cara, told her she was really glad her mother had come, demonstrating affection and hugging her mother tightly.

I asked what had happened on the Yamaha; did she remember?

Cara butted in before Rachael answered. “You let her ride a motorbike? You told me she was in an accident, not that she had one! It’s illegal for her to drive a motorbike!”

“Technically it is, but . . .”

“There’s no but, Dad. Now she’ll have a police record following her around all her life. She won’t be able to vote and never be able to find a decent job. She’ll end up working at McDonald’s in the drive-thru window, marrying some guy who’s reached the peak of his abilities as the French fry frying guy and . . .”

Her voice trailed off when Rachael and I laughed.

“It’s okay, Mom. Besides, maybe the French fry guy is cute. And I don’t have a police record. The Yamaha’s an ATV, not a motorbike.”

Turning the conversation back, I asked, “What happened? Why did you swerve so suddenly?”

“The snake. It shocked me.”

Cara let loose again. “You let a snake get to her? What’s the matter with you? You know she’s scared of snakes!”

“Mom!” Rachael cut in. “It’s okay. I was just surprised and swerved. And then I hit Gramps and things got a bit confusing. It was all my fault.”

Somehow, a truce was called. Cara shot suspicious looks at me. We stayed in a nearby hotel overnight, only leaving Rachael when she passed out for the night.

She was released the next morning following another MRI that confirmed her surgery went as expected. She was still doped up on narcotics and happy. Cara drove us home in her rental.

I’ll admit painkillers and worry about Rachael and dealing with a mercurial daughter had distracted me. It had clouded my thinking. It wasn't until Cara put Rachael to bed and, when we were alone, commented, “You really have had a good impact on Rachael. She’s never made her bed so neatly before,” that reality slapped me up the side of my head.

My heart paused, debating if it wanted to continue beating. Fuck! Rachael hadn’t slept in the guest room in weeks! And then another thought hit me. What if Cara finds out about Rachael and me? Shit!

Displaying a calm I wasn’t feeling, I grunted in response, then asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Four days. By Sunday Rachael should be well enough to travel.”

“I see.” I didn’t argue. Perhaps it was for the best. I was feeling old and exhausted and responsible for Rachael’s condition.

My bed was cold and lonely that night. My sleep was restless. My ankle hurt. I wasn’t in the best of moods when I got up early to make coffee.

Cara, in a large T-shirt she’d obviously slept in, joined me. Sun was just peeking over the Santa Rita Foothills. She inhaled deeply and asked, “Is that coffee I smell?”

I nodded and started to stand. She put her hand on my shoulder and stopped me. “You shouldn’t be standing, Dad. I’ll serve myself.”

She sat at the table, placed her mug down after the first sip, sighing with pleasure, looked at me, and stood.

“You’re supposed to have your leg up, Dad,” she told me, pulling a chair out and lifting my leg. Satisfied with her handiwork, she sat again.

It was strange. At thirty-four, Cara was in the prime of her life. She was really quite spectacular looking and in her features I saw Michaela, her mother. The Cara I knew was a fireball in constant motion and crises. The few times I’d visited her in L.A. she’d been working and busy. And Cara had never visited me. She’d never seen this house I’d had designed and built.

Sitting at the table was a relaxed young woman who reminded me of when she was young, before she became a teen and rebelled. Her eyes studied me without the sharpness I’d come to expect. If anything, they were soft and very, very blue.

Then she surprised me again.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For flying off the handle with you at the hospital. I shouldn’t have, but I was so scared for Rachael. Seeing her in bed like that, my baby hurt, made me want to cry.”

I smiled. “You didn’t cry. You hit me instead.”

Her eyes dropped. “Yeah. Sorry.” Then she looked at me, looked at the two crutches I’d been given, and asked, “How are you going to live alone without being able to get around?”

I shrugged. “I’ll get by.”

She changed the subject, talking about the house, how nice it was despite being in the middle of nowhere. “It suits you,” she observed. “Quiet and isolated.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“You’ve always been isolated and aloof.”

The comment troubled me. I’d been accused of being stoic, laid back, calm, but never isolated and aloof. As I opened my mouth to delve into her comment, Rachael entered the kitchen, disheveled, in her cotton pajamas, her arm cast in a sling.

Cara rose and went to her daughter, giving her a gentle hug. “How are you feeling, honey?”

“Okay. My arm hurts.”

Cara tried to fuss, and Rachael resisted. My daughter ignored her and placed pain pills and orange juice on the table, then cereal. She offered me more coffee and asked if I wanted anything to eat. Cara was showing a side to her I hadn’t seen before and I quite liked it.

It didn’t last.

When Cara informed Rachael they’d both be flying home on Sunday, Rachael disagreed.

“I want to stay here with Grandpa. It’s only the beginning of August. I have four more weeks of summer, Mom.”

“That’s not possible,” Cara responded. “I need to get you into rehab back home. Besides, Grandpa is in no condition to take care of you.”

Rachael’s dark eyes firmed up. “We’ll be fine! We’ll take care of each other.”

And just like that, peace and loving flew out the window, voices became heated and raised, and yelling filled the kitchen as two stubborn females went at each other. It gave me a glimpse of why there had been problems at home. Two opinionated, forceful females clashed.

It ended with Rachael yelling, “You never listen to me!” She left the kitchen.

Cara sat stiffly, anger in her eyes.

“Well, that was interesting,” I observed. “Care to tell me what it was about?”

“You heard her. She doesn’t want to come back to L.A.”

“It wasn’t about Los Angeles, Cara. What was it about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she curtly replied.

“Okay. I think I’ll go and get dressed.”

Using the crutches, I went to Rachael’s room. She was lying back on top of her bed frowning. I closed the door behind me and sat on the side of the bed, putting the crutches aside. Rachael watched me.

I leaned over and kissed her. She sighed and wrapped her good arm around my neck, her soft lips responding.

“It’s horrible not being able to kiss you,” she told me when the kiss ended.

“What gives between you and your mother?” I asked.

Rachael shut down, frowning again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rachael, honey, I need to understand. I need your help. You may not realize it, but this thing between you two is hurting me.”

“It is? Why?”

“Because the two people I love the most are angry.”

Rachael sighed and relaxed back against the bed headboard. A minute of silence followed. I waited her out.

Then she started talking, and talking, and talking. She told me about Cara’s occasional dating, which Rachael thought was great at first, until she noticed how her mother was being treated. She told me about the last two, how they subtly criticized Cara for the way she dressed, or was a bit late, or not smiling enough. They ordered her around, always doing things they wanted to do, never what Mom wanted, and when she suggested things, they were dismissive, bordering on rude.

Rachael noticed how they suggested her mother could look prettier, try harder, how everything was about them; how Mom was embarrassing them. She talked about the guys being charming at times, then angry, never predictable.

Rachael’s comments sounded familiar. They were the same traits I’d so hated about her boyfriends years ago. Why was my daughter attracted to men like that?

Then Rachael explained how she’d confronted her mother, how it had turned into a fight, yelling, acrimonious and heated, and how Rachael had reacted and called her mother some very unflattering things. Angry, she’d started skipping school, dressing badly, getting her eyebrow pierced. If Mom didn’t care about her opinion, she had no say in how Rachael behaved.

My granddaughter had been punishing her mother.

Thanking her for telling me, I asked that she let me handle it, then, after kissing her again, reminded her, “Be very careful about showing me affection. Who knows what your mother will do if she finds out about us.”

“I know. I’m not stupid, Grandpa.”

The day passed in cordial politeness. It was awkward and uncomfortable. I tried to bring up the subject when Cara and I were sitting alone late at night and was dismissed again.

Friday was the same, except for Rachael hugging me frequently. Her lack of personal contact with her mother was conspicuous.

And then Saturday, all Hell broke loose.

I have no idea how Cara discovered my intimate relationship with her daughter. I don’t know what she saw, or what Rachael might have said in the heat of the moment. What I do know is, early in the afternoon when I was sitting in the sun on the back courtyard patio, yelling and screaming erupted from the house. This time, I feared physical harm might result judging by the anger in their voices.

Concerned, I struggle up, planning to investigate and play peacemaker. Cara, blue eyes spitting cold fire at me and frowning, came storming out. My daughter looked truly fearsome. She strode right up to me and slapped me hard.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” she screamed.

I had no answer. No excuse. I said nothing and she slapped me again, even harder.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” she screamed again. My cheek burned.

Then she shocked me by bursting into tears. “How could you, Dad?” she asked in a quieter voice, tears tumbling.

“I’m sorry. It just happened,” I explained. “I have no excuse.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. I felt terrible for letting her down so badly, for destroying her trust.

“Why?” she asked, blue eyes brimming, tears tumbling.

Opening my mouth to explain, she shocked me to my roots.

“Why Rachael? Why did you choose Rachael and refuse me?”

I reeled with confusion. “What?”

“Is she that much prettier? Did you think I was ugly? Why, Dad?”

“What?” I asked again, completely lost.

She wiped her cheeks. “Why did you refuse me and not Rachael?”

“Huh?” Still reeling a bit, I said, “Can we sit down.”

Cara dropped into a chair, brought her feet up and hugged her knees; a defensive position she’d take when she was a child. I sat carefully, my cheek still smarting from her slaps.

She started talking, hesitantly at first, then it spilled out. Over the next three hours truth and honesty, more than had ever existed between us, came out. Had I been so preoccupied back then?

Cara explained how she’d tried to initiate intimacy with me, scared yet excited, the longing she’d lived with, and the devastation when I didn’t respond. She talked about feeling worthless and unattractive, rejected by me, and how she started dating boys to make me jealous at first, then make me angry. She told me how she couldn’t take it and fled to Los Angeles.

Stunned at my ignorance, I apologized. I genuinely had no idea she’d felt that way. What father would?

She looked at me intently. “If you’d known, would you have?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. If I’d known myself back then like I know me now, I probably would have welcomed your affection.”

Cara smiled for the first time, somewhat sadly, yet her beautiful face came alive. “It was always you, Dad. I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, so I dated guys I knew would accept me. Guys who were the opposite of you.”

“And that’s why your relationship with Rachael has become so confrontational,” I observed.

Cara nodded. “I didn’t want to hear what she was saying - the truth.”

She studied me intently. “What about now?”

I knew what she was asking; intimacy between us. “I think you need to have an open and honest talk with Rachael. I hurt you. I don’t want to make another mistake and lose both of the people I love the most.”

Cara nodded. “And if she’s . . . okay?”

I gave her a small smile and nod. “Then I am, too,” I assured her.

Cara stood. “I think I’ll have that talk now.”

When she walked away, I sat quietly, belying the turmoil in my mind. I needed a cigar. Grabbing crutches, I went inside and found one and returned to the patio.

Mind busy, I unscrewed the top of the metal tube and slipped the cedar-protected cigar out. Unwrapping the thin strip of wood, I tested the cigar freshness with a squeeze, then smelled it, enjoying the scent of fine tobacco. I opened a slit on the end with my thumbnail and popped the cigar in my mouth, rolling the thin balsa wood into a tight roll, then lit it. With the balsa burning, I lit the cigar, twirling it in my mouth to start an even burn. It was a comforting ritual.

With the Romeo y Julieta lit, I tried to understand my feelings.

Sadness and regret battled with excitement. I felt sorrow that Cara and I hadn’t been able to communicate properly so long ago. Why had I been so unaware of her turmoil? I’d caused her pain for so long. It had robbed me of a relationship with her. I’d lost as much as she had.

On the other hand, I couldn’t deny how the prospect of an intimate relationship with my daughter thrilled me. Incest - a recently discovered thrill. Illicit and illegal. It struck a chord in me. Just thinking about it brought on a physical response, my heart beating faster. What would Cara look like naked? What would it feel like to kiss my daughter? Touch her intimately? Have her as my lover?

Jesus! Talk about a turn of events!

A good cigar lasts. Mine did. Cara and Rachael emerged, both smiling. Peace had been declared. They sat.

“Go on, Mom. Tell him,” Rachael said. She leaned forward and plucked the cigar out of my hand. “I want to try it.”

Taking a big puff, she inhaled. Her eyes popped open. A look of disgust emerged as she exploded into a coughing fit. I grabbed the cigar she was waving around precariously, ash falling.

Cara watched with a smile of amusement.

“Jeez, Gramps!” Rachael exclaimed. She coughed again then asked, “How come cigars smell so good and taste so bad? How can you smoke them?”

“I don’t inhale.”

“You could’a told me!”

“You didn’t ask.”

She coughed again. “C’mon, Mom. Tell him.”

“Tell me what?” I asked my daughter.

She opened her mouth and Rachael cut in. “Mom’s staying!”

I looked at Cara. She nodded. “For August, anyway. You need help.”

“Do I?”

“Shopping, cooking, driving Rachael to her doctor’s appointments. You need help.”

“What about work?”

“I have vacation time coming.”

“What about clothes?” I asked.

“I’ll buy some.”

“You have all the answers,” I observed with a smile.

Cara smiled. “I have all the answers now, Dad.”

“This’ll be fun!” Rachael exclaimed. “Oh. By the way. Guess what?”

“What?” I asked.

“I got my first period!”

“Okay. I’ve had enough surprises today. I need alcohol.”

Secrets and lies, misunderstandings and repressed anger, when released and exposed, no matter the result, is liberating. When everyone accepts and forgives, life becomes joyous again. And that’s what happened with the three of us.

I watched a relationship reconnect and flourish between Rachael and her mother. They smiled and joked and jested, and teased me endlessly. It seems I’m quite incompetent at many, many things, and full of quirks that were hilarious to those two.

Through early evening and into the night, Rachael regaled her mother with stories of her visit. She was a good, if somewhat inaccurate, story-teller. Tombstone, a rose tree, and the adventure of the Sierra Vista Visitor Center were embellished. And then Rachael mentioned tattoos.

Cara’s eyes widened. She looked at me and asked, “You let my daughter get a tattoo? A permanent one?”

Rachael laughed. “Yup! Wanna see it?” She stood, turned and, with one working hand, tried to pull her jeans down. “C’mon. Help.”

Cara laughed when she saw the tattoo. “A teddy bear! It’s so cute.” She leaned in to Rachael’s butt and inspected the teddy bear closely. “It’s incredible artistry. Look at the details.”

“Grandpa got one, too!”

Cara looked at me. Suddenly she smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “Show me your ass, Dad!”

“It’s not on his butt. He put it on his chest. Show her, Gramps.”

Cara moved to the couch and sat next to me. She reached for the shirt buttons, then looking at me in the eyes, unbuttoned my shirt.

She was talking to me silently. She was letting me know what she wanted, and her soft smile told me she’d heard my answer.

Brushing the shirt open, Cara rubbed the grey hair on my chest exactly the same way Rachael had. Her eyes finally left mine and moved to my chest. “Where is it?”

“Upper left. Under the hair,” I told her.

Cara brushed hair this way and that until she saw it. “It’s tiny. What does it say?” Bending close, she read it. “Cara & Rachael? How cute! Why’s it so small?”

“Grandpa’s embarrassed.”

“No I’m not.”

“He is,” Rachael said.

Cara smiled at me. “At least it’s not a dragon spitting fire, or Mom.”

Smiling in amusement, I noticed Rachael wince. “I think Rachael needs her meds,” I told Cara.

Cara immediately sat up. “Are you hurting, honey?”

“A bit.”

Cara went to get Rachael’s painkillers. She’d been prescribed hydromorphone, a narcotic, to handle the deep bone pain of reconstructive surgery. As happened every time, when the effect hit, Rachael fell asleep.

Cara retuned to my side and leaned against me. I put an arm over her shoulder and turned the television on. Eventually, I asked, “How’s this supposed to work?”

“Us?”

“And Rachael. How did she react?”

“Rachael thinks it’s wonderful. She was cute. She told me she’d share you with me but no one else.”

“Did she tell you anything about . . .”

“I didn’t ask, Dad. If she wants to tell me, she will.”

“Can I ask one thing?”

Cara looked up at me. “What?”

“How did you know? About Rachael and me?”

Cara smiled to herself and watched TV. “The way she couldn’t find stuff in her bathroom. The way she hugged you. The way she watched you. The way she stood next to you. The way she talked about you. It was all small things that added up.” With a light laugh, Cara added, “That and a dresser full of new panties she wouldn’t talk about.”

“Huh. Females have strange powers. No guy would have picked up on those things.”

“Guys are pretty blind when it comes to subtle signs. You and I are proof of that.”

“Good point. Promise you won’t be subtle with me.”

Cara laughed. “I won’t. Speaking of us, when I was twelve I had a fantasy. I’d like to experience it now.”

Cara went on to explain her fantasy. It was exciting. I readily agreed.

Dinner passed with much laughter. Rachael would pass out when she took her powerful meds. It was a four hour cycle; pills followed by sleep within an hour, sleep for an hour, wake up, feel good for two, start hurting and take meds again. But when she’d wake up, she’d be a bit loopy. An accomplished raconteur to start with, her stories became funny when she was mildly high.

Over dinner, she laughed at something and called me Billy Bob. That led to her explaining how she didn’t want to lie, and how I looked like a Billy Bob, which led to her story about finding me flirting with Sue Ellen, which led to her story about the Stetson.

When Cara asked her why she was shopping on her own, Rachael had the grace to blush slightly, explain about sexy panties, then inform her mother, “Gramps likes yellow.”

Another dose of meds after dinner and Rachael went to bed. Cara insisted on cleaning up.

She chatted as she washed dishes, finished, wiped her hands and came over to me. Leaning in, she kissed my cheek, smiled softly, and said, “I’m glad we talked, Dad. Night.”

I went to bed alone and full of anticipation.

I dozed off. The moving bed woke me. In the dark bedroom, her scent reached me first - Shalimar; vanilla with a top note of bergamot and hints of iris and rose, powdery and sweet.

On my side, she touched my bare back from behind.

“Daddy?”

A shiver of pleasure went through me. Cara had stopped calling me Daddy when she became a rebellious teen. Rolling onto my back, her face appeared, shadowed, eyes so blue.

Cara had explained her fantasy to me. It wasn’t jump into bed and have sex. It was a young girl’s fantasy of growing intimacy, being loved and cherished, kissed and touched, and slowly exploring boundaries. I found the idea very exciting.

“Cara, honey,” I whispered, rolling to face her. I drew her into my arms and hugged her. She sighed quietly and nestled her face into my neck.

Cara wasn’t twelve or thirteen any more. She was a woman in her thirties, in the prime of her life, and it made no difference to me. In my arms, Cara was my little girl again, my daughter, slender and warm.

I made no overtures. This was her fantasy. Inhaling her scent, I kissed her hair. She eased her face from my neck, studied my eyes, and smiled softly. I kissed the corner of her mouth, lingering long enough for our breaths to mingle.

Rolling onto my back, Cara cuddled to my side. She sighed quietly.

That was it. Eventually we fell asleep. But, like any first time being in bed with someone new, I woke up frequently to find Cara cuddled to my back, or me spooning her, or my leg under her legs as she slept on her back. It was wonderful. Just sleeping with my daughter was an exciting experience.

Cara was gone from the bed when I woke up in the morning. It didn’t matter. I was happy. I knew what her fantasy was. Anticipation heightened excitement.

Then raised voices reached me. Worried, I tugged sweatpants on, strapped the protective air cast to my lower leg, and hobbled to the kitchen.

“I’m NOT taking them anymore! They make me woozy!” Rachael exclaimed.

“Doctor Williams prescribed these for four weeks. You’ll take them,” Cara insisted, standing at the kitchen table staring down at her daughter.

Rachael frowned. ”I don’t want them.” She spotted me. “Grandpa, tell Mom we can get some other pills.”

“It’s the weekend. The doctor’s not on duty. We’ll call him on Monday and get different medication,” I suggested.

“I’m not taking them anymore!”

Not one hour later Rachael was in pain and asked for her pill. She lasted less than forty minutes and passed out on the living room couch. Throughout the day Cara fussed unobtrusively. Rachael didn’t realize her mother was fussing over her. Cara would bring herself a glass of water and casually forget it next to her daughter, eat small snacks and forget the plate near Rachael, leave a peeled half-eaten orange, cookies, and other bits and pieces. She’d read a magazine and drop it on the coffee table next to Rachael who would absentmindedly pick it up and flip through it.

Every time Cara would ask Rachael, “Can I get you anything?” before leaving, Rachael’s standard answer was, “No thanks.” Then she’d help herself to whatever her mother had left.

Cara made some calls, used her Smartphone to send emails, and organized her stay. Without being aware of it, she started reorganizing my home, too. It began with moving little mementos around on side tables after picking them up to look at them. It spread to the kitchen. As Rachael and I ate lunch, while we all chatted, Cara rearranged a shelf in one cupboard.

Rachael was sharp despite the meds. She noticed my amusement as I watched her mother, grinned at me, and whispered, “Watch this.”

Rachael got up and went to the counter, finding a glass. She grabbed the jug of cold water from the fridge, filled her glass, returned the jug to a different spot, and casually moved a jar of Kosher salt Cara had placed next to the stove to the opposite side.

She smiled at me and sat at the kitchen table, sipping water. We watched Cara and chatted and, sure enough, Cara absentmindedly returned the salt jar to its original position. A couple of minutes later, Cara repositioned the jug of water while putting butter in the fridge.

Rachael and I laughed. Cara turned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Mom.” She leaned towards me and whispered, “Mom’s always done that. She’s a bit OCD about organizing.”

It was a fun day, stress-free and relaxed. I liked being waited on. Cara didn’t want me walking around. When she asked if she could get me anything, I gladly let her. However, I discovered a quirk in my personality. I was reluctant to ask for something, to initiate; more comfortable with getting it myself.

It angered Cara when I did. I tried to explain and she hit me with, “You’ve never needed anything, Dad. Always so independent. You never needed my help.”

It was an insightful comment. Yet another aspect of our complicated relationship was exposed. Relying on someone, needing their help - something I’d considered a weakness - was just the opposite. Damn! I could be so stupid at times! I had to change; make my daughter feel needed because I did need her, if only to be part of my life.

Deciding to have some fun, I set about needing Cara . . . frequently. It started by yelling to her from the patio, asking for a beer. She brought me one. A short while later, I yelled again, asking her to bring me a cigar. When she brought it, I asked, “I forgot my book. It’s in the living room. Can you get it for me?”

Rachael, sitting with me, caught on fast and grinned.

Half an hour later, I yelled to her, “I’m hungry. Can you bring lunch out here?”

When she didn’t respond, I yelled louder. Eventually she emerged from the house. “Where were you?” I asked.

“Doing laundry. What did you want?”

“Lunch? Ham and cheese sandwiches?”

Rachael piped in, “Me too, Mom.”

When Cara brought two plates out, I asked, “Can you bring the Dijon mustard?” And, when she brought it, I asked, “Knife?”

Rachael giggled quietly. “You’re gonna drive her nuts.”

I smiled. “How long before she catches on?”

“Soon. Watch out when she does.”

For the rest of the afternoon I made casual requests and watched my daughter’s frustration build. At dinner, I asked, “Can I have some salt?”

Cara looked at the shaker and at me. She leaned over, reached out, and nudged it towards me.

“Thanks.”

A minute later, I asked, “Can I have the pepper?”

Cara frowned. “It’s right in front of you, Dad.”

“My ankle’s hurting,” I said with a straight face.

“You’re ankle’s . . .?”

“And I need my fork.”

Rachael giggled.

Cara’s frown deepened.

“I need you, honey,” I said, still with a straight face.

“Oh, for God’s sake! You’ve been having me on all day! You’re a pain in the ass, Dad!”

“I can’t live without you.”

Cara’s eyes softened. She smiled, laughed, and told me, “You’re a real idiot, Dad!”

When Rachael burst into laughter, Cara added, “So are you.”

That night, on my side in bed, with a three-quarters moon filling the bedroom with pale light, the mattress dipped. A cold hand touched my back and rubbed.

“Daddy?”

Rolling to face her, I smiled and drew Cara into my arms. Her nightshirt was soft. Her bare foot caressed my leg. She smiled.

Our mouths edged close, her breath warm and clean. Cara closed the distance, her blue eyes blinking out as our lips touched.

Kissing my daughter intimately for the first time was an experience like no other. It touched the illicit thrill of incest, tickled the excitement of the taboo. It aroused me so much; a simple, almost chaste kiss causing an erection to form.

Her soft, warm lips pressed to mine. When the kiss ended, Cara sighed, her hand caressing my bare back. She snuggled closer and felt my erection confined by underwear. Her eyes danced with pleasure and excitement, and she kissed me again, her lips moving and pressing.

When it ended, I pressed my face into her neck and found the spot she’d dabbed with Shalimar, just below her ear. I kissed it gently and caressed my daughter’s back. Against my chest I could feel her breasts. I explored the side of her body, how it dipped to her waist, how it curved up to her hip and changed shape with the beginning of her rear; all sensual slopes and swells. Unable to resist, I slipped my palm down behind her to hold her buttock. It was gorgeous, full and shapely yet firm.

A little self-control slipped when my fingertips discovered the dip between her buttocks. Before selfish desire took over, I stopped.

We kissed again, soft and loving. Then Cara eased away and rolled over. I cuddled her from behind, my arm draping over her waist. My erection, despite pointing down, found the bottom of her butt crack. She pressed back at me, reached for my hand and pulled it up until I was cupping her breast.

Cara’s breast was full and firm, just more than a handful. I didn’t fondle, just held it, enjoying the mature weight of it, and it was thrilling. Touching my daughter intimately was so arousing; much, much more so than I’d thought it would be.

Visions of exploring her, undressing her, seeing her naked beauty - so damned illicit - kept me awake for a long time. I was afraid to move, not wanting to lose any contact with her. It was a surprise when I woke up to an empty bed in the morning.

It turned out kissing my daughter changed her a lot more than a kiss suggested.

When I hobbled into the kitchen on crutches, Cara smiled and came over to me. She rose and kissed me on my lips, her eyes twinkling. “Morning, Dad.”

“Get a room!”

Behind me, Rachael smiled, her dark eyes bright. Over breakfast Rachael kept watching me, even when her mother talked to her or she answered her mother.

Eventually, Cara said, “Oh for God’s sake, Rachael! Just kiss him and get it out of your system!”

Rachael wasted no time. Standing, moving to me, sitting in my lap, her hands on my shoulders and, with a pleased smile, she tilted her head and smooched me. And I mean smooched! Her lips pressed, tongue tip teased, and then she assaulted, tongue probing, wrestling with mine.

When it ended, she declared, “Yum!”

Behind her, Cara laughed. “Did Grandpa teach you that?”

I grinned. “Actually, she taught me.”

A while later, Cara and I sat watching Rachael asleep on the other couch. She’d complained about her wrist hurting, taken her meds reluctantly, and passed out again.

I commented, “I didn’t expect you to be so accepting.”

Cara, watching her daughter sleep, responded, “It’s a bit late for me to get upset. That ship’s sailed.” A moment later, she observed, “Rachael’s happy again; more like her old self. No. There’s something different about her. She has more self-confidence. I think that’s your doing.”

Glancing at me, Cara smiled gently. “I’m not angry or jealous, Dad. It’s cleared up so many things between you and me. I’m excited about us, too.”

I put my arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I am, too.” Then I kissed her.

My daughter let out a soft murmur, pressed her lips against mine, held my neck, and shocked me. Her tongue touched my lips and, when I reciprocated, the kiss became passionate, tongues warring. She ended the kiss by biting my lower lip!

“Wow,” I observed.

“Take me to bed, Dad. Rachael’s out for a while,” Cara said, her blue eyes burning.

“Don’t give up on your fantasy so easily, Cara. Not after waiting so long.”

“In that case, let’s have a drink.”

“It’s not even noon,” I pointed out.

“C’mon, Dad. Live a little. Be a rebel.”

“I've wondered where Rachael got that from,” I observed with a smile. “You get the wine. There’s a bottle of Chablis chilling in the fridge. I’ll meet you on the patio. Bring a cigar, too.”

Cara headed to the kitchen. “Cigars will kill you.”

“Unlike your daughter, I don’t inhale.”


Chapter Sixteen

That night, in a repeat of the last two nights, my bed dipped and a cold hand touched my back.

“Daddy?”

When I rolled toward Cara, she came into my arms, smiled slightly, her blue eyes excited, and she kissed me.

The kiss started with lips touching. A brush of her tongue changed the kiss into sensual. I caressed down her back and fondled her ass, such a sensuous shape, and slowly became horny. The kiss deepened, tongues exploring, exciting, arousing.

My world narrowed to me and my daughter; a small world of erotic promises and illicit sex. Her knee eased between my legs and rose. Then I felt her hand brush against my erection over my underwear and a spark of desire hit me. It was her first intimate touch; my daughter touching my erection, accepting, encouraging.

I reacted. My erection strengthened, now hard. I eased the edge of her nightshirt up and caressed her panties. Our kiss intensified, active and passionate. Then, when I slipped my fingertips under the waist and inside, cupping her exquisite butt, the kiss ended.

Cara’s blue eyes studied me intently. Without changing her expression, staring into my eyes, she found the waist of my underwear, slipped her hand inside, and gently held my cock. I throbbed strongly at her touch. Her eyes crinkled with pleasure and she squeezed me lightly.

In a very soft voice, she said, “You’re really big, Dad. I used to wonder what your erection would be like. What it would feel like to hold you.”

The pad of her thumb caressed the tip sending shivers of pleasure through me.

“I saw you once when I was twelve years old. You were taking your morning shower when I walked in and I saw you naked, saw your penis.” In an almost whisper, she continued, “I went back to my bed and masturbated I was so excited, and I came so hard.”

A wave of excitement hit me, cock straining in her hand.

She smiled. “Does that excite you? Knowing that your little girl played with herself because of you? Masturbated dreaming of touching you? When I pretended it was your hand touching me, Daddy, I climaxed harder than I’d ever done before.”

“Jeeeesus, Cara,” I whispered, and kissed her hard.

She teased my cock. I explored the shape of her sexy ass, my hand inside her panties, her buttocks soft and cool.

The kiss ended.

“That night I touched myself again and dreamed about slipping into your bed while you were asleep. I played with myself and fantasized about sleeping with you. I imagined you waking up in the middle of the night and finding me in your bed. In my fantasy you smiled and kissed me. You wanted me, Daddy.”

Groaning, I kissed Cara again, tongue exploring her warm mouth, my cock throbbing. When the kiss ended, she continued.

“I touched my new breasts pretending it was you touching me. In my fantasy, you whispered you loved me and wanted me, wanted to make love to me, wanted me as your lover.”

“I do love you,” I whispered. “And, God, I want you, Cara.”

My daughter smiled gently, intense eyes staring deep into me. “In my bed, I played with myself pretending it was you touching me.” She rolled her hip away from me. “Will you touch me, Daddy? Feel how wet I am? How much I want you?”

Groaning quietly, cock straining, I reached down between us, eased her nightshirt up, touched the waist of her panties, and slipped my fingertips inside. I touched her warm skin, then the edge swell of her mons, and then, shuddering, I felt my daughter’s silky pubes. She lifted her leg and I explored lower, my hand covering her lush mons, and deeper between her legs. Cara’s pussy was warm. And as I cupped her completely, I felt her wetness, silken and slippery.

My erection pulsed as if close to cumming, and I could have. I was so turned on.

My daughter’s pussy filled my palm, her soft pubes tickling. I curled my middle finger and the tip slipped into her cleft, her soft labia hugging me. She was so wet!

Cara’s beautiful blue eyes stared into mine. My fingertip eased up her cleft and touched her clit. Cara inhaled. Her eyes narrowed and, astonishing me, my daughter shuddered. She was cumming! Her hold on my erection became a grip. I rubbed her clit gently and she trembled through her climax, soft and sexy. Her eyes closed and she whispered, “Daddy.”

I almost came. I’d never experienced anything like it; a woman responding so quickly to my touch. No. Not a woman. In my eyes, Cara was still my young daughter, beautiful and desirable.

Her eyes opened slowly. She smiled. “Much better than my fantasy,” she said quietly.

I kissed her lightly, her lips soft and warm and receptive. Her scent of Shalimar was stronger. Our tongues caressed gently. I still held her pussy. Still ached with arousal. Still marveled at how wet she was . . . for me.

“Tell me more,” I begged. Listening to her sexual fantasy was such a turn on.

In a quiet voice, Cara continued. “I lost my virginity to you that night. I couldn’t help it. Playing with myself, I imagined you wanting me. I pretended it was you removing my panties when I pushed them down. I pretended . . .“

“Wait,” I interrupted huskily.

Removing my hand from her panties, I pushed the waistband down one hip. She raised herself and I pushed the other side down to her thigh. She let my erection go and pushed her panties off, then reached into my underwear and held my erection again, her thumb spreading precum.

“I pretended my finger was your erection, and imagined holding it, feeling how excited I’d made you, how much you wanted me.”

Cara pushed my underwear down. I kicked them off, my cock poking her when I rolled to face her. Her hand held me again.

Still looking into my eyes, Cara continued. “In my mind you were big, but not this big. You kissed me.”

I kissed her.

“Then you told me how much you wanted me, how sexy I was.”

“I do, Cara. I want you so much.”

Cara smiled. “In my fantasy, I rolled onto my back, holding your erection, and urged you over me.”

Cara rolled onto her back, her legs spreading. I moved up and over her, hovering, her hand holding my straining erection. Her knees rose to touch my sides.

“Yes, just like this,” she whispered. “You bent and kissed me, told me you wanted me more than anyone in the world.”

I kissed Cara softly and whispered, “I want you more than anyone in the world, honey.”

Cara sighed. “Then I pretended my finger was your erection and touched myself lightly.” Her hand drew my cock closer to her pussy.

The tip touched her. A bolt of excitement like electricity hit me. Hidden beneath the bedcovers, I could only imagine what it looked like and I responded with a hard pulse, cock flexing.

“In my fantasy, you looked at me with such love and desire. I could see your body trembling with excitement.” She smiled. “Just like you are now, Daddy.”

“Tell me more,” I whispered huskily. “What did I do next?”

In a whisper, Cara continued. “I touched my slit lightly, running my fingertip up and down pretending it was your erection. Like this.”

Cara guided my tip in a soft caress of her cleft. It’s lightness made my muscles tense and tremble, my desire intensify. She rubbed me up and down slowly, precum mixing with her wetness.

“Excitement made my body ache. My pussy felt hot and pulsed. I could feel wetness leaking,” she whispered, staring into my eyes. “Then I pressed your tip against my clit like this.”

Cara inhaled deeply. I pressed, her pussy warm. Fuck this was exciting!

“Then you whispered, “God, Cara, I want you so much.””

“God, Cara, I want you so much it hurts,” I whispered.

Cara shuddered, no smile, just intensity, desire, heat. “In my fantasy, you hesitated. I said, “Please, Daddy. Don’t stop now,” and you smiled at me.

“Then, I guided you down into my slit like this. I led you, positioned you, and said, “Please?” again.”

Cara positioned me. Her soft, slippery labia hugged my tip. My body trembled, arms shaking from holding myself up off her body.

“Then what?” I asked.

“I moved you from side to side and deeper. I could feel myself stretching. I could feel you when you touched my entrance.” Cara’s eyes narrowed when I did.

“I wasn’t scared. I didn’t care if it hurt. I wanted you, Daddy. I wanted you to be the first. And then you pressed. In my fantasy I felt you, so big. I felt you stretching my pussy. It was only my finger, but I pretended it was you.”

I pressed forward. Cara released me. Jesus I was hard! Her silky labia eased over my crown. The tip of my cock stretched her. I was about to have sex with my daughter!

Poised on the cusp, heart racing, I asked, “What happened next?”

Cara reached around me and hugged me. She urged me down. “You slowly laid down on me. In my fantasy I liked your weight. I liked how big you were, so strong. And then you kissed me gently and pressed in. You penetrated me, stretching me. I felt a slight twinge of pain and you filled me, Daddy. You took my virginity and filled me completely and it was wonderful.”

She looked at me. “Please, Daddy. Let me feel you inside me.”

Groaning loudly, I settled on my daughter’s slim body and kissed her. Her hands moved down to my hips, her knees cradling me. “Cara,” I whispered and pressed harder. Her entrance yielded slowly, an exquisite sensation. My crown squeezed in, her pussy so snug, resisting.

Cara exhaled slowly. “Yes, like that,” she murmured.

Easing back slightly, I pressed again and, with our eyes locked together, a velvet sheath slipped down my shaft as I penetrated my daughter completely in one smooth stroke. Jesus she felt good! Snug, moist, and hot.

My cock swelled. I was really having sex with my little girl!

Pausing, I asked, “Then what?”

Cara’s eyes closed briefly. Her pussy gently tightened as she explored being full. She opened her eyes and whispered, “Then you fucked me, Daddy.”

Dear Lord! I couldn’t get over how exciting this was, how intense my desire was, and how her words were driving me insane with need. My erection strained, swelling, aching. It felt bigger than it ever had and, as I withdrew from her and stroked in, pleasure flooded me. I did it again. Fuck it felt good!

We started moving together. Cara’s hands pulled my hips, encouraging me to penetrate her completely. I fucked my daughter slowly, each thrust exquisite and thrilling, illicit and exciting.

I kissed her. Cara responded, her tongue caressing mine. She moaned quietly, curling her pussy up to meet my thrusts. We fucked slowly, lovingly, enjoying an intimacy forbidden.

The kiss ended and my face found her neck. Cara moaned quietly, her hips undulating, urging me on. Her pussy was slippery and tight, an intimate velvet caress. My cock strained.

In my ear, Cara whispered, “In my fantasy, I felt you cum, Daddy. In my fantasy I felt you spurt inside me.”

My cock strained. I fucked her faster, the promise of sweet ecstasy stirring.

“In my dream, Daddy, you filled me up and gave me your baby, our baby.”

“Christ!” I gasped. My orgasm slammed into me with the power of a tsunami. Thrusting into her, my cock swelled, swelled, ached, and a second of pain hit before semen surged up my shaft. I exploded into my daughter, a massive eruption of hot cum, an endless, painful spurt, sweet bliss slamming into me. I drowned.

Unable to control my body, I fucked Cara, thrusting deep, feeling my crown swell inside her, cum spurting, pleasure thrashing me. I hunched and fucked and exploded, each desperate spurt bringing exquisite, painful pleasure. Time stopped. I drowned, fucking, spurting, cumming so damned hard until I had nothing left, and still I fucked her, straining from my orgasm. With a last agonizing thrust, my climax passed, releasing me into sweet peace, a racing heart, my cock softly pulsing.

I stilled, buried inside her very wet pussy. Cara caressed my damp back.

Eventually, lifting my face from her neck, I looked at her. Cara was smiling, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling.

She brushed her lips against mine. “My fantasy was just like that,” she whispered, her pussy gently tightening on me. “Only this was better. Thank you, Dad.”

I kissed her softly again. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard. Did you?”

Cara smiled. In a loving tone, she replied, “No, but I felt something even better.” She caressed my cheek. “I felt you cum, Dad. I felt you giving me a baby.”

“Jesus,” I exhaled. “You mean you’re not on . . .?”

“No. It’s the perfect time of the month.” When she noticed the shock on my face, she added, “It’s been my fantasy since I was twelve years old.”

I made to move off her. She hugged me, stopping me. “Not yet. I like feeling you on top of me.”

“But, Cara.”

She smiled. “It’s too late, Dad. Please don’t be angry. Not now. Not after something so wonderful.”

Before I responded, I took some time to think. Cara looked so happy, her eyes radiating pleasure. Whatever doubts I had melted away. “I’m not angry. Not in the least. If this is what you want, if this will make you happy, then I’m happy, too.”

Eventually my churning mind settled. Eventually we fell asleep, My daughter cuddled tightly to my side. At some point in the night, Cara slipped from bed and went to check on Rachael to give her the pain meds.

She woke me on her return with soft kisses and a warm hand. We made love again, this time slow and loving. She was slippery, snug, and so sexy. This time she removed her nightshirt and I got to see her breasts; sensually full, firm, and perfectly formed with small areolae and gorgeous nipples. I got to taste their salty flavor, suck her nipples into firmness, caress their mature heft and, best of all, I was gifted to watch my daughter climax, her gasps of pleasure, her clenching pussy, and experience cumming in her again, softer pulses of pleasure, love flushing through me.

I fell into an exhausted sleep. When I woke up, Cara was still in bed with me. Her face was beautiful as she slept, relaxed, her features classic Italian. Her hair was messy. She smelled of Shalimar and sex.

I couldn’t believe I’d made love with her twice. Sex with my daughter: twice! Then I remembered her fantasy, wanting a baby, my baby, and, when her eyes opened, she felt my erection.

We made love again. Cara straddled me, leaned in and kissed me, whispering, “Morning, Dad,” and smiled softly. She sat upright and caressed my erection. Her beautiful breasts rode high and proud. At thirty-four, she was in the prime of her life, slender with sexy female curves. I saw her bush for the first time; jet black, full yet cared for, and very, very sexy.

Cara rose, guided my erection back between her thighs and, watching me, smiling, slowly settled on me, taking me inside her, her pussy slippery and warm and snug. She rode me, rising and falling, my shaft gleaming. She changed her movement, scrubbing her pussy back and forth. Her nipples perked up. I caressed her breasts, just more than a handful, ripe, very sexy, and she covered my hands with hers. Rising and falling, she fucked me with long strokes, my erection swelling.

A flush emerged above her breasts. Her nostrils flared with deep breaths, her blue eyes intensifying with arousal. Slowly, she started bouncing on me, fucking me faster, my tip touching the deepest part of her, and a milky froth formed where we were joined; her moisture and my semen. Staring deeply into my eyes, I saw her climax. I saw her inhale sharply. I felt her pussy tightening.

She gasped, “Daddy,” almost silently, and I came, cock swelling, semen pulsing up my shaft to spurt into her in a wave of pleasure. Cara fucked me as I emptied myself into her, bliss washing through me. I loved the sight of my daughter riding me, knowing I was cumming inside her. Sweet pleasure cascaded. My cock swelled and pulsed, swelled and pulsed in a wonderful orgasm.

Cara shuddered one last time and slowly collapsed onto me.

When we finally made it out to the kitchen, we found Rachael eating cereal at the table. Rachael smiled. “Morning!”

Cara walked over to her and kissed her hair. “Morning, sweetheart. You sit, Dad. I’ll make breakfast.”

Rachael grinned when her mother started humming. She leaned towards me and said, “Did Mom get to meet Old Faithful last night?”

I laughed.

“What’s that?” Cara asked.

“I asked Grandpa if you got to meet Old Faithful.”

“Who’s Old Faithful?” Cara asked, turning and leaning back against the counter, a bag of ground coffee in one hand.

Rachael, trying to shock her mother, said, “It’s Grandpa’s name for his erection!”

It was a pivotal moment. Either jealousy and arguments would erupt between the two, or they’d accept the crazy situation we were in. I held my breath, waiting for my daughter’s reaction. She could be a raging brush fire at times.

I breathed a sigh of relief when a beautiful blush blossomed on Cara’s face. For a moment I thought she’d turn away, embarrassed. But no.

Her blue eyes twinkled. “I introduced myself to Old Faithful three times,” she informed Rachael, smiling.

Rachael’s eyes bugged out. “Three times?” She looked at me. “Three times?”

“That’s right. Three times,” Cara teased, turning to make coffee.

I smothered the laugh trying to escape. It was funny to see Rachael outsmarted by her mother. Indignation was displaced by cunning in the blink of an eye.

“Grandpa must have been too tired,” she threw out. “Or his ankle was bothering him.”

Cara laughed. “It won’t work, Rachael.”

Rachael, with an angelic expression, asked, “What won’t work?”

“Trying to make me jealous. I’m too smart for that. Besides, you’d lose.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

Cara shrugged. “I wasn’t going to tell you what your grandfather said last night. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Rachael frowned. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “What did he tell you?” She turned her disapproval on me and asked, “What did you tell Mom?”

Cara was a brilliant actor. I knew I hadn’t said a word last night, but nothing in her expression gave away what she was doing. I raised my hands in surrender. “I have nothing to say,” I told Rachael.

She turned to stare daggers at her mother and saw Cara’s eyes twinkling with amusement, one corner of her mouth upturned.

Rachael laughed. “Got me. Okay, no games. I’ll try it on Gramps.”

Cara laughed. “Your grandfather doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Trust me. I tried for seven years and got no response.”

I considered objecting, but there was no point. She was right, in her own way.

While eating breakfast, Cara suddenly stopped. I noticed her looking at Rachael intently and I looked too. Rachael was wincing, holding her cast.

“Pills. Now,” Cara declared.

“I don’t want them.”

“You have no choice in the matter, honey. I’ll call the doctor today and ask him about different meds.”

“Kay.”

Before an hour had passed, Rachael was asleep in her bedroom. Cara was on the phone to Dr. Williams. And I was paying bills in the study. Eventually Cara wandered in.

“And?” I asked.

She sat on the small leather couch, rubbing the dark leather with her hand. “This is nice,” she commented, then looked at me. “Dr. Williams told me in no uncertain terms that the hydromorphone is the best painkiller for her. He reminded me she’d had bone and ligament reconstruction and it hurts. She needs to take it for the full four weeks before moving onto something weaker.”

“She’d not going to like it.”

Cara sighed. “I know. I wish we could do something for her. She hates the loopy feeling. It’s a shame the rest of her summer is ruined.”

I agreed. Time passing in four hour increments was no fun at all. “Did you ask Dr. Williams about a lower dose taken more frequently during the day?”

“No. I didn’t think to.”

“How many milligrams is she taking?”

“Four.”

I winced. “Call him again. Ask about two milligrams. Or, one milligram. Hydromorphone is a narcotic. It’s dangerous.”

Cara thought about it. “I meant to tell you, you’ve got a beautiful house. The woodwork is exquisite. I like the layout, too. Did you design it?”

“Nope. I did the contracting. I had an architect do the blueprints.”

“You did a great job, Dad, even if you built it in the middle of nowhere.” She stood. “I’m going to call Dr. Williams.”

Before she left, my daughter came over and hugged me from behind and kissed my cheek. “I didn’t tell you how fantastic last night was.”

I felt a stir in my pants. “It was, wasn’t it?”

When she left the study, I leaned back and thought about our situation. Just under four weeks left before both would go home to Los Angeles and I’d be alone again. It was a depressing thought. Solitude had suited me before all this, but I’d experienced companionship and people I love filling the home with life.

Yet, it wasn’t a tenable situation. As bad as it was that Rachael was injured, it helped avert an awkward problem. How could the three of us have intimacy without causing problems?

And how did I really feel about my daughter having a child with me? About being separated from them when they left?

Just thinking about getting Cara pregnant made me horny. Why? Was it the intense appeal of incest? The nature of the taboo? Forbidden, illicit and exciting?

It was more, I thought. I adored Rachael. She excited me, aroused me, and made sex exciting. But I loved Cara in a different way. I loved her independence, her strength, her spicy attitude. I was proud of her. She’d raised a wonderful daughter and done it on her own.

There was no right answer. Take the three weeks, I admonished myself, and be happy. I went back to paying bills, smiling at the credit card statement. Rachael had gone to town with her panty shopping!

By the next day, with the doctor’s approval, Rachael’s medication dosage was changed and it made a world of difference. She was alert and happy during the day - if still a bit loopy. A heavier dose at night helped her sleep.


Chapter Seventeen

RACHAEL WALKED THROUGH THE living room on her way to the laundry room. Grandpa was out tending his vegetable and herb garden. She found Mom putting sheets into the washer.

“Mom? Can we talk?” she asked.

“Hold on.” Mom closed the door, added detergent, and turned the machine on. Turning, she smiled. “What’s up?” Mom put her hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’d like some coffee.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Rachael said, “I wanted to say sorry.”

Mom smiled. “That’s nice. Sorry for what?”

“For the way I was behaving back home. I was angry at you for taking the way that jerk Robert treated you. And he wasn’t the first, either. I guess I was angry at him, too, and angry you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“That’s okay, Rachael. I haven’t had the best judgment when it comes to guys.”

“Grandpa’s good for you,” Rachael observed. “I haven’t seen you so happy in, like, forever.”

Mom smiled. “I am. I’ve lived a fantasy I’ve had since I was younger than you are.”

“Are you mad at me for what Grandpa and I did? It wasn’t his fault.”

Mom looked surprised. “What gave you the impression I’m angry about it?”

“You haven’t asked me anything, or talked about it. You always talk.”

“Honey, you made a decision. Only you will know if it was the right one or not. I want you to be happy. If you’re happy, I am.”

“I am.” A moment of silence followed. “I need some help,” Rachael said. “I haven’t had a shower since the accident and I feel grubby. Using a washcloth isn’t the same. Can you help me shower?”

Mom immediately stood. “Of course I can!” She opened the pantry and pulled out a plastic bag, fished through a drawer and removed tape. “Let’s go.”

CARA LED HER DAUGHTER to the bathroom. She opened the shower stall and turned the water on.

“Take your T-shirt off,” she instructed, unfolding the plastic bag. With Rachael topless, she put the bag over the cast and started taping it up. At the same time, she studied her daughter. She hadn’t seen Rachael’s body in a long time, and admired how adolescence was blossoming on her. Her breasts were small; gentle mounds with rather beautiful dark brown areolae and nipples. She was going to have gorgeous breasts.

“Jeans off,” she instructed. When her daughter wobbled trying to kick of her sneakers, Cara knelt and removed them for her, Rachael's hand finding her shoulder for stability.

Rachael unbuttoned her jeans and Cara helped pull them down. Her cotton panties were tugged down and Cara saw a sprinkling of baby soft, jet black pubic hairs peeking above the waist.

She helped Rachael extract her legs from the jeans and, as she stood up, Rachael shoved her panties down. Cara paused to admire her. There was a wonderful, magical quality to her daughter. In so many ways Rachael was still a child; her hips very narrow, legs almost too long, and no waist to speak of. Yet emerging pubescence clashed with her body, the first signs of maturity startling in their presence.

She helped Rachael into the shower, closed the door, and kept an eye on her. Cara remembered the excitement of becoming a woman, how strange and wonderful it was the way her body was changing, how embarrassed yet thrilled she was, and how her body began to respond; the discovery of touching herself, of secret pleasure at night in bed.

It had been those changes that had made her aware of Dad, of him being a man, and her curiosity about his body. Things had finally worked out with Dad, but she wished she could have worked them out when she was thirteen, not now at thirty-four. Still. Making love with Dad had been wonderful.

Cara smiled to herself. She wondered what Dad would say if she told him he was the only man who’d ever made her climax with intercourse. It hadn’t been just the physical side - although Dad was very nicely endowed - but the emotional aspect that made all the difference.

Rachael slipped and swore.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s hard enough to wash with one hand, but I’m right-handed and washing with my left hand is impossible, Mom!”

“Hold on.”

Cara undressed quickly and stepped into the shower.

“Mom! I can do it myself. I was just . . .”

“Oh hush up, Rachael. You don’t have anything I don’t have.”

Rachael laughed. “That’s true. It’s not like showering with Grandpa.”

Cara paused with the shampoo bottle in hand. “You showered with Grandpa?”

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk about it.”

Cara turned Rachael. “Soak your hair.” When she started washing her daughter’s hair, she said, “Maybe we should talk about it. I don’t want secrets between us. As it is, not talking makes it a bit awkward.”

“Are you sure?” Rachael asked. She sighed audibly. “I love having my hair washed. You’re just as good as Grandpa.”

“Tell me about the shower,” Cara prompted, massaging her daughter’s head.

Rachael rinsed and turned back for the second shampoo, telling Cara about the shower. Her enthusiasm was hard to ignore. When she started talking about Grandpa being a rebel and explaining how he liked to break the law, Cara laughed.

Second shampoo done, Rachael rinsed. Cara squirted conditioner and massaged it in. She was distracted by her daughter’s skin. It was flawless and the most beautiful shade of coffee ice cream. Since her birth, Cara had loved Rachael’s color, even been envious of it.

Conditioner done, Cara set about washing Rachael’s neck, shoulders, back, and arms. Rachael chatted away with hilarious stories about her grandfather. When Cara knelt and washed her daughter’s legs, so incredibly long and slender, Rachael’s pussy was at eye level. Cara admired it. The sprinkling of pubic hair was limited to the top of her cleft and mons. Her labia, tightly closed, were hairless and slightly darker than the rest of her body, so young looking. But when Rachael lifted her foot to be washed, her cleft flowered open to reveal her clit and the small pink gap below. Her inner labia were still undeveloped.

Rachael’s chatting dropped into silence when Cara’s hands washed the top insides of her daughter’s thighs, the edge of her hands brushing her pussy.

Standing, she said, “Turn around.”

Rachael turned to face the spray. Cara washed down her back to her buttocks. They were still childish, not quite boyish, swelling out proudly behind but narrow at the sides.

With Cara washing her daughter’s buttocks, Rachael asked, “Mom? Have you ever, you know . . . experimented with other girls”

“Yes. A long time ago in my teens. Curiosity is natural.”

“What was it like?”

Cara cast her mind back to Mindy, the sleepover, talk about boys and kissing and sex, giggling, then shyly approaching the subject of practicing kissing. It had been a long night.

“It was different in a nice way. It was very exciting because two girls doing things together was frowned upon. It wasn’t talked about. It was illicit and because of it, thrilling.”

Rachael turned to rinse her back off. Her dark eyes were shining. “What did you do?”

Smiling, Cara told her, “Mandy and I practiced kissing. We were fascinated by French kissing we’d seen in movies. Then it progressed to touching each other.”

“Do boys experiment with each other?”

Cara laughed, lathered up her hands and started washing Rachael’s sides. “Maybe some. Guys aren’t that adventurous or confident. It’s easier for girls. I don’t know why. Guys probably think it hurts their masculinity to do anything with another guy. I’ve never given it much thought.”

Cara washed Rachael’s stomach and up. When she reached the gentle mounds of her daughter’s breasts, all the talk of experimenting and how it reminded her of Mandy, made her slow down. Washing became more of a caress and her daughter’s nipples responded, perking up.

A small thrill hit her. This was so illicit and because of it, exciting. Rachael’s eyes softened, staring at her.

Cara caressed gently, soap making her hands slip delightfully.

Rachael whispered, “Mom.”

Reaching down, Cara took Rachael’s hand and guided it up to her own breast. “Feel me. It’s very different from feeling yourself."

Rachael’s touch was hesitant and delicate. Cara rubbed her daughter’s nipples, circled her areolae, and gently caressed.

Rachael quietly watched her own hand as she touched and caressed, and Cara’s body responded, her nipples first becoming sensitive, then awakening, warm arousal washing through her. Being touched intimately by her little girl was very exciting, seductive.

Arousal gently clouded her mind. She slipped her hand down across Rachael’s stomach and carefully cupped her daughter’s pussy.

Rachael looked at her. Cara smiled. “Would you touch me, too?”

Her daughter surprised her. A flit of mischief passed through her eyes. Her hand trailed down Cara’s body towards her pussy and, as Rachael touched her pubes, she leaned forward and took Cara’s nipple into her mouth, sucking her. A bolt of arousal raced through her body. She jerked lightly then, when Rachael felt her pussy, Cara groaned quietly.

With her daughter sucking her breast and exploring her pussy, restraint was demolished by excitement, by the taboo, by horniness. Cara curled her middle finger to probe into her daughter’s pussy and touch her clit. Rachel moaned. Cara felt it though her nipple.

When she looked at Rachael’s lush lips and felt the desire to kiss her, what she was doing with her daughter suddenly registered. Cara took a step back. “Time to rinse. I’ll help you dry.”

Rachael smiled. “Now I know what you mean about it being different!”

Cara dried herself, then dried her daughter. Her mind was in a turmoil. How had she slipped into intimacy with Rachael? And why did she still feel the tug of attraction? Studying her daughter, she saw the same, bright girl she knew; happy and at ease with what had just happened. But Cara wasn’t the same.

A desire had awakened. Cara still felt the tug of desire to kiss Rachael, feel her small, sensual mouth against hers, taste her, kiss her passionately, and, to Cara, kissing was extremely intimate - more so than touching. It was an expression of love and desire and need, second only to intercourse.

Rachael, naked and brushing her damp hair, said, “I think we should all take a shower together. You, me and Grandpa. It’d be fun! By the way, thanks for changing my meds. I feel much better!”

That night, Cara slipped into bed with Dad, rubbed his bare back and, when he turned, she said, “You should go say goodnight to Rachael. I think she misses you.”

I STUDIED CARA CAREFULLY. She’d been acting a little differently today and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Rachael’s bedroom door was ajar. I entered. Her room was dark, but from the light of the moon I could see her in bed, her eyes obsidian dark and watching me. She smiled.

Sitting on her bed, I leaned in and kissed her, her lips so soft, warm, and receptive. “Thought I’d say goodnight before you pass out. I miss you.”

Rachael smiled, pleased. “I miss you too. After Mom and me in the shower today, I’m horny, too.”

“You and your mother . . . What happened?” I asked, stretching out at her side.

As Rachael told me about the shower, I casually moved the light blanket and sheet aside, reached down and placed my hand over her crotch. Rachael, smiling slightly, kept talking and moved her legs apart. I cupped her pussy over her pajamas and pressed my palm into the remarkably lush mons of her small pussy.

When I squeezed, her voice trailed off.

“And then what?” I asked, fondling her gently.

She resumed, and as I caressed her and listened to a tale of mother and daughter touching each other intimately, I slowly grew hard.

Leaning in, I kissed her cheek. “No wonder you’re horny,” I told her, easing my hand up and inside her pajamas. Finding the waist of her panties, I burrowed underneath. My fingertips brushed against her sparse baby soft pubes, the top of her cleft, and down until I was holding her pussy.

Rachael sighed. I kissed her cheek again, then the corner of her mouth. Curling my middle finger, I discovered warm, slipperiness between her labia. She was telling the truth. Rachael was horny.

She turned her face just a bit and we kissed, her lips so soft and welcoming. My fingertip drew moisture up to her clit and I rubbed gently. Rachael’s tongue emerged, her eyes closing, her good hand rising to rest on my shoulder. Kissing her, I caressed her clit, slipped my finger down, curled it, and penetrated her tight pussy, touching heat, pure velvet.

Rachael groaned quietly. When I returned to her clit and rubbed her harder, her body twitched. She opened her mouth and let my tongue in. Warm breath puffed through her nose, brushing lightly against my cheek. Her scent of sweetness and limes grew stronger. Slowly, very slowly, Rachael started moving, rubbing her pussy up and down against my touch. Her breathing deepened, then she broke the kiss to inhale as if starved for air. I strummed her slippery, small clit.

Maybe it was the meds kicking in, but Rachael came faster than usual. A small frown creased her forehead. She gasped silently, her legs closing and trapping my hand, and she climaxed gently, small shivers passing through her. It was sweet and sexy.

When she calmed, she opened her eyes and gave me a beautiful smile.

“How are you now?” I asked, extracting my hand from her panties.

“Much better.”

With a kiss on her cheek, I moved away. “Sleep well.”

Her soft, “Kay,” reached me at the door.

I tasted my finger. Delicious. My erection led me back to bed like a pole pointing the way, despite my restraining boxer briefs.

Cara smiled. “How is she?”

“Tell me about this shower,” I suggested, slipping into bed.

For the second time, I saw my daughter blush.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Biding her wish, I said, “Did you really caress your daughter’s breasts and touch and fondle her pussy?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Did she really suck your nipple? Did you really ask her to touch your pussy?” I continued.

“Dad, I said I don’t . . .”

“You’re not talking. I am,” I pointed out. “And you’re blushing like crazy. What did it feel like to have your little girl naked with you and touching you? She has gorgeous skin. Have you noticed?”

“Daaaad.”

Smiling, lying on my side facing her, I asked, “Why didn’t you kiss her? She thought you were about to. Did it feel different when she sucked your nipple? Did it feel good?” I frowned playfully. “Did you get horny, Cara? Did sexy intimacy with your little girl turn you on?”

Cara laughed. “Jesus, Dad! YES! IT TURNED ME ON! There. Satisfied?”

I pulled her against me. My erection poked her. She reached down and brought it up, pressing her body against it.

“You find incest as exciting as I do,” I said. “You get a thrill from it, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Yes you do. Right now you’re thinking about jumping my old bones. Right now, you’re feeling empty and remembering how good it felt to have me inside you. Right now you’re remembering the last time . . . sorry, the last three times, and wishing I’d shut up.”

Cara laughed, amused. “Why weren’t you this funny back then?”

“I was. You were too busy being pissed at me.”

In a split second, her expression softened. “I’m not pissed off any more.” Her hand reached down and fondled me. “In fact, I’m feeling frisky. Did I tell you you’re the first man who’s ever given me a climax while fucking?” She reached into my underwear and held my erection. “Did I tell you how much I love your erection? You’re so thick. You stretch me beautifully.”

Staring into my eyes, she brushed her lips against mine and paused, her breath warm and clean. She whispered, “When I hold you like this, I get so turned on. I can't stop thinking, ’I’m holding Daddy’s erection, touching him’. And my pussy actually aches, Dad. I get so wet. My heart beats faster and I get warm. My breasts feel fuller and cry out to be touched.”

“Jeeesus, Cara,” I whispered, my cock straining.

She rubbed a bead of precum around the head, smiled softly, and said, “I love your precum. I love how I can turn you on, Dad.”

Then something slipped into her eyes, something exciting, dangerous.

She whispered, “Please fuck me, Dad. Please fuck your little girl.”

I groaned. Suddenly we were moving, underwear shoved off, panties shoved down, nightshirt shucked, and Cara lay back, knees rising as I moved over her. God, she was beautiful!

Gripping my shaft, the tip touched her pussy and I thrust. Cara cried out as I buried myself inside her in one stroke. She pulled on my shoulders bringing me down. I withdrew and fucked into her, her body shoved up on the bed, and she responded, “Harder. Fuck me harder, Daddy.”

Groaning, I fucked my daughter harder, thrusting into her snug, moist pussy, a silken sheath driving my desire higher. Cara crossed her ankles behind me and tugged, urging me on. I fucked her hard and fast, selfishly, and she gasped, shuddered, and climaxed, her body heaving, pussy clenching, breasts shaking. Still I fucked her, thrusting deep, withdrawing almost completely and thrusting again, each stroke exquisite pleasure. She recovered from her climax and started writhing underneath me again.

Suddenly, I pulled out. “On your knees,” I told her.

Cara rolled and rose onto hands and knees, looking back at me. Her sexy ass gained a beautiful shape, her glistening pussy nestled between her thighs, black pubes, cleft partially open. Guiding my cock, I penetrated her again, slipping into her warm, silken vagina. Gripping her hips, I fucked her, watching my shaft emerge and disappear, stretching her so much. Her buttocks shook with each slap of my groin. She was so snug, so exciting. Leaning over her, I caressed her breast, tweaked her nipple, then reached down between her legs to caress her clit, still fucking her. Cara gasped again, “Gaaawd!” and climaxed, her whole body shaking, pussy tightening, milking me. In the depths of her second orgasm, first her arms gave away. Body shaking, her elbows gave away, her shoulders hitting the bed, ass in the air. I fucked her hard, deep, long strokes, caressing her clit and my daughter cried out and fell flat onto the bed. I followed her, my groin cushioned by her sexy buttocks, and fucked her faster, desperation arriving, heaviness in my groin. Sweating, my orgasm slammed into me, cock swelling, swelling, aching and, with a loud gasp, “Jesus Christ!” I exploded into her, cum erupting in a huge, gut-wrenching spurt. Withdrawing, I thrust again, cumming harder, another glorious explosion, semen shooting endlessly. Humping her gorgeous ass, I exploded, semen bursting, sweet bliss coursing through me. I came hard, swelling and spurting, her pussy very slippery. With a final, almost painful thrust, my orgasm passed and I slowed, stopped, my full weight on her.

“How do you do it?” I asked, panting.

Cara wiggled her ass. “Do what?”

“Drive me so crazy?”

“I’m goooood,” she answered, her body shaking with a silent chuckle.

Eventually, exhausted, I rolled to the side. Cara’s dark hair was an utter mess. It partially covered her face. Intense blue eyes peeked out at me, a smile curling the corners of her lips.

I drew the sheet up. Evaporating sweat chilled me.

“Mom? Grandpa?”

We both looked to the door. Rachael stood there cradling her arm.

“I knocked it by accident. It hurts,” she said.

“Come here, honey,” Cara said, her voice full of concern.

Rachael walked over and, when her mother lifted the covers, slipped into bed.

“Which pill did you take?” Cara asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“Dad, go get another two milligram pill.” To Rachael, she said, “You probably took the weaker one. Don't worry. You’ll feel better soon.”

I put the air cast on and left.

When I returned, Cara had her nightshirt on. Rachael took the pill. God knows why, but I pulled on my underwear and settled in bed. Cara moved to my side, turned, gave me her back, and drew her Rachael into her embrace.

It was the first night the three of us slept in the same bed.

It was to the beautiful sound of Rachael’s giggles and Cara’s whispers that I woke up. It was a wonderful way to wake up. Her giggles made me smile.

“Shhh,” Cara whispered. “You’ll wake him up. We’ll try it today and see how he reacts.”

“Kay,” Rachael whispered.

“Try what today?” I asked.

Rachael’s face popped up from behind Cara. She grinned. “You’re awake!”

“Good morning. Try what?” I asked again.

Cara rolled onto her back and smiled at me, her blue eyes bright. “Morning, Dad. Rachael told me I have to taste this breakfast dish that has corned beef in it. Go cook. We’re hungry.”

“What were you two talking about?” I asked again.

A sneaky expression instantly emerged on the faces of two females I loved dearly. Mischief played through their eyes. Suddenly I didn’t care what they’d been talking about. Just seeing them this way made my heart thump. They looked gorgeous; a raven-haired beauty and a café au lait imp.

Cara shoved my shoulder. “Well? Go on, Dad! Make breakfast.”

I grumbled and complained for their pleasure, dressed and headed to the kitchen, stopping in the bathroom for my morning rituals. Making breakfast, I noticed a couple of things. First, my ankle had settled down. I’d passed the bone-aching sensation that haunts and pains. It gave me a twinge of pain - a warning - when I put too much weight on it. But I thought I might survive with a cane instead of crutches . . . if I had a cane.

I also noticed my mood. Being a loner for so long, not antisocial at all, but living by myself, I’d forgotten how nice it is to have family around. Family makes life complex and disorganized and unpredictable; things I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. I liked it. I liked hearing Cara and Rachael argue or laugh. Homes have a different feel and character when more than one person occupies it. Even when there’s silence you can feel the others’ presence.

The ladies in my life arrived as I finished making breakfast. Both wore shorts and brightly colored tops. Both had broad smiles. Both made my chest ache.

“Mmmm. Smells good,” Cara announced, immediately heading for the coffee.

As we ate, my daughter said, “This is really good.”

“Told ya,” Rachael said, smiling.

Cara looked at me, smiled, and informed me, “We girls are going shopping today. Rachael has her checkup appointment and I need clothes.”

“I’ll drive,” I told her.

“No you won’t. You have a fractured ankle. I’ll drive,” Cara countered.

“My truck is an automatic. I drive with my right foot, which is perfectly healthy. Besides, no one, especially a girl, drives my pickup.” I said it with a straight face.

Cara’s eyes opened wide. I could see the indignation in them. I grinned. “Got’cha. We have to return your rental. It’s wasting money sitting unused.”

“Okay. But . . . ” her eyes narrowed, “you can’t shop with us.”

Rachael laughed. “Gramps will be just fine hanging around. He’ll probably pick up some woman while we shop!”

I did. Cooling my heels in the parking lot of a Tucson upper class mall, I smoked a cigar and leaned against the hood of the Ford. A lovely young lady by the name of Olivia stopped to chat.

In the middle of telling Olivia, “. . . and when I was bucked from the bull, I came down on my leg at the wrong angle. If it hadn’t happened, I would have won the state championship . . .” I heard the distinctive sounds of Cara and Rachael’s laughter.

I grinned and introduced Olivia to them, pointing. “Olivia, this is Cara and that imp is Rachael.”

“You have a beautiful wife, Billy Bob,” Olivia commented before leaving, looking a bit disappointed.

Rachael hooted with laughter. “See? I told you he’d find some woman to flirt with!”

Cara smiled at me. Her expression was softer, speculative. We loaded the pickup with ten plus shopping bags and headed home.

“She said your wife,” Cara commented with a small laugh.

“Yup. You’re arm candy, honey. And I’m a lecherous old goat having a mid-life crisis. What did you guys buy?”

“None of your business.”

“Is that a female thing? Rachael wouldn’t tell me what she’d bought, either.”

Cara smiled. “You’ll find out what we bought soon enough.”

“Did you buy me something?” I asked. “Last time Rachael bought me a Stetson.”

“And you looked gooood in it!” Rachael said from the back seat.

Cara laughed. “Relax, Dad. Everything we bought is for you.”

“Well, hot darn! Presents!” I drawled, to much laughter.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home. Cara took charge, power shopping, whisking us through the aisles and grabbing things. I wondered if she actually saw what she was buying. She obviously had a mental list. She directed Rachael to pick up some items, grabbed some herself, and said, “Come on, Dad! Keep up!” as I hobbled after them.

I liked it. I liked seeing her so competent and decisive - so very her. She really had blossomed into a wonderful young woman.

When we finally got home I waited for my presents. I didn’t get any, just laughs whenever I asked. I didn’t get a fashion show, either. I was disappointed.

Rachael, exhausted, snoozed on the living room couch. Cara set about cleaning the house and banished me to the outdoor patio. I read a book, losing myself in a Lee Child novel. I liked Jack Reacher in the book. Tom Cruise was completely wrong for the character. Even I’d be better, I thought. At least I was over six feet.

As evening arrived, Rachael joined me outside. Cara arrived with a bottle of red wine and glasses.

Rachael asked, “What wine is it? If it’s a Valpolicella Ripasso, I’ll have some.”

Cara stopped pouring. “First off, you’re not drinking while you’re taking pain pills. Second,” she stared at me accusingly, “since when do you let your underage granddaughter drink alcohol?”

Rachael adopted an angelic expression. I tried to look innocent. Reaching for the glass of wine, Cara held it out of reach.

“Well?” she asked sternly.

“I let Rachael have a sip of wine when she arrived,” I explained.

If Rachael hadn’t snorted with laughter, I might have pulled it off. Cara wasn’t impressed when I confessed the truth.

“You’re a reprobate, Dad! What other bad habits did you introduce my teenage daughter to? Drugs?”

Opening my mouth to complain about her lowly opinion of me, she said, “Don’t tell me! I don’t want to know! Go start the barbecue.” She pointed towards it as if I didn’t know where it was.

Dinner - thick steaks and baked potatoes - was delicious. Conversation flowed easily. And both Rachael and Cara had a gleam in their eyes, excitement obvious. When I inquired why, I was brushed aside. Curiosity burned in me.

I found out that night. When we cleaned up, Cara said, “Dad, why don’t you get ready for bed. But sit in the armchair in your room and wait. Here are the rules. You cannot say a word. You cannot get out of the chair until Rachael or I tell you. Agreed?”

Cara’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Agreed,” I answered with a nod. What did they have planned?

CARA FOLLOWED RACHAEL INTO her bedroom, enjoying her daughter’s obvious excitement. She felt a stir of anticipation herself. Tonight promised a whole new experience, illicit, so very taboo, and because of it, exciting.

Dropping a shopping bag onto the bed, Rachael reached in. “This is yours,” she said, handing Cara a tissue-wrapped package.

Cara grabbed another shopping bag and emptied it on the bed. She sorted, passing items to her daughter.

Rachael, excited, started stripping. Cara undressed, her body already reacting. There was such a thrill about wearing sexy lingerie. Naked, she picked up the black gossamer and lace bra, putting it on and adjusting her breasts to fit comfortably.

Rachael, naked, grabbed pure white gossamer and lace panties, pulling them on.

“Wrong order,” Cara said, smiling. “You have to put the garter on first.”

“Why?”

“So you can pee without having to remove the garter.”

“Oh . . . that makes sense.” Rachael peeled her panties off and grabbed the matching white garter belt, turning it to figure it out.

“Let me,” Cara offered. She took the garter and hooked it closed around Rachael’s waist, admiring how it gave her daughter the hint of a waist.

Rachael grabbed her panties.

“Stockings first, honey.”

“Kay.” When Cara started to help, Rachael said, “Let me do it.”

“You need two hands to get stockings on properly.”

Rachael sat on the bed. Cara knelt and took her daughter’s foot. She gathered the white stocking and put it over Rachael’s toes, unrolling it up her slender leg. Her eyes were drawn to Rachael’s incredible pussy, naked, small and so sexy. She adored how cute it looked with the slight dusting of jet black pubic hair, her cleft mostly hairless, her vulva so ripe-looking.

“Stand up.”

Pulling the stocking high, she let Rachael figure out how to attach it to the straps, and started putting her black lace garter belt on. Drawing a stocking up her leg, she enjoyed herself. Putting on lingerie was an exciting act. It spoke to planned seduction. It made her feel sexy and she felt sorry for the guys in her life. They’d never understand or experience it.

She attached the stocking, glanced at Rachael, and smiled at her daughter’s fumbling. “Here. Like this,” she said, showing her.

With one stocking on, Cara helped Rachael into the second, then put her other stocking on.

For a moment, she paused and admired her daughter. Naked, dressed in a garter and stockings with no panties, Rachael looked very, very sexy! It was a wonderful contrast; her barely adolescent body in seductive adult lingerie. Cara’s body responded, a pulse of arousal felt in her pussy, warmth arriving, excitement building.

“Panties next,” she instructed. Pulling her black gossamer and lace panties on, she watched Rachael. Her matching panties in white set her beautiful skin color off. Lace sides and a gossamer thin front and back exposed the top of her pussy and sexy ass, her vulva teasingly hidden by a double gusset. Dad’s going to go nuts, she thought with a smile.

Rachael grabbed her bra and put it on. She turned and admired herself in the mirror.

Cara admired her, too. The lace trim looked cute, but the gossamer cups revealed her small sensual mounds and dark areolae. Just wonderful! So innocently seductive!

“Gramps is going to go nuts when he sees us,” Rachael said, adjusting the crotch of her panties, and turning to inspect her rear.

Another flush of arousal hit Cara. Studying her daughter, her mind pictured what was ahead; a show for Dad, touching and caressing her daughter. Cara’s nipples tightened, anticipation of kissing Rachael, exploring her young body, of making love together with Dad watching. How would he react? What would he do? Would he be able to restrain himself?

She thought about last night, how she’d driven Dad so crazy he’d taken her, forceful and commanding, almost using her, and the two climaxes she’d had, the first a surprise, the second almost painful, and feeling Dad cumming in her. Was she pregnant? Had Dad given her a baby?

Cara groaned quietly and shook herself. Damn she was horny!

“Ready?” she asked.

Rachael turned from the mirror and looked at her. “You look really sexy, Mom! Grandpa’s gonna be so surprised.”

“He will be. Just remember the plan,” Cara said, smiling. “Let’s go.”

Rachael took her hand. “I’m so excited!”

As they approached Dad’s bedroom, Cara saw the bedside lamp casting a soft light over the bed, the rest of the room dark. Like a stage, she thought, a stage for the sex show they were about to perform. Perfect.

Leading Rachael in, she saw Dad sitting, wearing his boxer briefs and nothing else. She noticed his eyes open wide and smiled when he groaned quietly at the sight of them.

She almost giggled when he sighed, “Jesus.”

“No talking,” she reminded him.

Excitement thrummed through her like electricity. As they’d planned, Rachael climbed onto the bed, upright on her knees. Cara followed and, on her knees, moved close. They hugged. Rachael, her dark eyes sparking with excitement, turned her face up and, almost shivering with excitement, Cara kissed her daughter. Rachael’s lips were soft and warm and receptive. Cara caressed her daughter’s back, then down and cupped her exquisite ass, loving the feel of her gossamer panties, her compact buttocks, so young.

Lips pressed harder. Heads tilted, and Cara brushed her daughter’s lips with her tongue. Rachael’s tongue emerged to taste Cara. Tongue tips touched. Rachael’s hands dropped to Cara’s butt and, still kissing, Cara smiled at Dad’s audible groan.

The kiss intensified. Tongues teased. Lips parted, and Cara felt slightly dizzy as she kissed her daughter passionately and fondled her cute ass. She forgot about Dad, too absorbed in the illicit thrill of intimacy with her daughter.

Still kissing her, with her body now flushed, pussy throbbing and growing damp, her nipples aching, Cara brought her hand up to touch Rachael’s small breast, a delicate mound, so sexy, so new. She teased her daughter’s nipple and Rachael’s tongue became frisky, responding, probing.

Cara shivered when Rachael carefully felt her breast, gently fondling her, and Cara’s nipple reacted, tightening up, her breasts heavier, pussy pulsing. This was so surprisingly erotic!

Driven by arousal, Cara touched Rachael’s pussy over her sexy panties and another wave of heat washed through her. Her daughter’s pussy was so small. Touching her was so arousing.

Rachael mimicked her, cupping Cara’s pussy and caressing. Pulses of pleasure hit, her pussy dampening, clit tingling. With a final, loving squeeze, she let her daughter’s pussy go and reached behind her, opening Rachael’s bra.

The kiss broke as Rachael shrugged it off. Then Rachael whispered, “Look at Grandpa.”

Cara glanced over and shuddered lightly. Dad was touching his underwear, rubbing himself slowly, his eyes locked on her and Rachael. Just wait, Dad, she thought. She wondered how long he’d last before joining them.

Rachael, unhooking Cara's bra, drew her attention back. She shrugged it off and Rachael touched her, cupped her breast, rubbing her sensitive nipple with her thumb. Another shudder shook Cara, goose bumps rising on her arms. She fondled her daughter’s small mounds then reached down and edged the waist of her panties over her cute butt.

“Lie down, honey,” she whispered, pulling her own panties off.

Rachael bent and kissed Cara’s nipple before lying down.

With Rachael on her back, Cara drew her panties off and settled partially over her, her knee easing between Rachael’s legs, thigh gently pressing to her daughter’s pussy. Rachael’s knee rose between Cara’s legs and Cara sighed and kissed Rachael’s breast, taking her nipple in, sucking her gently and teasing it with her tongue. Her daughter moaned quietly.

Cara stopped and smiled at Rachael. With a hand gently caressing her daughter’s breast, they kiss again, and Rachael responded, touching Cara’s breast. They kissed and touched each other, arousal building. Cara rubbed her thigh against her daughter’s pussy and Rachael brought her thigh up to press to Cara’s. Her clit throbbed. Almost unconsciously, they writhed gently against each other, rubbing their pussies against each other’s thigh.

Rachael broke the kiss and sighed with pleasure. “This feels so good, Mom,” she whispered, undulating her pelvis, humping Cara’s thigh.

Driven by horniness, Cara eased back. “Ready?” she asked quietly.

“Uh-huh.”

Excitement thrummed through Cara. Turning, she straddled her daughter’s head. Rachael’s hands guided her. The first touch of her daughter’s mouth on her pussy made her groan quietly. Cara leaned over Rachael, kissed her succulent little mons, and caught her daughter’s scent; light and sweet with a hint of more - her daughter’s arousal.

She kissed Rachael’s baby soft pubes, then the tip of her closed cleft, and then lower, settling her lips on Rachael’s soft labia. Her mouth touched silken moisture. With the tip of her tongue she tasted her, and Cara closed her eyes as a strong, strong pulse of pleasure hit her.

She gasped when Rachael’s tongue touched her clit, fire radiating through her. Lost in the intense, illicit experience, she probed into her daughter’s cleft and tongued her small clit, loving Rachael’s taste, her glossy smoothness, her aroma.

Unconsciously, she rubbed her pussy against her daughter’s mouth. A louder groan sounded from across the room.

Glancing up, Cara inhaled sharply. Dad had his erection out. He was stroking himself, his blue eyes locked on them. The sight hit her hard. She loved it! She loved seeing Dad turned on so much, seeing him play with himself!

Pussy pulsing, need started driving her. She moved off Rachael and turned, settling partially over her daughter. They kissed and Cara tasted herself on Rachael’s lips. Reaching down, she fondled Rachael’s pussy and whispered, “Look at Grandpa.”

Rachael raised her head and looked. She grinned. “He’s feeling himself!” she whispered, excited.

Rachael’s grin faded when Cara eased her finger into her daughter’s tight pussy. Rachael inhaled sharply and groaned.

Cara, rubbing her own pussy against Rachael’s thigh, started caressing her daughter’s clit, rubbing faster. Rachael closed her eyes and undulated her hips, her thigh now rubbing Cara’s pussy.

Slowly, deliciously, Cara’s arousal built, humping Rachael’s thigh, strumming her daughter’s clit. Rachael groaned, “Gaaawd, Mom,” and climaxed, her body undulating faster, gasping loudly. It brought on Cara’s climax, heat in her pussy suddenly blossomed, pleasure exploding. She kissed her daughter’s cheek as they came together. Waves of bliss washed through her. The sweet sounds of her daughter climaxing drove her higher. Suddenly Rachael’s pussy was wet. Cara slipped her finger into her tight vagina, then added a second finger, fucking her. Rachael gasped loudly, ached, froze, strained, and collapsed, limp and perspiring, her body trembling. Cara’s climax peaked, bliss slamming into her, her body aching. With smaller and smaller shudders, Cara’s climax passed. Exhausted, she rolled to the side, hot, perspiring.

“Fuck me,” Dad groaned.

Opening her eyes, she watched Dad stand, stroking his large erection. “Rachael,” she whispered, “open your eyes.”

Dad moved to the bed, his blue eyes intense. The bed dipped. He shuffled up on his knees, stroking himself. Cara watched as the head of his cock swelled, red, inflamed, and a huge spurt of cum erupted landing on her stomach and pussy, so hot and wet. He spurted again, groaning, the long rope of semen splashing down on Rachael’s small mons and cleft. He stroked himself faster, spurting over Rachael, then on Cara’s pussy, his thick white semen splattering on her jet black pubes. Thrilled, Cara watched Dad cum, spurting hard, then slower, and with a deep groan, the spurts slowed to a dribble.

Despite being drained, Cara was still aroused. Smiling at Dad, she rose, leaned over Rachael, and licked Dad’s cum from her daughter’s pussy, tasting him.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he exhaled.

Taking a finger, she scooped some up and offered it to Rachael. Rachael smiled, her dark eyes sparkling, and opened her mouth. Cara slipped her finger in, giving her a taste of her grandfather’s semen. Rachael closed her lips. Cara withdrew her clean finger.

Rachael swallowed and immediately frowned. “Yuck! How can you eat it?” she asked, wiping her mouth with her hand.

Cara laughed lightly. “Because it makes him happy.”

I WOKE UP IN THE middle of the night with an erection and Rachael on one side, Cara on the other. Both were asleep. I was horny. I couldn’t get the sight of the two of them making love out of my mind. Even better was seeing my semen on both their pussies. Nothing had prepared me for how intense the sight was.

I caressed my daughter’s areola and nipple. She stirred. Her eyes opened. She smiled.

“I’m so damned horny,” I whispered.

Her smile broadened. “We can’t have that,” she whispered. Spreading her legs slightly, she added, “Come. I’ll make you feel better, Daddy.”

Fuck me!

Rolling on top of her, Cara reached down and guided me. Her pussy was moist and warm and ready. She guided me into her, a silken sheath taking me in, snug and exciting.

Lying down on her, she held my buttocks, smiled, and whispered, “You can fuck me, Daddy,” pressing her pussy up at me.

Jesus, fuck!

I eased out and back in, her pussy so snug, so exciting. Quietly, slowly, we fucked with Rachael sleeping next to us. I was hard and horny, cock throbbing. I loved fucking my daughter. It was so deliciously taboo.

Cara smiled as if reading my mind. She drew my head down to her neck and whispered in my ear, “I love being fucked by you, Daddy. I love feeling you inside me. You’re so big. So hard. Do I feel good? Do you like fucking your little girl, Daddy?”

How? How did she know her whispers drove me crazy? Withdrawing and thrusting, I grew even harder, fucking her steadily.

Her hand caressed the back of my neck. In my ear she teased, “Are you close? You can cum in me, Daddy.”

“Jesus, Cara,” I whispered, once again lost in desire for her, fucking her slowly, deeply, pleasure washing through me.

“Let me make you feel better,” she whispered. “Cum, Daddy. Cum for me.”

With a deep, silent groan, I came, cock swelling, semen spurting deep into her.

Cara caressed my neck and back, urging me on. “Yes. I can feel you, Daddy. I can feel you cumming. Does it feel good? Do you like it?”

I thrust into her harder, bliss hitting, exploding as deep inside her as I could, withdrew and stroked in, semen spurting, exquisite pleasure driven higher by her whispers. I came with an intensity I’d rarely felt, each pulse of cum bringing sweet pleasure until I peaked and slowed, drained, done, sated.

When I woke up with morning sun, the bed was empty. I was still tired, drained, lethargic. Only a painful bladder prevented me from going back to sleep.

Showered and dressed I entered the kitchen. Cara and Rachael were chatting. Both stopped. Both smiled and said, “Morning!” and blood flowed south, my penis waking up. Christ! Would I survive these two?


Chapter Eighteen

August slipped by with surprises heaped upon surprises. Rachael woke me up in the early morning before the sun was up when she took her pain meds. She noticed me awake and informed me she was horny. I wasn’t. She solved that problem by pulling skimpy yellow panties off and waving them at me, grinning, whispering, “Wanna?”

Somehow, with her expert hand fondling me, an erection formed and before I knew it we were having sex, no preliminaries. My granddaughter proved she was indeed horny. But it was as I was at the peak of my orgasm, cumming into her tight little pussy, that I noticed Cara watching us, and it intensified my orgasm for some strange reason.

I was feeling weak at breakfast. Cara prepared it. Rachael was still asleep. I wondered if I was losing weight from so much sex. Was that possible? I sure as heck was feeling my age. I knew sex was out for the rest of the day. I needed to recharge, maybe with an afternoon nap on the couch.

“Go wake Rachael up for breakfast,” Cara ordered me.

I stood slowly and headed to the bedroom.

Rachael was sleeping on her front, on top of the covers, sun streaming across her naked body, one knee cocked. She was so cute, so young.

Then, when I walked around the bed to wake her up, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. Unbelievably, an erection formed and lust rushed in. At her exposed crotch, thick white semen was leaking from her pussy. It was a shocking sight; adult cum oozing out of her hairless cleft to collect on the bed. It was a sexy sight unlike I’d seen before. Thoughts tumbled through my mind. There, in bed, was a freshly fucked little girl, full of my cum!

Weakness vanished in a split second, energy flowing back. I left the bedroom and returned to the kitchen. Cara was at the counter, slender and sensual, her ass gorgeous in tight jeans. I would take her right there! Fuck her with her jeans and panties around her thighs. I moved in behind her pressing the lump of my erection into her ass, reaching around to cup her breasts.

When I nuzzled her neck, inhaling the perfumed scent of Shalimar, she asked, “Where’s Rachael?”

“Asleep, naked, and leaking,” I responded.

“Leaking?” Cara asked, looking back at me.

I nodded.

“I have to see,” she said, easing away.

“Go see. But come back here fast.”

Smiling, Cara kissed my cheek and left. I didn’t move. She returned in a couple of minutes, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining.

“Have you ever seen such a cute sight?” she asked.

“Cute wasn’t the word that jumped to mind. More like, ’Holy cow that’s sexy!’”

Cara slinked up to me, pressing herself against me. “Is it wrong that it turns me on? Is there something wrong with me that I wanted to eat her out, taste you? What have you done to me, Dad?”

“It’s in the jeans,” I told her.

“Inherited,” she agreed.

“No.” I grinned, “It’s in the jeans . . . my jeans. That’s what I did to you.”

Cara burst into laughter. When she finally calmed down, still grinning, she said, “Honest to God, Dad, I wish you’d been this funny when I was Rachael’s age.”

“I was young, divorced, a single parent, and trying to provide. It wasn’t much fun.”

Cara softened. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what we have now. I’m living a dream, Dad. You’ll never know how much I love you.”

Pulling her ass and pressing her crotch against the bulge in my pants, I smiled. “I’m too horny to think about love, although I think I love you. It’s just, lack of blood in my brain makes it difficult to cogitate.”

Cara laughed again. “In that case, maybe I can help.”

“Help what?” Rachael asked.

Damn!

“Your grandfather’s feeling randy,” Cara explained, her eyes twinkling at me.

“Again? Really?”

I laughed. Maybe I’m not that old.

Cara rose up on tiptoes and whispered in my ear, “I’m going to give you a blow job later, Daddy. I dreamed of giving you one when I was young.”

My pulse jumped. I was not old at all!

The last week in August slipped closer. I was too preoccupied to notice. Cara and Rachael found a rhythm that worked for them. They both slept in my bed. They both enjoyed sex. They both liked making love slowly. Occasionally one would want some privacy with me and they’d figure it out together. I wasn’t consulted. Sometimes I wanted privacy with one or the other and they never complained.

There was no fighting or jealousy. Part of it I attributed to the times we all had sex together, nothing hidden, shared openly. Cara admitted to vicariously enjoying watching me have sex with her daughter. Rachael had no problem watching me with her mother, and occasionally the two would work in tandem to drive me crazy. It always shocked me to find the two of them naked and having fun. I eventually learned that they planned it deliberately, making sure I’d stumble upon them. They liked my enthusiasm and the vigor that resulted.

My ankle improved. Rachael started rehab on her wrist three times a week.

But it was one glorious day when my world changed.

It started in the afternoon. Cara had teased me into horniness. With Rachael preoccupied on the computer in the study, Cara and I went to the bedroom and made love. The windows were open. A rare breeze wafted through, cooling our naked bodies. Sex was slow, languorous, no rush, no fuss, no creativity; just two horny people loving each other, intimacy and familiarity at its finest.

It was slow. Cara’s pussy was snug, warm; a clasping velvet heaven. She undulated under me, moaning her pleasure, moist and slippery. I felt huge inside her, and the thrill of loving my daughter made me harder. It was such a unique, illicit act, so taboo and quite intoxicating. And as we climbed towards our climaxes, slow yet intense, Cara hugged me, fucked me, and whispered in my ear, “I’m pregnant, Daddy.”

I’d never experienced a spontaneous climax before. I did now. My reaction was visceral. My erection swelled to the point of bursting and I came, exploding inside my daughter in an agonizing yet exquisite pulse of pleasure. Holding her sexy buttocks, I thrust and came, semen spurting, thrust and erupted in a dizzying orgasm, emptying myself into her almost desperately.

When my orgasm passed, Cara’s beautiful face came into focus. She was smiling, her blue eyes bright. I kissed her gently. “You look happy. When did you find out?” I asked.

“This morning. I wanted you to know first. I’m going to tell Rachael now.”

For the rest of the afternoon I watched Cara closely. She was different; light on her feet, almost dancing. She had an endless smile. Rachael chatted away, excited about having a brother or sister, a baby to play with.

All in all life was good. It was one of those rare nights when there wasn’t any sex, just cuddling, all three of us, Cara and Rachael chatting.

The next day, Cara started looking at me in an odd way. I’d smile and tell her she looked radiant. She did. Yet I had the impression I was missing something, or I wasn’t doing something she expected, and wracked my brain trying to figure it out.

I didn’t. Mid-morning, Cara came out onto the patio where I was puttering around removing weeds in the rock garden.

“Dad?”

“Uh-huh?”

She studied my face. I didn’t like her serious expression.

“I’ve decided to go back to Los Angeles. My job’s there. Rachael’s friends are there. Her school is there.”

Sadness washed over me, a feeling of melancholy tinged with loss. I’d been afraid of this. I hadn’t fully appreciated how rich my life had become with Cara and Rachael in it. But who was I to complain? I had nothing to compete with. There were no neighbors, close friends, cinemas, cafés, or cultural events near me. This wasn’t Los Angeles, the city of lights and celebrities and stars and Hollywood, museums, movies, and parties.

I had nothing to compete with. I was destined to see our child grow up from a distance, just like I had with Rachael.

“Okay. I understand,” I said quietly, reluctantly.

Cara’s blue eyes flashed white fire in an instant. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!!! WHY DON’T YOU EVER FIGHT FOR ME?” she yelled, thumping me in the chest with her fist.

The change in her was so sudden, her fist made me jump. “Whoa,” I said, grabbing her wrist before she could hit me again.

“Goddammit, Dad!” Tears glittered. “Why don’t you ever fight for me?”

Pulling her wrist, I drew her into a hug. She tried to wrestle away and failed. “Cara, honey, you’ve always known what you want. You never listened to me.”

“You’re such an idiot, Dad,” Cara said, growing still in my arms. “Sometimes I want you to fight for me, disagree with me, lay down the law, and stop being so laid back and accepting. Sometimes I don’t want to make decisions. I want someone else to make them.” She looked into my eyes, adding in a quieter tone, “Sometimes, I just want to be your little girl again.”

“Cara, honey, you’ll always be my little girl. I love you. I want you to stay here. I want Rachael to stay here. I haven’t been this happy in I don’t know how long.”

“Then tell me to stay, Dad.”

I frowned at her. “Cara, I don’t care what you want. You’re staying here!” I added with mock sternness, “You’re grounded, young lady!”

“Grounded? For how long?”

“Until I say otherwise, and don’t hold your breath waiting for me to say otherwise.”

Cara smiled, then playfully pouted, “But, Daddy . . .”

“No But, Daddy. I've made my decision. Grounded. Go to my room!”

Cara laughed brightly. “You mean my room.”

“No. I mean my room.”

“Same thing, Dad. You just haven’t accepted it yet!”


Chapter Nineteen

Waiting patiently in the pickup with the windows open to fight the late May heat, I puffed on a cigar, blowing the smoke out the window. Fridays weren’t as important to me as they used to be before I retired. I mentally reviewed the list of supplies I’d bought. Paint - done. Spackle - done. Closet organizers - done. What else had Cara told me to get? I had a nagging impression I’d forgotten something.

Rachael walked out of school with a couple of girlfriends, chatting away, all three of them looking at their Smartphones. Social interaction had changed dramatically thanks to technology. She noticed me and smiled broadly, waving to me. A quick last word and she came over, climbed into the pickup, and dumped her backpack in the foot well.

“Where’s Mom?”

“She’s sprawled out on the couch in a T-shirt and panties looking like a beached whale - very cute, and castigating me for not having air conditioning. She’s not happy with me at the moment.”

“It’s your fault,” Rachael observed, buckling her seatbelt.

We left the school parking lot for the twenty-five minute drive home.

“As I’ve explained, young lady, it isn’t my fault. Your mother connived to get pregnant without my permission.”

“So you’re sorry about it?”

“Not in the least. But, blaming me doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s your fault. It’s always the guy’s fault,” Rachael said with a smile. “Karen asked me over to her birthday party. It’s next Friday. Can I go?”

“Will boys be there?”

Rachael laughed. “What if there are?”

“Boys only have one thing in mind.”

“You’re a boy!”

I grinned. “That’s how I know. I have one thing in mind.”

“Again?” Rachael exclaimed.

“Last time we made love. Now, like all boys, I just want sex. It’s different.”

Rachael laughed. “What happened today to make you horny?”

“Your mother. She really looks sexy in her panties and tee. Pregnant women are incredibly sexy.”

“So Mom refused you, did she?” Rachael asked.

“Yup,” I confirmed with a nod.

“Being hot and angry and extremely pregnant isn’t romantic.”

“Who said anything about romance?”

Rachael laughed.

We arrived home. My daughter was still sprawled on the couch in a very unladylike position; on her back, stomach a mountain, one leg hanging off the edge, her white panties stretched by a remarkably plump pussy. It seemed to me pregnancy somehow made women’s pussies more lush, or maybe it was me being so turned on by Cara’s condition.

I walked over to her while Rachael dumped her backpack and hunted for snacks in the kitchen.

“Hey, you. How are you feeling?” I asked, bending to kiss her.

Cara frowned at me. “Like an overstuffed turkey. What do you think I feel like?”

“I was hoping your hormones are still raging,” I informed her with a smile.

“You’re a randy old goat, Dad.” She called out, “Rachael!”

Rachael wandered out of the kitchen with a granola bar in hand. “What?”

“Can you get me something to eat?”

“Sure. Whaddaya want?”

“Do we have any mashed potatoes left over?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Make me a mashed potato and dill pickle sandwich.”

“Jesus, Cara!” I exclaimed.

Hard blue eyes glared at me. “What?! You got something to say?”

Rachael giggled and headed back to the kitchen.

“Don’t forget the mayo!” Cara yelled.

“I won’t.”

My daughter turned her attention back to me. “Did you buy the paint for the baby’s room?”

I nodded.

“Is it the right color? Maybe you should bring it here so I can check.”

“I’ll get it,” I told her and left.

In the kitchen, the sight of Rachael creating a disgusting sandwich made my stomach turn. I left and went outside. In the garage, the three ATVs made me long for pre-pregnancy days; the three of us at the lake, naked and naughty. I made a decision.

Saturday morning, Rachael roared past me on her Yamaha throwing up dust and dirt. I smiled at her antics. She was going to slow down and lag behind me just so she could race by me again. It was typically Rachael; all or nothing, do or don’t, no moderation in her.

She looked great. Not yet fourteen, she was as skinny as ever. In tan shorts and black boots, her legs were long. Astride an ATV, she was very sexy, her butt still small.

We climbed hills and dropped into increasingly deep valleys, wending our way around copses of trees, thorn bushes, and exposed rocks. Cresting the final hill, a small blue lake sparkled below.

Slowing, Rachael maneuvered through trees to the lake’s edge. Silence arrived when we both turned our ATVs off. She dismounted and pulled her helmet off, placing it on the seat, then ruffled her dark, curly hair.

I set up our picnic spot; laying out the blanket and shrugging off a backpack.

Rachael inhaled deeply. “I love the smell here,” she told me, sitting down on the blanket to untie her boots. She pulled them off, removed her socks, and stood.

“It’s hot!” she informed me. “Let’s swim.”

Removing my boots slowly, I watched her tug her T-shirt up and off exposing her still small breasts - no bra needed. Staring at the lake, she unbuttoned her shorts, unzipped them and shoved them down revealing sexy pale pink, ribbed cotton panties - my new favorite. They hugged her small ass beautifully, but not for long. They, too, we're shoved down and, gloriously naked, she ran into the lake.

I joined her a couple of minutes later. We swam, floated, splashed playfully, and generally relaxed in the cool, clear water. The silence was wonderful. Hills surrounded us providing privacy. The sky was perfectly clear, azure blue like Cara’s eyes.

Eventually we left the lake and laid out on the blanket. Water cooled us as it evaporated in the heat. I studied my granddaughter. Naked, she was simply glorious. Lying on her back, the gentle mounds of her breasts were slightly fuller, small peaks on her chest. Her lithe, slender body and café au lait skin was beautiful, almost shimmering like silk.

Pressed to the blanket, her buttocks swelled sensually. Sharp hip bones stood out against the dip of her stomach and, rising sensually at her crotch, her sexy mons was now dusted with baby soft, jet black pubic hairs; a thin, developing bush. Blood flowed into my no longer dormant penis. No matter how many times I saw her, the impact was the same.

I knew myself now. I understood how powerfully I was drawn to her emerging pubescence, the stunning dichotomy of a child’s body with the first onset of maturity. It was a fleeting stage in a female, wondrous and magical. I understood how her slenderness excited me and how holding her body while we made love only emphasized her youth.

Perhaps most exciting of all was being able to look at her small pussy and marvel that she could take me. I could actually penetrate her, have sex with her, so damned tight, and she loved it. In my mind’s eye, I could picture it. I could see her small cleft stretched around my erection. She made me look so thick and it only turned me on more; an adult erection penetrating a pubescent girl. It was extraordinarily erotic.

“You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” Rachael asked, looking at the erection gently bobbing on my stomach. “What ’cha planning?”

“It occurred to me we’ve never made love in the open.”

“Yes we have. When we went camping. Remember?”

“No. That wasn’t sex.”

“Oh! Right! Frottage!” She grinned, and showing her easy acceptance of intimacy between us, continued, “I looove frottage. I like seeing you cumming. It really turns me on.”

Rachael rolled onto her side, facing me. Even on her side, she had a delectable gap at the top of her thighs, her small vulva rounded and erotic, her cleft tightly closed. Her pubes had spread from her mons down her cleft, thicker where her labia met, thinner on the sides. Her lips were slightly darker than her café au lait skin and would darken even more when she was aroused. On her chest, her dark chocolate areolae and nipples looked edible.

Her oval eyes twinkled at me. She smiled. “I like seeing you horny, Gramps.” She reached out and poked my erection, laughing when it heaved up off my stomach.

“Don’t tease me or I won’t have sex with you,” I threatened.

Rachael laughed. “As if you could resist me!”

I grinned. Challenged, I assured her, “I can. I’ve had years of experience and have incredible self-control.”

A remarkable expression emerged on her pretty face; cunning, a sly smile, ravenous. “You think so?” she asked, trailing her fingertips through the dusting of her pubic hair.

I watched her fingers. The tip of her index finger followed her cleft down lightly, then returned slowly and, as it reached halfway, she pressed, her labia bulging and gently coddling, forming around the tip. She stroked up, her fingertip emerging to brush over her pubes.

Smiling slightly, eyes twinkling, and in an intensely sexual act, she extended her hand and eased her finger between my lips. I tasted her; sweet with a subtle hint of earthy arousal, and my cock swelled.

She noticed, smiled, and reached down, her knee bending and rising to expose her pussy. Staring at me, she touched herself again, this time slowly pressing deeper, probing. I watched as her finger penetrated her pussy at the base of her cleft up to her second knuckle and slowly withdrew. It glistened. I almost groaned.

Still smiling, she extended her finger. This time her taste was stronger, pure ambrosia. I sucked her finger and caressed it with my tongue as she withdrew it. My cock bobbed again, hard and demanding. A small bead of clear precum oozed from the tip.

Reaching down, I gathered it with my finger and extended my hand towards her. Rachael smiled and kept her lips tightly closed. I spread precum on her soft lips, smiling at her.

Her eyes twinkled. The tip of tongue emerged. She licked her lips.

“Let’s swim!” she announced, jumping up. She laughed, ran to the lake, her cute butt busy, and yelled, “C’mon, Billy Bob!”

My erection waved, preceding me to the lake. The initial chill of the water did nothing to diminish it, and Rachael playfully brushing her body against it kept me hard. Desire for her and for sweet release gently fogged my brain. I played, groping her sexy ass, brushing her small breasts, and occasionally trying to grope her pussy, Rachael laughing brightly and swimming away.

By the time we emerged from the lake, I was hornier than ever. Rachael preceded me, her gorgeous ass moving seductively and, as I approached the blanket, she dropped to her knees and bent forward onto her hands.

Her butt rounded into glory. Her sexy little pussy emerged from between her thighs, nestled at the base of her buttocks, ripe, plump, and intensely sexy.

She flopped forward onto her front, arms acting as a pillow, and I stood at her feet admiring her naked beauty. I adored her ass. Small, it had sensual shape, two sweet buttocks forming a deep valley that plunged to meet her cleft.

My cock ached and throbbed so hard it pointed up past horizontal; a rare occurrence.

I knelt, straddling her legs, then bent forward and settled onto her. My erection naturally found the sweet valley between her gorgeous cheeks. She clenched her buttocks and giggled quietly. On top of her, covering her with my body, I luxuriated in her slender youth, so petite and exciting. My cock responded.

“Years of experience and incredible self-control, huh?” she asked with a laugh.

“It’s not a fair test. I’ve never had to resist anyone like you,” I informed her. “You smile at me and I’m horny.”

I brushed her hair aside and kissed her bare shoulder.

Rachael squeezed her butt cheeks again, a sexy caress of my erection. “You like breaking the law.”

“So do you,” I responded, rolling my groin on her sexy ass slightly.

“I do. I like sex with you. It’s the best feeling in the world, Grandpa.” She gave me a couple of sexy clenches, then said, “I’m lucky. None of my friends have this. Paula has a boyfriend but he’s a jerk. He told her if she doesn’t put out, he’s gonna date someone else. What an ass!”

Smiling, I humped her small ass. “What an ass, indeed.”

Rachael giggled, clenched her butt, and said, “You’re funny when you’re horny. Mom thinks so, too.”

Humping her ass crack gently, just a rub, precum leaked and my crown glided sensually. Man! Did I like it! I wanted this to last. Tamping down desire, I continued talking.

“What does it feel like when you make love with your mother?”

“I dunno.” She clenched her bottom and relaxed. “It’s different. Maybe I’m bisexual. I like sex with Mom. It’s exciting and forbidden, like sex with you. But I cum differently. With you, it’s like, ’Oh God, I’m gonna die’, and with Mom it's like warm and soft and safe.”

“I like watching you two.”

Rachael laughed lightly. “We know. It really turns Mom on to see you so horny. She likes watching you masturbate. She told me it makes her feel really sexy to know it’s her making you so horny.”

The air stirred, caressing my naked body like a touch of silk. Precum spread between her buttocks and I humped her ass with slightly longer strokes; so pleasurable, my cock snuggled in a warm, soft embrace.

“My turn,” Rachael said. “What’s it like to have sex with Mom? Is it better?”

“Are you jealous?” I asked. “I’ve never shown favoritism.”

“I know. I’m not. I just wondered.”

“It’s the same as you with your mother. It’s different. Sex with you is exciting and fun and makes me smile and sometimes laugh. You’re so free and easy about it and that makes it wonderful. You’re illegal, illicit, and intoxicating and that turns me on like nothing else. It helps that you’re cute and gorgeous and sexy and funny. You’re beautiful, Rachael.”

“Kay,” she said softly, obviously pleased. She squeezed her buttocks, massaging my erection as I stroked slowly, rolling my groin on her bottom.

“With your mother, sex is different. I can't really explain it. She’s my daughter and that adds an edge of excitement. Maybe it’s because it’s so taboo. I don’t really understand it. With your mother, sex is intense and she knows what to say to make me go nuts. Sex isn’t just physical. It’s mental and your mother is a master at the mental art of seduction.”

“I noticed she whispers to you a lot when you’re making love. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Yup.”

Rachael gave my cock a hard squeeze. “Maybe I’ll try it with you. But first, get off. I’m hungry.” She rolled her body.

Chuckling, I flopped onto my back, erection thick and pulsing. Rachael’s dark eyes glinted with amusement, she grinned at me, pure mischief. Grabbing my shaft, she bent and took me into her warm mouth, sucking, cheeks indenting, then slowly drawing her lips up and off.

“Yum!” she declared, then laughed brightly. “What’s for lunch?”

I ached. This long, drawn-out sex play was new. I loved it. I loved being erect, naked, and having my granddaughter comfortable in her nakedness with me. The promise of sex, of ecstasy, was powerful - gratification delayed and more erotic for it. Being so aroused tinted my appreciation for Rachael; so sweetly sexy and forbidden.

I unpacked lunch: roasted red pepper, spicy arugula, and silky goat cheese sandwiches in crusty rosemary focaccia; a still-cold Stella Artois lager, Coke for Rachael; and salty potato chips.

Rachael settled, crossed-legged, and I was distracted by how her small pussy pressed against the blanket, plumping out, her cleft slightly open to reveal her sexy clit. Cool precum leaked when my cock pulsed. Rachael, noticing, grinned at me, her dark oval eyes twinkling.

Reaching for her sandwich, she commented, “I'm really wet.”

Fuck me! My erection bobbed. Rachael laughed.

“Is sex with other guys this much fun?” she asked. She took a bite of her sandwich and murmured, “Mmmm.” Swallowing, she added, “This is really good.”

“Sex with anyone else will never be as good as with me,” I informed her. My smile ruined the delivery. “Of course it will. Even better if it’s with the right boy.”

She smiled. “Will you be jealous if I have sex with someone else?”

“Absolutely! But it’s your body, not mine. It’s your decision, not mine. I’ll always be jealous, but it would disappoint me if you didn’t find someone to love.”

She sipped her Coke. “I’m in no rush. I’ve got you so I can take my time.” Grinning, she added, “That’s as long as Old Faithful works!” then laughed when I flexed my erection.

Rachael continued to tease me throughout lunch. Her candid comments kept me horny. Her obvious way of moving to give me a show of her naked body only intensified my desire. Then I discovered a completely new aspect to my sexuality.

Finishing her Coke, she burped lightly, covered her mouth and said, “Excuse me.” She shuffled, rolling her butt slightly. “I’ve gotta pee.”

I nodded to the lake. “Go pee in the water.”

“Ew! I swim in it! I’m not gonna pee there!”

Sipping beer, I watched her walk away. I expected her to disappear behind a tree or bush but, not ten feet away, she squatted, knees spread, and peed. A long stream of pee flowed from her pussy. The sight excited me, my cock straining, thick and rigid. Watching a girl pee was completely new to me, and damn if it wasn’t erotic!

Rachael’s pee went on forever, then slowed into a dribble. A couple of weak spurts and she finished, stood, caught me watching, and grinned. “Bet ’cha didn’t expect that,” she said with a laugh. “Did it turn you on?”

I nodded. “Never seen a girl pee. Oddly, it’s really sexy.”

“Your turn. Can I hold it when you pee? I’ve wondered what it’s like.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“When I’m this horny, I can’t pee.”

Rachael grabbed a paper napkin and wiped herself. Mischief returned into her eyes. “If I help you with your erection, will you let me hold it when you pee?”

“Why?”

“The idea of it turns me on. Letting you watch me pee turned me on, too. So? Want some help?”

“Hell yes!”

“Lie down.”

Rachael stood at my side studying my body. In what looked like an unconscious act, she rubbed her pussy, stroking her cleft, then, turning to face the lake, she straddled me and knelt, pressing her gorgeous bottom on my erection, my tip peeking out from her bum crack. She wiggled, settling herself.

“Okay so far?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Yup. Pretty fine.”

She giggled, turned to look at the lake, and put her hands on my thighs. She humped my cock slowly, the tip disappearing between her buttocks and emerging, her soft pussy stroking my shaft. I swelled as pleasure blossomed. A bead of clear precum oozed from the tip.

I loved the way her small, soft buttocks bulged where they pressed against me. I was so damned turned on! The long teasing had done its job. My cock ached.

For the next couple of minutes, Rachael stroked me with her pussy, seemingly in no rush. Then she stopped, lifted, her sexy pussy revealed. Her labia had darkened. Her arousal glistened, cleft slightly open. Reaching between us, she gripped my shaft and brought it up.

I saw every action. I watched her swipe the tip through her little cleft spreading her moisture and my precum. I watched, my heart beating faster, as she let herself down, her sexy labia bulging and slowly stretching to hug the tip of my cock. Damn I looked so thick! It was an impossible fit!

Rachael started moving up and down slowly, each move forcing my flared head deeper into her cleft, her labia almost straining to encompass me, thinning. And then I inhaled sharply when the crown oozed into her, her entrance stretching, stretching, and suddenly gripping me. With the head inside, she let my shaft go. Jesus she was tight! The sight was unbelievable!

Hands back on my thighs, Rachael worked her pussy onto my erection, small up and down movements, each edging her lower, lower, my cock straining. Velvet heat gradually surrounded me and, with her thighs trembling slightly, Rachael settled on me, her sexy buttocks pressing against me, my cock fully embedded inside her, pulsing rhythmically.

“Gawd, I’m full,” Rachael groaned. “You’re so deep like this.”

Rising slowly, my cock oozed out, shaft glistening, and as her tight pussy gripped just the crown, Rachael reversed, slowly sitting and taking me deep again, her buttocks settling. I swelled dangerously inside her and reached out to hold her slender hips.

“This is the best feeling,” she informed me, “being so full, so stretched. It makes me so horny. Even my nipples ache.”

She tightened her pussy, bringing another wave of pleasure to me. “How’s it feel, Billy Bob?” she asked, giggling.

Giggles made her vagina almost painfully tight and I loved it! It brought home her youth, her petite body, and reminded me I was having sex with a thirteen-year-old girl! Christ!

Too many sensations bombarded me. Rachael rose, my shaft emerging, and reversed, sitting on me harder, my tip bumping into the end of her vagina. She rose again and sat, taking me in, her snug pussy caressing me. Each stroke was long, almost all of my cock emerging before she fucked herself down on me. She became slippery, silken and warm. Her rises were slow, her descents fast, her bottom almost slapping down as she fucked me. I tried to hold my orgasm at bay, to wait for her, but I couldn’t. I had no control left.

When she rose, thumped down on me hard, my tip hitting her deepest part, and let out a cute grunt, I lost it. I came spontaneously, suddenly, my cock exploding in a rapid-fire climax, swelling and spurting, swelling and spurting. Making it even more intense, Rachael stopped moving, my erection buried deep inside her, pulsing and spurting, cum exploding, bliss slamming into me. Hot semen flooded my crown. I pulsed and came, cock swelling with each glorious spurt until, as quickly as it had arrived, my orgasm passed with small, fading throbs.

Rachael finally moved, rising up, my glistening shaft emerging. As the tip squeezed out of her, a river of viscous white semen flowed out of her pussy and onto my pubes.

She swung her leg off me and turned, kneeling at my side and looking at my softened but thick penis.

“You came really fast,” she told me, “and I felt every spurt!” She finally looked at me. “You came too fast, Grandpa. I wasn’t even close.”

“Sorry. You shouldn’t have teased me so well.”

Rachael flashed a smile at me. “It’s your fault. You challenged me. You’re not very good in the self-control department.”

I laughed, pleasantly relaxed from the release of pent-up sexual need, post-orgasmic peace and a warm sun making me almost drowsy.

She studied my penis. “Are you soft enough to pee?”

Before I could answer, music broke the silence. Rachael stretched her arm out and grabbed her shorts, fished her cell out and answered.

“Kay! We’re coming!” She looked at me full of excitement. “Mom’s having labor pains! It’s started! Let’s go!”

In a flurry of activity, we dressed and packed. In short order I was chasing after Rachael on our ATVs, racing across the ground faster than we’d ever driven before. Ahead, I admired my granddaughter’s mastery. She had complete control of the large machine; a slender, young girl riding a big machine, small ass bouncing - a gorgeous girl in full bloom.

We arrived home and ran in. Cara was struggling to pull her sweatpants on.

“How far apart are the contractions?” I asked. “Rachael, grab your mothers bag!”

“Fifteen minutes,” Cara informed me. She yelled out to her daughter, “Bring me my makeup.”

“Makeup? Now?” I asked in astonishment.

“I want to look good,” she told me, then grimaced and held her extended stomach as another contraction hit.

“You’re crazy, woman! You’re glowing and gorgeous. You don’t need makeup!”

“Maybe just lipstick,” she replied.

I shook my head, bewildered by her. Would I ever understand the female mind?

Ten minutes later I was driving the pickup down the dirt road. Cara complained, insulted my driving skills, and insulted my Ford until another contraction hit. Then she insulted me.

“I can’t believe I let you do this to me, Dad!”

I ignored her, checked that I had a cigar ready, and turned towards Vail. Twenty minutes later Cara was admitted. I parked and headed into the small hospital.

I found Cara in her room, Rachael excited and holding her hand. The nurse walked in.

“How are you doing?“ she asked Cara, checking the paper reel showing her contractions. She looked at me. “Are you the father?”

Panic made me freeze. Then I pointed at Cara. “That’s my daughter and that,” I said, pointing at Rachael, “is my granddaughter.”

She smiled. “And soon to be a grandfather again. Judging by the contractions, in less than an hour.”

She knew her stuff. Forty-eight minutes later, my daughter gave birth to a dark-haired, blue-eyed, nine pound three ounce baby girl. Cara looked radiant and exhausted. Rachael positively vibrated with excitement. And, as I kissed my Cara on her sweat-coated brow, I whispered, “She’s beautiful. So are you.”

Cara, cradling the newborn in her arms, beamed at me, her eyes bright. Tears welled and spilled. She motioned me close and into my ear she whispered, “My fantasy, Dad. Our baby. She’s so beautiful. Thank you.” Then she hugged Rachael, whispering to her, happy tears still welling.

Rachael beamed and nodded.

It was dark and past eleven o’clock when Rachael and I headed home. I puffed a cigar, blowing smoke out the open window. Rachael was quiet, probably exhausted from a draining, event-filled day.

“You’re quiet,” I prompted.

“Uh-huh.”

“And?”

“What’s her name going to be?”

“I don’t know. You and your mother will make that decision.”

“She’s really pretty,” Rachael said.

I thought I knew what was going on in her mind; sibling rivalry, the loss of attention with a new family member.

“She’s not you, Rachael. She’ll never be you.”

Rachael looked at me. “Is that what you think? That I’m jealous?”

“You’re not?”

Rachael laughed. “No! Why would I be? If I was jealous, I’d have been jealous of Mom last summer.”

“So what’s going through that amazing mind of yours?”

“I was just thinking about how happy Mom is. She was. Did you see her?”

“I did.”

“I want to feel that one day.”

“No doubt you will. Eventually you’ll meet someone almost as dashing and handsome as me.”

Rachael laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“What did your mother whisper to you?”

Rachael smiled. “She said next time it’s my turn and to give her a baby boy. Four more years, Billy Bob!”

“I’ll be too old by then,” I informed her.

She laughed. “No way! All I have to do is make nice with Old Faithful.” She laughed again. “Speaking of Old Faithful, you sorta left me hanging at the lake.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Blame your mom.”

“I was thinking.”

“Oh-oh,” I muttered.

Rachael grinned at me, her dark eyes twinkling and full of mischief. “Do we still have that vanilla scented oil?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I’m feeling like some frottage tonight! Whaddaya think? Old Faithful up to it?” She laughed brightly.

I grinned. “After a shower. I’m dirty.”

Rachael grinned. “I’m counting on it! You’re gonna introduce me to Nancy tonight.”

“Nancy?”

“Yeah, Nancy. Remember? Number three of five?”

I wracked my brain, then laughed loudly. A stir of arousal washed over me. Nancy - anal sex. “You still remember that?”

“Well, yeah! We should celebrate tonight! Break another law!”

She laughed when I shifted on the seat, my erection becoming uncomfortable. Anal sex? With her sexy little ass? I could picture it; prying her cute buttocks apart, my thick cock oozing into her tight bottom! Fuck me!

“Maybe tomorrow morning. I’m tired,” I told her, hiding my smile. “I’m old. I need my rest.”

Rachael reached over, fondled my crotch, and found my erection. “Liar,” she accused with a giggle. “I’m gonna get me some Nancy tonight!”

Jesus! Rachael was so damned cute! Not to mention, illegal, illicit and utterly intoxicating.

 

 
     
 

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This is a work of fiction. The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under the legal age of consent. This story is copyright protected.
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