I love her family; but one of them too much – part 2

After cleaning up, I had some concerns about going in the house, and Grandma acting all lovey-dovey, once the kids came home from their summer camps.

I slipped out the back of the shop, and looked into the kitchen from the sliding glass door. My daughter Hailey was in the kitchen with Grandma, and Bob was sitting at the table, eating his afternoon snack. Adam was always the last to arrive, and would be ravenous when he got home.

I went around the house, to check on the work that was being done on the addition. The foundation had been poured, and the framing was complete.

They had started on the plumbing for the new master bath, and most of the exterior sheathing was in place. They were making great progress, and I spoke with the head honcho who assured me they were still on schedule, and would have the electrical and plumbing inspection in less than a week.

The door into the house was complete, and I entered from that end, heading to the bedroom and changing into jeans and t-shirt. I was hoping that the outfit was part of why Grandma had mistaken me for a young Grandpa.

I made my way to the kitchen, smelling her divine cooking. Whatever else you might say about her memory, that woman sure could cook. I took a deep breath, as I watched her interaction with my little girl. The boys were nowhere to be seen, and I was hoping that they were doing something useful, like their chores, but suspected they were out playing.

Grandma was almost dancing around the kitchen, humming happily, when she wasn’t giving Hailey directions. She looked up at me, and gave me a smile. “Glover, could you run up to the store and get me a dozen Granny Smith apples, or McIntosh if they have them? That and I’m out of nutmeg. I think I’ll make an apple pie for dessert.”

It was her best night in weeks. Her memory was good, and she was nothing but smiles and laughter, while we chatted around the dinner table. Kate was ecstatic to see her Grandmother doing so well. The kids took it in stride, and little Hailey was proud as a peacock when she presented us with the first apple pie she’d ever made. It was delicious.

Late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, my wife and I retired on our own. I knew I had to tell her what had happened. I was feeling more than a little guilty about it.

Kate had other ideas, as evidenced by a hot kiss, and her hand sliding down my body and caressing my alter-ego. It was hard in no time at all, and she was riding me. I watched her eyes open, and trace the names on the headboard as she often did, before closing them again. Her breath quickened, as did her motions. Then she was coming for me, and her passion ignited my own, urging me to grab her hips and finish with her. It was magical, but then again, it often was.

After cleaning up, we relaxed together, cuddling, while I held her. It was time.

“Grandma had a weird episode today,” I said.

“Hmm?“

“I was out in the workshop, trying to finish that chair Grandpa had been working on. It bothered me that it was only partially done, and abandoned. While I was at it, she came out to check on me. She thought I was Grandpa.”

Kate gave a little giggle. “That’s such a surprise? You’ve seen the pictures when they were young. You look more like family than I do. I take too much after my Dad.”

“She … she touched me,” I said nervously.

“Touched you? How?”

I was still holding her, and she didn’t tense up or anything. No variation in her voice. If anything I thought she sounded a little amused.

“She rubbed my butt. Then she hugged me and kissed me. On the lips.”

“I hope you kissed her back,” Kate chuckled.

“I’m serious! It was weird. She kept calling me Bob, and she was teasing me something fierce. She brought me lunch, and talked about the old days, doing some work for someone called the Destins. She said she was going to make me my favorite, her roast.”

Kate wiggled a little, getting comfortable, pressing back against me. She pulled my hand up to her breast. “She seemed great tonight. The best in a while.”

I couldn’t disagree. “Yeah, I think it was the kids. When they came home, and she was cooking with them, she was back to normal. When I went into the kitchen, after changing out of my woodworking clothes, she called me Glover, and sent me out on an errand. Like nothing had happened.”

“Nothing had happened, baby,” she whispered. Her mischievous hand was between us, reaching for my cock. “It seems like it was good for her. You didn’t try to remind her who you were or anything did you? You went along?”

I stifled a moan as her hand wrapped around my shaft, tugging softly. “No. She was very happy. I don’t think I’d ever seen her in such a good mood, as she was in the workshop. I couldn’t mess with that.”

Kate turned and kissed me softly. Her hand was moving slowly, bringing me back to life. “Were you worried I’d get mad?” she asked.

“I kissed her, Kate. Twice. It wasn’t a friendly kiss either.”

She giggled, and kissed me again. It was almost hard enough to do something about it. “Don’t think twice about it. You would never cheat on me, Glover. I know that. You’re not that stupid boy I met all those years ago.”

“She touched me. There,” I whispered, nodding down toward where her hand was working.

“So? She thought you were Grandpa. You made her happy. That’s not a bad thing, Glover. Not at all.” Kate rolled onto her back, her hand tugging my cock, encouraging me to climb over her. She guided me into her, and sighed. “God, I love you so much,” she whispered.

I was quiet, slowly working my way into her, stroking smoothly, until she was taking my full length. “You’re really not mad?” I asked, slowing down, kissing her neck, her shoulders.

“Never. Not with Grandma. You and I both know it for what it is. Her taking a stroll down her old memories, helpless to do anything about it. You are trying to help, keep her happy. No, I’m not mad. Just don’t get too crazy, OK? You’d probably break her hip if you got carried away.” She giggled, wiggling her hips for me.

Then she dropped into a deeper drawl, sounding more like Grandma. “It’s been too long, Bob. Way too long,” she teased. “Do me, big guy. Nobody lays wood like you.”

I almost laughed. I lifted her legs, tilting them back, and showed her that Grandpa wasn’t the only one who could lay wood. “You’re rotten, you know that?” I told her.

“And you’re the best, Bob. Always. Fuck me, honey. Fuck me!”

I did, too caught up in it to talk anymore. I fucked her like my life depended on it, and she struggled to stay quiet, with the kids right next door. Afterward, she cuddled up to me, breathing hard. “Damn, that was good,” she mumbled.

“The best. You’re always the best, Kate.”

We didn’t mention Grandma anymore that night, although I can’t deny I wondered if Grandpa got a reaction out of her like I did.

* * *

The next day, it was back to normal. Grandma was the same as she’d been, more confused than anything during the day, and at her best with the kids. I may have avoided her a little at first, still uncomfortable with the way things had gone. But once it was obvious she didn’t know who I was, and didn’t mistake me for anyone else, it was business as usual.

It was three days later, before we had a partial repeat. I’d finished up my workload early, and was waiting to hear the results of testing after integration. I was certain my code was clean, having self-tested it thoroughly.

I was nervous, putting on my woodworking duds, but shut those feelings down, and returned to the workshop. The chair I’d been working on needed some additional work. The glue had set, and I cleaned up any that had leaked. I did a little more sanding, running my hands over the clear grain, feeling for imperfections. When I was happy with the results, I searched through the stains, trying to imagine what Grandpa would have wanted.

This time, when Grandma came out to the shop, there were no surprises. I was kind of expecting her. She approached quietly, standing to one side, looking over my work. Grandpa’s work to be honest.

“It’s beautiful, Bob,” she said. “You are the best you know. An artist. Nobody does half as good as you.”

“Not half as beautiful as you, Kate,” I answered.

She smiled, and her face lit up. “Is that my porch chair you promised me? That old one is due to be turned into firewood.”

I guess it was no longer the Conroy’s chair, and I couldn’t think of a better use for it. “What color do you want it? Painted, or stained?”

She approached, touching the wood of the chair, before leaning into me, and putting her arm around my waist. “I’m terrible at this. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a fib. You’re better at this part than me. It’s your chair, what do you want?”

She turned and kissed my shoulder, her hand sliding down and rubbing my ass again. “Stain. Nothing too dark. I want to see the wood, the grain, the knots. I want to be reminded of what it came from, plain wood, before you worked your magic. For me.”

She lifted my arm, and slid around in front of me, her arms encircling my waist. “I love you, Bob. Thank you for my chair.” Her eyes fairly glowed as she looked up into my face.

I put my arms around her, giving her a squeeze. “I love you, Kate.”

She stood on tiptoe, her neck arching, her lips tilted up toward me. How could I deny her? I kissed her. I held her and kissed her, and felt her tongue run along my lips. It was undeniably sexy. Her body pressed against mine, and shamefully I responded. She pulled away after a few seconds, grinning.

“Can I sit in it?”

“Of course. It is yours, after all.” I lifted it off the bench, and carried it out to the porch before putting it on the ground. I couldn’t help but notice how the big fan blew her dress up teasingly as she passed it. She walked around the chair, running her hands over the wood, before settling in. She wiggled around a little before looking up at me. “It’s perfect. What a surprise,” she said with a grin.

Then she was up on her feet. “Try it.”

I did, and had barely gotten seated before she was in my lap, giggling. Her arm went around my neck, and she pulled me back for a kiss. It was a long one, and her hands were mischievous, rubbing me, touching me. Her butt was wriggling, and I put my hand on her hip to hold her in place.

Then she was leaning against me, soft in my arms, talking about the business, the cabinets I needed to finish for the Simmons, getting the rest of the money out of the Andersons. She pulled my hand off of her hip, and startled me when she slipped it between her legs. Her little bit of a dress she’d worn for me was scooted up out of the way, and I was touching her panties. They were wet. How the hell was a seventy-something year old woman wet? I was curious, and rubbed her softly, feeling the moisture seep through the cotton material.

Her hand was misbehaving as well, rubbing my stiffness, casually, while she talked. She closed her eyes a couple of times, shifting her weight, pressing back against my teasing fingers.

Then she stopped, and took my face in her hands, kissing me fiercely. “Tonight, my handsome man. Everything.”

I couldn’t believe how worked up I felt. I wasn’t thinking about my wife. I was imagining I was Grandpa, fifty years ago, with his beautiful horny wife in his lap, promising him the world.

Then she stiffened in my arms. I didn’t know what was wrong, until she sat up, straightening her dress. “Poop!” she growled. “I bet that’s Dan Simmons, come to check on his cabinets.” She gave me a quick hard kiss, then climbed out of my lap. “I’m making my buttermilk fried chicken tonight. And double biscuits. Don’t let Dan know you’ve been working on my chair, when you should be finishing his cabinets.”