Grampy Taught Me Everything I Know!
Written by
Donald Mallord
Copyright by DMallord, 2022, USA. All rights reserved.
9,684 MS Words
INTRODUCTION
This whimsical story is written from the point of view of a loving lass raised in a semi-reclusive lifestyle. Naïve, yet highly prone to an overly active imagination, she discovers the joys of nudity among her grandpa’s garden produce. She regales us with how she became so enamored with gerontophilic love; the love of the elderly as opposed to someone her own age. Her grandfather, in this case, and his vegetable garden education as he teaches her some of the facts of life.
Our protagonist, begins her story by recounting the impact of loved ones lost in a tragic accident, days before her twelfth birthday. It is a light brushstroke of how she came to focus so intently upon Grampy. Her budding sexual awareness, at eighteen years of age, leads her to explore her grandfather’s garden and…well you know how this is going to end! This is Literotica…after all! So, of course, she explores her beloved Grampy’s ‘cucumber.’ A number of scenes include a vivid imagination of Indian wind spirits coaxing her to explore her inner self. There is no truth to this story, by the way; just a fleeting thought leaking out from a head wound as I recuperate from a serious fall.
Author’s Acknowledgement
Kenjisato, a voluntary Literotica editor, provided a keen eye for corrections needed in this storyline. This story reads so much better for his efforts!
Sexual Content
The content of this story concerns an imaginative eighteen-year-old girl’s coming of age. She masturbates with garden vegetables and yearns for more, eventually planning to seduce her grandfather and explore what sex really is like. She gets a taste of cunnilingus as a prelude for further adventures with him–and the vegetables! There are some ‘F’ level vocabulary words used!
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Grampy Taught Me Everything I Know!
My paternal grandfather is the wisest, kindest, and most generous person in the universe. He taught me practically everything I know! Even my mom and his only son, my dad, said so! It had to be true then, just like they told me! Blessed with beauty, smart as Einstein, and as sweet as grandma’s homemade apple pie, is how he describes me to everyone who doesn’t already know me. Daily, I reveled in the truth of my grandfather’s conviction. Even though it was a truism, it consumed me, down into the palpitating depths of my glowing love for him! Every time I’d catch sight of his shiny dome, his Santa Claus beard and belly, I felt it tingling from the tips of my nips, right down to my painted toenails. I just knew every word from his lips was a slice of truth; dripping with ice cream and sprinkles. My heart would flutter like flowers springing from the ground after the spring rains, when his bright smile greeted my loving eyes. I love my grandpa…’to the moon and back,’ just like my Grandma May used to say. I loved her that much, too!
She and Grandpa had meticulously planned their bucket list: retire early, travel the world, come home, and turn the four acres behind their manicured retirement home into a prize-winning vegetable and floral garden. Grandpa, I was told, would manage the veggies and Grammie would tend the flowers; cutting them and selling them at the roadside stand. Grandpa had meticulously designed the stand and my daddy was going to help build it when they came home from their journey around the world. Of course, they didn’t need the money! Grandpa had wisely taken care of that! The roadside stand was just a sideline for helping them stay active and mobile. As for the flowers, they would give Grammie some chitchat time with passers-by. Knowing her, she would have just as likely painted her sign “Flowers! A Dozen for a Smile!” and given them away to anyone kind enough to stay a while and talk about anything at all.
Those grand plans came crashing down on the day before my twelfth birthday. Grammie had a doctor’s appointment that morning. Daddy volunteered to take her, as he was all thumbs with a hammer. [Grammie had confided in me, that my Grandpa’s building genes had inadvertently skipped my daddy.] You see, Grandpa was busying himself in our backyard, next door to his home, building a new swing for my party, scheduled that next afternoon. Mom was bustling about the house with preparations and my daddy was, as Grammie used to say, ‘About as helpful as teats on a boar hog,’ whatever that meant! When it came to hammering a nail, he would inevitably hit the wrong one! Boy, did I learn a lot of new vocabulary, over the years; whenever he chanced to swing a hammer at something involving a nail!
For example, I learned the ‘F’ word from one episode as he wound up with a blackened thumbnail after that effort. Mom really got after him for that! I had the impression from then on, that the ‘F’ word was only to be associated with pain due to getting your nails hammered. Of course, it didn’t, but I got that lesson-learned correction much later from the kids at school. Not that I went to ‘regular school.’ That happened much later.
Dad and Grammie rounded the bend at the old railroad crossing; I was told that day. The signal light was out. People figured Daddy and Grammie were so busy gabbing or laughing about something that they missed sight of the train being so damn, damn close. It was a closed casket affair. When no one was looking, I tried to peek but the top wouldn’t open.
My swing set didn’t get finished that month. My twelfth birthday came and went; without the party or presents. Mommy and Grandpa looked like they had aged twenty years each as I looked up. I recall their solemn, sleep-deprived faces and the tears in Mommy’s eyes while I sat in the church pew next to them. I couldn’t even get a smile out of either one of them–forever, it seemed–as the months passed. I was a bit worried about Mother during that time. The doctor told me Mom was in a state of shock, still setting a plate for Daddy at each meal; he said she would get over that–eventually. Grandpa didn’t fare much better; spending his time sitting in his Adirondack-style rocker on the back porch.
There were two rockers side by side: one for him and Grammie’s rocker, with her special fluffy cushion, close enough still to hold hands by his side. When Grammie was still alive, I’d lay up across from them in the wooden porch swing. It was suspended by rope from the porch rafters, and stretched out upon it, I would soak in my grandfather’s tales. They held me entranced through long, balmy, summer evenings and long into many mild, autumn nights. He always listened earnestly to my childish bantering and wax philosophically on my thoughts as though I were an adult. He taught me about life on that back porch. Grammie, of course, would correct some of his more errant thoughts; but just those she thought might leave me with some wrong, indelible impressions on life. Both of them made me feel equal, made me feel special, and most of all made me feel loved.