Granny's Dirty Photographs

A quick scene I pushed out today in which Robert has filched some dirty pictures taken years before of his grandmother. She discovers the photos are missing, and being a feisty, no-nonsense kind of lady she confronts him head-on.

I hope you enjoy the piece. I did it on the fly but I hope there aren't too many glitches in it. Please forgive any errors that remain.

As usual I ask for feedback. You can send feedback by email, PM on Lit, or you can leave a comment. If you want a response to feedback then email is best – with an address.

OK, I'll STFU and get this sown the wire. Again, I hope you enjoy the tale. There's potential for a continuation if you, the reader, would like some more, but you have to let me know.

GA – Langkawi, Malaysia – 18th of December 2012.

She confronted me in the kitchen. "Where are they?" she asked, stern-faced, arms folded.

One look told me she was angry.

My insides slid with greasy foreboding – I'd been greedy, held on to them for a day longer than I should have. Now I'd been caught out.

"What?" I said in response, but even as I tried to bluff it out I knew my grandmother wouldn't let it go. "Where's what, Gran?"

"You know damn well what, Robert," she snapped. She knew I'd done it, of course she knew, she could see the guilt in my burning cheeks and shifting eyes. "There's been nobody else in the house for days. Elaine's been on holiday for a week; the only other person to come in here is you. I know they were there on Tuesday ..." My grandmother held her arms up and fixed me with one of her uncompromising expressions. Having been a teacher for over thirty years she had the look down to a fine art. "Today's Saturday, Robert, and unless someone broke in and took them, targeted them specifically, the only possible culprit is you." My grandmother's finger jabbed in my direction.

It was one of those moments of humiliation when you wish the ground would just open up.

What had possessed me to take them? Why didn't I just look and put them back? I'd intended to return them as soon as I'd taken copies but I hadn't done it in time. What an idiot, a complete and utter twat. I should have known better than to think Gran wouldn't confront me about it; she isn't the type to let such a huge transgression pass by without speaking out – even if the occasion would be hugely embarrassing for both of us.

Looking at the floor, cheeks burning, I mumbled, "They're at home, in my bag, I was going to put them back. Honest."

"Sit down," my grandmother ordered after a few moments silence. Still avoiding her eye I slid the ladder-backed chair along the flagstones of the kitchen floor and sat down with my elbows resting on the deal table. She hit me with questions. "Why did you take them, Robert? And just what were you doing to find them? They weren't somewhere where anyone could just stumble across them, were they? You had to have been looking; had to have been snooping about."

"I'm so sorry, Gran," I mumbled, chin on my chest.

The way she'd spoken that word – snooping – I could hear the contempt dripping from every syllable. I've always been curious, inquisitive, or maybe, simply, downright nosey. I couldn't resist the temptation to pry into the intimate corners of my grandmother's private things when she was out, I was meant to be fitting a satellite dish to her house but decided to have a nose about while the opportunity was there. Being in her bedroom when I shouldn't have been gave me a buzz; I got a thrill from the possibility, remote as it was, of being caught. I don't know what I'd expected to find but coming across a couple of dozen dirty photos certainly never occurred to me.

At first I couldn't believe my eyes, my grandmother is usually prim and proper, not a prude – as the photos proved – but to me she always came across as straight-laced; she even frowned if I said the word 'shit' in her presence. Initially I'd wondered why gran had a stash of nude pictures, what would she get out of looking at some naked woman? And then, as the need to touch myself surged through me, I realised that the subject in the pictures was her – The girl in the photos was my own grandmother!

Now, Gran is still pretty fit. She's fifty-seven, and I know that because she was nineteen when she had my mother, and my mother was nineteen when she had me, and since I'm now nineteen ...

Gran has matured in the graceful, elegant way that a movie star might, in a kind of Helen Mirren style, and I could see quite clearly, now that I recognised her, that the girl in the photos was her. As I flicked through the stack of pictures I could hear my own laboured breathing, I was so turned on by my discovery that it didn't register at the time that this was my mother's mother I was all fired up over; all I knew was I had a cock like iron and I needed to pull it.

I took two photos and rushed into the bathroom. Then, with the pictures on the floor in front of me I knelt and unzipped my jeans.

"Sexy," I grunted, tugging hard at my cock, eyes glued to my grandmother's big breasts and the tangle of her pubic bush as she posed wide-legged on some ancient bed. "Fucking sexy," I moaned, still yanking hard. When I came, the spunk gushing out of me, I somehow managed to catch most of it in a wad of toilet tissue I had handy for that sole purpose.

Then, after a bit of a wipe-up, I tossed the clump of soggy tissue into the toilet bowl and flushed the evidence. A kind of madness overwhelmed me, and Instead of cooling my ardour my orgasm had merely fanned the flames of lust, and that's when I made to insane decision to take the pictures away with me. I had some lunatic idea that defied common sense about copying the photos on the computer scanner at home and then replacing them in the suitcase.

Only that hadn't happened and now I'd been accused outright by the outraged victim.

"Why did you take them" my grandmother asked, her tone softening a little. "What on Earth were you ..." She paused, a hand going to her mouth. "Oh my God!" she cried. "You haven't shown them to anyone, have you? My God, Robert, tell me nobody else has seen them."

"No!" I blurted, and finally dared to look at her face. "I swear, Gran, nobody else knows about them. Only me. I haven't shown them to anyone."

"Oh, thank God," my grandmother gasped. "That's good news. Oh dear, I don't know what I'd do if anyone else saw them. I need a drink."

She pushed her chair back from the table and went to the fridge. Gran poured gin into two glasses, added ice and, after pouring in a level of tonic water into each, handed me one.

I don't like gin but sipped at my drink all the same.

"So why did you take the pictures, Robert?" she asked again. When I just blinked a few times and looked at the table I think the penny dropped for her. "You ...?" she gasped. "You mean you looked at them and ...?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I can't explain it. I'm so ashamed. But ... but you were so beautiful, Gran. I mean, you still are, but ... but ... the girl in the photos ..."

"You shouldn't have done it, Robert," my grandmother admonished gently. "You shouldn't have been in my bedroom in the first place, but to do that while looking at pictures of me ..." She shook her head sadly. "I'm your grandma, Robert. You shouldn't think of me that way."

"I know, Gran," I replied, my voice a pathetic whine. "I'm so sorry."

"So you keep saying," the woman responded curtly. "You're sorry, yes, I know. Now, where are my pictures? I want my property returning, Robert."

"I told you, Gran, they're in my bag, at home."

Our house is a couple of miles from my Grandmother's. We live on a new-build estate close to the town centre while gran's place is the same big detached house that my mother and her sister grew up in. My grandmother lives in the house alone, my grandfather having run off with another teacher the same year I was born. I go round a couple of times a week to carry out any general maintenance that needs doing, or to run an errand or two. Gran's other regular visitor is Elaine, a colleague of hers who only lives two doors down the road.

"Well, will you bring them back as soon as you can? Later on today, or tomorrow at the absolute latest."

I nodded and drained the rest of the gin. "Tomorrow, Gran," I agreed, and then added, "I'd better finish off that gutter." I left my grandmother sitting at the table with her thoughts.

***

When I got home I spread the pictures across my bed and, unable to resist the urge, pulled myself off while looking at them again. God, but my grandmother was hot stuff when she was younger. I tugged on my dick and stared at her face as she smiled so confidently into the camera. I wondered who had taken the pictures – Granddad, or someone else? And what had happened immediately afterwards? Had my grandmother spread her legs and flaunted herself at the photographer? Had she offered her cunt to whoever had taken the photos? I could just about imagine her doing it, asking to be licked or fucked; I could hear her voice in my head, and the vulgarity of the words from my grandmother's pure mouth thrilled me.

"You sexy old bitch," I gasped when the goo spurted out of me. "I wish I could take pictures of you now. I'd suck your tits and lick your pussy until you begged me to stick my cock into you."

But when my boiling lust cooled I felt so ashamed of those thoughts and words. What the hell was wrong with me? Carnal thoughts about a fifty-seven year-old woman were bad enough, but my own grandmother ...? Was I sick, some kind of pervert?

Yet, the next morning, despite the self-loathing of the night before, I still copied the images so I'd have a permanent memento to masturbate over after I'd returned the originals.

"You brought them?" Grandma asked as soon as I set foot in the kitchen.

I nodded and slopped my backpack down on the kitchen table. "In here," I said.

My grandmother reached for the bag and unzipped it. She pulled the bulky envelope from within and checked inside. Then, to my surprise, she tipped the photos onto the table.

Picking one at random, my grandmother studied the image for a few seconds. "I was a looker in my day," she murmured. Then, fixing her eyes on me, peering over the rims of her spectacles, she added, "Don't you think so, Robert? Wasn't I a beauty?"

Speechless for a moment, I nodded. "You were very beautiful, Gran," I managed to croak a few seconds later. I looked at her, some indefinable emotion swelling in my throat, and from nowhere, I uttered the same words as the previous day. "You still are, Gran. You're still beautiful."

I felt a yearning for her, my own grandmother, and at that second I felt I could just go to her and take hold of her hand before staring into her eyes and kissing her mouth. My cock was huge and uncomfortable pressed inside my jeans, and I wanted nothing more than to unzip and haul forth my tumescence for her to see.

A strange atmosphere settled between us while I looked at her and she stared back at me.

"Do you think so, Robert?" I heard my grandmother whisper. Her voice sounded so far away, I thought for a moment that I'd imagined that she'd spoken. "Do you really think I'm still beautiful?"

Nothing else in the world existed in those few moments, everything in the universe had condensed – nothing existed except for my grandmother and me and that kitchen.

I swear, in that twilight zone as I moved towards her, I swear my grandmother tilted her face towards me in readiness for a kiss. We were a foot apart, then six inches, she took hold of both my hands in hers, I saw her lips, coloured pink with her favourite lipstick, part as I leaned in to taste her.

"Hello! Anybody home? Sarah? Are you there?"

We both jumped as though a huge burst of electric current had zapped between us when Elaine announced her arrival from the back doorstep.

With great presence of mind my grandmother scooped up the photos and shoved them into my backpack. "You're back!" she exclaimed just as Elaine appeared through the back door. "We were just about to have a cup of tea," she added, "but now you're here it's a good excuse for a proper drink." Without looking at me directly my grandmother asked, "Don't you think so, Robert? I could use a drink. How about you?"

My hands and legs trembled with the closeness of almost being caught by Elaine and the possibility of what might have been. I nodded. "OK, Gran," I warbled, my voice tremulous. And even though I wasn't a fan of the gin, I swallowed it down when it arrived a few minutes later.

***

I'd sat at the kitchen table and listened to Elaine tell us all about her holiday, or rather I'd sat and not heard a word Elaine had to say I was so overwhelmed by what had almost happened with my grandmother. Normally I would have enjoyed being in Elaine's company, she's twenty years younger than my grandmother and a terrific flirt. I've got the hots for Elaine, and I'd like to think that if I made a real move on her she wouldn't be averse to a little hanky panky.

That had been a week ago and I hadn't been back to visit my grandmother since. Finally I decided that it hadn't happened, that coming close to kissing my grandmother had been just my mind playing tricks. I'd been so wound up by the whole photographs thing that I'd imagined her pink lips coming to meet mine.

Every time I thought about the scene in the kitchen at gran's house I winced with chagrin. What if I'd actually kissed her and she'd recoiled in horror? She probably already thought I was some kind of perv for wanking off to pictures of her anyway. No, in the end I realised that Elaine had saved me from making a complete arse of myself, for if she hadn't arrived just at the right time I might have earned myself a place in my grandmother's bad books forever. I mean, how would I come back from laying a kiss on my own mother's mother?

I let it lie for another week, deciding that I'd go over to see gran at the weekend, apologise for purloining the pictures in the first place, beg her forgiveness, and then maybe concentrate my attention on Elaine. OK, Elaine herself is twenty years my senior, but she's a sexy lady – good-looking and shapely – who seemed to enjoy the younger man.

"Look who it is," my grandmother said archly when I appeared a little shame-facedly at her door. "It's been a while, Robert," she chided gently.

Despite my plan to apologise and then head up the road to Elaine's house – I had decided on the bold approach and was going to ask her outright if she'd like to meet for a drink that evening – I still experienced a frisson of desire for my grandmother. I couldn't get those damned pictures out of my head.

"I thought I might give you a little time to ... get over what I did," I said. "You know, think about it all without me being around."

"I've been thinking about it quite a lot as it happens," she replied, moving away from me and through the house into her lounge room. "Come on through, Robert," she called. "Take a cold drink from the fridge if you want one."

I opened the fridge and pulled out a Coke. Popping the tab I then walked through to the lounge. My grandmother had settled into one of the two comfortable chairs; I sat in its twin opposite her.

"Thanks," I said, raising the can.

"Like I said," gran continued. "I've been thinking about the whole thing quite a lot." She gave me her direct, schoolmarm look, the one where she peered sternly over the rims of her specs. "And I wondered, Robert, if you'd tell me about ..." Here she paused and, for one of the few times ever that I've known her, appeared flustered and unsure. "Well ..." she continued, actually squirming in her seat while she tackled the problem of what to say. "When you looked at the pictures. Do I understand you correctly? Did you masturbate, Robert? That's what I'm trying to ask."

My face burned but I suppose she deserved an answer no matter how humiliating the truth might be to me.

I nodded. "Yes, Gran." I swigged at the cola, suddenly thirsty as hell. Even a gin would have been welcome about then.

"You looked at the photos and ... and ..."

"Yes," I hissed, my eyes squeezed tightly closed. "I did." Then I opened my eyes and looked at her, leaning forward in the chair. "Haven't we gone over this already?" I asked, eyes beseeching her to stop tormenting me.

"I just wanted to know for sure, Robert," my grandmother said quietly. "And did you mean what you said, just before Elaine arrived – Do you think I'm still beautiful?"

"Oh God, Gran," I sighed, slumping back in my seat. "Yes, I do," I admitted in a groan. "I can still see you as you were in those photos. You haven't changed all that much."

"Oh, I have, Robert," gran said mysteriously, a knowing smirk tilting the corners of her mouth. Then, without giving me any time to fully analyze her meaning, she went on quickly. "Tell me, did you take copies of the photos?"

My mouth opened and closed a few times as I sat there stunned. How had she guessed?

As though she could read my mind, my grandmother then said, "I do know a few things about computers and scanners, Robert." She fixed me with a look of what appeared to be wry amusement. "I know you've got a scanner at home. It doesn't take much imagination to conclude you might have taken copies." She rose to her feet and I, in an automatic response, copied the action. "All I ask is that you don't show them to anyone else. Ever. Other than that you can keep them for your ... personal use."

"No," I blurted, horrified that she'd sussed me out. I'd been caught again! Oh, the embarrassment. How could I look her in the eye ever again knowing that she knew I had the pictures? "I'll get rid of them, Gran," I babbled. "I won't keep them. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, Robert," my grandmother sighed. She shook her head and looked at me with what I took to be a pitying expression. "It doesn't matter, dear. Don't get all agitated."

She left the room and I heard her footsteps on the stairs as I collapsed into the seat behind me. I finished my drink without registering anything and placed the empty can on a side table. Then I sat there with my thoughts going round in circles.

I didn't have a clue how long I sat in that chair. It could have been five minutes, it might have been ten, hell, for all I knew it could have been half an hour, but however long it was I couldn't get the thoughts of my transgression out of my mind. To say I was ashamed was putting it mildly; I had wild fantasies of leaving the country, maybe joining the French Foreign Legion, perhaps after a few years fighting someone else's wars I could come home and face her.

"Robert?" I heard my grandmother call. "Are you still downstairs?"

Sighing heavily I rose and walked to the door. Tilting my face up the stairs, I called out, "Yes, Gran, I'm still here."

"Come up here," she replied. "I've found something you might like to see."

Leaden anxiety dropped into the pit of my stomach. What now? Surely not more pictures? I couldn't deal with this any longer. I had to get out of there or I feared I might go insane.

"I ... I don't want to, Gran," I called out, my voice shaky. "I think I'd just better go."

All I wanted was to go home and hide in my room for ... oh, say ten or twenty years, but my grandmother's voice grew insistent.

"Come upstairs, Robert. I really think you'll like it."

So, with my heart heavy with its burden of guilt, and with a deep foreboding rolling in my stomach, I gripped the banister and stepped onto the first tread of the stairs.

When I got to the door of my grandmother's room I stopped, my mouth falling open.

"Come in, Robert," my grandmother said in greeting.

"Fucking hell," I murmured, my brain refusing to believe the message from my eyes.

She stepped a few paces towards me on a pair of towering heels. "Am I still beautiful?" my grandmother breathed.