The Injury

a Short Story

Copyright © 2003, Kellis


“Do you need to pee, Davey?”

I realized why she thought so.  Sure enough my dick was poking up under the sheet.  I felt heat on my face so turned my head away.

Her slippers whisked on the carpet, followed by the rasp of the urinal coming down from the shelf.  The sheet slithered off me and she grabbed my dick.  It was hard as a rock — well, as a rubber mallet.  I guess she understood about that.  She didn’t try to bend it down between my legs.  She just laid the bottle on my belly and put the knob at its neck.

“Go ahead, Davey.  Cut loose.”

I had been thinking — wishfully — about scoring with Christine at Janey’s party … and about not being able to jerk off now for three weeks.  The awful hurting from the accident was mostly all gone, except the pain of lying in one position with both arms and one leg in casts, and even that faded away when I imagined fucking Christine or recalled the different ways I used to jerk off.  I’d been thinking of that a lot!

“Let it go, Davey.  I don’t have all day.”

Her fingers peeled back the foreskin.  I felt a strong thrill and my dick jumped a little.  She said encouragingly, “That’s it, Davey.  Go ahead.”

I held my breath, knowing what was about to happen if she moved her hand again.  She brought the bottle a little closer.  I felt the cold metal on my knob.  Her fingers drew back further.

I couldn’t help groaning at the first sweet squirt … or twisting my hips to pull the shaft back through her fingers on the second one.  “Davey!” she exclaimed.

I snapped my head around to look at her.  She was looking at me, eyes huge behind the thick lenses.  Then they softened to a twinkle.

“You poor lad,” she murmured and to my absolute surprise began to jack my dick with one hand while the other slid the urinal away, letting the remaining jets fall on my belly.  I took a few extra breaths while my whole insides seemed to spurt out of me.  God, it was good!

When it finally quit, she took the urinal away.  I heard water in the bathroom.  She returned with a hot washcloth and a towel and cleaned up my belly.  I felt a wider heat.

“You’re blushing, Davey.  Are you embarrassed?  Don’t be.  I know you couldn’t help it.”

She rolled the washcloth into the towel and took hold of my dick again.  My chin dropped at what happened next.  She milked it!  A string of come rolled out the end.  She caught it on the fingers of her other hand — and popped them directly into her mouth.

She shook her head.  “Davey, I can’t believe I didn’t realize what you needed.”

Suddenly I had to know.  “You don’t mind tasting come, Granny?”

Mind it?  Oh, god, no, not at all.”  She milked me again.  “That was such a lot!”

Abruptly she bent over the bed.  Her mouth closed around my dick and sucked hard.  God, what a pang of unbearable pleasure!  “Don’t!” I cried involuntarily, arching my back.

She released me immediately and turned to study my face.  A small white dollop trembled on her bottom lip.  She licked it off.  “That’s the best way to clean a cock.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “Did you stop me because it felt too good or what?”

I’d heard of incest but who cared about that?  “You were … it was too tight.”

She grinned and shook her head.  “I’d forgotten about young guys.”

She took up the wadded towel and pulled the sheet back over me.  I had a sudden sense of lost opportunity.

“Uh, Granny, I don’t mean …  Ah, if you wanted to …”

She chuckled, standing beside the bed.  “How long have you been fooling with yourself, Davey?”


“You know.  Jacking off.”

“Years,” I admitted after deciding that she probably knew all about boys.  She had raised one of her own and three of her sister’s.

“How old when you started?”

“Mm.  Eleven.”

“Who showed you how?”

I started to lie, but what the hell: she had just sucked on my dick!  “A buddy at school.”

“How many times with girls?”

“Oh, lots.”

“How many?”

I took a deep breath.  “Just one.  Almost.”

“Well, at fifteen that’s not so bad.  You’re a pretty lad.  Or you were.  Now for a while with all your scars you’ll be more interesting than pretty.”

She took the towel away.  I lay quietly, my dick still dribbling a little as it shrank, and went over the last few minutes in growing astonishment.  Granny was Mom’s mother, 56 years old.  My grandfather had died early and so had my stepgrandfather, a few years after I was born; I didn’t remember either man.  She never married again, though I don’t know why.  She was still a good-looking woman in the pictures I’ve seen of her forties.  Now her short hair was gray at the temples, she had a few wrinkles and a fattish belly and she didn’t stand up as straight as she used to, again comparing the pictures, but she still looked pretty good.

She came to nurse me after I got home from the hospital so Mom could go back to work.  I’d been home over a week.  Granny had been feeding me, bathing me, helping me piss — even with a hard-on — and sticking the bedpan under me to shit, then washing my asshole.  She had played cards with me, holding mine up so I could pick one, and remembered to change the channel when my favorite programs were on TV.  She was a damn nice lady!

And now …  Now, by god, she had sucked on my dick!  I couldn’t believe it.  What had possessed her to do that?  I never heard of such a thing, even from the biggest liars in school.  With a chuckle I realized why not.  Who’d ever believe a grandma sucking anybody's dick — much less her own grandson’s?  Mine still tingled whenever I thought of her mouth like a tight fist on the knob.  But I also felt a distinct relief.  My balls, or whatever it is that fills up when you go without coming, had needed emptying bad.  I closed my eyes to live it all again and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up to a kiss on the forehead and could tell it was Mom from what was left of her cologne after a day in the office.  When my eyes popped open, she smiled and asked, “How’s my ex-dirt-biker today?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“I’ll bet you need this.”  She held up the urinal.


Down came the sheet.  This time the urinal would work just fine between my legs.  She bent over me and put it in place.  The second woman in one day took hold of my dick.  As the piss flowed I wondered idly how many times women might handle their sons: probably a lot in early childhood but practically never later on.  The same, only less so, would be true for their grandsons.  I supposed they thought of it as a chore.  Except Granny, maybe.

Mom’s expression — bored, let’s get it over with — changed.  Her lips tightened and narrowing eyes swung around to study me.  Her nose wrinkled visibly.  Did the piss stink?  Or was she reacting to something else?

She shook off the last drops into the bottle and set it on its flat bottom upon the table.  “Lift up your hips,” she commanded.  When I did so, she bent very low, peering under my ass, running her hand up and down the bed sheet.  Finally she rose up with brows drawn in puzzlement that changed to a crafty look.

“Davey, did anything happen in here this afternoon?”

I put on my blankest face.  “Happen?  In here?”  Yeah, Mom, something I really hoped would happen again!  “You mean on TV?”

She sniffed, took the urinal, drew the sheet back over me and turned away to the bathroom.

That’s when I saw Granny sitting in her rocker under the reading lamp.  She asked, “What is it, Meg?”

Mom paused at the bathroom door.  “Go over there and sniff around his hips.”

But Granny didn’t move.  “You know my nose isn’t what it used to be.  What did you smell?”


“Oh, did you!”  Granny chuckled a bit.  I raised my head to give her a good look but she was watching Mom.

“Unambiguously.  How could that be, Mother?  He can’t reach it!”

Granny’s round shoulders rose in a little shrug.  “You’re an educated woman.  Have you never heard of spontaneous emission?”

“Yes, I’ve heard about it.  But I could find no sign of it.”

“Oh?  What did you look for?”

“Stains on the bedsheet.”

“Maybe it was just a drop or two.  A healthy young man can emit without orgasm, you know.  The excess production simply leaks when no other relief is available, and Davey is about as far from relief as he can get.”

“Is he?” asked Mom.  She stood in the doorway holding a sloshing urinal, staring fixedly at Granny with a strange expression.  I would have called it suspicion except for the sheer improbability of it all.

Granny stood up and came across to my bed.  “How do you feel, Davey?”

“Hungry,” I told her.  I knew it must be nearly suppertime.

“I suppose you are,” she said.  “How about that lasagna dinner you like so well?”


“Then I’ll warm it up.”

Both women left me alone.  I heard pans clatter and unintelligible voices in the kitchen.  After a while they returned, pushing the serving tray that Mom had bought because of my accident.  They turned on the TV for the evening news while we ate, the women taking turns putting the food in my mouth.

I pissed twice more before they went to bed.  Both times Mom caught it, which surprised me.  An even bigger surprise awaited me in the morning.  She alone fed me breakfast and insisted on giving me my bath, even though it was barely light outside.

I wondered what she and Granny had discussed after supper, which led me to dwell on what they might have said.  I couldn’t help what happened next.  By the time she was ready to wash my dick, it was more than half hard.  I felt her hand tremble when she took it up and skinned it back.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed.

She jumped.  “What’s the matter, son?”

“That … wash rag is rough.”


“On the … the …”

“Oh.”  She dipped her hand in the basin and rubbed my purple knob gently between her wet fingers and thumb.  Of course the dick sprang up the rest of the way.  Her hands dropped it as if it were red hot.

“But it’s got to be cleaned,” she murmured to herself.

I felt embarrassed for her.  “It’s clean enough.  I need the bedpan.”

Which was only the truth.  She soon departed after washing my asshole, which had dropped a foot-long turd in the pan.  In another departure from custom she left the house without kissing me good-bye.

Granny came in shortly after the door slammed.  “Well, hot-shot, how’re you feeling this morning?”

I grinned at her.  “Not as good as I felt yesterday.”

She chortled.  “Oh, that was nothing!”

“Mom gave me my bath.”

“Yes, I know.  And fed you breakfast.  What’s the matter: didn’t she do a good job?”

“I’m not sure.  Can I talk to you, Granny?”

“Talk to me?”  She stood beside the bed with her arms crossed and grinned hugely.  “After yesterday you have to ask?”

“All right.  What would you do if you were washing a boy and his dick got hard?”

“Like yours has been doing right along?”

“It has?”

“You know it has!  It’s gotten harder every day.  What did she do?”

“Dropped it like a hot potato!”

Granny barked a laugh.

I continued, “Is Mom afraid of dicks?”

“Not of dicks, Davey: of herself.”


“When your parents separated last year, your mother plunged into her work.  She’s had no social life at all.  You have a very manly cock there, my lad.  I know exactly what she was feeling when she handled it.”


Hunger is probably the closest word.  And that would scare any decent mother.”

I thought about it.  “But not a grandmother?”

“It depends on the grandmother.”

I thought about that too.  “Don’t you have a social life, Granny?”

She grinned. “Three old men come to call now and then.”


Her grin widened.  “Don’t sound so disappointed.  Yesterday gave you ideas, did it?”

“God, Granny!”

She laughed and sat down on the edge of my bed after throwing back the top sheet.  Her hand rubbed down my belly and caught my dick, half-hard again.  “But I still appreciate a sleek young body and an uncut cock with its nutty smegma odor and rich jism — even when they belong to my grandson in traction.  You are so pretty, Davey!  You’re the spitting image of your grandfather Ellis, and I loved him best of all.”

Her hand felt good on my dick.  She worked the foreskin slowly back and forth and winked at me.  “Thanks for not telling on me last night.”

“Huh!  No chance of that.”

“Why not?”

“I knew she wouldn’t like it.  I was afraid of what she’d do.  But she guessed, didn’t she?”

“She knows me, Davey.”

I studied her twinkling eyes.  What and how does she know, I wanted to ask.  “What did she say?”

“She insisted on attending you herself this morning.  But she has to go to work, or thinks she does, which may be even worse.  So here I am after all, feeling of this sweet thing.  Do you want me to stay, Davey?”

My dick was almost painfully hard.  “Oh, yes, Granny!”

“That’s what I like: enthusiasm.”  Her face grew solemn.  “And here’s something Ellis liked.”

Down went her mouth around my dick again, but this time it was gentle.  Her head bobbed slowly.  I felt her tongue rasping the knob.  Soon the fluids rose on sheer sweetness.  I thought of warning her but selfishly forbore.  She showed no surprise, however, merely freezing with half the shaft out of sight.  Her cheeks ballooned away from the sensitive knob but her tongue touched the spurting eye delicately.  I had never in my life felt anything to compare with the loveliness of that moment.

The quantity must nearly have matched yesterday’s.  Why not?  I had dreamed of this all night.  But nothing got away from her.  In the silent house I heard her swallow.  Without releasing the toy she turned her face toward me.  Her eyes were smug.

“Oh, god!” I groaned at the resulting slight compression on the knob.  But this time it was bearable — and delicious.  Looking into my eyes, she fingered the shaft and licked the head clean, sucking up the dribble.

“Oh, god!” I groaned again in unmatched pleasure.  Her eyes twinkled.  She held the knob loosely in her lips, kissing it and licking up the last drops to little pangs of pleasure.  A wet tongue sure beats a dry fist!

She kept on until my dick had stopped twitching.  Then she took it mostly back into her mouth and gave it one hard suck, like yesterday except this time with only a painless thrill.

She raised her head and grinned with a clean mouth.  “I expect you found out what Ellis liked about it, didn’t you?”

“Oh, god, Granny!”

She crawled toward my face, taking care not to bump the cast on my shoulder, and leaned over me.  “I want a kiss.”

Close up I could see the wrinkles and fine white hair on her upper lip.  I smelled the come and felt a little queasy, but I knew that pretty soon I’d want another blowjob, so I didn’t turn away.  She thrust her tongue between my lips.  I didn’t taste anything — but I already knew that it would be mostly tasteless.  Tentatively I let my tongue answer hers.  We swapped spit and come for a while.  Actually it was nice.  When she finally rose up our chins were wet.

And I was curious about something else.  “Do you have false teeth, Granny?”

“Mostly.  Could you tell?”

“I … thought they moved.”

“You have a strong tongue.”  She winked.  “Next time I’ll show you an advantage they have.”

“Strong tongues?”

“False teeth.  That is, bare gums.”

She got off the bed and pulled the sheet over me.  Glancing at her wristwatch, she said, “It’s almost time for MTV.  Or had you rather take a nap?”

I was feeling so relaxed.  I just smiled at her and closed my eyes.


* * *


She woke me up after an hour or two.  Her hand lifted my head.  “Drink this.”

It was a glass of ice water with a bent hospital straw.  I took a few sips.

“Drink more,” she urged.  “You need fluids.”

So I drank most of it while she held the glass.  “MTV is still on,” she noted, taking the glass away.

“I’d rather talk to you.”

“All right.”  She turned more to face me and pulled her knee up on the bed.  It poked out from under her flowery housecoat: bare skin with no hosiery.  “What’s on your mind, hotshot?”

“You said something this morning about Mom: ‘She knows me,’ when I asked if she guessed what happened yesterday.  What did you mean?”

Granny lowered her eyes.  Slowly she shook her head but looked up with a twinkle.  “She doesn’t believe in spontaneous emission.”

I chuckled.  “Does anyone?”

“Oh, yes.  I could show you in the books.”

“But Mom didn’t believe it because she knows you.  Knows what?”

Granny took a deep breath and looked away.  “You can probably guess I like men, Davey.  I always have since I was a little girl.  After Ellis died Meg spied on me for several years before I caught on.  She saw me with many men, some of them hardly more than boys.  Last night she reminded me of my ‘weakness,’ as she calls it.”

“Spied on you?  What did she see, Granny?”

“You know what she saw! — often the same as I did this morning.”

“Do you … really like to do that?”

“Yes, I do.  I love a cock in my mouth or anywhere else.  It has such an interesting shape, meant to fit in a woman — especially the head of it.  And it feels good.”

“But don’t you like it better where it belongs?”

“Maybe I do.  I’ll get one there when I go home.”

“When is that?”

“After your casts come off — unless you’re tired of me already.”

“God, Granny!  I wish you could … move in with us!  Why don’t you?”

The woman chuckled.  “In the first place, your mother and I don’t always get along.”

I thought about it.  “And you’d miss your three old men.  Couldn’t I … help you the same way they do?”

“It’s sweet of you to think of me, Davey.”

“I mean it.  Maybe I could … do for you like you did for me.”

“I don’t see how, not the way it’s usually done.”

My accident happened when the edge of the trail crumbled.  The bike wasn’t going fast until it struck the pile of fallen rocks 100 feet below.  My shoulder and arm bones had been pulverized, the doctor said, along with my right leg.  The helmet saved me from a crushed skull and a broken neck, the main reason I was still alive.  My arms and shoulders were in one solid cast with hands free and sticking out on either side of the bed.  My leg cast was pulled up in traction.  The gashes and scrapes on my left leg were nearly healed.  The stitches had come out on my back and belly and I had a lot of scars.

But I had been thinking about it.  “You could maybe sit on my face.”

Her eyes flashed at me.  “What makes you think you’d like that?”

“Pictures … in Hustler.”

She chuckled and shook her head.  “It’s tempting, Davey, but your shoulder cast is in the way.”

“I bet it would hold your weight.”

“You think so?  Well, we could try it, if you wish.”  She chuckled again but with a different sound, almost as if she was embarrassed.


“I’ve thought about this too, and I’ve got a kinky idea.”

“Really?”  I wondered what might be kinky to her.  “Tell me.”

She pulled the sheet off me.  “Bend your left leg out at the knee.”

“Like this?”  My knee stuck out of the bed with my foot drawn up and resting on the knee part of the adjacent cast.

She cocked her head, glancing back and forth.  “I think it might work, Davey.  Hold on; I’ll be right back.”

I grunted.  I’m not going anywhere!”

Shortly she returned and opened a manicure kit on the bed beside me.  She took my unbound foot in hand and began to clip the toenails.

“This is a nice, clean foot, Davey.  Do your toes ever itch?”

“Itch?  No.”

“You’re in the habit of showering often, aren’t you?”

“Every day.  That is, I was.”

“That’s good for your feet — and other things.”

She cut the nails very close without hurting me.  “You’re super at this, Granny.”

She smiled.  “Thank you.  I know how to take care of a man.”

“You sure do!”

Her smile became a chuckle.  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, my lad!”

“Why’d you say it that way?”

“Naughty acts deserve naughty grammar, don’t you think?”

Her nail file worked on the rough edges.  It’s soothing to have someone’s hands on you, even on just one foot.

“There!” she said too soon, closing up the little case.

“Now you’ll get kinky?”

She laughed.  “Such eagerness!”  But she shook her head.  “After awhile.”

“Why wait?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see your mother slip through that door any minute now.”


“If she eats at work, maybe we can try it this afternoon.  Want the TV?”

But Mom came home to stay during lunch.


* * *


“Her car just turned down the street.”  Granny said in the doorway the next morning.

I grinned from ear to ear.

She laughed.  “From the look on your face you must be expecting Christmas.”

“And you’re Mrs. Santa Clause.”

She paused at the foot of my bed in her flowery robe and hair up in a bun.  “I do intend to show you Christmas.  Hmm.  Do the kids of the 21st Century still call it that?”

“Christmas?  What do you mean?”

“A woman’s hairy pubes.  I recall my grandmother saying, ‘If you sit like that in a few years, you’ll show Christmas,’ because I had my knees drawn up.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t either, though it can look a bit like a small inverted cedar tree.  When I asked, Grandma said the men called it Christmas because it was their favorite gift.”

“Your granny said that?”

“I take after her.  I told her nobody could see through my jeans — which may be why you don’t hear it anymore.  But I saw Christmas one Christmas morning when my artless daughter-in-law sat on the floor in her nightgown and drew up her knees to rest her elbows.  So it’s still possible despite jeans for women.  Want to see Christmas?”

“You bet.”

She smiled indulgently, opened the housecoat and clambered up on my bed on her knees.  I raised my head as far as I could.  I had seen the girls in bikinis and photos in Playboy.  Granny was naked under the robe and a lot different from those others.  The big brown nipples dangled almost to her belly button.  The belly skin had faint vertical streaks.  I’d heard of them: stretch marks.  A tracery of blue veins underlay the skin on her big tits and thighs.  The “hairy pubes” she’d mentioned weren’t so hairy.  That is, they covered most of her lower belly but the hair was thin, a mixture of brown and gray.

“You concentrate on Christmas, boy!” she instructed me.  “The rest of it’s a far cry from your girl friends, but no less an authority than Benjamin Franklin said if you put a basket over a woman above the hips, you can’t tell much about her age.”

Her fingers pried her pussy open.  It was red and wet, just the place for my dick.

“That’s better,” she said, leaning down to jack me a little.

I took a breath of anticipation.  “Granny, could you maybe squat over me?”

She shook her head.  “I think you’re still too sore for that.  We’ll work up to it.  For now pull your knee out past me…  No, don’t raise it up; keep it on the sheet.”

She took hold of my ankle and knelt over my foot.  Her eyes twinkled.  “How well can you feel with your toes, Davey?”

“M-my toes?  You mean —”

She turned my foot up between her legs.  My big toe slipped easily into something warm and wet.  “Ah!” she breathed with a big smile.

“You want to help me?” she asked.  “Work it in and out.”

I could feel complex folds of moist flesh, yielding to my curling toes.  She tugged on my heel.  “Go ahead, put it in.”

In a jiffy half my foot was in her cunt!  I’m sure my mouth fell open.

She was watching.  “What do you think of that, Davey?”

“Good god, Granny!  I’m fucking you with my foot!”

“Yes, you are, sort of.  Work it faster!  A man’s foot isn’t the right shape, but it is part of a man.”

She leaned forward, changing the angle.  Her hips began to twist forward and back.  She was surprisingly wet.

Needless to say, I was absolutely fascinated.

“That’s the way,” she breathed.  “Keep it going.  Now we’ll make it fun for two.”

She leaned further and popped my dick into her mouth.  It felt so good that I promptly forgot to move my foot — which she fixed by tugging on my heel while her head bobbed up and down over half my shaft.  I soon recalled my duty and we established a rhythm.  What a strange feeling that was!

Who could imagine that a foot would be his first part ever to go into a cunt?

The unimagined novelty made me last longer, I suspect, than I would have otherwise.  Granny made some curious snuffing noises through her flared nostrils.  Her hips worked like mad, driving my foot ever deeper, toes striking something within her.  She began to moan as my feeling rose.  Pretty soon I was coming and I think she was too.  She collapsed to the side, soft chest on my outstretched thigh.

“Ooo, Davey,” she breathed.  “I came so hard!”


“Strong, I guess, is the better word.”  She rose up and examined my dick.  “You’re a dribbler,” she told me and plopped it back into her mouth for a few cleansing strokes that made me groan with pleasure.

After straightening my leg she sat beside me and grinned.  “I needed that, Davey, almost as much as the one you needed yesterday.  Thank you.”

“Thank you!” I responded.  “Do you mean girls need it as much as boys?”

“Girls?”  She shook her head.  “In my experience girls are different there too.  Most of them learn to need it as they grow older and get more of it.  Or that’s how it used to be.”

“How about you?”

She grinned.  “I learned to love it early on and never stopped.  A lot of women lose interest at menopause, but not I.”

“I sure am glad you didn’t!” I said with feeling.


* * *


We played the dick-foot game twice the next day but had to skip the day after because it was Saturday.  Janey Robbins, who threw my last party a couple doors down, dropped off some stuff from school.  She stood by my bedside and looked me over thoroughly, even played with my fingers sticking out of the cast.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Not any more.  It itches some.”  I grinned at her.  “How about scratching for me?”

“You poor thing, can’t even scratch!  Where?”

“On my belly under the cast.”

She looked around.  Mom and Granny were bent over Mom’s desk, counting stitches in a sweater Mom was knitting for me.

Janey cautiously pulled the sheet down to my hips.  She looked at my grin and licked her lips.  “Suck in.”

I pulled in my belly and her hand went under the cast.  It had itched a little, but of course that wasn’t why I asked her.  She stroked my belly sweetly.  It was the first time she had touched me since we pretended to wrestle while raking leaves two years ago — and the very first time she ever touched my naked chest.

I noted offhand, “The worst itch is under the top of the leg cast.”

Her hand returned to the edge of the sheet, where it paused.  “Are you wearing underpants?”

“No.  But you’ve seen it before.”  Which was true.  We played “show me” once when we were each about eleven.  “It’s a bummer you can’t show me yours.”

Her eyes flashed.  “Oh, Davey, you are so bad!”  She glanced back again and bent down.  Her hand slipped under the sheet, probably exposing no more than the top of my pubic hair, and found the edge of the cast.  This one was tighter.  All she could get under it were her fingers to the knuckles.  She scratched, her wrist joggling my half-erection that was fast becoming full.

“Davey …” she began.

“God, that feels good!” I declared.

Her hand withdrew from the cast, took hold of my dick and gave it one little squeeze before she raised up, face flaming.  Just in time.

Mom and granny came up behind her.  Mom said, “Janey, it surely is sweet of you to help Davey with his school—  What’s the matter?”

The girl’s mouth opened a couple times like a fish gasping for air.

I explained, “She scratched my belly under the cast.  God, it felt good!”

“I gotta go!” Janey declared, turning away.  She practically ran out of the room.

“Wait!” Mom called, taking off after her.

Granny chuckled at me.  “Scratched your belly, did she?  Is that what made this thing jump up there?”

Mom had overtaken Janey in the other room.  I asked, “Do you think Mom noticed my hard-on?”

“I expect so.  That’s certainly no little boy’s cock, Davey.  Tell me what happened.  Did she just volunteer?”

“Well, I said my belly was itching.”

“I’ll bet it is too.  Once I had to wear a cast on my leg for several weeks.  I’ll straighten a coat hanger and scratch for you.  But what’s happened?  I thought you were shy around girls.”

“You happened,” I told her softly.  “I love you, Granny.”

Her hand slipped under the sheet briefly and squeezed my dick as Janey had done.  “And I love you too, lover.”

Mom came back in and stood over me with an indulgent smile.  “Got your belly scratched, did you?”

“What did Janey say?”

“She was embarrassed.  I told her it was all right, but you better watch out for her.”

“Uh, watch out?”

“She’s got her eye on you.”

And that ain’t all, I thought smugly.

Mom pulled up a chair and opened the books Janey had left.  “Let’s get an idea what you have to do.”

Granny came and went, pausing to listen to the exchange, winking at me now and then.  Late in the afternoon Mom relented and turned on ESPN to a motorcycle rally.  Granny appeared with a coat hanger straightened out except for a tight helix left on one end.  Mom watched as the wire went front and back under my upper cast, then down through the neck opening along the shoulders and into the tops of the arms.  Ah, sweet!  It was sexual enough to give me a hard-on, but what isn’t?

Granny waited until Mom left the room before working the wire under my leg cast.  I twisted to bump my hard-on into her wrist.  She laughed softly and stroked my dick with her other hand.  “How long since you pissed, sport?”

“Uh, this morning.”

She sniffed but kept pumping.  “If your mother sees me put a urine bottle around this super stander she’ll swear I’ve been jacking it off.”

“What off?”

“I’ll slip in tonight and give you a little tongue relief.  How’s that?”


“Meanwhile … I think I’ll let her take care of you now.”


She released the sheet, got up and went to the door.  “Meg,” she said loudly, “this boy needs attention.”

Mom appeared beyond her.  “What’s wrong with him?”

“He has to pee.”

“What?”  She looked puzzled.

“Through something that could give an old lady palpitations of the heart.”

Mom pushed impatiently through the door, glowered at me briefly while eyeing the tented sheet, and brought me the urinal.  Her mouth twisted distastefully when she drew back the sheet, but she took hold of me in a no-nonsense way and thrust my knob into the mouth of the bottle, muttering under her breath, “Who does she think she’s fooling?”  She raised her voice slightly.  “Cut loose, son.”

“Something wrong with Granny’s heart?” I asked, releasing the flow.

Her eyes narrowed.  “Davey, has my mother been …”

It was almost funny.  Her lips completed the sentence, “bothering you,” but without any sound.

“Granny?”  I shook my head.  “Granny’s great!  I sure hope she can come to stay with us.”

Mom studied me, her lip curling, and nodded slowly.  “She’s been bothering you, all right!”

“She takes really good care of me.”

“I was afraid of that.”

I lay there, pissing between her fingers into the urinal, wondering what causes women to be so different — not from men; that part is fascinating! — but from each other.


* * *


Janey was sucking me off.  Just as I creamed her tonsils, I woke up.  The night light on Mom’s desk showed Granny’s eyes sparkling over my dick, which was half out of sight in her mouth.  Super!  Especially the easy way she slurped up the dribbles.  I wonder how many men are lucky enough ever to wake up that way.  Not many, I bet.

“Granny —” I began, meaning to express my absolute love for her, but her hand flew up and covered my lips.  In a moment she put her musky mouth next to my ear and barely whispered, “Meg ithn’t thleeping well tonight.” 

I turned my head enough to stick my tongue into her mouth.  Sure enough, no teeth!  She gummed my tongue — an odd feeling, padded but firm.  Knowing that’s what she must’ve done to my dick, I nearly came again.

Maybe she read my mind.  She whispered, “I’ll do the thame tomorrow,” before backing silently away and slipping out of the room.

But she couldn’t.  Tomorrow was Sunday, and Mom stuck closer than a tick all day, bathing me, feeding me, catching piss and shit, helping me memorize ELPS crap, reminding me once again why Economic, Legal and Political Systems are universally hateful.  Aside from talking heads on TV, who ever heard real adults discuss any of that crud?

I was too eager to be alone with Granny.  About the fourth time I suggested that Mom ought to take a nap, at least rest her throat, she figured me out.  “Mother,” she said to Granny, “would you mind starting supper?”

Granny was startled.  “You want me to cook tonight?”

“If you don’t mind.  I’ve already thawed the dinners.”

Granny heaved a sigh.  “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

When she had left the room, I said, “Thought you didn’t care for Granny’s cooking.”

Mom didn’t smile.  “It’s hard to screw up TV dinners.  Harder than screwing up a grandson, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“You know what I mean.  She’s been intimate with you.”

I thought about pretending to misunderstand.  It was worth a try.  “So have you,” I responded.

“What?”  Her eyes widened, then she sniffed.  “Mother has done a lot more for you than relieve your bladder, I think.”

Suddenly I was impatient with her.  “You mean sex.  Why do think it harms anyone?  Aren’t people designed for it?”

“All animals are designed for it,” she agreed distastefully.  She took a deep breath.  “She’s my mother, Davey, and your grandmother.”

“So what?”

“So it’s wrong.”

“Yeah.  I understand lots of people think so.  But nobody says why.”

“People don’t need to talk about it, Davey.  It’s obvious.”

I shook my head.  “Sounds like more ELPS to me.”

Now her eyes narrowed.  “What do you mean?”

I tilted my chin at the papers scattered on my bed.  “All that crap the school wants me to spout back, to believe in even though it rubs the wrong way.”

“Does what?”  Her eyes glinted at me.  “Davey, what are you getting at?”

“This part you just read, about how the government has to make rules for traders so they won’t take advantage of each other — isn’t that treating grown-ups like little kids?  When do people ever really grow up?  It’s the same as telling a man and a woman who want each other that they can’t touch.  How did you get more grown-up than Granny?”

She stared at me for long seconds.  With a sigh she gathered up the papers and books and paused beside my bed.  “Davey, I wanted you to love and respect your grandmother.”

“Believe me, I do.”

She continued as if I hadn’t spoken, her voice low.  “Despite her weakness.”  Mom heaved a sigh and shook her head.  “I was afraid this would happen, but I hoped she had learned her lesson.”  She laughed bitterly.  “Wishful thinking!  Well, your casts come off tomorrow morning.  I’d rather you stay in the house alone than submit to any more …”

“Any more what?” I asked when her voice ran down.


“Alone?  What do you mean?”

She spun without answering and marched out of the room after dropping off my schoolwork on her desk.  But I knew what she meant anyway.

That night, when she left to go to bed, Mom locked my bedroom door.  Damn her time!

Early the next morning the attendants rolled me out on a gurney to the ambulance.  When the torso cast came off, I thought my shoulders would never stop sagging!  But I could stand up if I kept most of the weight on my left leg.

I came home from the clinic in the backseat of Mom’s car.  While we rode she said over her shoulder, “I’ll stay with you today while you practice using your walker.”

“Like a really old man, huh?”  I chuckled.  “Granny probably ought to practice too.  She’ll be the next to need it.”


She didn’t continue, so I asked, already knowing the answer, “Does that mean Granny won’t be there?”

She took a breath.  “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon.  What happened to her?”

“She left in a taxi this morning to catch the early bus.”

“Is she going home?”

“She didn’t say.”

“You ran her off, did you?”

“Now, Davey …”

“What did you tell her to make her leave without even saying goodbye?”

Mom heaved a sigh.  “Wait till we get you back in bed, Davey.  I guess it’s time to tell you about your grandmother.”

“I already know about her.”

“You only think you do.”

“Then why wait?  Let’s hear it.”

“You do love her, don’t you?”

“Like, wow!”

She looked at me in the rear-view mirror.  Her eyes twinkled.  “If you get mad at me, I want to be where I can dodge.”