Chapter 11

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Last night, after we’d finally eaten dinner, her bubbly excitement had been replaced by softness, and when she came to bed in panties and a small T-shirt, she’d cuddled close.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? 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 fourteen 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 mounds of her breasts almost hidden.

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 ten 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 mean.”

“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! How could I have been so stupid?

Rachael returned to the table and sat. “Okay. Educate me.”

“When was your period?”

“Last week.”

“I’m getting you an appointment with Doctor Kelly, today,” I informed her.

“To explain about the five ways? Why can’t you tell me? It’ll feel weird to have a doctor explain it to me.”

“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, given my lack of control with her, we settled on the convenience of an IUD. It was proven safe, 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 fourteen-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 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 across from me, one knee up.

From my position, her cocked knee tented the tee and exposed her crotch. Plain white cotton stretched, her lush 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 powerful sensation of desire unfurl in me. The kiss deepened and my hand magically found her panties, caressed the sexy shape of her gorgeous 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.