Chapter 7

MY EYES POPPED OPEN when the bed moved. The room was shadows and darkness, the open window a bright rectangle. I rolled over, knowing Rachael had just slipped into bed.

She smiled at me. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Not enough,” I countered. Her smile faded, making me conscious of how much courage it must have taken to take the initiative. Not wanting her to feel rejected, I added, “But you can sleep in bed with me and experience what it’s like to be with someone.”

Her smile returned. “Kay.” The smile faded. A serious expression emerged. “But you should know I’ve thought about it and decided.”

“We’ll see.”

With that, I drew Rachael into my arms. She cuddled close, her arm draping over my hip. Her beautiful eyes watched me. I smiled and kissed her gently.

“Night.”

Rachael looked a bit surprised, then smiled and settled. I could smell her, soap and shampoo and a faint hint of lime. She closed her eyes. I watched as she fell asleep. Her face relaxed and became even more childlike, so sweet.

As if we’d slept together forever, Rachael eventually turned away from me and cuddled back until we were spooning. She hugged the arm I draped around her.

That’s the position I woke up in; cuddled up behind a sexy young girl in panties and a red T-shirt, my arm draped over her. Rachael’s curly black hair tickled my nose. Her small bottom pressed into my groin. And her scent had changed, now muted with a hint of warm sleepiness. It was, I thought, a perfume that could make millions if bottled.

Dawn was just breaking, the sky turning from dark purple to navy blue. A cooling breeze wafted over me. Surprising myself, I lay quietly enjoying her presence without becoming aroused. She was warm and alive and cuddly and cute.

Eventually, I eased away from her and went to the bathroom. She was still asleep when I emerged. I dressed quietly, thought about waking her up and decided to let her sleep. Yesterday had been active. Before leaving the bedroom, I paused and admired. She looked so sweet, so young. For some reason, seeing her asleep in my bed aroused me. There was something so forbidden and exciting about having such a young girl in my bed.

I took that thought to the kitchen and made coffee, my penis comfortably thick. Why was I resisting what I really wanted? I was sure sex with Rachael would be an experience like no other. My first lover had been seventeen, well developed, and not a virgin. I’d never had sex with a virgin. How different is it?

Being honest, I loved the prospect of sex with a fourteen-year-old, too; especially one blossoming so wondrously. My penis thickened even more.

Serving myself, I sat at the kitchen table and pondered my attitude. Kissing and hugging is one thing. Sexual intimacy is a major, irreversible step. I wouldn’t regret it, but Rachael was young, still immature, and she might regret it no matter what she says now.

And then there was my daughter. If Cara discovered her daughter in a sexual relationship with me, God knows what Hell would result. Cara was still cool towards me, still distanced. The relationship, after almost twenty years, was just beginning to thaw.

But, damn! I really liked Rachael. My attraction to her was stronger than any I’d felt before; stronger than my attraction to my ex wife at the beginning, and that’s saying something.

“Morning, Grandpa,” Rachael said, walking into the kitchen in her tee and panties.

Already slightly horny, in the light of day, I saw how snug her simple powder blue cotton panties were. The leg elastic dug deep at the sides. Her pubis strained against the cotton, small yet plump and oh so sexy.

A little of my resistance weakened.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

Rachael smiled broadly, blindingly. “The best ever! There’s something to be said about sleeping with another person. I hope you slept well, cuz I’m sleeping in your bed tonight!”

I smiled. “I slept very well. Better than usual.”

Rachael beamed. “Great! What’s for breakfast?”

“Anything you can find.”

While I sipped coffee and watched her cute ass moving as she hunted through cupboards, she told me we were out of cereal, out of granola bars, out of orange juice, out of sliced bread, and only had one egg.

She plopped down in a chair and pouted. “There’s nothing to eat!”

“I think there’s leftover pasta in the fridge, or cheese. We have some potatoes and onions under the sink. There’s plenty to eat.”

She frowned at me. “That’s not breakfast and I’m hungry.”

“All you need is some imagination,” I informed her, getting up from the table.

I started cooking. Rachael kept asking what I was making. I refused to tell her. Diced potatoes were sautéed and browned. I added diced onion and a touch of Tabasco. Opening a can of Corned Beef, I cut it up and added it to the frying pan. Finally, I whipped the one egg with a touch of milk and added to the pan. A dash of salt and freshly ground pepper, and I plated the meal.

Rachael looked at the plate, leaned forward and sniffed, picked up her fork and tasted it reluctantly. “Mmmm,” she announced and inhaled her breakfast.

Between mouthfuls, she asked, “What is this?” and “How come I’ve never had this before?” and “Wow, this is goooood!”

Making me smile, she jabbed her fork at me and said, “You can cook, Gramps! It would have been better with toast, though.”

By mid-morning we were off to the supermarket to replenish supplies. Rachael had donned short tan shorts that formed to her exquisite ass very nicely, sandals, a loose pale green top that teasingly hinted at small breasts, and her black leather jacket.

She was a power shopper. Unlike clothes shopping, which she took forever to decide, our excursion in the supermarket was speed shopping. She grabbed items and tossed them in the cart, then moved briskly to another section, grabbing more foods. I couldn’t decipher her choices. None made sense or constituted a meal, so I surreptitiously tried to put things back on the shelf when she wasn’t looking.

After a quick glance at the cart, she grabbed what I’d returned to the shelf. The fourth time, she told me, “Stop putting things back.”

Thankfully, Rachael didn’t demonstrate the same eclectic enthusiasm with fresh vegetables or meats. I managed to add several meals while she meandered into the frozen dessert section.

The rear of the Ford’s cab was loaded when we headed home. Rachael helped bring the bags in, then disappeared. As I unpacked, I heard the roar of the ATV. Curious, I followed the sound to the front courtyard. Rachael was driving circles around the pickup, dust and gravel flying in a billowing cloud.

Despite yelling at her, she didn’t hear me. I walked into her path and prayed she wouldn’t run me over. The ATV came to a skidding halt three feet from me.

“Watch out!” she exclaimed. “I almost hit you!”

“Turn it off.”

“Why?”

“Turn it off, Rachael.”

She did. Blessed silence arrived. “What?” she asked.

“Where’s your helmet?”

“Oh. I forgot.”

“Do it again and I’m hiding the keys. I’m not joking, honey. These machines can kill you.”

“Kay. Sorry.”

I watched her find and put her helmet on before returning to the kitchen. For the next half an hour Rachael roared around the property. From the sound echoing through the open kitchen doors, I could tell when she was racing and when she was cruising and, smiling, I noted how racing dominated.

Eventually silence returned. I sat to read a book in the rear garden courtyard after checking on my granddaughter. She was busy at the computer, occupied with a chat program.

The afternoon passed calmly. Weather was hot, sun intense; typical Arizona. When evening approached, I started the charcoal barbecue and puttered around in the kitchen preparing a salad and soaking corn on the cob in strong brine. The steaks, thick and aged to perfection, sat on the counter to get to room temperature.

With everything prepared, I opened a bottle of Argento Pinot Noir, a nice red wine from Argentina. Glass in hand, I went in search of Rachael to let her know dinner would be starting soon.

I found her in her bedroom, on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, her knees up, and reading a magazine she’d picked up at the supermarket.

She didn’t see me. I stood in the doorway and studied her. Feet on the bed, slightly spread, drew my eyes down. And there they stopped. The seam of her tight tan shorts pressed into her cleft, her labia swelling at each side. Her small pussy bulged, straining against her shorts, and I admired the erotic sight. Below, where her buttocks pressed to the bed, the shorts had ridden up enough to expose the edge of her panties.

Rachael wasn’t trying to be sexy and because of it, she was very, very sexy. My body responded, blood flowing south. She noticed me, looked up, and smiled broadly, her eyes bright.

“I’m about to start dinner.”

“Good. I’m hungry. Can I have some wine?” She rolled off the bed and followed me to the kitchen. “What are we having?”

Catching sight of the steaks on the counter, she gave her approval, “Mmmm. Steaks,” and opened a cupboard, grabbed a wine glass, and held it out to me. “Wine, please.”

I poured a quarter glass.

“More.”

When it was a third filled, I stopped. She sniffed and tasted. “I like the other one more. The one you had when I arrived.”

“You shouldn’t like any wine at your age.”

“I don’t like any wine, only red wine,” she smartly retorted, giving me a smirk.

I collected the corn on the cobs in brine and the steaks, and led her outside to the barbecue. She hovered, watching me spread glowing coals.

Corn hit the grill.

“What about the steaks?” she asked.

“You char the corn first, then set it aside and start the steaks.”

Sipping wine, we chatted. Every time I went to turn the corn, I dipped it in the salty brine.

“Why are you doing that?”

“You’ll see.”

“When do you start the steaks?”