It was the spring of my 18th year. To show how liberal I was, I befriended a black girl at college. She invited me to spend the weekend with her and her grandfather. I gladly accepted her invitation.

To say this elderly man’s appearance shocked me was an understatement.

Standing sex feet six or seven, his body rippled with muscles. And one couldn’t escape the sight of the trouser lizard snaking down his left leg. Letting a gasp escape when I first saw the monster covered by bulging denim.

He smiled and introduced himself.

Trying to avoid ogling as we spoke, I glanced from him to my friend, to the walls, and always back to him. Squirming about in my chair, I stuttered and stammered through dinner. The thick wetness leaked from me to my panties and wet my tight shorts.

When the hour grew late, I excused myself and went to my bedroom.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Perturbed by Grandpa’s build and the python in his pants. I lay in my childish night shirt and matching panties. Winnie-the-Pooh, what’s a grown woman doing wearing a child’s nighty?

Finally, I dosed off. After a while, I was neither asleep nor awake, but somewhere between. I felt this thing on my hip. Ponderously heavy, it sat there, then wasn’t. And it returned, thumping my bare thigh.