Date: Mon, 21 Apr 2003 20:51:24 EDT
From: KissAndCuddleGem@aol.com
Subject: Camping Capers With My Grandpa (Installment 1)

This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to personsliving
or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purelycoincidental.
Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in thisstory is presented
with the intent to condone, approve, or sanction theirbehavior.  All
questions and/or comments are welcome; and, if you wish tocontact me,
please feel free to email me at: KissAndCuddleGem@AOL.COM; andI will most
definitely respond to email, as appropriate.


I had moved away from Cherry Hill Meadows, the small town in the heart of
New England where I had been raised by my paternal grandparents, some
twenty or thirty years ago.  Yet the memories of that place were still very
much with me.

Recently widowed, I had been transferred by my employer-interior design
company to its subsidiary in Los Angeles and was now living in a suburb of
the same and trying to do my best in raising a mischievous teenage son on
my own.  Kenny Jr., or "Ken", as he now wished to be called, was spending
the night at a sleepover with his best friend from school: an hispanic
youth named Ricardo about a year older than his son.

I had just finished dining: Dinner had been a quick simple thing, some
Chinese takeout concoction that actually turned out to be quite tasty.  The
pungent flavors of the oriental cuisine very much lingered with me even
after the tart but sweet pineapple for dessert.

Sipping ice-cold lemonade and lying in the cool evening air on a chaise
lounge in my paisley boxers and now in my late forties and admittedly not
doing very well in the "battle of the bulge", I was reminded by the
lemonade of a weekend in my early teens.  I remained for the next half-hour
or so in trance-like reverie as the events of those days unfolded, slowly
unfolded, in my mind:

"Kenny!  Would you please come downstairs and eat your breakfast?  I made
you pancakes; and they are getting cold.  I have to go over to visit Aunt
Mona, she needs help with the arrangements for cousin Georgia's wedding.
Grandpa is in his tool shed, still tidying up from yesterday.  Please leave
the dishes in the sink, have to run now...", and, within moments of that,
Grandma Lila was hurriedly out the door.

I came downstairs, taking my own sweet time as if I were royalty and time
was expected to simply stand still till I was good and ready.  I was not
exactly spoiled, but had been a bit pampered by a pair who literally
treasured me as the last remnant of a dear son presumed dead.  I was 13 and
one-half, with dirty-blonde hair, freckles, and very smooth skin.  I was
quite skinny, no more than 100 pounds and barely 5 feet in height but still
of course growing.

"These are really yummy!", I exclaimed, forgetting that no one else was
about.  I relished each and every savory mouthful of layered pancakes
smothered in creamy butter and seeping maple syrup.  I was dressed in faded
Levis and a nice snug tee shirt and had plans to spend the day with Cousin
Jeffie at the mall, the movies there, etc.  I was adjusting my belt so that
it was fastened at a looser notch when I began to smell the unmistakable
aroma of my grandfather's pipe wafting through the house.

Grandpa barreled through the entranceway from the living room, smiling and
still holding his pipe.  "Kenny, I figured I'd find you here.  I know how
to like to sleep late on Saturdays.  Anyway, I picked up the phone on the
first ring.  Aunt Charlotte just called, seems Jeffie has the flu and he
won't be able to go with you to the mall as planned.  But we are all
invited over there for the Memorial Day weekend, she is positive Jeffie
will be back to his usual self by then."

I was of course disappointed, to say the least, yet at the same time very
concerned about Jeffie.  Grandpa reassured me that Jeffie would be fine;
and jokingly added that if Aunt Charlotte's chicken soup did not help him
recover, nothing would.

I smiled in politeness, fully aware that Grandpa was trying his best to
cheer me up.

Grandpa sat with me, staring at me intently as I finished my breakfast.  I
felt very self-conscious at this point, wondering why Grandpa seemed so
mesmerized by me.  I recall checking to see if my tee shirt was on
backwards or my fly left open.

Grandpa was a burly man, about 6 feet with a jiggly paunch and completely
grey, even as to his moustache.  In my early childhood, I was most of the
time extremely frightened of him: He was an intimidating figure in my eyes
who commanded and made sure he would always receive great respect.  I even
hid in the closet at times when about four or five, imagining in my mind
that he would be angry with me for something naughty I had done and come
after me like a monster from under the bed.

But, as I got older, I learned that Grandpa was simply a lovable, though at
times cranky, oversized sprite and very much soft-hearted.  Yes, he had his
"rules" to be followed in the house.  But I always felt very much loved by
both of my grandparents; and this love was even present and very much felt
while Grandpa so openly was staring away at me.

Finally, and actually greatly to my relief, Grandpa did say something:
"Kenny, I have an idea.  I know we were talking about doing this as a
special treat for your birthday.  But why leave all of the fun till
then?... especially since you don't have any other plans for now."

I looked up at my grandfather in amazement and practically whispered:
"Grandpa, you mean...but it's a two-hour drive to Forest Grove each way.
Aren't we starting out pretty late."

"Kenny, don't worry about that.  Besides, it's nothing in light traffic.  I
will call Grandma right now to let her know, so she won't worry.  There is
plenty of food in the freezer left over from last week's family reunion
picnic.  You can help me pack it up in the cooler with ice."

My eyes widened in anticipation and within moments I was skipping all about
and yelping: "Camping!  We are goin' camping!  Oh...wow!  Totally wow!"

Grandpa giggled at my delight, just like an impish school-boy let out early
by a normally-strict teacher for recess.  Yet it was not until about eight
hours later that I would know the real reason for Grandpa's glee.

We had been at Forest Grove about an hour or so.  We had just finished
setting up camp; and Grandpa seemed very pleased that I was a big help to
him with putting up the tent.  We were both parched from the baking sun.
Forest Grove, while normally crowded at other popular times of the year for
tourists, locals, etc. to visit, was virtually completely deserted this
particular day in May.  There was a middle-aged couple that Grandpa knew
through is lodge camping out a bit down a nearby trail; but Grandpa knew we
would not see much of them, as they were bird watchers who told him upon
greeting that they would spend most if not all of their time on the
McKinley Nature Path looking for mushrooms as souvenirs as they scanned
with binoculars for rare or exotic birds.

"Skinny-dipping...yes, I think we should do that.  No one's about and we
can cool off much better that way."

"Yes, but Grandpa.  I was gonna wear the bathing suit you and Grandma gave
me for Christmas.  I carefully packed it up just in case we might swim."

"Well, think of it this way.  You can save it for the Memorial Day weekend,
for when we are in the pool with family: It will after all look much better
then uncreased and unworn", Grandpa practically crooned.

I relented, agreeing with my Grandpa's reasoning but somewhat disconcerted
by his not looking me directly in the eye as he said this.

Within minutes, we were at a nearby lake, one I did not recall having seen
before.

I watched Grandpa as he stripped, his manner that of one totally unabashed
by his teenage grandson's presence.  I noticed that Grandpa still had those
large pecs he sometimes boasted about, a vestige of his college wrestling
team days.  Grandpa had a moderately hairy chest with slightly-drooping
nipples with nice roundness.  As he pulled his sky blue tank top over his
head, I saw him exposing a hairy trail that went down from the center of
his chest to his waist.  Yes, he did have a quite noticeable paunch indeed,
which gave a mini-beach-ball-at-the-waist effect to his otherwise athletic
physique.  Still, on him, the paunch just lent a natural quality to his
look and sort of highlighted that endearing sparkle, that glint, in his
eyes.

I then realized I myself was not yet undressing; and, somewhat embarrassed
by my folly in looking at my grandfather so fix I began to get out of my
sandals and remove my socks.

I had turned away just for a moment or two before I suddenly heard
Grandpa's familiar voice: "Kenny, what's gotten into it?  I have never seen
you work so slowly.  Has the son gotten to your head?"

^@ ^@ I looked up at him and was taken a bit aback by what was before me:
Grandpa was standing completely nude, no more than six inches from my nose.
His muscular arms were dangling carelessly at his side, his thick somewhat
hairy legs were spread about seven or so inches apart.  He had low-hangers
of average size in a wrinkled grey-haired sac; and his cock, which appeared
to be semi-hard at that moment, was about six inches and of decent
thickness.  I recalled stories of Grandpa being "hung", so to speak; and
realized that while this was not the case, Grandpa was certainly ample as
to his endowment.

I was just naturally curious, I quickly justified in my mind: There was no
reason for me to turn beet red in front of Grandpa, I simply had not seen
hardly any adult males nude, as of that point in time, and, besides,
Mr. Goodrich, my English teacher, frequently remarked in class that the
human body was a thing of beauty and something to be appreciated as a form
of art in the context of sculpture, etc.

So I quickly composed myself and hurriedly threw off my remaining garments
and jumped into the freezing-cold lake, initially regretting my haste as I
shivered till my body adjusted to the temp.

Grandpa, a few moments later, carefully waded into the water, his eyes very
much focused on me.  He had a very pleasant-looking grin on his face.  I
remember feeling relieved that Grandpa was not angered over my rather
careless haste.  We spent the next two to three hours skinny-dipping,
alternating lap-style swimming three to five yards from the shore to and
fro, sometimes racing one another, with frolicking and splashing each other
about in a most playful manner.

But it was all innocent fun, at least from my perspective, admittedly a bit
juvenile perhaps but nonetheless completely innocent.

The only thing that could possibly have raised even a scintilla of doubt in
my mind as to Grandpa's intentions was when we were about to step out from
the lake.  As we were approaching the area of crowded rosebushes near where
our clothes were all scattered, Grandpa lost his footing in the mud and, as
he slipped, to prevent his impending fall grabbed me by the waist.  Grandpa
rather quickly steadied his stance once again.  But as he was assuring me
that he was okay, I noticed that his hand was now resting palm-down over my
left bun and with his fingertips gently pressed against my tender flesh.
At the time I thought in my mind this: that Grandpa's hand had simply
slipped down by mistake, that he was after all dripping wet, and that he
may have indeed believed that his hand was still on my hip, especially from
the way I was still partially immersed in the water.

I probably was, in hindsight, a bit naive at the time: Well, in truth,
naive is probably an understatement!  Well, anyway, as the say: Ignorance
is bliss.

Grandpa helped me dry off, remarking: "Kenny, your lips are very blue.  Let
me make sure you are try.  Grandma will have my head, no doubt, if I let
you catch your death of cold."

Grandpa was right.  Plus it did appear that the coolness of the evening air
had set in.  Dinner was the expected barbecue: But this time Grandpa had a
few lean turkey burgers on the grill as well, saying that he was watching
his cholesterol.  We devoured the tasty dinner; and even toasted some
marshmallows over our makeshift campfire before retiring to the tent for a
good night's rest.  I remember thinking: I was so tired and hungry when we
returned from the lake: I forgot how exercise really can work up quite an
appetite.

Soon enough I would find out that Grandpa was hungry all right, though for
so much more than just food.

I was snuggled up tightly in my sleeping back and wearing light-weight
cotton pajamas, short-sleeve and short-bottoms style ones.  Grandpa was
snoozing away, in a deep sleep, in his sleeping bag, which was positioned
about two feet away perpendicular with the entrance to the canvas tent.  A
book, no doubt one of Grandpa's favorite Hardy Boys mysteries, was laying
across his "inny"-navel, spread out with the binder protruding upward.

I thought to myself: "Grandpa is soundly asleep", and so should I be as
well.  Within moments, I found myself safely and serenely drifted off and
deep in dreams."

Sometime in the earliest hours of the morn I was awakened by the sensation
of a leg gently pressing against my upper shin.  I opened my eyes, a bit
startled by the feeling to say the least.  The tent was almost pitch
darkness, though a glimmer of light from Grandpa's now-significantly dimmed
lantern somewhat illuminated my immediate area.  The smell of Grandpa's
pipe was the next thing I noticed, though I quickly discovered that the
smell was not actually from the pipe itself but from Grandpa's breath,
which I was feeling against the nape of my neck.  I turned around abruptly;
and, startled by the sight of Grandpa right there in my sack, was about to
scream when suddenly Grandpa placed his hand over my mouth and held it this
way for about five minutes.  Grandpa then said:

"Kenny, calm down, it's just me.  Besides, there is no point in screaming.
No one is within earshot of hearing you.  I want you to know that I love
you, that I love you more than life itself, truly.  But I have needs, needs
as a man, that your grandmother simply cannot fulfill.  I want very much to
show you how much I love you.  This has to be our secret though,
understood?"

I nodded my head in agreement, feeling to my relief Grandpa loosening the
grip over my cheeks though still clenching his palm over my lips.  I did
not know what to think of all of this, there was really no time to figure
anything out here, though I do remember a fleeting thought that Grandpa was
perhaps, if not likely, some kind of "perv".

That first time with Grandpa I had switched into survival mode, Grandpa's
last words as his mini-speech droned on and on being: "...I will try my
best not to hurt you, my precious love, my Kenny.  But understand, Grandpa
has to break you in, so that it will be even better for both of us the next
time...."

Grandpa's hand was away from my mouth now, I could breathe much easier
again.  Grandpa, very much a perfectionist, was very good at getting things
done in the way he wanted them to get done; and, with this, there appeared
to be no exception: I was not fully relaxed, needless to say, this first
time.  In my mind, I thought I would be in major trouble if Grandma learned
of any of this, that I was sure to be blamed, even as far as disowned.

Grandpa, I soon began to realize, was not taking me: He was making love to
me.  He removed my pajamas in the most slow and sensual manner imaginable,
at one point caressing my inner thighs with his palms as he pulled my
partially-lowered bottoms all the way down to my ankles and then, ater
that, all the way off.  Grandpa rolled on top of me, now lying on my back
and looking up with an expression in all likelihood resembling a frozen
frightened deer.  He softly kiss my partially opened lips and slid his
tongue in in between the kisses, at times kissing me while our tongues were
intertwined.  I was trying to focus on the reality of Grandpa being
completely nude with me and of also being this intimate with me, now also
completely nude.  Grandpa's chest heaved against my bare upper torso; and
his now throbbing-member pressed against my lightly-hairy pubes.  "Relax,
Kenny...please," he implored.  In response, I exhaled as if having held a
huge breath; and, mentally, did give in, fully give in.  Grandpa began to
passionately lick and kiss my nipples, sucking on the left one and then the
right, each getting equal attention.  He raised his upper chest so that it
was at a 45-degree angle in relation to mine; and glided his tongue with
unusual precision down the very center of my chest and down to my belly and
then my pubes.  I moaned with pleasure and felt myself becoming hard as
Grandpa began to earnestly lick and suck on the head of my three-inch
member.

"Ooooooooooh!  Oh, yes...yes.  That feels oh so very good!  Please...wait,
oh, oh...yeah!"

"You like that, Kenny, my boy?  You're enjoying yourelf, I am so glad."

I felt myself pulsating below, I felt so completely without control over
the situation; and this in and of itself was greatly turning me on.
Grandpa was completely absorbed with his "project": "I was apparently in
capable hands", I mused to myself.

Grandpa was licking the now-dripping precum off of the head of my cock,
using the extreme tip of his tongue and his eyes, a glistening now-misty
blue very different from my hazel ones, were simply gleaming.  In one
sudden gulp, Grandpa, who by now was kneeling between my legs spread out
fairly wide to suit him, took my entire cock and my small but smooth sac in
his mouth and sucked on it for what then seemed like an eternity.

I was not sure what Grandpa wanted.  I thought, however, I interpreted it,
I would probably be wrong, do the wrong thing.  Instinctively, I held back,
though barely prubescent and with hormones now very much in play, this was
very difficult, virtually impossible.

In a matter of moments, I felt the pressure really building as Grandpa was
relentlessly sucking, licking, and never releasing his "lock" on what was
now in his mind only his.  I shouted, in warning: "Grandpa!  I can't hold
it any longer.  Please, let me pull out...."

"AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"That's okay, lover", Grandpa responded, upon temporarily releasing the
hold; and then screamed out: "Just let it go, let it all go...I want to
savor and swallow every single drop of your love juice."  Grandpa,
immediately, after his last words, resumed the hold as intensely as before.

"I'm cummmmmmmmmmmmmminnnnnnnnnnnnn'", I shouted in response, unprepared
for the huge release that followed and Grandpa's related state of euphoria,
rejoicing in this boon.

Grandpa, a few moments later, lubed his thick, still semi-hard cock, using
one of Grandma's feminine products.  He had no patience for any "games"
beforehand; and rammed the tube into my hole, pressing virtually half of
the remains deep inside of me.  I was at this point lying on my side,
Grandpa apparently not wanting to harm me with his full weight.  Grandpa
thrust the head of his cock, which he had squeezed till fully hard, right
into my hole.  He counted to three; and, on three, the head was all the way
in, as far as it could go and no doubt massaging what must have been my
prostate.

He held my hips firmly, as he worked diligently on his pace: Yes, he
definitely was very quickly in full-swing, thrusting in and out, in and
out, in and out, with each thrust always never going outside the entrance
to my pinkish pucker of a hole.  Grandpa continued his flow of rhythm,
keeping his eye on the prize and not rushing the climax to come.

Everything was new to me, I felt a bit overwhelmed.  But suddenly I just
was so stimulated by it all that, surprising myself, I began to howl,
basically scream at the top of my lungs: "PLEASE...DON'T STOP!!
MORE....MORE...NEED MORE!"

Grandpa released four or five loads deep with me, coating my insides and
taking my virginity with such gusto.  He turned me on my belly and
collapsed on type of me, his chest damp from perspiration and soaking my
back with is dripping sweat.  He began to lick the nape of my neck, panting
heavily now, his breath very much felt against my shoulders.  He insisted
on keeping his cock buried within me, even after it had softened almost
fully, until it was time for us to get dressed and have breakfast.

I found myself shivering in Grandpa's grasp.  Grandpa interrupted my train
of thought with: "Kenny, I love you.  You are beautiful.  I will embrace
you now, hold it closer to me than ever, and keep you warm."

As we packed up all of our camping equipment, Grandpa reminded me of the
importance of secrecy with regard to all.  I gave him my word.  Grandpa
assured me all was still fine, whispering as he tucked me in to sleep at
night at home: "I promise you more of our 'camping capers' together.  Just
so long as what goes on between us always stays between us.  I am very
proud of you, I want you to know."

Once again sipping my no longer-ice-cold lemonade, I broke away from my
reverie.  Back to reality and now preoccupied with readying breakfast for a
shortly-expected Kenny, Jr., I deliberately moved my thoughts away from a
much-distant past.

But, in bed the next day, I thought again about what I recalled in my state
of reverie, thinking to myself: "Yes, there indeed was much to come
thereafter.  Many of Grandpa's capers, each better and better than before,
were to come."