Sexy granny stories

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Sexy granny stories

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Granny Kay nodded knowingly, the smiling lips drawn into her toothless jowls. Mum once made jam with rhubarb, but I don't think I've ever seen a rhubarb pie.

At that, Granny Kay rose from the chair, the string knit shawl slipping from her back as she reached and shut off the oven. I followed Granny Kay out of the house, my own two feet stomping on slab after slab, crack after crack in perfect unison to the big blue slippers under the old red coat, lavender and mothballs.

And swing your arms while you're at it. My heavens, what a boy! We moved quickly along Wallace Street, stopping only a time or two for Granny Kay to have a cheery hello to what she called some of her fellow old fogies.

A chortle of laughter to old Mr. Kelly, a promise of tea and a chat to Hazel Joyce and we'd resume our steady pace. I wouldn't say I had a hard time keeping up with her, but Granny Kay managed to have me take a few big steps as we rounded into the Terraced houses of Castle Lane.

Towards the end of the path stood an old man in brown trousers, a white shirt and, strangely enough, an orange sleeveless cardigan.

I knew him, of course. Everyone knew Hobo Hobson. Not for any particularly bad reason though. It was just that, unlike Granny Kay, Hobo was often seen in some of the oddest places.

It was not unusual to bump into him at the sandpits or strolling in gypsy's park. Pretty strange, really, for someone to be there and not have a dog to walk.

It all made sense though, when Sticks informed us that his dad says old Hobson was a certified tinker.

Right now, Hobo Hobson was hoeing between the flowers, the shiny silver blade turning over dirt that looked like black sawdust.

He turned as the latch on the swinging gate chinked back into place. Have you went and adopted a wee laddie? Can you no' see this is Jimmy Gibson's wee fellah.

So it is," Hobo said, a mark of incredulity in his voice, "and see how he's grown, so he has. It suddenly dawned on me that Sticks was wrong about Hobo Hobson being a tinker.

I was an idiot to believe him in the first place, an idiot to believe him in many of the things he said, like the Greyhounds at the foot of Dead Man's Pool.

But when Sticks raps you on the head with a knuckled fist, or cracks you on your forehead with his own, insisting that such and such is so; you sort of tend not to argue the matter.

Right now, if it were possible to hide behind Granny Kay I would do so. But as this was impossible, seeing as I was positioned in front of her, I chose instead to gaze resolutely onto the flower beds, feeling strangely at odds in the company of a man I had taken for a tinker, a man who, as it turned out, not only lived in this nice house, but was also a really good gardener and a baker of rhubarb pies.

Hobson removed a red cloth from his pocket and began to wipe meticulously on the silver-headed hoe. There are moments in my lifetime that my mind still replays, and one of the most memorable moments was that afternoon in Mr.

Hobson's backyard. I had half expected Mr. Hobson's back garden to be half as well kept as his front lawn. What I found was an even more spectacular jungle of flower and vine.

Trellises, affixed to the wall, were festooned with pink clematis and climbing hydrangeas. Hanging baskets spilled yellow and orange nasturtiums and blue lobelia.

Wooden barrels placed at each corner of the concrete patio were literally overflowing with a mixture of red and white petunias. Towards the end of the patio stood an arch with climbing roses.

Through the arch I could see a miniature pool and fountain. Hobson is your friend, isn't he? Granny Kay laughed uproariously at that, both hands lifting to cover her cheeks.

She made it strong. We talked a little; she asked If it was Ok if she put a night gown on. I said, sure.

She came out in this long black night gown and these sexy high heel shoes. She wanted it bad. She sat almost on top of me and rubbed my thigh just barely hitting my cock.

When my cock sprung up she put her leg on mine and kissed me hard on the lips her tongue was all over my mouth and neck.

She was so horney and so was I, she was straddling me now kissing me so hard dripping with saliva. She tore my shirt off and kissed and licked my chest, down my belly, to my rock hard cock.

Pulled my pants down and my cock sprang out and slapped against my belly. She sucked it for like a minute, and then put it in her dripping wet pussy.

She road me harder than anyone road me before, Flinging her head back and forth we were both in ecstasy. She got off and told me to get up and she said fuck me this way, she meant doggy style.

She said slap my ass Chuck; I've been a bad girl. She screamed. I asked her If she ever had it in the other hole. No, my husband only did it the regular way.

I said don't worry it feels real good, I'll start slow, just relax. I positioned my cock on her virgin ass hole and slowly plunged it in.

She was tight as hell, once it was in it loosed up. Please don't stop. I told her I was going to cum , She said go ahead but don't pull out I want to feel it.

I shot my load deep in her ass. Oh it felt so hot. We took a hot shower together; she couldn't keep her hands off my cock.

I couldn't keep mine off her big tits and ass. She's one sexy old lady. Great story! Hot story, if only it were true.

I wonder if such an old shaggy slut ever gets a dripping wet pussy Nevertheless, a nice story. I'm also on old women. As I'm only 25 yo and look quite good, its very easy for me to get and fuck old sluts.

Some weeks ago I fucked a canasta playing party of four - first of all one after the other, than all together. It's amazing to feel four lips and tongues at the same time on your cock.

And it's great to have them kneeling in front of you and splash a very good load of sperm into their facde and open mouths. Tha story was turning me on and its a great story.

I love older women. I would of came all over her face too, thanks for making my day 97 months ago permalink. Love this story!

The husband moved out of the house last year to move closer to work about 2 cities away and she stayed at the house. They decided to rent the extra rooms out to some college girls.

So, one day two weeks ago, my buddy pops into my window with a very strange proposal: "Hey dude Fast forward 2 days, he's back to my window with the same proposal, but different question: "Hey dude, what if I could get you some pussy?

It's like a frat house over there. She bummed one off and then we started talking. Joined: May 28, Messages: Likes Received: Joined: Nov 5, Messages: 2, Likes Received: 6, Don't say no one warned you.

Joined: Aug 26, Messages: Likes Received: Don't do it mang. She's married. If she doesn't have any class at least you do. But not being laid in a year?

C'mon man. Joined: Aug 16, Messages: 2, Likes Received: 3, A wealthy, attractive, promiscuous something year old woman with a penchant for younger guys and with a husband who's never around???

Just run'er up a flagpole, spread eagle, and never wonder what direction the wind is blowing ever again. Joined: May 4, Messages: 1, Likes Received: 1, Joined: Oct 4, Messages: 70 Likes Received: 1.

At least that's how it seemed to me. I don't know why I called her Granny Kay, for Granny Kay was not at all my Granny; not at all anyone's Granny so far as I knew, but for as long as I can remember Granny Kay had been Granny Kay by name, unless in her presence, in which case I'd come to understand that one should call her Mrs.

It was true that mum did suggest I say hello on her behalf, but that was as far back as I can remember. Nowadays, when I tell her that I've been to see Granny Kay, mum only nods her head and changes the subject, but I thought it only polite to continue to mention that mum was asking after her.

I will," I said, my eyes moving to the door which barred the entrance to a room that most likely had never heard laughter at Christmas, whose skirting boards had never felt the bump of a misguided Tonka truck, a room whose doors remained tightly shut, undamaged and unmarked by the pen-knives of growing children.

Now, as always, it was closed tight, with the addition of a rolled up towel on the floor in front of it to stop draughts. I would mention Granny Kay's request to mum, but I knew mum would never come to visit.

Somewhere in the past mum and Granny Kay had been good friends, but for reasons I'll never know, all that had been spoiled.

Lifting my eyes from the rolled up towel I disclosed the sole purpose of my visit. Dud matches were a great source of fun in those days.

A couple of boxes of dud matches, a bit of dirt by the curb and two or three of your newest Hot Wheels and an afternoon was never long enough.

Wooden cabins could be built with dud matches, Roads could be constructed. Ranches with Corrals could appear out of nowhere.

It didn't matter that the Seventh Cavalry were the good guys, with the German army, as always, being the baddies; a few of Robin Hood's Merry Men making up the shortfall.

It didn't matter that the Germans had a Confederate cannon, or that the British army were using a Morris Minor for a tank; somehow it all fell into place with the dud matches and Granny Kay was my only supplier.

Almost as if she had expected my request, Granny Kay turned with a toothless smile and produced three small boxes in the palm of an almost skeletal hand.

I will," I replied, picking each box carefully from the old woman's hand. She leaned forward then, her double stringed necklace of blue and green glass rasping in front of my face.

Granny Kay sat back, nodding knowingly even before I had answered. Her ancient mouth opened with a silent chuckle.

Leaning forward once more, the necklace rasping in front of my sweater, Granny Kay relayed information that even PC Quigley ought not to know, "You were picking brambles in the quarry!

I could feel my face redden, even before Granny Kay had rested her old back against the wooden chair.

The quarry was a forbidden place, a place mum had often told us to keep away from -- so heaven help us. One step too far and over you would go into Dead Man's Pool.

Dead Man's Pool was a deep, dark body of stagnant water at the foot of the sheer cliff face. Not to mock Granny Kay's warning, but just then I thought of how Me and Wiggy and Sticks had often leaned over the edge of the three hundred foot quarry, launching spits onto the skeletal remains of sheep that had not been as careful as us.

Sticks wiped his nose on the cuff of his sweater, as if to affirm the statement that followed. Granny Kay was waiting for an answer.

Turning from the window I said, "But I wasn't alone. They followed again as I moved my eyes back to hers.

Not that I'd ever utter what thoughts ran through my head, but Granny Kay's eyes were faster than the eyes of Jesus on mum's bedroom wall.

The rose made a kissing sound and Granny Kay said, "Do you like to pick brambles, Peter? Granny Kay nodded knowingly, the smiling lips drawn into her toothless jowls.

Mum once made jam with rhubarb, but I don't think I've ever seen a rhubarb pie. At that, Granny Kay rose from the chair, the string knit shawl slipping from her back as she reached and shut off the oven.

I followed Granny Kay out of the house, my own two feet stomping on slab after slab, crack after crack in perfect unison to the big blue slippers under the old red coat, lavender and mothballs.

And swing your arms while you're at it. My heavens, what a boy! We moved quickly along Wallace Street, stopping only a time or two for Granny Kay to have a cheery hello to what she called some of her fellow old fogies.

A chortle of laughter to old Mr. Kelly, a promise of tea and a chat to Hazel Joyce and we'd resume our steady pace.

Granny Tucker had taken her axe and killed her daughter under the white sheet. I knew she would come after me now! I ran even faster when I heard Granny coming behind me us.

I hoped with all my heart that Mama had turned the dogs loose. It was my only chance. Granny Tucker approached my tree with her axe, and I tensed, wondering if I could throw myself into another tree.

But it was too far away, and a fall from that height would be fatal. My whole body started to shake then, as I felt Granny's axe bite into the tree trunk below me.

Then I heard the baying of hounds. They came running up the road and came running up the road and attacked Granny Tucker. A terrible fight ensued. Granny slashed at the dogs with the ax.

One, two, three dogs fell to the ground, dead. Furious, I was shouting and cursing Granny just as Goldie, the oldest hound, saw her chance and leaped leapt upon the old witch Granny Tucker, tearing out her throat.

Granny Tucker flailed about for a moment longer, then died. Mama and I went back the next day and buried Granny and her daughter. We told the neighbors that the whole household had died of scarlet fever.

I think the whole neighborhood was relieved that that the evil witch was were gone for good. Campfire Stories. And, what will it be like?

What if I get divorced? What is the dating landscape like for a septuagenarian? What do I have to look forward to, and what should I be aware of as I get older?

In an effort to answer some of these questions, we tracked down six amazing women between the ages of 62 and 79 who were willing to talk frankly about their sexuality and how it's changed over time.

Gay, straight, trans , black, white, single, married — they have all lived vastly different lives.

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