What I Discovered on My Visit to the Nursing Home

My grandfather had been admitted to the nursing home quite some time ago. Age had been dimming him little by little, senile dementia was erasing names and faces, and my mother had neither the patience nor the body to take care of him at home. Between the two of us, it wasn’t enough, she said. And that was how he ended up in that building with greenish walls and the smell of disinfectant, on the avenue, near the bus station.

I hadn’t seen him in months. I felt guilty, but also a kind of embarrassment I wouldn’t know how to explain. The place had called to ask us to buy some of his medications, especially the one for his mind, the one he absolutely had to take so he wouldn’t get lost completely. I offered to bring them myself. While I’m at it I’ll visit him, I said. In the end, someone had to go.

I took the bus on a Tuesday afternoon, with the pharmacy bag on my lap and that strange feeling of someone heading somewhere they’d rather not go. I didn’t know what I was going to find. The last time, he still recognized me sometimes; he called me by my mother’s name and laughed to himself.

The first surprise was waiting for me as soon as I crossed the main door.

In the entrance hall, sitting in one of those high-backed armchairs upholstered in brown leatherette, there was an old man masturbating with the calm of someone reading the paper. He wasn’t hiding from anyone. His fly was open, his cock was out, red and veined, and he was jerking it with his right hand in an even, unhurried motion. Eyes half-closed, mouth slack, a stupid smile lost in some memory only he knew. A nurse appeared almost running, apologized to me for the spectacle, grabbed my arm, and led me to the front desk.

—Sorry, miss, sometimes they slip away from us —she said, adjusting her scrubs—. With dementia they lose all filter. They do whatever they feel like.

I nodded, uncomfortable, but the truth was I hadn’t been horrified. More than anything, I’d been staring a second too long, gauging the size of the old man’s dick, feeling a strange tingle between my legs. I signed the visitor log, left the medications at the nursing station window, and asked for my grandfather’s room number. Second floor, back on the right, next to the window.

I went up a worn marble staircase. The hallway was silent, only the hum of a distant television and the squeak of my sneakers against the linoleum. I counted the doors to the one at the end. It was ajar. I pushed it slowly, with that delicacy one uses so as not to wake someone.

And there was the second surprise.

My grandfather, sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking his cock as if his life depended on it. The sheet had been pushed aside, the pajamas open, and his dick was between his fingers, surprisingly firm, the tip shiny, a thread of precum running down to his knuckles. His gaze fixed on nothing and his hand moving with an energy I would never have imagined at that age. I froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, feeling my nipples harden under my T-shirt.

I should have turned around. I should have closed the door and gone downstairs to tell the nurse. But I didn’t. Instead of freaking out, memories I had kept under lock and key came rushing to mind, things from my adolescence I never told anyone and won’t detail here either. Things about him and me, from a time when I was curious and he was still all there.

The truth was he didn’t stop. He didn’t even notice me. He kept concentrating, oblivious to the fact that I was standing there in front of him, watching him jack off.

I closed the door behind me. The click of the lock sounded louder than I expected.

I walked over slowly. I knelt beside the bed, gently moved his hand away, and replaced it with mine, just like I had back in that time I’d rather not name. He was hard, incredibly hard for a man his age; I wrapped my fingers around the shaft and felt it throb against my palm, hot, the skin taut. I started pulling his foreskin up and down slowly, uncovering the swollen, purplish head, slick with moisture. I ran my thumb over the tip and spread that sticky fluid all over the crown. I looked at his face: not a hint of recognition, only pure pleasure, animal, memoryless. Mouth slightly open, breath short, a tremor in his skinny legs.

I wanted more. I lowered my head and took him into my mouth.

All at once I was there, kneeling in a nursing home room, sucking the cock of the man who years ago had taught me so many things. I took him all the way in, feeling him hit the back of my mouth, my lips tight around the shaft. I pulled him out slowly, dragging my tongue along the underside, playing with the frenulum, and buried him again to the root. I circled his balls with my free hand, weighed them, stroked them softly while I kept sucking him with rhythm. He started to moan, first softly, then with a kind of hoarse growl from deep in his chest. I sucked the tip with my mouth shaped into a tight O, licked him like a candy, ran my tongue from his balls to the head in one long, sloppy stroke, and took him back in whole. I kept going, without thinking, letting myself be carried by something I didn’t understand but didn’t want to stop. I could feel the wetness growing between my legs, the jeans getting more and more annoying, squeezing my soaked cunt.

I grabbed the base with my hand and started jerking him while I sucked the head, coordinating both things, twisting my wrist on each upward stroke. The old man clutched the edge of the mattress, knuckles white, and started moving his pelvis against my mouth, fucking me slowly, without strength but with hunger. After a while he gave a muffled shout and came. It was little, just a warm, salty thread that I managed to swallow; he was probably emptying himself morning and evening, every day, and there wasn’t much left in him. I squeezed out the rest with my hand, scraped it off with my tongue, and swallowed every last drop. I stayed for a moment with my forehead resting against his leg, his still-soft, slobbered cock brushing my cheek, catching my breath.

—Who are you, miss? —he asked abruptly, in a frightened child’s voice.

—Your granddaughter —I answered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand—. Mica.

He looked at me without understanding. Several long seconds passed before something settled behind his eyes. Then he smiled, took my face in both hands, and greeted me with enormous affection, as if I had just entered the room. He didn’t remember anything that had just happened. Or maybe he was playing dumb very well, who knows.

***

There was a knock at the door. I barely had time to stand up and fix my clothes before the nurse came in with a cart full of pills in little plastic cups. She said hello, took my grandfather’s blood pressure, and brought him the cup with his meds.

—So? What have you been up to, Mr. Aníbal? —she asked while putting the pills in his palm.

—I jerked off —he replied, perfectly casual.

The nurse raised her eyebrows, looked at me with a face that said “you see what I mean,” and let out a tired laugh.

—He’s touching himself all day. Him and three others on the floor. That’s how they are. Nothing stops them.

Right at that moment, from the room across the hall, a hoarse voice shouted:

—Where’s there a pussy around here?

The nurse rolled her eyes, finished giving my grandfather his water, and bolted out, muttering something about not getting paid enough. She left me standing there, alone again, with the door open and the neighbor’s voice insisting from the hallway.

I stuck my head out. A gray-haired man, skinny, about ninety and looking damn good for it, was sitting in his wheelchair staring at me with a mischievous smile that didn’t match his faded body. His hand was inside the waistband of his pajama pants, touching himself without even trying to hide it.

—Will you let me touch your pussy, babe? —he said, straight out.

And me, already hot-blooded and thinking of something else entirely, said yes. He could. I helped wheel him in and closed the door again.

I leaned against the edge of my grandfather’s bed and let the old man slide his hand over my jeans. At first he was groping my crotch from the outside, pressing the fabric against my pussy lips, feeling the heat already rising through the denim. Then he pulled down the zipper, undid the button, and slipped his fingers inside my panties. He touched me with a skill that surprised me, slowly, finding my clit with the pad of his middle finger, insisting exactly where he needed to. For someone who understood little about the present, his hands still remembered perfectly what they had to do.

—Mmmm, what a nice pussy, so wet, babe —he murmured as he worked faster.

He slid two fingers inside me and started pumping while his thumb kept rubbing my clit in circles. I spread my legs wider, arching into his hand, feeling his fingers going in and out with a wet, filthy little sound that filled the room. My grandfather, sitting beside me, got back to business too. He uncovered himself again, pulled out his cock, and started stroking it while watching us. Now I was the one stretching out my arm and grabbing him, squeezing his shaft with my fingers, jerking him slowly while the other old man worked me with his. Two old men, one on each side, and me in the middle, still half-disbelieving where I had ended up, with one cock in my hand and two fingers buried in my cunt.

The ninety-year-old picked up the pace, drove his fingers up to the knuckles, and rubbed my clit with such precision that it made me lose my breath. I felt the orgasm rise from inside, tighten around me, and it made me come right there, standing up, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream, legs trembling and cunt gushing over his hand. The jeans, which had slipped down to mid-thigh, ended up damp, stuck to me, stained with my own juice.

While I kept working my grandfather, he let out a few thick drops that landed in my hand. I brought it to my mouth without thinking, sucking my fingers one by one, savoring the salty taste, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

***

The truth is I was turned on and wanted more. I peeked into the hallway to make sure nobody was spying. It was deserted, not a nurse, not a caregiver; in that place care was nowhere to be seen. I went back in, locked the door, and took off my T-shirt. I let my bra fall to the floor without ceremony.

The old man in the wheelchair nearly drooled when he saw my tits. I finished taking off my jeans and panties, ended up naked in front of them both, and moved toward him so he could keep touching me, fingering me, doing whatever he wanted. He latched onto my breasts like a baby, one and then the other, and left them full of saliva, sucking and biting my nipples with a hunger that had nothing to do with the nursing home food. He kneaded them with both hands, squeezed them hard, and went back to sucking until they were hard and red. With one hand he went back to my pussy, this time with no fabric in the way, and shoved three fingers in at once, making me moan.

My grandfather, without getting out of bed, reached over and laid a hand on my ass, groping me from behind. He spread my cheeks, ran his thumb along the crease, brought it to his mouth, and touched me again, this time brushing my asshole with the tip of his finger. He was hard again, harder than before, and I got this overwhelming urge to climb on top of him and ride him.

I climbed onto the bed, swung one leg over him, and settled over his pelvis. I grabbed his cock, set it against the entrance to my cunt, rubbed it a little against my lips to soak it with my own juice, and lowered myself slowly. I felt it open me, fill me little by little, until I had it buried all the way in. I stayed there for a second, sitting on him, feeling him pulse inside me. Then I started moving, up and down, finding the rhythm, bracing myself on his thin chest with both hands.

The old man in the wheelchair rolled closer to the edge of the bed, grabbed my waist, and buried his face between my ass cheeks. He licked me from behind with a tongue that no longer had any hurry, sucked my asshole whole, pushed his tongue into my crease, and kept going down until he was licking my pussy while I rode my grandfather. I could feel his dick going in and out of me, the other man’s sloppy tongue working me from behind, and I couldn’t believe how soaked I was. Every time I dropped my hips, my cunt hit my grandfather’s bony pelvis and made a wet, slapping sound that blended with the growls of the two old men.

My grandfather, understanding little to nothing about what was happening, held my hips and let me do what I wanted, lost in his own pleasure. He grabbed my tits with both hands, squeezed them, and started pushing his pelvis up from below, fucking me with the little strength he had left. I sped up, bouncing on him, feeling him hammer into me from inside. The other one spread my cheeks wider with his hands and kept licking me, alternating between pussy and ass, sucking whatever he could find.

It didn’t last long. At that age things end fast. I felt him tense beneath me, grip my hips hard, let out a long groan, and I felt him empty inside me, a warm, short spurt that ran down my cunt the second I moved. I knew he was done. I got off carefully, feeling his cum drip along the inside of my thigh, wiped myself on the sheet, and sat there for a moment on the edge of the bed, legs still open, staring at the peeling ceiling, trying to understand when my afternoon of being a responsible daughter had turned into this.

I dressed slowly. I stayed a little longer with him, until snack time, talking about things he made up and I went along with. Every so often he would ask again who I was, and I would repeat that I was his granddaughter, Mica, and he would smile as if it were the first time.

Before I left, the man in the wheelchair was still insisting. He wanted more, he said, for me not to go. He had pulled his cock out of his pajamas and was jerking it in front of me, thin and wrinkled but surprisingly firm, the tip already wet. To keep him calm, I knelt one last time in front of him, took his cock in my hand, and put it in my mouth. I sucked him slowly, all of him, soaking him in saliva, moving my head at a steady rhythm while I stroked his balls with my other hand. He placed one hand on the back of my neck and set the pace, pushing me gently against his pelvis, fucking my mouth with what little strength he had left. I ran my tongue all over the head, licked him underneath, took him back to the very root. I gave him a tight handjob with my mouth, up and down, sucking him hard, until he let out, slowly, the little bit he had left: a couple of thick drops that fell onto my tongue and I swallowed without thinking. When he was done, he looked like he’d been hit by a truck, slumped against the wheelchair back, with his saliva-slick cock still hanging out of his pajamas and a look of absolute peace on his face.

I kissed my grandfather on the forehead goodbye. He didn’t recognize me, but he kissed me back anyway.

***

I left the room and went down the stairs, my legs still trembling and my panties soaked through. In the hall, the first old man was still there, the one who had greeted me, going at it in his armchair, cock out, oblivious to everything. I glanced at him and thought that another day, easily, I could throw my own little party with all of them. Nobody controlled anything in that place. The doors were always left ajar, the nurses overwhelmed, time standing still.

I signed myself out, told the woman at the front desk I’d be back soon with the month’s medications, and walked to the bus stop with my head full of ideas I wouldn’t take long to put into action.

And next time, I promised myself, I wasn’t going to arrive so late.