My Grandfather Taught Me What My Family Hid from Me

My name is Mariela, and today I’m thirty-one years old. I want to confess something I kept to myself for a very long time, because you know how it is growing up in a conservative family with good principles. I’m doing it today, on the anniversary of my grandfather Eladio’s death, as a small tribute to his memory.

It all started when I was already in college and still living under my parents’ roof. I was twenty-one, a virgin, and they still treated me like a little girl who had to be watched over. My grandfather was the only normal person in that family, and without meaning to, he showed me a world of pleasure I had only imagined until then.

My mother couldn’t stand me and my sisters dressing like other girls, in tight clothes and showing a little skin. I wore long skirts and blouses that looked like they belonged to an old lady. No makeup, except for a little blush and, if we were lucky, lip gloss. Eye shadow or curled lashes were unacceptable to my parents.

When my uncles came to visit, they always made the same comments, that we were already grown, that we were very beautiful women. We would lower our eyes and smile politely. My mother watched us sternly, and heaven help the one who dared answer back.

My maternal grandfather was a different story. He always said we looked like nuns dressed that way, he scolded my mother because young women my age lived differently, and she criticized him harshly. They almost always ended up arguing, and for some reason we were punished by being kept inside for weeks.

“These girls need to live,” he would tell her. “Don’t raise them in fear.”

“You take care of your health and leave me to my daughters,” my mother would answer.

We never said a word. We already knew that if she got angry, the price was not being allowed out for days.

***

One afternoon I came home from university and found my grandfather in the dining room, talking with my mother. I greeted him and sat down to eat in silence, because in our house it was forbidden to get into adult conversations. He was insisting on something: he needed someone to come help him in the afternoons with his therapy.

“I can’t, Dad,” my mother replied. “I barely have time for the house and to run the grocery store.”

He was quiet for a few minutes and then asked whether any of us could go. My mother burst out laughing and said none of us would want to, that all we thought about was running off with the boys.

I don’t know what came over me, but I opened my mouth and said I could go, no problem. My mother shot me that look that froze the blood. My grandfather, on the other hand, was thrilled.

“See? She does care how I’m doing.”

My mother let out a long sigh.

“You’d better not neglect your classes by going around playing nurse. And I want you back at five sharp.”

We agreed that I would go on Tuesdays and Wednesdays after class, on the days the nurse couldn’t look after him. I finished eating and went upstairs to study. My mother’s strictness gave me more than enough reason to take any excuse to get out of the house. For once, she couldn’t do a thing to stop me from getting my way.

***

Tuesday came. I left class and went straight to my grandfather’s house, where he had lived alone since my grandmother died some years before. My uncles visited him whenever they remembered him, which was almost never. I knocked on his door and he opened it with a huge smile. His house smelled of medicine and old man cologne.

His therapy was leg exercises, because he had fallen and hurt his hip and spine. At his age everything hurt, or at least that’s what he wanted us to believe. He was wearing loose sweatpants, an oversized T-shirt, slippers, and his hair was still damp. He looked freshly bathed.

He explained the exercises and how I was supposed to help him. A mat had been laid out in the living room. I left my backpack on one of the sofas while he got into position.

“Take off your sweater,” he said. “You’re going to start sweating.”

“I’m fine like this,” I answered, and knelt in front of him.

I took his ankles and slowly began lifting his legs, following his instructions. I had to be very careful, because he started groaning from the pain. Suddenly he began talking about my mother, about how impossible it was to understand her discipline with us.

“Nobody understands her, Grandpa,” I told him, and the two of us laughed under our breath as we kept up the routine.

Sweat began running down my forehead. I felt like I was suffocating, so in the end I took off my sweater. As I pulled it off, the clasp got tangled and my hair came completely loose. My grandfather got up abruptly and stared at me very seriously.

“You’re the living portrait of your grandmother,” he murmured, and came closer.

***

I didn’t know what to do. I stayed still, dazed, while he approached. He hugged me and, without saying a word, kissed me on the mouth. I wanted to protest, but his lips parted to play with mine, and his hot tongue slipped between my teeth looking for mine with an eagerness that left me breathless. Little by little, the feeling started to please me. I kissed him back. He pressed me against his body and I hugged him just as tightly, nibbling his lower lip as if I had been waiting for that moment for years.

We didn’t pull apart for several minutes. His tongue and mine twined together in a wet, noisy dance, his hands clutched at my waist, and I felt his swollen cock pressing against my belly over his sweatpants. A delicious heat began to spread through my whole body, a tingling that went straight down to my cunt and soaked my panties from the inside.

His hands slid down to my ass and kneaded it carefully, as if he were afraid of breaking me, but soon his fingers grew firmer and dug into my cheeks. Up until then, only my boyfriend had touched me like that, and he had earned himself a good slap for it. With my grandfather it was different. The way he touched me set me on fire, made me squeeze my thighs to hold in the urge that was growing between my legs.

I was up on my tiptoes, because he was much taller. I felt him beginning to lift my skirt and a whirlwind of emotions filled my head. I wanted to ask him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead of speaking, I pressed my mouth to his neck and breathed in his smell of cologne mixed with male sweat.

The skirt rose and his hands took hold of my ass, wrapped in those old-lady panties my mother made me wear. He slid his fingers under the elastic and squeezed my bare cheeks, parting them just a little, and when he felt my naked skin he lifted me off the floor and I lost any impulse to stop him. I clung to him with my arms and legs, my open, wet cunt pressed against the hard bulge in his sweatpants, while his thick fingers, grandfather fingers, slid along the fold of my ass and reached where no one had ever touched me before. One of his fingers traveled over my lower lips and tore a moan from me that echoed through the whole living room. I was so wet I could hear it squelch.

“Oh, my girl, you’re soaked,” he whispered in my ear, and slipped the tip of his finger into me a little, just a little, playing with my virgin entrance.

“Grandpa…” was all I managed to say, my voice trembling.

As best he could, he sat down on the sofa without letting go of my mouth. His hands unbuttoned my blouse, button by button, and I, by instinct, started tugging at his T-shirt. We got our clothes off almost at the same time. His chest was covered in silver hair, broad and still firm for his age. I ran my nails over it and he let out a rough growl.

He took my breasts over my bra. We looked at each other without saying anything, but when he began kneading them I couldn’t help gasping. He took off my bra, fumbling with the clasp with clumsy fingers, and my breasts sprang free, my nipples so hard they hurt. The loose sweater and nun-like blouse had kept them hidden all this time.

His hands squeezed them hard, sinking his fingers into my pale flesh until red marks were left behind. He leaned toward my nipples and started sucking them slowly, tugging at them with his lips, dragging them with his tongue, barely biting them with his teeth. I closed my eyes and felt as if wires were being connected all over my body. Every time he tugged a nipple with his mouth, my cunt answered with a wet clench, as if there were an invisible thread between my tits and my pussy. By then my panties were already soaked, dripping down the insides of my thighs.

He lowered one hand and slipped it back under my skirt. His fingers found the wet fabric, pushed it aside, and finally touched my cunt raw. He stroked my lower lips, swollen and slick, and with his thumb he searched for my clit. When he found it, he began rubbing it in slow circles, very gently, while he kept sucking my tits. I arched all over, pressing his head against my chest, moving my hips on their own against his hand.

“Grandpa, don’t stop,” I panted without realizing what I was saying. “Please…”

He pushed in one finger, just the first joint, and felt the resistance. He stopped for a second.

“Never?” he asked softly.

I shook my head, dying of embarrassment and desire at the same time. He smiled at me, kissed my forehead, and kept playing on the outside, respecting that membrane, moving around it without forcing anything, but never stopping rubbing my clit with his thumb. I was about to explode. I felt a tight knot just below my navel and my legs were shaking.

This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life, I thought, not wanting it to end.

***

Amid that pleasure, my cellphone started ringing on the side table. I looked over and saw my mother’s name on the screen. I felt like I had been caught. I got up in a panic, my legs weak and my cunt burning, grabbed my clothes, and ran to the bathroom to get dressed without answering the call.

In front of the mirror I felt guilty, judging myself. My nipples were red and my panties were a mess. The phone rang again. It was her again. This time I answered.

“Why weren’t you answering me?” she scolded me.

“I was helping Grandpa,” I lied, swallowing the urge to cry.

“Don’t be late. Put him on.”

I came out of the bathroom and handed him the phone. She just wanted to make sure I was there and not, as she said, out acting crazy in the street. My grandfather calmed her down and hung up. Then he asked me to sit beside him in the living room.

“Forgive me,” he said in a paternal tone. “I lost control when I saw you with your hair down. I felt like you were your grandmother. It won’t happen again. You don’t need to come anymore.”

“We both gave in,” I interrupted him. “And in a way, I enjoyed it.”

He looked at me in surprise and smiled. I told him I would keep coming to help him. We finished the exercises and I went home with his kisses and caresses spinning around in my head.

***

That night I went to my older sister’s room, my confidante all my life. I could never tell my mother something like that without her immediately assuming the worst about me.

“What if things get complicated and I can’t stop it?” I asked her, without giving names or details.

“Then use protection and enjoy it,” she said softly. “But not one word to Mom, or she’ll lock you up until you’re forty.”

Her words gave me a strange calm. I went back to my room, but it took me a very long time to fall asleep. Every time I remembered my grandfather’s hands, my body would light up on its own. I ended up sliding my hand under my nightgown, searching for my clit, and I made myself come twice before I could close my eyes, biting the pillow so they wouldn’t hear me.

***

The next day I arrived in a hurry. I left my things on the sofa, took off my sweater, and asked whether we would do the same exercises.

“Today we’re doing another routine,” he replied, distant, as if he wanted to avoid me.

There was a mat in the middle of the living room. He lay down and told me what to do. I was convinced that nothing else would happen between us. As I helped him, he strained and complained about the pain. I held his legs while standing, and from time to time he looked at me. I noticed how his cock grew under his sweatpants, forming a bulge that showed clearly against the thin fabric.

“Stop, please,” he asked, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry,” I said, blushing, without taking my eyes off his crotch.

He tried to get up suddenly and only hurt his back.

“Don’t move like that, you’ll hurt yourself,” I scolded him. “Lie face down.”

I helped him settle in and sat carefully on the lower part of his back. I started massaging it. At first he didn’t want me to, but when he felt my hands, he relaxed until he let me do it. While I massaged him, I remembered how he had touched me the day before, how he had sucked my nipples and rubbed my cunt until I was on the edge. Without saying anything, I took off my blouse and bra. He, relaxed, didn’t notice.

The heat overflowing from me made my hips start moving. Sitting on his ass, I began rubbing my wet cunt against the sweatpants, making small rocking motions that would have seemed like a massage to him but were setting me on fire. When he noticed my movements, he turned and, seeing my breasts exposed, tried to roll over. I put a pillow under his head so he’d be comfortable lying on his back.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmured.

But I was already out of control. I kept grinding my hips, feeling his bulge against me, now directly against my cunt with only two layers of fabric between us. I took his hands and placed them on my breasts, while I gave little bounces over his erection, hard as a rock. When he felt my nipples between his fingers, he closed his eyes and started squeezing and pinching them gently. A gasp escaped him.

“You’re crazy, my girl,” he whispered.

“Shut up, Grandpa,” I told him, and leaned down to lick his lips.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, pulled his sweatpants down to his ankles, and there his cock was, naked: thick, veined, with a red, shiny head, bigger than I had imagined for his age. My mouth watered. I knelt beside the mat and, without thinking much, took it in my hand. It was hot and pulsed on its own. I stroked it up and down a couple of times, watching all the skin tighten.

“Suck me,” he begged in a rough voice. “Just a little, my girl, just to taste.”

I had never sucked a cock in my life. I lowered my face and stuck out my tongue shyly, licking the tip like it was a popsicle. It tasted salty. He let out a long moan. I got bolder, opened my mouth, and took it halfway in. I started moving up and down slowly, helping myself with my hand at the base, while feeling the veins swelling against my tongue. He stroked my loose hair and kept time for me.

“That’s it, my love, that’s it… with your tongue, wrap it with your tongue.”

I obeyed him. I ran my tongue along the frenulum, underneath, and sucked his balls too, taking them one by one into my mouth. I was drooling all over him, leaving everything soaked, and he groaned louder and louder. When I felt him start to tremble, he yanked his cock out of my mouth.

“Stop, stop or I’m going to come in your mouth,” he panted. “And today I want to come inside.”

I pulled off my panties, already soaked and heavy, and tossed them aside. I climbed on top of him, putting one knee on either side of his hips. He took his member and positioned it at my entrance, rubbing the tip against my lower lips, smearing it with my fluids before resting it right on my hole.

I lowered myself little by little. The head of his cock went in first, opening me up, and I let out a whimper. I went down a little more and felt how it forced its way into me, tight and virgin, widening that narrow tunnel no one had ever touched. Halfway down I met the barrier. I took a deep breath, bit my lip, and let myself sink all the way. When my innocence was broken I felt a sharp sting, a few tears slipped out, and I stayed still with all his cock buried to the hilt, my cunt clenched around him. He ran his hands over my waist and held me, waiting.

“The worst is over now, my girl, it’s over,” he whispered. “Breathe, it’s okay.”

Then I started moving carefully while he showed me how. His cock went in and out covered in my fluids mixed with a little blood, and each little thrust hurt less and felt better.

“Slowly,” he told me. “Like that, slowly.”

Little by little I gained confidence and sped up. I started riding him up and down, feeling his cock sink all the way in and hit something inside me I had never known existed. My tits bounced in front of his face and he stretched his neck to suck them on the fly, to catch a nipple between his teeth. I braced my hands on his hairy chest and rode him hard, grinding him, finding for myself the angle that made me see stars.

“Like that, like that, Grandpa, don’t stop,” I moaned without any filter, my voice breaking. “It feels… it feels so fucking good…”

“Ride me, my girl, ride that big cock,” he pulled my hips against his. “You’re so tight, Jesus Christ…”

The sound of my soaked cunt swallowing his cock filled the room, an obscene splashing that made me want him even more. I felt yesterday’s knot return, tighter, and my legs started shaking. I leaned forward, pressed my mouth to his, and while we kissed with our tongues fully entwined, I came all over him, clamping down on his cock in spasms that shook me to the core. I screamed against his mouth. I had never felt anything like it.

He held out as long as he could, but when he felt my cunt milking him, he lost control. He dug his fingers into my hips, gave two or three upward thrusts, and let out a rough roar. I felt the first surge of his hot semen shooting into the back of my cunt, and then another, and another. We gave ourselves over completely, and minutes later he finished inside me, filling me until I overflowed. I felt more woman than ever. He had had a vasectomy years ago, so there was nothing to fear.

I stayed on top of him for a long while, breathing hard, his cock still inside, soaked with him and with me. When I finally stood up, I felt a thread of warm semen running down the inside of my thigh.

***

When it was over, I ran to the bathroom to clean up. That afternoon was calm, without us getting too wild. But after that, I went back every week, and each time we learned something new. He taught me to enjoy my body and to please a man’s body in many ways: to ride him facing backward, to take it from behind while he pulled my loose hair, to swallow his load without making a face, to let myself be eaten out for hours until I lost count of how many times I came in his mouth. I followed his lessons devoutly, and by the time I finished college I felt like a true expert.

My grandfather died years later and left me his house. Today I am happily married. Every year I have a mass said in his memory. My mother is still the same sanctimonious woman she always was, and I think she never found out what happened between her father and me. I named my eldest son Eladio, in honor of the first man in my life.

Thank you for reading my story. I was finally brave enough to tell it after holding it in for so long, and I hope you’ll dare to leave me a comment. We’ll read each other again soon in another confession.