Grandpa Pops In

I had let myself into my daughter's Ellen's house, playing the role of loving father in doing what I was asked to do in her absence, which was checking up on the place from time to time while she was out of town on a business trip. No easy task, I realized when I thought about how my pride and joy had been forced into playing dual roles of Mom and Dad since the low-life she had married took off, leaving her and her daughter Abigail to fend for themselves.

I was also supposed to see what I could do about a dripping faucet but after I entered the kitchen I froze in my tracks because I was not alone, and judging from the muffled noises coming from down the hall my granddaughter was not alone.

Abigail with a boy? This was a bit of a shock because she was such a bookworm I didn't realize she had a social life. Her mother had lamented to me that she didn't even go to her senior prom last month and I was shocked as well because I couldn't believe she was 18 and graduating from high school.

Keeping track of things like birthdays and graduations used to be what my wife used to keep track of, but with her passing I had discovered that I wasn't too good at that kind of thing.

Oh, I noticed that Abigail was growing up because she was as tall as I was now, although she really didn't look old enough to vote. She had plain features and her body was still rather boyish. She wore a 32A bra these days, a modest upgrade from the double AA cup models for earlier days, and the reason I knew that was because I'm a snoop.

During an earlier visit I had checked out the clothes in the hamper and when I pulled out the padded harness I knew damn well it didn't belong to my busty daughter. Neither did the blue satin panties with a tiny stain in the white cotton panel because they were too small for my daughter.

What kind of man goes through the clothes hamper of his daughter's house, looking at his granddaughter's undergarments and even bringing the panties up to his nose and inhaling deeply while wishing they were still warm and had just came off of her? The lonely and horny kind of man, and that's me.

I had even gotten aroused when I saw a tiny black hair that was caught in the bunched up elastic of the leg opening of the undies, happy that Abigail wasn't one of these girls that shave or wax down there. Call me old fashioned but I like women to have hair down there, and judging by the delightful down on Abigail's arms I wondered whether she might be really furry down there.

I stepped closer, creeping down the hall like a cat burglar, and when I reached Abigail's room the door was not closed. In the ten seconds or so that I spent looking at my granddaughter before stepping back behind the wall I learned a variety of things.

The first thing I noticed that Abigail was not with a boy - and although the idea would have excited me greatly she wasn't with a girl either. She was alone and she was pleasuring herself, and that was something I could relate too because since my wife passed a couple years ago that's my main source of entertainment, but unlike me Abigail used an assistant.

The object in question was a dildo - or a silent vibrator - and from the glimpse I got of the black toy it looked gigantic as Abigail used her right hand to work it in and out of herself. Since she had her knees bent and her feet flat on the bedding the other mystery was solved as well. My granddaughter Abigail had a hairy pussy, probably a gift from her Mom, and grandmother too.

Pretty flat chested too, I noticed in the brief peek I got at my naked granddaughter, although part of that may have been because she was on her back. In her left hand she had a book she was reading, a diversion that kept her from noticing me, and although I pleasure myself usually with DVD's - a great invention - I've also been known to get myself off reading naughty stories on this Literotica website.

Resisting the urge to go in and join her, which was something that might happen in one of those incest stories I favor, I retreated back to the kitchen and started quietly tinkering with the faucet while enjoying the background music of Abigail cumming loudly.

It wasn't my intention for her to see that I was there, but after her room went silent she came down the hall and into the kitchen almost right away, and I had my back to her when she peeked around to see who it was out there. I heard her gasp, and when I turned around I feigned a little surprise at seeing her. My granddaughter's look of shock didn't seem faked, but at least I hadn't kept her from cumming.

"Hi honey," I chirped happily. "Your Mom wanted me to fix this faucet and I had a few minutes so here I am. Hope I didn't scare you. Figured you'd be up and gone by now."

"No," a very frazzled looking Abigail replied, looking at me strangely. "Kinda lazy now that school's out. Uhhh... how long have you been here Grandpa?"

"Not long," I answered as I went back to tinkering, the sight of Abigail clutching her bathrobe around herself making me think of what was underneath it, and now even her bony knees seemed more erotic to me. "Why?"

"Just curious," my granddaughter replied, and as she came over to get a better look at me struggling to loosen a screw I noticed she was clutching the book that she had been reading in the bedroom.

I figured it must have been one of those steamy paperbacks some girls read but all I could tell was that it was old and a faded pink. There was no title on it I could see so I was clueless but also curious myself.

"I see you still love to read," I commented, and Abigail seemed surprised to realize she was still holding it. "Anything good?"

"Oh - uh - yeah, as a matter-of-fact it is," she said, recovering quickly, and then she sort of held it up and asked me if I recognized it.

"No - what's it called?" I asked, and when I gave it a closer look I saw that it had a little gold lock on the open end and in gold script was written 'My Diary'. "Oh, you keep a diary?"

"No," Abigail responded, still looking at me oddly. "Nothing much happens in my life that's worth writing down. Oh well, better get going. Is it okay to use the shower?"

"Sure, go ahead honey. besides, I'm almost done her," I explained, and then Abigail leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before departing.

I inhaled deeply because although my granddaughter was gone the unmistakable aroma of her lingered, the sweet smell of aroused pussy.

After I finished, not able to finish the job because there was no way to piece together the connection that was too far gone to save, I got ready to leave. Down the hall the shower was going, and while I was tempted to see if there was a keyhole I could peek though to see Abigail get out of the shower like there was at our old place, I didn't.

I did peek into Abigail's bedroom though, mainly because the scent of orgasm was still in the air - amazingly strong and pungent enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up along with my cock. On my granddaughter's dresser was the book - the diary - and because I'm a nosy old bastard I picked it up.

The lock wasn't secure so I opened it up, and while I hadn't recognized the book itself the handwriting was familiar, the long and loopy cursive was that of my daughter Ellen, and the fat book was almost filled with the detailed accounts of her younger

days, the handwriting getting more elegant as she got older.

I wanted to read it so badly - especially when I saw the dates it covered. Surely Ellen wouldn't have written EVERYTHING that happened back then, would she? The shower however interrupted me, because it was turned off, causing me to quickly put the book down where it had been and beat a hasty retreat out of the house.

Good grief. That was all I could keep muttering on the drive home, like an addled Charlie Brown who was afraid that perhaps an old family secret had been unearthed.

***

I had gotten to the hardware store early the next morning, but after getting the parts I needed I drove around aimlessly, afraid in a way to go to my daughter's house in case Abigail was there. I wouldn't have minded seeing her again, especially like I had the day before, even though the way she had looked at me spooked me a bit.

What I really wanted to do was fix the faucet of course, but that wouldn't take long now at all. What I wanted to do most than that was to get a look at my daughter's diary, and to do that properly I needed to be alone for a while. Even though there was a chance that what I would read might well make me extremely uncomfortable, I needed to know.

The perverted part of me, something that had always been there but seemed to be growing in recent years, wanted to read the details of Abigail's Mom's formative years and how she really felt about the way they played out.

Abigail's beat-up Toyota was not in the driveway when I got there, so I let myself in and hustled inside. Debating briefly whether or not to fix the faucet now or later. I set the things next to the sink and hurried down the hall.

Abigail was not there of course, and she hadn't made the bed, not that I'm a stickler about those things, but it did allow me to go over and sniff the sheets and enjoy the scent of the girlish lotions she used. Not stopping there, I picked up the little white nightie she must have worn - and how I would have liked to have seen her in that skimpy thing - and sniffed it, paying special attention to the lower front and the armholes before wondering where she might have put her Mom's diary.

It wasn't in plain sight, so the first place I looked was the drawer of the night table beside her bed, and as soon as I opened it I saw it. Not the diary, but Abigail's toy, and as I picked it up - a dildo as I had suspected, made of a gelatinous material of some kind that was a little soft and wiggly - the size of the thing made me shudder.

Easily 9 inches or more in length and quite thick, the massive monolith made my cock pale in comparison and not only in hue, and I'm pretty blessed in that regard. This thing going into a little girl was scary to think about, even though I reminded myself that while the kids are always your little girls, Abigail was 18 now. Not a child but a woman no matter what my eyes told me or my mind thought.

After holding the wobbly fake cock up for inspection, I put the thing in my mouth even though I knew what that must look like. I didn't want to pretend to suck it, I wanted to taste it and I sure could. The tart scent went almost down the whole length of the massive thing too.

"The diary," I mumbled to myself, something I did a lot since becoming a widower, but at 63 I figure I'm entitled. That was my objective, so I went to her dresser, first checking out this little bag that was sitting there. It was too light to be a book but I looked inside anyway.

It was a bra, a new one and a nice lacy purple harness too, a far cry from the drab white ones Abigail usually wore. After holding it up and imagining it on my granddaughter I looked on the back strap, but there was a little card taped on top of the size tag, and when I read it my hands turned to jelly and I dropped the thing before clutching the dresser for support until my head cleared.

When I thought I could do so without passing out, I bent down and picked up the bra and read the card again and read it several times in disbelief until setting the harness down and looking at myself in the mirror in front of me.

It was a note in beautiful handwriting, printing not cursive - and the letters were perfectly legible even those the words went through me like a knife. It was a brief message that I memorized after reading it a couple times.

"I'm still a 32A Grandpa, but this isn't as padded as my old ones."

Abigail was not only book smart but intelligent in other ways. Somehow she knew that I would be in her room rummaging though her stuff. What kind of a pervert did she think I was? I guess she knew exactly who I was, or else had just suspected I was a snoop and put the note on the bra.

I put the bra back in the bag, the way I had found it hopefully, and then went back to looking for the diary. The search ended on her make-up table, where there was a note there, the end held down by some of her toiletries; the Aussie hair spray, the Olay moisturizer and the Teen Spirit Pink Crush deodorant.

It's not here Grandpa, but if you look for it please be neat, although you usually are. Love you. XOX Abby.

I could never warm up to calling her Abby, preferring her actual name instead of the truncated nickname many called her, but that didn't matter. I was busted, pure and simple.

I went back to the kitchen and replaced the faucet, not sure whether I wanted to see Abigail or not, and if she ever showed up before I left I didn't know if I could look her in the eye or not. For better or worse, I didn't have long to stew over it because before I put the finishing touch on the project I heard a car out in the driveway.

"Hi Grandpa," came the voice from the doorway, and when I looked over and returned the greeting I tried to keep by eyes focused on Abigail's big brown ones, looking even bigger behind her glasses.

At some point recently Abigail had begun to trim her eyebrows, and while they were still a little bushy they were under control now. My granddaughter's eyes didn't not flinch but neither did they look at me with hatred either. It was just like the way she had looked at me yesterday. Differently.

"I'll be done with this in no time," I informed Abigail.

"No rush," she replied. "I like having you around."

In some ways Abigail looked liked one of these characterizations in the movies - the woman who looked very plain and bookworm-like but suddenly let her hair down, shook her head and was suddenly glamorous - but that wouldn't happen with Abigail and not just because her wavy hair was too short for that. She just wasn't that type.

She was looking different though, and despite the tension in the room my eyes kept going over to Abigail, who feigned interest in my fiddling around while bracing her hand on the kitchen cabinet next to her.

Abigail wasn't wearing a bra under that simple white tank-top and that was certainly different for her. Not flat chested after all, I learned as I tried not to stare at her apple-sized breasts, and although Abigail was pretending she didn't see where my eyes went, the way her nipples seemed to blossom under the fabric suggested differently.

Abigail had nice arms too, a little skinny but nicely shaped, and when I looked at her exposed armpit I smiled at the long diamond shaped patch of 5 o'clock shadow that had grown since her shower yesterday when she had obviously taken the razor in hand. She hadn't shaved today, but I didn't care and actually wouldn't have minded if she had not bothered at all like her Mom had during her rebellious years.

I was a piece of work. The two of us standing there, with Abigail looking like she was going to drop a bomb on me, and there I was mentally undressing her. Talk about incorrigible. I was beyond help.

"You heard me yesterday morning, didn't you?" came the bomb - the first elephant in the room showing itself - and as I tested the faucet and washed my hands I was wondering if feigning deafness would get me out of it, although that would only have her repeating it.

"Yes honey," I admitted. "That was my fault. I hadn't noticed that your car was in the garage. It rarely is. I thought you were gone for the day. If I thought you were here I would have wrung the bell or something. You have a right for privacy. Heck, if the situations were reversed I know I would have been really..."

"I'm not mad Grandpa," Abigail said, interrupting my soliloquy which threatened to go on forever. "I was a little embarrassed but not mad."

"I made sure you weren't here this morning when I arrived," I explained.

"I've never seen you like this Grandpa," Abigail told me. "You look cute when you blush. The reddish skin against your silver hair looks nice."

"I was debating whether to leave it around for you to read or not," Abigail continued. "Something tells me you wanted to read it - you do know what it is don't you?"

"Yes - when you were in the shower I glanced at it. I didn't know your mother kept a diary back then. I'm surprised she let you read it," I responded.

"Oh, Mom doesn't know I have it," Abigail explained. "I found it up in the attic when I was rooting around. I was hoping to find some of her vintage clothing - you know - the ancient hippie stuff? Tie-dyes and bell-bottoms and stuff?"

"I remember."

"I ran into that and I was curious. I guess I might have inherited that from you Grandpa. Being nosy?" Abigail suggested. "Anyway, I got it open and when I started reading I was hooked. It was like I was reading about somebody else."

"I - I guess everybody's got another side like that," I said with a shrug.

"Mom sure does," Abigail said as she moved a little closer to me. "Do you want to read it?"

"No I uh..." I mumbled.

"You want to know if you're in it, don't you Grandpa?" Abigail asked.

"Am I?" I croaked.

"Do you want to be in her diary Grandpa?"

"No. I hope I'm not but I have a feeling I am," I confessed being put on the defensive my an 18 year old granddaughter not fun at all. "Am I?"

"Do you really have a big cock Grandpa?" Abigail asked with a grin that was sinister. "I wouldn't have guessed that seeing as how you aren't that much taller than I am, but I don't think that has much to do with it, does it? I haven't seen all that many of them in person though."

"Ellen - your Mom. She wrote that?" I asked, and when Abigail nodded I said. "No, I wasn't all that big but I don't think she was all that experienced back then, and she was probably scared."

"Mom didn't sound scared. Matter-of-fact, it read more like she was seducing you instead of the other way around," Abigail opined. "I guess it started when she started getting a little crazy in high school. Stopped wearing a bra and was listening to Jimi Hendrix and stuff like that. Stopped shaving her armpits too - doing everything to piss you and Grandma off like kids did back then, but I guess while Grandma didn't like all of that hippie stuff you sure did."

"Ellen was - special," I said. "No matter how it happened, it shouldn't have."

"Sure didn't bother Mom. She worships the ground you walk on," Abigail told me. "I wish my father - asshole that he is - loves me like you loved Mom."

"No, not like that," I said. "It wasn't right. I think I have some sort of sickness - a sexual compulsion syndrome or something. I think I saw Dr. Phil or somebody talking about how when you can't control yourself..."

"I think that's bullshit," Abigail opined. "You were just horny - probably more horny that the average dude," Abigail said in trying to excuse my sordid self. "You must have been. How many girls were you doing during that time?"

"What?"

"Well, there was Grandma, and Mom too," Abigail said, and then she was there counting them off as I recoiled in shock. "There was the wife of the pastor of that church that burned down a few years ago, and some woman named Emma that lived on your street - and of course Mom's friend Lily."

"Your Mom - she knew about all this?"

"It's in the book," Abigail said in stating the obvious. "Mom seemed to be proud of you or something, except for maybe you doing her friend Lily. She wrote that she cried when she heard you take Lily down to the basement of your old house to screw her. I think it was probably because Lily and Mom - well, I don't think they got much sleep on those sleep-overs."

"Lily and Ellen?" I said as I pondered all of this and how transparent I must have been despite thinking otherwise. "And Ellen figured all that out? Her mother..."

"Grandma knew, or that's the way your legend suggests. Grandma loved you but I guess she couldn't take all the sex you seemed to need, so I guess she figured that as long as you didn't bring her home anything besides a paycheck she put up with it all," Abigail explained.