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Snake in the Grass

123

1.
 
It had been a tiring day. But when I opened the door to our apartment and saw Marianne, lying on the floor reading, much of my frustration was wiped away. She was the most amazing creature I had ever known. We had been together for a year now. I loved her more than ever. We were both 23 and since three months we had been sharing an apartment in a student housing area. It was small but quite nice. Marianne was attending women's studies courses, I was busy with my law studies. We were both introverted, and didn't socialize much. That was fine with me. I wouldn't come out and say it to her, but I liked the semi-domestic pattern that we already had settled into. The two of us, our families, a few good friends. Perfect.
 
Marianne lay on her side, head propped on her hand. When she saw me there was a smile on her beautiful face that dimpled her cheeks and lit up her cool gray eyes. Even from across the room, I could make out the big cylinders of my girlfriends breasts, encased in a tank top and squashed against the rug by her other arm. Marianne's long legs were folded, her full thighs pressed together and her pretty feet bare.
 
"Hi darling. I met Fredrik outside. He says he's got a crazy story for us."
 
As I shut the door, Marianne finished a page, then shut her book and rose to her feet.
 
"Hi Christopher. Hi Fredrik. Nice to see you."
 
She came to greet us and gave me a kiss on the mouth. She always did. She gave Fredrik a shy hug. She liked Fredrik but found him immature. "A wannabe macho man", she once said. "But everybody can see that he's just a boy".
 
Fredrik had been secretive, he had indicated it was something about my grandpa but he would say no more until we got inside. I had known Fredrik all my life. He could remember grandpa from he was seven. My grandpa had always fascinated him. Maybe because monster tales have always fascinated Fredrik?
 
As always, Fredrik put his heart into the story. He eyes were sparkling and in his funny, familar way his arms were waving like a conductor's when he attacked the details. The story was disgusting.
 
It took place outside a downtown shopping centre. Outside the entrance a couple a little younger than us were holding each other, necking. Fredrik noticed that the girl, who was very beautiful, made eye contact with someone coming towards them. She gave this someone a shy smile but seemed uncomfortable. Suddenly my runt of a grandpa came into view. Fredrik hadn't seen him for years but recognized him instantly. The young guy suddenly got brusque.
 
"What are you goggling at you ugly old sod?"
He was still having his arms around his hot girlfriend.
 
"What was that, boy?"
 
"You heard me." The boy was mumbling now. Fredrik raised his voice and tried to growl like grandpa:
 
"What did you just call me, boy?"
 
Then grandpa slowly walked up to the young guy. He grabbed him and Fredrik explained in sordid detail how my little grandpa made mince meat out of this tall young punk. He really hurt him. In no time the young man was knocked to the ground, grandpa twisted his arms behind his back, stepped on his head and mashed his face into the ground, forcing him to apologize.
 
After he finished with the boy grandpa slowly walked over to the girl. Her boyfriend was still on the ground. His face was bleeding and he cried. His right arm looked out of joint.
 
"It was totally crazy, said Fredrik. The old guy walked towards the girl and everyone there could see the fight has given him a boner he could have beaten up a guy with. It looked like had a fuckin baton under his pants. It was, you know, like in the jungle. The king of the jungle comes, fights, wins, picks his mate. That little old bastard isn't for real."
 
Grandpa stopped right before the girl, pressed into her, held her close, smooched her cheek, smelled her hair, whispered something into her ear and let her feel his meat for a few seconds. The girl did nothing to stop him. She was all flushed and just stared into the ground. Then he turned on his heels and abruptly walked away. The girl gave his back a long lingering look before she attended to her wounded boyfriend.
 
As usual Fredrik was trying to impress Marianne with his story-telling. I knew he was infatuated with her. He was looking at her almost all the time as he rambled on. "I am sure Christopher's granddad knew that girl. What a freak!. That girl was so ready for him!"
 
I tried to observe Mariannes reaction to Fredriks horrid story. She had her face turned away from me. She played with her lovely dark blonde hair, it fell at an angle that shielded her face from view. She seemed to try to keep her reaction to herself. She was flushed, though. Most of the time she was playing with her delicate middle finger.
 
2.
 
Marianne had never met my grandpa. He was my dad's dad. Since grandma died a few years back my family hadn't seen him much. Grandpa didn't like my family, and we didn't like him. When I was a boy I found him intimidating. I suppose I still do. The last time we saw him was some year ago. In the presence of my mother he called my dad and I "two limpdicks". No contact since.
 
Grandpa used to be an aggressive king of the stock market, and he took an early retirement. He is 68 now, and stinking rich. He lives in a luxury flat in a downtown apartment building. Grandpa is ridiculously small, not much more than 1.60. That makes him nearly 30 cm shorter than my dad and I. And he is really ugly. He has got this big, flat potato shaped nose, brutal-looking like an ex-boxer.
 
Grandma was his opposite in every respect. Tall, elegant, beautiful, good-natured, she loved us like a grandparent should. Why did she marry this mean little runt?
 
Grandpa's idea of fun seems to be to build even bigger muscles. The upper part of his body is really big, but unappetingly hairy. Yuch, thank God dad and I had none of that.
 
And all the gossip around him! When I grew up he and grandma lived nearby. People loved to talk about this old guy who always cheated on his wife. Beautiful women were coming to his house, some very young, and they seemed to get younger by the years. Rumours had it that he had fathered at least a dozen illegitimate children. My dad was pretty sure grandpa was still paying child maintanance for at least two.
 
And of course there were rumours about what this short oldman had, that these willing women liked. The rumours were disgusting, laughable, wildly unlikely. And very embarrassing for our family.
 
Grandpa had three more sons. They were all totally different from dad and me, masculine, succesful, dominant, show-offs - and womanizers. We didn't get on with any of them.
 
Marianne had met all of my uncles a few times. Surprisingly, my shy Marianne seemed to find them OK. Surprising, because nothing annoyed Marianne more than men who showed off. She was a declared feminist and couldn't stand male chauvinists. Lucky for us, my uncles seeemed to like Marianne too. Our family could use some goodwill there. We knew they found us geekish.
 
3.
 
Fredrik had left, we were off to bed. Fredrik's story had made me nervous. When I made it to the bedroom Marianne was only wearing panties. Her breasts swayed free, big and white, and long- that was what was so extraordinary about them - that they were full, and long, and still so firm. It was cold in the apartment, and her brown nipples were erect and pointed at me, accusingly I thought.
 
Unlike me Marianne had a strong sex drive but she always seeemed to be embarrassed about her lust. Now she worked her panties off her full, round buns. She kicked them off, then swung her legs under the covers, which took long enough to give me a view of her lovely full bush, and her vaginal lips that flashed unusually moist and pink between her white thighs. When Marianne undressed completely I knew she needed sex badly. I felt more aroused than I could remember and for once I felt that I would be up to it. She must have noticed that my penis was harder and hotter than usual and began fondling it. Her nipples were really peaked when I touched them. I put my hand down between her legs and found her hairy hole. She was very wet and ready, this added to my excitement. She caressed my rather unathletic frame while I kissed her strong, voluptous body. I always wanted to comment on her lovely body but I seldom did. Marianne used critisize the objectification of women's bodies in our society.
 
"You're already warm and slick. How come so soon?"
 
"Because I'm anxious, too, Christopher, it's been so long."
 
I swung atop her, between her welcoming legs, and, taking my less than average sized peter in hand, began wedging the head into her hot slot.
 
"Am I hurting you?"
 
"Not a bit."
 
Her slippery snatch gobbled me whole in one hungry gulp. I was into her right up to my balls, never had penetration been so easy.
 
"I'm not ... hurting you, am I, honey, I don't want to hurt you."
 
"You're not hurting me."
 
She was throwing it up to me like never before. This excited me tremendously. I shifted gears and started fucking her harder and faster than I ever had.
 
"Oh Christopher. Yes, darling. Yes! You're a regular tiger tonight! I like that! A lot!"
 
For about a half minute, I pounded her lovely butt down into the mattress. I could actually hear the bedsprings squeaking beneath us for the first time.
 
Then our act of lovemaking fast was arriving at the finish. After a few more vicious thrusts into the slippery hot entrance to Marianne's writhing, bucking body, I heaved a gasping groan and hunched into her to the very hilt.
 
"I'm not ready. Oh, Christopher, more! Just a little more. Please!"
 
She was gyrating her rump, bearing down on my prick and hunching me desperately, even as she felt the sticky-hot spurts of my emission jetting forth from the head of my twitching organ.
 
As usual I started to apologize, but tonight I got no comfort. We took turns in the bathroom. Back in bed, she turned a sullen face away from mine and we drifted off to sleep, bodies not touching.
 
4.
 
The following Friday I arrived at the gym to play squash with Fredrik. We had tried to keep in reasonable shape this last year, and squash is really great exercise. Walking through the door, my mobile beeped. Fredrik the jerk had forgotten our appointment for the third time this year. He wasn't even in town. Marianne was sitting on a bench, looking bored. She had finished her workout. We needed to exchange some keys, so she had been waiting for me. When she saw me she stood up and walked over. Behind us I heard a deep voice addressing me. I recognized it and I almost panicked. It was my grandpas voice.
 
"Now, this is the encounter of the year!"
 
Grandpa came straight from some stock holder meeting and and wore a business suit. Marianne had her parka under her arm, and was wearing a pale blue sweater over her favourite pair of old jeans.
 
"This is your girl?"
 
Grandpa hugged us both affectionately. He was energetic like a 20 year old. His eyes were very busy, with three noticeable stops - Mariannes face (seemed to approve), her chest (seemed to approve), and her womanly hips (seemed to approve).
 
Grandpas grin was wide.
 
"I say Christopher, your luck in women surpasses my wildest expectations. You are one fortunate young man."
 
I noticed Marianne flush, to my surprise she made a curtsy and said "why, thank you."
 
"I'm so glad to finally meet you", she said. "I have heard so much about you."
 
"I was afraid you might have, please forget 95%."
 
Marianne gave him a shy but friendly smile. "There's absolutely no need."
 
"Depends, some would prefer amnesia when my name pops up." Grandpa sent me a mischievous smile. "Anyway, I have heard nothing but flatteries about you, seems my sons have told the truth for once."
 
Marianne looked flustered, she nervously lifted her hair up, "Well, I think your sons are very nice as well."
 
I told grandpa Marianne and I needed to plan the rest of our day. We found a sofa to sit in and grandpa joined us, Marianne in the middle.
 
Grandpa steered the conversation, making some hilarious comments, a few of them too bold for my taste. Surprisingly, Marianne did not seem to mind his boldness, a couple of times she laughed herself silly. After a few minutes I observed her crossing her legs towards grandpa and start fussing with her hair. She was looking very much at ease now, guard totally down. Marianne was usually not open with strangers, it caught me by big surprise that she obviously enjoyed chatting with this old jerk.
 
They didn't really include me in the conversation and suddenly I got this crazy feeling that grandpa was glancing too much at Mariannes generous breasts. And that she was playing with her hair too much, touching herself too much, shooting that grin at him too much and maybe - I felt paranoia taking hold - even from time to time peeking at that very visible bulge in grandpas crotch.
 
Grandpa leaned towards me, his arm around her shoulder.
 
"Pity about that boy not turning up. I've tried squash a few times. Fun game. I'll skip the lifting for today and join you for a match. They let out equipment here."
 
He turned to Marianne again.
 
"And you should stay to watch. I play better with an audience, and I need to get back at this nice young man for calling me dirty old man some year ago!"
 
He winked at at Marianne and slapped my back.
 
Marianne was pouting her full lips, but she readily agreed to stay and watch us play. Grandpa got his equipment and we turned for the locker room and changed quickly. Grandpa, I noticed, was even more muscular than I thought, you could tell now that he was out of his suit. The sight of his torso drained me of what I had left of composure. His massive pecs were covered by a dense mat of salt and pepper hairs. They flexed, as did his biceps, when he got into shorts and t-shirt. And I could tell that he - in spite of his diminutive height - was really huge between the legs.
 
His shorts left little to the imagination, you could see everything from the outline of his balls and the head of his penis, to the length of his shaft that swung as he moved. In the back of my head I was glad that Marianne was sitting behind us.
 
Grandpa played as much to her as to me. I was no match for him. After hard fought points, of which he won almost all, he would turn around and wave through the glass wall or exaggeratedly mop his brow. A few times Marianne smiled widely and waved back to him. Three games, 11-4, 11-2, 11-0, were enough for me. When he turned for the door I was shocked to discover that my humiliating defeat had given my creepy old grandpa a hard-on.
 
Before I knew it grandpa was out there talking to Marianne. He was standing close to her and they made some small talk I couldn't hear. When I came to, grandpa added, in a loud voice, so sure, if you ever want to learn squash, I'll have time to teach you. He walked down and joined me by the door to the lockerroom, hitting me on the shoulder and joking, I'll even throw in lessons for your young man. But seriously, this is what's great about being an old man. I have time to spare.
 
I could see that Marianne, as she headed for the lobby, was blushing, but smiling. She threw a tentative glance back at us, inscrutible look in her eye.
 
In the locker room grandpa headed for the showers, I for the locker. I don't like showering in public. When he finished, he walked up, his towel wrapped around his waste, humming.
 
"Your girl is really nice - and beautiful."
 
"Yeah, right on both", I replied.
 
"She looks like a model, except no models have bodies like hers!"
 
The old man was getting a little too exuberant for my taste, and I was just about to change the subject when I looked up from tying my shoe and almost got slapped in the nose by his cock. He had unwrapped his towel and was facing me in the narrow aisle, pulling a shirt over his head.
 
Below a disgustlingly hairy crotch hung a penis so long and fat I had never seen anything remotely like it in any locker room. I felt myself hyperventilate and flush.
 
"I have been a tit man all my life. Glad to see it runs in the family!"
 
He laughed and elbowed me. Clearly he enjoyed to observe how his manliness intimidated me.
 
Grandpas big cock was in my face, menacingly swaying from side to side. He continued with his flattering of my girl and then, incredibly, the nasty old bastard let his monster start to swell again. Right in my face.
 
I was quick to slid down the bench, excuse myself (in an awful hurry, will send my parents your regards) and leave for the lobby. I was chilled to the bone.
 
Marianne was waiting for me. She planned to spend the afternoon in the library downtown. My plan was to walk home and shower and then do some homework at the apartment, so I'd be there when she got back. I tried to guide her to the door but she seemed hesitant and looked pleased when grandpa suddenly emerged. "The library?" Glowing and bouncing on his feet, he asked Marianne if he could give her a ride. He lived close to the library.
 
So before I know it, I'm walking home and grandpa and Marianne are heading to the parking lot. From the rear they looked a comical couple, Marianne's clogs made her look even taller than her 1,80, so she towered over the old man. He was talking non-stop, as they turned the corner he touched Marianne on her arm, I suppose to emphasize a point. She leaned her head down towards his, I suppose to hear better.
 
They faded from view and I left. That walk home was instructive, I went through two stages: burning jealousy, then rational thinking. There were two good reasons why nothing would come of grandpas crude hitting on my girl: Grandpa, and Marianne. He was three times her age, short, ugly, sexist, reactionary, and too aggressive. She was young, tall, beautiful, a sensitive feminist who couldn't stand chauvinism, or show-offs. Plus, she was my girl. And he was my grandpa.
 
So I wasn't really worried. When I asked Marianne what she thought of grandpa, she said that he was nothing like anyone she had met. Partly lounge lizard type, partly biker type grandpa. "Probably the funniest man I have ever met. I like him."
 
"That old geezer didn't make your skin crawl?"
 
"Not that I've noticed."
 
"I think he's a creepy old man".
 
"You don't say."
 
"You don't hate the phony way he acts MAN?"
 
"I don't think he is acting."
 
Jealousy is a funny thing. It comes and it goes. Without any incidents to fuel, it tends to fade, except when you are in certain moods the very absence of evidence seems like the most obvious evidence of all. I knew that Marianne was an attractive, sexually desirable woman. I knew that men were mentally undressing her every day. And she must have had her share of come-ons and pick up attempts. But the funny thing was that her statuesque, smooth beauty tended to intimidate men and protect her from much serious attention - as did her shy personality. So the worries I had about grandpa were basically unprecedented.
 
Marianne seemed to be in a good mood but very absent-minded. She was friendly enough but it was like she wasn't really there with me. We talked less and less. My jealousy grew day by day. She started painting her lips and nails. I wanted to ask her about that but didn't dare to.
 
5.
 
Friday, two weeks after our squash match I found time to make an afternoon visit to the gym. Marianne had told me she would stay at the library until quite late. My shape wasn't good, my grades were going down and I'd made an appointment with a personal trainer. Approaching the gym I saw a couple coming out, laughing. They walked very close, arms touching, heading for the parking lot. The girl a head taller than the man. He was stocky, almost bald, a lot older, but their chemistry seemed to be more than good. I watched the girl as she threw her head back and laughed at the top of her lungs. At the same time she gripped the old guy's upper arm affectionately and they disappeared into his car.

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