The phone felt oddly heavy in my hand. I’d been holding it longer than needed, listening to the silence on the other end as if it might thicken into something warmer than the air around me.
“Rose, darling,” I finally said, voice trembling in that half-laughing, half-miserable way that only a British winter could provoke. “I think the boiler’s gone again. I’ve been sat here in my coat all morning, and I can see my own breath in the living room. It’s like bloody Siberia in here.”
“Oh, Mum.” Her voice came down the line with a mix of concern and that familiar exasperation she saved for moments when I refused help. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? You can’t stay in a house that cold—you’ll get pneumonia.”
“I’ve managed worse,” I replied, though even I knew it was a pathetic excuse. “Remember that winter in ’78? We all just wrapped up like mummies and kept each other warm. Harry used to boil water just to steam up the kitchen.”
There was a pause. Then Rose softened. “Come stay here for a few days. Gary said it’s fine. We’ll have the heating on full, and you can rest without worrying.”
I hesitated. “Oh, I don’t want to be under your feet. I’ll sleep on the settee if I have to—”
“Mum, don’t be silly. You’ll have Gary’s bed. He said he’ll crash on the couch. He loves having you around, you know that.”
I tried not to smile, but I did. Gary was always sweet with me, even in that awkward teen phase when boys grunt more than talk. “I suppose it wouldn’t be terrible. Just a few nights,” I relented.
“Good. I’ll be there in twenty. Get your things ready.”
By the time she pulled up, I was waiting at the gate with my little overnight bag and a scarf tied tight beneath my chin. The sky was all grey wool and the air bit through my gloves. Her car was warm, though, and her hand on mine as I climbed in brought a sudden ache to my chest I couldn’t quite explain.
“Gary’s out at the gym, but he’s tidied his room up for you,” she said as we drove. “He even lit a candle. You’d think royalty was coming.”
“Does he know his grandmother wears low-cut jumpers to bed now?” I teased. “That’s what happens when the heating’s gone. I’ve been flaunting cleavage just to survive.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly, Mum. You’re impossible.”
Rose’s house always smelled of vanilla and wood polish. The kind of middle-class comfort that would’ve made Harry raise his eyebrows in mock horror. I slipped out of my coat and adjusted the low neckline of my wine-red jumper—old, but clinging in the right places. My figure hasn’t faded entirely. My breasts still sit high enough that bras are more suggestion than necessity. My hips, too—still generous, still mine. Age hasn’t shrunk me, not in the ways that matter.
We had lunch together at the table—something warm and creamy, chicken and leeks in a buttery sauce with fresh bread—and Rose chatted while I listened, nodding, only half-present. She spoke about work, about how Gary was studying something or other, maybe economics. I watched the steam rise from the mugs of tea and thought of the cold that lingered in my bones, even now.
Gary arrived just after two. Tall and broad in that way boys grow when you’re not looking, all arms and quiet energy. He kissed my cheek without hesitation and grinned. “Hey, Gran. Mum says you’re freezing to death, so I figured I’d give up my room. You like candles, right?”
I touched his arm. “You’re a sweet boy. Your grandad would’ve been proud of you.”
He blushed. Actual pink on his cheeks. “Nah.”
That night I lay in his bed, wrapped in crisp linen and the faint scent of whatever shampoo he used. My dressing gown felt like luxury compared to the frigid duvet back home. But sleep didn’t come. It rarely did anymore. I kept thinking about Harry—his smell after the garden, the way his knees cracked, how he’d curl around me when the weather turned mean. I missed his warmth, the sound of his breath when he was dreaming. How could someone be gone so long and still feel this close?
I was just about to reach for the lamp when I heard a soft knock.
“Gran?”
It was Gary. He nudged the door open, shirtless, he looked like he kept fit, he was clutching his laptop and looking sheepish.
“Sorry. Just… couldn’t sleep. Mind if I grab this? its my charger for my laptop.”
I sat up a little, tugging the covers up over my chest, though he’d seen me in this dressing gown hundreds of times. Still, it felt suddenly intimate—him barefoot, tousle-haired, the soft light slanting across his chest.
“Of course, love. Come in.”
He stepped in and paused at the edge of the bed, noticing the glisten in my eyes. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer straight away. Instead I looked past him, toward the little wooden desk and the candle still burning low.
“I was just remembering,” I said finally. “Harry used to say cold nights like this were made for two people.”
Gary lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “You miss him?”
I nodded.
He was quiet, respectful. “You were together forever, weren’t you?”
“Sixty-two years,” I whispered. “Imagine that. Oh Gary I miss his cuddles on how we use to snuggle up.”
Gary’s hand was resting on the bed now, not quite touching mine, but close. I could feel the warmth of him there. He looked down, shy again, like he’d wandered into something private but didn’t want to leave.
“I miss his cuddles too,” I said, almost in a whisper. “And the way he’d hold my feet between his thighs when they got cold. I’d complain, and he’d say, ‘Well, stop putting them on the floor then.’ He was daft like that.”
Gary smiled, small and boyish. “Sounds like a good man.”
“He was. But even the best men leave. Eventually.” I rubbed my hands together beneath the covers, the way I did when my thoughts started to unravel.
Gary looked at me differently then. Not with pity, but something quieter. A kind of listening that didn’t need words.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone to cuddle like that,” he said. “Not really. Not for more than a night or two. You know what it’s like with people my age. Everyone’s halfway out the door before they’ve taken their coat off.”
That surprised me. “You’ve never had a proper girlfriend?”
He gave a soft shrug. “A few dates. A few mistakes. Not much worth remembering.”
I laughed gently. “Oh, love, it’s all worth remembering. Even the bad ones. Especially those, actually.”
There was a long silence then. Just the low hum of the heating vent and the candlelight shifting on the ceiling. He was still on the edge of the bed, still not quite ready to go.
I turned a little, facing him more directly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He looked up at me, and in that moment, there was something in his face I hadn’t seen before. Not quite sadness, not quite longing. Just… something adrift.
“Sometimes I don’t sleep because I don’t want to lie there alone,” he said. “Is that mad?”
“No,” I said quietly. “It’s human.”
He reached for the charger finally and stood. For a moment, I thought he’d just head back to the living room, and maybe he should have. But instead, he lingered.
Then, a quiet voice: “Could I… stay with you abit longer, maybe I can get in beside you and you can tell me about Grandad.”
“Sure honey,” I pulled the covers to let him get in the bed. He settled on his side facing me.
Gary settled beside me, slow and unsure, like he wasn’t quite convinced it was allowed. I felt the warmth of him almost instantly—the softness of his skin, the hesitant shuffle of his legs beneath the covers. I turned slightly so we were facing one another, a few careful inches between us. Just enough to see his eyes in the glow of the candlelight, already growing low in the glass.
“Tell me what he was like,” Gary said. “Grandad, I mean. I don’t remember much. Just smells and sounds, really. His watch chain. The way he’d clear his throat before speaking.”
I smiled at that. “He did that because he didn’t like raising his voice. Thought it was undignified. He always said if people didn’t want to listen to you, shouting wouldn’t help.”
Gary laughed softly. “That tracks.”
“Harry was… strange, in the best way,” I went on. “He didn’t care about money or appearances. He wanted gardens, and books, and peace. We didn’t have much. But we had each other. And the way he looked at me sometimes—like I was a song he was trying to remember the words to.”
That made Gary go quiet.
I looked down at my hands. They looked old, especially in this light. Veined and soft, skin like parchment. But when I rested one lightly on top of his, I didn’t feel old. Just… still here.
“I used to wake up in the middle of the night,” I said, “and he’d be watching me. Not in a creepy way, mind. Just… quietly. Like he was making sure I hadn’t gone somewhere.”
Gary’s voice was barely there. “You ever do that with him?”
“All the time.”
He turned onto his back, our hands still resting together between us. The silence returned, but it wasn’t empty this time. It was full of shared breath, of the kind of closeness you don’t often find with someone unless there’s no need to impress them.
“You’re very warm,” I murmured, smiling. “Better than a hot water bottle.”
He chuckled. “You’re not so bad yourself. Gran, your skin’s so soft.”
“I moisturise,” I said, mock proud.
His thumb brushed against mine, slow and absent-minded. A gesture that felt oddly timeless. Not charged, not loaded—just… real. He wasn’t a child anymore, and I wasn’t only a memory-keeper. For this moment, we were simply two people lying in the dark, aching in different ways.
“Do you ever get scared?” he asked suddenly.
“All the time,” I replied. “But less when someone’s beside me.”
“Same.”
He shifted slightly closer. Just enough that our arms touched. Then his voice again, quieter this time, the words almost like breath. “Thank you for letting me in.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said, gently. He put his arms around me and we cuddled for a while as I rubbed his back. I could feel his crotch against me and something harden, oh my. Then his hands slowly rubbing my bottom as he pulled me closer. My old big boobs crushed to his chest.
“Whens… when the last time… nevermind,” he said embarrassed as he squeezed my old ass.
I laughed, the sound a little breathless. The heat in the room had definitely risen, and it wasn’t just the lingering candle. “A long time, love. A very long time.”
“Oh,” he said with a little smirk, “So does… you know. Everything still work down there.”
I didn’t answer right away. I studied his face in the dim light, the flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes flickered with a mixture of apprehension and desire. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” I finally said, my voice a low murmur.
He swallowed hard. “Are you sure? I don’t want to… I wouldn’t want to upset you, or disrespect Grandad.”
“Your grandad was a man who lived life to the fullest,” I said, thinking of all the silly, spontaneous things we’d done together. “He wouldn’t want me to live in a box, afraid of feeling.”
I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “And as for being upset… right now, the only thing that would upset me is if you left this bed. We need to be quiet ok sweetie, and be gentle I am not as young as I use to be.”
He rolled me onto my back and got on top of me his hands pushed up my night wear so my full body was showing. He pulled down my old big granny knickers, I unclasped my bra. He kneeled between my legs looking down at my old pussy as he spat on his hand and lube his cock head.
He hesitated for a moment, as if steeling himself. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed the head of his cock against my slit. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath that echoed in the quiet room. Even that small touch sent a ripple of sensation through me, a long-dormant ache that bloomed into something undeniably alive.
A tremor went through me as he pressed the head of his cock against my opening. I hadn’t felt anything like this in…well, I couldn’t even remember how long. “Easy, love,” I stammered, my voice catching in my throat. “Be gentle. I am old remember.”
He took my words to heart, his movements slow and deliberate. He pushed the head of his cock against the entrance to my slit, a slow, tantalizing dance that sent shivers down my spine. A soft moan escaped my lips. “Oh, Gary…”
He pressed harder, and with a gentle push, the head of his cock slid inside. It was a tight fit, surprisingly so, and I gasped. “Easy, baby, easy.”
He paused, letting me adjust to the sensation. I closed my eyes, the memory of Harry fading as the present took over. The feeling of Gary inside me was… intense. A mixture of discomfort and pure, raw arousal.
He started to move, slow at first. Just barely in and out, a tease that made me arch my back. “Oh, yes,” I moaned, my voice cracking. “Like that… so good.”
He picked up the pace, each thrust a little deeper, a little harder. My hips started to move with him, an instinctive rhythm that hadn’t been awakened in years. I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
“Gary…Gary…” I panted, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Oh, god… it’s… it’s been so long…”
He didn’t answer, focused on the task at hand. His face was flushed, his eyes narrowed with concentration. The muscles in his arms and back flexed with each thrust, a display of youthful strength that both intimidated and excited me.
“Oh, my… my 82-year-old pussy loves your young cock, Gary,” I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Ga…Gary… fuck…”
He continued to pound into me, his rhythm relentless. I could feel every inch of him inside me, stretching and filling me in a way I hadn’t thought possible. The pain was there, a dull ache, but it was overshadowed by the pleasure, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being touched, of being wanted.
“Faster,” I urged, my voice hoarse. “Please, Gary, faster…”
He obliged, his pace quickening until I was gasping for air. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming with sensation. I clenched my muscles around him, desperate for release, but it wouldn’t come. He seemed to be holding back, prolonging the pleasure, pushing me to the edge without letting me fall.
“Oh, god… oh, god…” I cried, my body shaking. “Gary… I… I can’t…”
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice thick with lust. “Not yet, Gran… not yet.”
And he kept going, his cock sliding in and out of my old pussy with a steady, rhythmic beat. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the experience, lost in the sensation, lost in the moment.
My old pussy clenched around his cock, pulling him in deeper. Gary groaned, his pace never faltering. Sweat glistened on his brow, his chest heaving with exertion. I could feel the heat of his skin against mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
“Yes, baby… just like that,” I panted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Your young cock feels so good inside me.”
I reached up and cupped his face, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. He leaned into my touch, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. I could feel the tension building inside me, the pressure growing with each thrust.
“Gary,” I moaned, my back arching off the bed. “Oh, god… Gary… I think I’m… I think I’m going to…”
He didn’t let me finish, his mouth crashing against mine in a bruising kiss. I opened to him, my tongue tangling with his, the taste of him flooding my senses. He swallowed my moans, his hand moving to grip my hip, holding me in place as he pounded into me.
I was lost in the sensation, lost in the feeling of him inside me, around me, consuming me. The world narrowed down to this moment, to this perfect, exquisite point of connection. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. There was only Gary and me and the slick slide of his cock in my pussy.
And then, suddenly, it was there, the orgasm cresting over me in a wave of pure, unadulterated bliss. I screamed his name, my body convulsing beneath him, my pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice. I could feel him throbbing inside me, the heat of his release flooding my core.
We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. His face was buried in my neck, his breath hot against my pulse. I stroked his hair, my fingers gentle in the damp strands.
“Gary,” I murmured, my voice hoarse and sated. “That was… incredible. What would your mother think of you if she knew you were shagging your poor granny.”
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine. There was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that made my heart skip a beat. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, his tongue darting out to taste me.
“She would fucking kill me. I love you, Gran,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I love you so much.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. I smiled up at him, my heart full to bursting.
“Don’t worry, I wont say a worried darling. I love you too, honey,” I replied, my voice thick with unshed tears. “I love you too.”