For the benefit of those that have not read any of the previous 'Granddad' stories, I would like to make it clear that there is no family connection between John Smith (Granddad) and Anja. See 'Granddad' for further information. No underage sex takes place or is implied. “Granddad?” A single word uttered but filled with concern. I thought rapidly trying to find a possible cause and failing. We were on the beach, early afternoon the day after the party. Anja had wanted to go for a swim after we left her first orgy so, in the weak, early morning sunshine, we strolled arm in arm towards the gently lapping waves. “I just want to be with you, alone together, before we go to bed, Okay?” I told her it was perfectly OK. As we approached the shoreline she let go my hand and dashed ahead. “Last one in's a sissy!” she called over her shoulder in delight as she lifted her knees high and rushed forward into the deepening waters. It was a beautiful sight to see, a beautiful, naked, young woman behaving with all the carefree delights of a small child let loose on the beach, even at four o'clock in the morning. She turned to face me when the water was up to her waist. “C'mon Granddad,” she called, “the water's...” she paused, “bloody freezing!” she ended with a laugh. I struck an heroic pose and strutted manfully forward. The water wasn't 'bloody freezing', not as warm as it would be on a late afternoon in mid-summer admittedly but there was little warmth in the early morning sun and a chilly breeze coming straight down from the mountains made it seem that the sea was by far the warmer place to be. As I approached she swept her arm quickly through the water and ensured I was totally wet and laughed uproariously. I picked her up, swung her into the horizontal and dropped her. Revenge was mine! We played like little kids for about fifteen more minutes before returning to the apartment, showering together and getting into bed. She spooned into my lap and I'm sure we were both asleep within minutes. I awoke about noon. Anja was still breathing the gentle breaths of sleep. I stayed put, content to be snuggled up close. She woke about half an hour later. We made soft, tender love, showered, had a very late breakfast and headed for the beach for a couple of hours. Which is where we came in. “Yes, Sweetheart?” I replied brightly. “Granddad,” she paused for a moment, “we are alright still aren't we?” “Off course we are,” I assured her instantly, “why on earth wouldn't we be?” “Well, y'know I was a bit greedy last night, wasn't I?” “Were you? How many men did you have sex with last night?” I asked reasonably. “Six!” she responded without hesitation, “four times each. That's a bit greedy, isn't it?” “How many men did Betty have sex with? Or Gillian, or Rose, or Mary or Muriel? Six each and three times each at that. How many girls did I have sex with? Six! Four times each as did the other lads. It was an orgy Sweetheart. It's all about having sex and enjoying it, nothing else. Of course everything's okay, unless you want it to be otherwise?” Fortunately my Sweetheart laughed at my justifications. “Lads?” she laughed, “is there one of you under fifty?” she chuckled, “an' anyway the other girls only got three times each worth of cock, they made me the raffle prize remember? The cum dump as Betty made clear. I got their share of all the spunk. Two loads in each fuck hole! Now that's definitely a bit greedy.” she stated unequivocally. “Point,” I said as I began ticking off the list of items, “you don't stop because you get old. You get old because you stop, so us males are still the lads and you females are still the girls. Point. You didn't deprive the other girls of their fair share of spunk, they donated it to you. Their decision alone and you earned it, big time along with their admiration.” Point. Being the raffle prize doesn't happen very often. Only ever to new party attendees and only on their first time. You took part in absolutely everything offered and gave as good as you received and some. Nothing phased you. I suspect most of it was totally new to you, areas you'd not even considered possible but you went for it, every single time! I was totally proud of you. Point. Betty and Mary are the only others that have been the raffle prize in our current group. That makes you very special indeed. Point. Just because we left early doesn't mean the others did as well. They're probably still screwing the Lad's balls dry even as we speak. Point. You were made an Honorary Member of our little group, in your own right. That has never happened before, ever. As an Honorary you can be invited to parties in your own right. You don't have to be the guest of another member ever again. That's quite a bonus, fr'instance, s'posin' you wanted to fly down for a weekend and I wasn't able to come with you for any reason? You could still be invited to parties. Or, again, let's say Muriel is organising a gathering up at her place and I can't attend for some reason, you can still go and enjoy yourself, safely. We don't restrict our parties to when we are here, y'know? Of course I'm assuming that last night didn't put you off me and our little group of like minded souls?” She rolled onto her elbow and looked down into my eyes. There was a sparkle in her eyes which I was pleased to see. Crisis over? I hoped so. She playfully kissed the tip of my nose and smiled happily. “No, Granddad, last night didn't put me off in the least, thank you for asking.” “So, we're Okay? Y'know, you 'n' me?” I offered tentatively. For the next minute or so she devoured my face. Not overly romantic admittedly but rather pleasant none the less. “Yes Granddad,” she agreed when she finally released me from her avaricious lips, “we're Okay! Very OK. Sorry I had a silly moment or two. Thank you.” So saying she flopped back onto the picnic rug. I felt her pinkie finger entwine mine and give it a loving squeeze of contentment. “Thank you, Granddad,” she said, simply. “What for?” “Being...” came her reply. “Being?” “Being a dirty old.... sorry, dirty Lad!” she chuckled happily, “and I'll not change it for the world!” “Grrrr!” I responded delightedly as I rolled over. Trapping her near arm under my waist I made a successful grab for her other and pinioned it to the picnic rug until my other hand could take a controlling interest. With the little minx at my mercy I set about unromantically devouring her face while my hand teased her breasts. Playful struggles diminished rapidly from there onwards. After a minute of frantic snogging, there's no other word suitable, I raised my head and looked down into her shining eyes. “Payback time!” I announced sliding my hand down from her breast and between her parted thighs. She smiled up at me. “Payback gently then, I was planning on an early night tonight and a long lie in tomorrow.” she suggested. So I paid back gently for a few minutes until she enjoyed a nice little shudder of orgasm. With a feeling of some satisfaction I laid back on the picnic rug and hooked her pinkie into mine. “Better rest then,” I advised. We laid there for half an hour, probably more, just connecting with each other's pinkie, soaking up the sun and grateful that the cold breeze of the early morning had dropped completely. My mind wandered back the very short time to when we'd met in the opticians. Just think, I could've gone to Specsavers! “Granddad, can I ask you a very, very personal question?” she murmured. “Ummmm, if I can decide whether to answer it or not.” I conceded. “Of course,” she agreed delightedly, “... how many women have you actually fucked, roughly?” she asked quietly in an embarrassed voice. “Roughly fucked or roughly how many?” I asked with a smirk hopefully breaking any tension she might have had. “Roughly how many, silly,” she giggled, “you don't do rough fucks, not like Jim anyway.” “Ohhh, dozens I should think.” I answered blandly ignoring her reference to Jim's preferences. “Dozens?” she exclaimed disbelievingly, “you fucked six last night,” she reminded me. “Not absolutely true but lemme see, maybe we can work it out, roughly. First came here when I was thirty five, once a year 'til I retired from the pipes at forty. Let's say one party each trip. Six women each party. Six couples is about the maximum number with the apartment being so small. That's thirty and of course the multiple fucks for each woman during the period of the trip, do we count those?” “No, probably not. We could factor in a 'multiple times' element in at the end if you like?” she suggested in a properly business like manner and having made the obligatory eek eek noises in the appropriate places. “OK, well after retirement came here more regularly and for longer, out of season mostly, so on average three times a year and let's say one party each trip? That do? How many's that?” “How long since you were thirty five,” she enquired playfully. “You can't ask a Lad that sort of question!” I declared in mock horror! “Well, let's give you the benefit of the doubt and say thirty five eh? That's eighteen a year for thirty five years equals six hundred and thirty plus thirty equals six sixty, another six last night makes it 666, quite the little devil, aren't you?” she smirked gleefully. I stared at her in astonishment. Only my mother had worked numbers quicker than that, probably because she didn't do her workings out loud so a slow coach like me could keep up. “I'm impressed!” I told her impressedly (OK, it's not a proper word but who cares?) “What, being a little devil?” “No the speed at which you worked it out. You didn't even hesitate, like the numbers were just there waiting for you to read out. Like my Mum, actually. Dead impressive.” “Thank you, kind Sir,” she grinned, “and I like being compared favourably with your Mum, even if it is just numbers.” I smiled. “Okay,” I suggested, “but I'm not the little devil you think I am. The figures need a little adjustment I'm afraid.” “Pity, I was quite looking forward to telling my Mum I'd been screwed by Beelzebub, she's always said the devil will take me,” she chortled, “OK, let's have your alterations and we'll see if I'm up to your Mum's standards as well as my own.” “OK, ready? Started the club twenty one years ago and never stepped outside the club until I met you. Clubs currently got fourteen girl members and I fucked all of them at least once a year. Sadly some have passed but others have stepped up to the mark so the number's stayed pretty much constant. Work with that?” “Think so,” she paused momentarily, “how does five seven six sound?” she chortled. “Oh, how disappointing, I'm not the little devil your Mum predicted after all. But on the plus side, you're right up there with my Mum.” I told her delightedly. “Hey! We're not done yet,” she exclaimed excitedly, “we haven't included those that came before you reached thirty five. Anywhere near ninety? Can you remember any of them?” “I can remember all of them,” I told her truthfully. “You can? All of them? What about those after you were thirty five but before you formed your club?” I thought for a moment or two. “None really. Every now and then I'll see a girl on the beach and wonder 'is that so-and-so's daughter' but I could never remember who 'so-and-so' was. Faceless pussies and pussy-less faces I'm afraid. The fickleness of yoof but sometimes a memory gets triggered” She smirked at that, I suspect it was the reference to yoof. “You can remember every one up until then though? Mind if I make notes?” I looked around, totally perplexed. We were sitting on a tartan picnic rug. Each corner had a sand peg/clip, call it what you will, stopping it from flicking up and covering us with sand. There were two pairs of beach sandals at the bottom of the rug, each in line with the owners feet and us. Nothing, as far as I could see, on which notes might be written. “On what?” I asked quizzically. “Granddad,” she admonished, “a girls goes nowhere without her bag and therein is everything she could possibly ever need.” Leaning forward she reached into the space between our sandals and mimed hauling up a very heavy bag before dropping it onto her outstretched legs. She groaned. “I really must go through this, sometime,” she told herself as she 'unfastened' the top. First one hand dug inside as she mimed searching. The second hand joined in, by which time I was struggling to keep anything like a straight face. She gave me an exasperated look. “It's in here somewhere, I know it is.” she explained delving even deeper, much deeper than arms length would suggest. “Wanna hand?” I asked seriously. “Would you mind? That would be very helpful,” she accepted equally seriously. She straightened up holding her hands one above the other and about six inches apart. “Would you mind keeping an eye on these? Don't want a stray gust of wind blowing them all over the shop.” She placed 'them' beside my thigh. “Just put a hand on top, to keep 'em steady please. If you don't mind?” I didn't mind and carefully placed my hand about six inches above the tartan picnic rug. What else could I do? Out came another batch. “Can I put these under your knee, as your hand's already full?” I looked at the gap between her hands, about a foot. “Can you spread them out a bit? So's I can lay my leg over them more easily.” I looked on delightedly as she carefully converted one pile 12 inches high into three, four inches high, in mime. “Try that.” Lowering my leg I carefully stopped when the back of my knee was about six inches off the rug, stretched my leg and lowered it the extra two inches. “Okay?” “Perfect.” she replied delightedly. Someone was playing the game with her and she appreciated it. Daft as a brush, both of us. And great fun. “How big is that thing?” I asked quietly. The penny was beginning to drop. “Oh, I don't know. When I was little it was only as big as my satchel then as I grew, it grew. It's like a labyrinth in there. If I'm not careful I'll be carrying around a bag the size of Blue John Cavern before I'm forty. Ahrrr there it is! And there's a pencil. Great! Can you hold these in your spare hand while I shove this lot away?” I took a hold as requested and marvelled as she meticulously placed everything back in the order in which she had taken it out. “Right, that's it. We're ready. Thanks for your help Granddad. Just get comfy and take your mind back so you've got a good picture. I'll just get myself organised a bit.” I propped myself up on my elbows as watched, spellbound, as she continued her little charade. With the bag satisfactorily packed away she placed it, once again, between our sandals at the end of the rug. She sat up straight and bent her knees so as to use them as a writing desk. Then she started to mime flicking through the pages of a spiral bound notebook. “Wotchadoin'?” I asked in surprise. “Looking for a blank page, silly.” she smiled happily. “Sorry. What's on that page then?” I asked as yet another page was flicked over. “This page?” she said pointing at the page that might be open, “or..” she flicked back a page, “this one?” “That one will do, if it's easiest?” “This is a note to ring you and say thanks for the info you emailed. Our first telephone conversation. Remember?” “I do, your Husband had gone for a run, as ever, as I recall.” She looked totally stunned at my reply and flicked the page once more. “This one's to follow up your email with further details. Two gross condoms and half a litre of edible lube!” she pretended to read. I grinned happily up at her. “You said I was evil!” I accused, “still think so?” “No! Know so, now.” she confirmed delightedly and continued to flick through the pages quickly, “Ahrrr, at last.” she peered at where the end of her pencil should be and held it out to me. “Is that sand on the end?” she asked simply. I looked carefully and reached out. “Not that I can see. Do you always lick the end of the pencil before you start then?” I asked innocently. She looked at me sternly. “You know I do, Granddad,” she replied with an evil grin. “On this occasion let me lick it for you, just to check,” I replied, choosing to ignore the unsubtle innuendo. I mimed wriggling the pencil from her fingers and placing the tip in my mouth, I sucked gently. No sand. Removing the tip I studied it again before slipping it back into my mouth for another quick suck. I held it out for her to take. “No sand, but there is lead in the pencil.” I informed casually. “Is there Granddad?” she smiled cheekily, “I can't begin to tell you how happy I am about that! Okay, title? Memories of Granddad's cock?” “You don't think that sounds just a bit too incestuous?” I queried tentatively. “It does but that doesn't really matter. Point is I don't yet have enough experience of Granddad's cock to write a memoir. When I read that in the future I'll be totally confused. What? I'll think, I had only known him a couple of weeks! And I'm certainly not going around hunting up all the pussies you've fucked to produce a compendium of contented cunts, that's for sure!” she declared quite forcibly. “Wait a minute! That'll work, maybe? 'Granddad's Compendium of Contented Cunts.'. Think it'll work. Least as a working title?” “It'll catch the eye on the top shelf of a book shop, that's for sure.” I agreed contentedly. Bonkers! Beautiful, wonderful, sexy and exciting! No risk of boredom here, I thought to myself, but Mad as a box of frogs! A box of frogs? Where had that suddenly appeared from? 'Cassie!' I reminded myself silently. “Beg pardon?” questioned Anja in alarm. “Doesn't matter, just something that came to mind.” “No problem. Should I make a note, you think?” By then I was certain that she didn't need to make a note, any notes but said nothing on the subject. It obviously helped her cope. “Probably not necessary,” I suggested, “it'll pop up if it needs to.” Her smile told me she knew I understood and she quite deliberately mimed writing her note meticulously. “Will you be able to find it again?” “Of course, it's all organised chronologically. When I get to the time it's needed it'll be there waiting for me. Now, I've got Gladys in '63 where do we go from there? Oh, and the two girls at Gladys's fiftieth, was that still '63 or '64?” “That was still '63. We're talking about women I've fucked, yes?” I suggested tentatively. She gave me a very funny look, briefly, then smiled happily. “There's women you didn't fuck?” she chuckled, “women you made love to!” she declared delightedly, “you don't want to talk about them? Okay, I can understand that, funnily enough I CAN understand that. Even though it's basically the same activity somehow making love and fucking is really quite different. I've realised that recently,” she admitted solemnly, “may I be nosey and just ask how many, roughly?” “Little minx! Four and ...” I dried up. I'd told her I loved her many times over the last days and she me but... “and...?” she asked softly. “You're one of them,” I admitted equally softly. “Thank you Granddad,” she murmured as she rolled over and gave me a very loving kiss, “I'm afraid I have to admit that I love you too. Awkward really, innit?” she said with a wicked chuckle, “should we stop, you think? You know, talking about your exciting sex life?” she finished as she nuzzled into my neck. “If you like?” I asked, running my fingers through her hair. She was silent for a while then... “'member one of our early 'phone conversations? I asked if you'd tell me a filthy bedtime story and you said you would, when we get there and then, when we started talking, once we'd got on the main road south I said I'd like to talk about sex coz we were both interested in it and I thought you had a lot more experience and I wanted to learn more?” she gabbled, “well I'd still like to learn more and if they're true stories so much the better. Nothing like a dirty story to get a girl going, y'know, Granddad. You can always leave out the lovey-dovey bits if you prefer?” “You don't mind?” “What? You missing out the lovey-dovey bits? Nahrrr, I know how wonderful it is being loved by you so I'll just substitute my own thoughts in the appropriate places,” she chuckled. Pulling her even closer I kissed the top of her head tenderly. “Luv ya!” I told her, “you're really special, y'know that?” “So are you, Granddad,” she said sweetly snuggling closer, “for a dirty old man!” she added with a wicked chuckle. “Hey!” I protested loudly, “I resemble that remark!” “You do! Granddad,” she said delightedly as she rolled on top of me with her legs wide. She looked down into my eyes, hers sparkling with mischief. Kissing me full on the mouth she began to wriggle her pelvis against my belly. “I can't make love with you on this bit of beach,” she reminded me, “but I can rub my clitty against the root of your cock and bring myself off if I wriggle down just a couple or so inches further. Wadjafink? Dare me?” Fortunately I wasn't wearing a boner. Whilst not a throbbing rod, exhausted from the previous night and the lunch time love making, it was still operational despite just sort of 'hanging around' between my legs. “On your head be it!” I informed her. Rising onto her elbows she cast a quick look around. The beach was almost deserted. “I'd rather it be on your head,” she smirked and wriggled down a little, reached between our naked bodies and readjusted me. It felt good as she wriggled on. “You're growing already, Granddad,” she observed excitedly and wriggled the increase inside her wet pussy. I continued to grow, she continued to wriggle. “Don't hold out on me Granddad, I'd really, really like a pussy full of your spunk right now,” she demanded very loudly. I pushed up into her. She thrust back down onto me. I pushed up hard, she drove down harder. “We shouldn't,” she groaned happily. “We are,” I told her forcefully and pushed my hips up hard. She drove down again on my rapidly growing cock. We continued to match each other thrust for thrust, our shared need for each other's ultimate release driving us onwards energetically oblivious of anything except each other. We were getting close, closer. Anja sat up, clearly riding my cock cowgirl style as she rocked her hips back and forth while my cock hammered up and down inside her wet cunt. She came very suddenly with me only a last upward thrust behind her. She collapsed on top of me, giggling hysterically while my cock spewed seed inside her. Raising her head she had another quick glance around. “Think we got away with it?” she asked. “Probably not,” I replied unconcernedly as I reached to cuddle her close for a little longer. I didn't let her go and she didn't attempt to move until my cock slipped out to dangle between my thighs once more. “Ahrrr, that's a pity,” she said wriggling her nakedness against mine. Was quite enjoying the after glow. Nothing quite like a bit of impromptu love making in a public place, is there Granddad?” “We could move up the other end of the beach,” I suggested with a wolfish grin. “Later,” she agreed after a pause to consider, “I think I'd like that.” She rolled off and laid quietly beside me for a while. ### ### ### “Still got my notebook handy,” she hinted hopefully but made no mime to pick it up or prepare. “You're encourage-able,” I laughed, “OK, I'm still game if you are... “You want to get your notebook out?” Anja laughed loudly. “No Granddad, that won't be necessary. I'll remember every word, trust me.” “Has it always been a curse?” I asked quietly. “Yes, always but it doesn't matter right now, c'mon, spill the beans.” she said encouragingly. “After my first three fucks with Gladys I walked to the bus stop to catch the bus home. It was the same conductress. “Hello,” she said, “I hope that lady gave you as good as you gave her.” That simple question shocked me, I can tell you. Seriously thought we'd got away with it! I was planning on going up to the top deck but she was standing on the bottom step, blocking my way. “Move along, inside please,” she said in a conductor type of way. I sat on the long bench seat next to where she would stand. She was not tall. She was very pretty. Quite a lot older than me, maybe ten or so years but a massive amount younger than Gladys. She also had a wicked, conspiratorial smile while I had a new found confidence. She kept looking up at the mirror in the stairwell in a way that suggested that I should also look. So I did. There was a single couple upstairs, sitting exactly where Gladys and I had been sitting. Very clearly visible. What was also visible was the fact that his hand was up her skirt and she was very much enjoying it. “Y'know lots of people sit in that seat and although they can see the mirror quite clearly they imagine that the mirror cannot see them. Must be the funny shape of the lens, I suppose. Now you know why nobody came up to disturb you as you were finishing your lady friend off earlier and why I stopped you going upstairs. If you can't have a good fumble on the upper deck of the evening bus, where can you? Did she make you cum?” It was a very direct question and I gave her a very detailed answer while she snickered in appreciation. “She’s lucky to find a young man that so quickly realised that pleasure is doubled when both parties are trying to please the other. Are you seeing her again?” Again I told her exactly what Gladys had proposed. “Lucky man! Lucky lady. Her very own pupil to teach. Of course you’ll need to practice. Any thoughts on who you could practice on?” She looked me straight in the eye as she said it. I looked straight back at her. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. “You would be my choice.” I replied boldly with little hope of anything other than a slapped face. “OK, I could do with a bit of trained cock. Where do you live? What time do you need to be home?” It turned out she didn’t live too far from me and as long as I was home by ten there was no problem. “My Harry’s on the afternoon shift. You’ll have to be gone by nine thirty, latest so I can make sure everything looks normal. Get off the stop before the terminus and wait for the No.42. I’ll be on it. Stay downstairs and wait until I get ready to get off before you get off yourself. Mustn’t be seen talking together at all, OK?” From then until I left home, effectively, in '65 both Ladies kept me more than busy. Mid sixties was a time for mini skirts and hot pants and although I looked I never bothered to pursue anything. When you're getting Beluga Caviar on a regular basis do you really bother shopping for Cod roe?” “No name? No details so I'll have to use my imagination. One of your loves I'm thinking?” It was a question. “My first. I saw her as often as possible until I went abroad. You didn't make any notes,” I chided cheekily. “Didn't need to. Your loves are part of who you are so they are embedded. Your fucks are who made you what you are, they can be safely stored in Blue John Cavern. More?” she asked picking up notebook and pencil theatrically. I looked to the sky, the position of the sun, and glanced around the beach, still quiet but normal for the time of year. “A quickie?” I offered with a grin. “You offering cock or story?” she laughed in response.