As I replaced the diary and put all the other things back on top of it, I realized reading it had made my pussy start throbbing. I was so horny and had not a clue what to do. I didn’t bring my vibrator or dildo with me on my trip for two reasons. First of all, because I didn’t want them to show up on the X-ray machines at the airport and secondly, because who in the hell plans on masturbating while on vacation at their grandparents’ house.
I had to do something, so I closed up the trunk and pushed it back in the corner, grabbed a baton from one of the boxes, pulled the string on the light, and then sat back on the window seat. The only light left in the attic came from the moonlight streaming in through the small square window by the seat and the faint light at the bottom of the stairs emitting from the hallway downstairs.
I pulled my nightgown up, pushed my panties out the way, and started fucking myself with one end of the baton. The rubber end and cold metal created a strange sensation, one that turned me on even more.
I pushed more and more of the baton inside me until no more would fit comfortably. I spread my legs open wider and starting grinding my hips on to it like it was a big, juicy dick.
I used my free hand to undo the top two buttons of my gown so I could caress my breasts. I pushed my right one up as far as I could and swiped my tongue back and forth across my erect nipple.
This continued on for a good fifteen minutes. The whole time I was imagining the couple in the story who were faceless to me. Yet the woman was obviously one of my mother’s sisters. I was dying to know which one.
After playing the whole excerpt from the diary out in my mind and fucking myself royally with the baton, I came like a clap of thunder. I sat there for a couple minutes to regain my normal breathing pattern, which had become shallow. It always does after I cum.
I made sure everything was just like it was before and then tiptoed back down the steps through the closet, shutting the door behind me, and went back to my mother’s bedroom.
My grandparents were still sleeping soundly. By that time, it was getting pretty late. I may not have been tired before going up the attic but after masturbating like that, falling asleep came easily.
I woke up the next day still wondering whom the diary belonged to. I devised a plan in my mind to find out.
Thanksgiving dinner went off beautifully, and I had a great time catching up with my aunts and their families. While we sat around reminiscing about the past, I looked at all of them and couldn’t picture any of them being the woman from the story. They all seemed so demure.
When they were all putting on their coats and such to leave, I put my plan into action. I told them I had lost my address book and wanted to make sure I had their correct information so I could write to them and call from time to time.
I went from one to the other, asking that all three of them write down their home address and phone number. Later that evening, while I was munching on a slice of Grandma’s peach pie that I am totally and undeniably addicted to, I looked at the paper.
All the handwritings were similar. If not for the fact that their names were there, I wouldn’t have known who wrote what. Unfortunately, none of the writing samples looked like the writing from the diary.
I figured a person’s handwriting does change over the years, and trying to figure the owner of the diary was a lost cause. I was just so amazed by it, but you win some and you lose some.
My grandparents took me to the airport the next day to catch my plane back home. I kissed them good-bye at the gate and told them how much I love them. I promised it wouldn’t take me nearly as long to visit again as it did in the past. Grandma surprised me by handing me an index card, telling me she had written down the recipe for her peach pie.
I told her thanks and shoved it in my pocket. They were having final boarding, and I had to rush. I made it onto the plane and found my seat seconds before the pilot put on the Fasten Seatbelt sign.
I flipped through the airline magazine stuffed into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me but found it dull at best. I had meant to pick up a novel or magazine in the gift shop but got to the terminal too late to risk it.
Once again, I was stuck with nothing to read. Halfway through the flight, I started thinking about my grandma’s peach pie. I took the recipe out my pocket to look over the ingredients and directions.
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I instantly knew they weren’t. The handwriting on the index card was identical to the one from the diary, and I was in shock. The woman in the diary, the one whose sexual experience had driven me to the point of masturbation, and ultimately orgasm, was my own grandmother.
It wasn’t until a week later, when my mother called from Europe, that I found out Grandma’s pet name for Grandpa used to be Pookie.Dayum, who would have thought it!
The Seduction
The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew that I wanted to feel you inside me. The first time you kissed me, I thought that I would die. Yet and still, two months and several dates later, we had yet to make love. Partly because you respected me enough to wait and partly because we both wanted the first time to be special.
I decided it was time, since I knew that my body could not settle down for another night’s sleep without you. You invaded my every thought. I dreamed of you doing things to me all the time, whether I was stuck in rush-hour traffic or walking down the aisle in the grocery store. The mere thought of you made my juices flow. I was determined to make the night special, something neither one of us would ever forget.
It was a Friday evening about 6 P.M. when you left your office, tired but elated that the workweek was over. We didn’t have any plans
and hadn’t spoken, even by telephone, for the past few days, which is why the note in the white envelope with lace trim on your windshield took you by total surprise.
As you lifted the note from under the wiper, you could smell the scent of my perfume, all too familiar to you now, breeze past your nose in the brisk October wind. It was a cold evening, but I had plans to warm you up.
You opened the note and read it:
Hey Baby,
I know we didn’t have plans for tonight, but I have a surprise for you. You have to come to me in order to find out what it is. A friend of mine asked me to house-sit her new home while she is out of town getting her furniture. It is kind of way out, so I drew you a map on the back of this note.