Date: Wed, 30 Mar 2016 00:12:47 -0700
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.net>
Subject: Gramps Part 2

Gramps 02
by Jon Hold
Copyright ©2015 by the Author
Jonhold@earthlink.net


Gramps
Part 2

Well, the rest of that day was a wonder to me. Grandpa told me to leave my
clothes off so I'd heal better. He had a corral full of steers headed for
their first, and last, train ride. He took my new jeans from me and threw
them into the muck in that paddock, shocking the hell out of me. I'd spent
my own money for those Levi's. Gramps just ignored the look on my face and
said, "Them steers will be gone in two days. Go in there and dig your
britches out of the muck and take them down to the creek ("Crik" is the way
he said it) Put a couple of biggish rocks to hold them down so as to let
the water run into the waist and out the legs. Coupl'a days and all that
nastiness will be gone. Then you can run them through the washing
machine. They'll still look new, but they'll be soft as an old diaper!" He
was right too! Those were the most comfortable jeans I'd ever worn—even
with no underbritches! I still do my new jeans like Gramps showed me.

Then he had me work with him around the barn. Taking care of the horses and
just generally cleaning up. Working with Grandpa somehow calmed me down. I
remembered how much I'd enjoyed being with him when I was younger—and I
was forgetting how scared I'd been at home when my parents were
fighting. At noontime Gramps called a break and we walked up to the
house. Grandpa said that I should just stay naked and I just put my hand in
his and walked alongside him. Somehow, the world was right and walking
alongside my Gramps with my perky little wang bouncing in the breeze just
made it better. I sat there naked at the kitchen table and ate my lunch and
afterwards Grampa even let me sit in his lap and share his coffee while we
talked.

Gramps was in one of his moods. We went out to the front porch and he sat
in his old rocker, letting me climb back up into his lap. He told a story
about an old man who had a son, whom he loved very much. But, as all to
often happens to young men trying to grow up, he had a huge fight with his
father and left home, holding the grudge for many years. Then the miracle
of life happened, and the son produced a son, much as his father had done
many years before. As the boy grew and explored the wondrous things that he
discovered every day. His father was also learning. Learning what it was
like having a son and trying to guide without directing, to wait to be
asked before helping, to be there for his son when needed, not "in a little
while", "soon" or any of the other excuses that were so easy and
convenient, doing to and for his son all the things his father had done to
and for him. And the day that he realized what he'd been doing, he called
his father, and apologized. His Dad just laughed and said, " well Son, you
got there a lot faster than your old man did. You were 15 before I called
YOUR grandpa and apologized to him!"

Somehow, that story made me feel lots better. I couldn't figure out why it
made me feel better, but it surely did. I twisted a little bit and leaned
back against my grandpas chest. We talked about growing up, about the
changes in my body, about why my dick and balls were getting bigger, why
mine were so much bigger than the other boys in my gym class. We talked
about this and that and the next thing. Pretty much anything that came to
mind was fair game. Grandpa finally said that maybe we should do some work
in the garden before it was time for chores. I liked working in the garden
so I jumped off grandpa's lap and pulled on his hand to help him up.

Walking over to the truck garden wasn't much of a walk, but Gramps was
sweating before we even started doing any work.

"You know, Wizzer, I think you've got the right idea."

My grandpa walked over to the back gate and then went to the shade tree
that we sometimes took naps under when I was younger and started taking his
clothes off.

"Why don't you take your boots off, Wizzer? I'm gunna!"

Didn't take me long to do what grandpa said! Then I got to stand there and
watch grandpa finish getting undressed, boots and all! The more I looked at
him, the more I realized how proud of my grandpa I was. Most of the guys
grandpas, if they were still alive, were all fat and slow, usually grumpy
and no fun to be around. Gramps looked pretty much like the pictures of him
when my daddy was a boy. Healthy, active and really good looking. Of
course, he was my grandfather, so I was gonna think he was good looking
pretty much any way he looked. But Momma's Daddy was my grandfather too and
I thought he was fat and ugly and a mean old fussbudget to boot! So, maybe
Gramps (I couldn't imagine calling Momma's daddy "Gramps". He'd probably
have a conniption fit if I called him anything but "Sir"! Gramps said I
could call him anything I wanted to, except late to dinner. Somehow, that
always made me laugh.

Anyhow, the nakeder Gramps got, the better he looked and the harder my
wizzer got! I didn't bother trying to hide it. Gramps had seen it, hard and
soft, since before he started changing my diapers. Besides, he liked
looking at my "pecker" (Every time he saw a woodpecker he'd say "Is that
one of them peckerheaded wizzers?" I'd pretend to get angry and he'd laugh
his ass off.

The longer we worked together the more I realized how much I loved
Gramps. Of anyone I knew, he was my best friend ever! He'd taught me that
natural functions were just exactly that, Natural. If I needed to pee, then
whip it out (if necessary) and pee. It didn't make sense to be
uncomfortable, wandering around trying to find a private place to
pee. Anyone who saw me peeing was either a friend, likely to do the same
thing,or was trespassing and deserved what they got! If I was in the
garden, what better place to return part of what you'd eaten. If you were
working in the garden, then dig a little hole, take a shit and bury the
leftovers. The plants would quickly (well, quickly for a plant, that is)
grow a bunch of roots that direction and quickly reduce the fertilizer to
worm food, if the worms didn't beat them to it. Apparently, worms liked to
eat anything organic, which Gramps said that since humans were omnivores,
meant we were just the same. Once I'd looked "omnivore" up in the
dictionary I had to agree, but made up my mind that "shit" was NOT on the
menu. [One time I told "Grandfather Dearest" that I had to go to the
bathroom, did he want me to bring back some dinner for him? That got me
chased all over the house. When he finally caught me I was laughing so hard
I almost pooped my pants!]

I loved watching Gramps pee, wondering if I'd ever have a stream that
heavy, or have that much in my bladder. Sometimes Gramps let go with some
truly huge turds. He'd just laugh and say it was because he got fucked by
so many Sailors and Marines when he was younger. Apparently, to hear Gramps
tell the story before Aids was even known, he'd go to the subterranean
public crapper across the street from the Military YMCA in San Diego. There
was a never-ending stream of horny stallions needing to get sucked and/or
fuck some ass, from guys waiting to enter bootcamp to Senior Master Chiefs
and Sergeants-Major. From the slick, smooth pokers of the youngsters right
up to the somehow heavier, more gnarled and knowledgeable COCKS! From fast
shooting boys to Chiefs and Sergeants that would take him to their place or
a motel and fuck him all night. He really liked it when two (or three) of
them would take the time and effort to wear his young ass out! His favorite
memory was the night(s) a Senior Chief, a Master Chief and a Master
Sergeant took him out drinking with them until 1 AM and then took him to a
motel so they could, "Teach the boy whatever he needed to know to please
men and to protect himself." The Senior Chief was a SEAL and took a special
interest in Gramps. After several little get-togethers, the Sr. Chief took
Gramps to a really nice rental bungalow and told him that he was now the
Chief's boy and was going to share the apartment. "Dad" put him back in
school, and when he saw that first report card, a mass of D's and F's, he
gave a little class of his own. A class that focused mostly on Grampa's
butt. Gramps brought home nothing but A's after that! Always!

Just before Gramps graduated from High School his new dad's Commanding
Officer came to the apartment. The Chief had not returned from his last
mission. The senior Navy Captain stayed with Gramps until Dads best
friends, the Master Chief and the Sergeant-Major who had helped Dad bang
Gramps that first (but not only) night got there. All three men spent the
night together, taking care of Gramps. The Captain had to go to work
Monday, but the other two men stayed and bathed Gramps to within an inch of
his life.

The sun was barely up when they went to the St Tropez Bakery for
breakfast. They were immediately escorted to a smallish private dining room
that they'd never expected at the St Tropez by areally cute
waitress. "Ma'am is making something special for you." Bashfully she bent
over and kissed Gramps' cheek then, crying, said in a very quiet voice, "I
Love You!" and quickly left.

Their favorite breakfast spot was owned by a wharf rat who took no shit off
of NOBODY! She was also a warm hearted woman who had taken in, fed,
clothed, and sent as far through school as they could go, over 40 lost
children; to say nothing of being a temporary mother, guiding spirit, moral
support, dispenser of justice (both high and low, in her case high was
usually a whack on the back of the head while the low justice was usually
the same whack, only at the other end of the spine!), Confidante. In fact,
she was was whatever one of her kids needed. Her kids consisted of people
over ninety to a baby found in a trashcan by one of Ma'am's street
kids. [If the mother is interested, that baby she threw away became a
practicing lawyer, a State Senator and Attorney General. He also owned and
operated a home for abandoned boys called, "Ma'am's House". Not too bad for
a trash can kid.]

Sorry! Remembering some of the stories Gramps entertained me with kinda
sidelined me. Back to the real story:

Anyhow Ma'am served each of us a hot plate holding two pancakes covered by
three poached eggs and three totally crisp strips of smoke cured bacon. The
plate was also holding a small steak, three small pickled beets and a twist
of sliced orange. Dad's favorite breakfast, always served only to
him. Tears filling her eyes, she put her great big hand on Gramps' head and
said, "You do him proud boy, or I'll Give your butt what he would have, you
understand me?"

Gramps looked her right in the eye and quietly said "Yes Ma'am!"

The three of them sat in silence. Savoring every bite. Softness of egg
bounded by the brittle bacon. Gorgeous golden yoke of free range chickens
soaked up by light and fluffy pancakes dripping butter and real New England
Maple syrup. Acid brightness of orange sectors battling with piquant
pickled baby beets. An interweaving of taste, flavor and textural delight
in nearly endless variation. Buttermilk richness fitting all the flavors
and textures together. We quietly enjoyed yet another meal. All four of us.

Two of Ma'am's girls and one of her boys had started Southern California's
first, and most popular "Beauty Spa". Hair, skin, makeup, pedicure,
manicure, bathing, massage, mud and kelp pac's. If it had to do with
looking good, they not only had it, but had the very best
available. Including a brand new, state-of-the-art gymnasium. $50, or
$50,000, they had what you needed—and wanted!

His Uncle's took him there next. The sign on the door said, "Sorry, closed
until 11 am today." Tony, the ever-so-gay owner, opened the door and
ushered the three them inside. The whole male staff (some more male than
others) stood there waiting. Gramps was ushered off and didn't reappear for
over three hours, looking FABULOUS! Gramps is proud of pleasing his friends
there with free access to his buff body.

The Cock and Bull was the next stop. The owner ushered them to their usual
table and stood there supervising as the waiters served the Irish Stew that
he'd prepared himself, starting two days before. The smell alone had
EVERYONE's bellies rumbling. Trying to act the curmudgeon, he chased the
waiters off. "And don't ye know, there's plenty and enough for the bunch of
you greedy guts!" Grinning, they all hurried off to the kitchen. Gramps was
WAY too busy by then to say anything, trying though, to say, "Thanks!"
Through an overfull mouth.

Then they took Gramps to the Seventh Avenue Tailors. They were waiting for
the bewildered boy who became my Gramps. They stripped him butt naked and
stood him on a low pedestal, surrounding him, taking his measurements,
discussing possible designs, cloths, drapes and other stuff even less
comprehensible. One guy kept groping him and Gramps finally had had enough!
Seizing the miscreant, a boney old fart, Gramps started to clean his clock
but the Master Sergeant barked, "Freeze, Boy! That man is the chief tailor
and owner here. He and his whole staff are working their asses off trying
to honor your father! So, apologize and then keep your big mouth shut
unless someone asks you a question!"

Gramps said that when Gunny Wilson said "Your Father" it was more than he
could take. He tried "to be a man" and stood there, rigid, tears pouring
down his face... until, with no warning, he went down! Total
collapse. Limp. Unmoving. Even his breathing was stilled. Chief Garret
said, "O' shit! I can't find a pulse. His heart's stopped beating!!!"

Both senior enlisted men IMMEDIATELY got to their knees, working together,
external cardiac massage alternating with mouth to mouth breath
exchange. Someone yelled, "call 911!"

"Belay that!" The Master Sergeants' (by then Sergeant Major) parade ground
bellow froze everyone right where they were. "This young man is NOT going
to miss his father's burial, laying in a hospital bed just because he
passed out. He's hurting. He doesn't need us adding to his misery. He needs
our support and assistance, NOT what he would see as mettlesome antagonism!
Anyone who disagrees come over here so we can get your ass whipping over
before you do irreparable harm."

Twenty minutes later they had a very embarrassed young man holding still
and letting the now respectful tailors do their jobs. One older woman
looked Gramps right in the eye and said, "you ever scare me like that again
and I WILL kick your fine young ass!", and left a red hand handprint on
that "fine young ass" that was still there when he took his evening
shower. Looking into the mirror and admiring the sign of love and caring on
his behind, rubbing the wound brought back the tingle. He stepped into the
shower and both of his caretakers endeavored to "rub out the pain" for
their boy. He fell asleep, replete and snuggled in-between his two
"uncles". They had truly been brothers, and he, his Fathers son!

Gramps loved telling me these stories, holding off the good parts until I
was old enough to understand. He'd sit in his rocking chair and hold me in
his lap and we'd rock and fuck, rock and fuck. Over and over until I
learned how to sit quietly and listen/be aware with Gramps filling my ass
to overflowing as we talked.

Gramps hadn't realized how many Dad had known, or how important some of
them were. The helicopter pad was busy and there were enough limousines to
start a Texas yard sale.

Gramp's and his "Uncles" were escorted to their seats by two very large men
in uniform. A totally sharp and squared away young Marine and a huge sailor
who had a rolling gait and a face that looked like a whole lot of barroom
fights. Gramp's sat there in his brand new suit and silk shirt, held with
Dad's studs and cufflinks. Trying to sit straight and tall; fighting to
keep the tears in check as he watched his dad's flag shrouded coffin, born
by his surviving teammates through the middle of the double line of
uniformed Sailors and Marines, enlisted and officer, mixed all together,
all armed. Enlisted with their choice of weapons, officers with their
swords extended, saluting as the draped coffin passed them, the double
column doubling over to follow their fallen brother.

Gramps said he could never could remember the rest of the formal military
funeral. The doctor said later that he wasn't really there. He, himself was
in deep shock. What everyone saw was Gramps on autopilot. The Marine Corps
Mounted Color Guard, the cannons firing the 21-gun salute, the helicopter
wings overhead passage. None of it registered, the Buddhist Priest all in
white, explaining to everyone why he had stubbornly demanded that his new
suit be totally pure white. Necktie, handkerchief, shoes. Even his socks
were white. No one but Gramps had known that his father was a Buddhist. A
militant Buddhist willing to put his life on the line in the hope that the
world might be a little bit safer and gentler for his having been there.

After Gramps told me that story I understood why there was a triangular
case on the livingroom wall holding a folded American flag. I understood,
and I cried.

That night I crawled up into my grandFathers bed, sliped under the covers
and cuddled up into Gramp's warmth. Before going to sleep I asked, "do you
still miss him, Gramps.

Gramps just pulled me closer and silently cried.

I tried to imagine losing Gramps. We cried ourselves to sleep.


-----
When a lady is pregnant, all her friends touch her stomach and say, "congrats".
But, none of them come and touch the man's penis and say "Good job".
Moral of the story:  "Hard work is never appreciated"