Timely Arrival

TIMELY ARRIVAL

 

It’s strange to think that it’s been 20 years. 20 years since I arrived in the past, or more specifically, the past from my perspective. Part of my life in one era and the rest, likely, in a very different one. I still have no clue how this happened and by now, I’ve really given up ever finding out.

Wait, let me start from the beginning. My name is James Landry, but I’ve always gone by Jim. I was born in 1989 and as I write this, the year is 1966. I’m leaving this as a testimonial that I don’t intend to come out until long after I’m gone. I guess I’m hoping for understanding, forgiveness, or just that someone will know what happened one day.

The last day that I was in my “present” was July 9^th, 2011. I’d just turned 22 the day before, having graduated from college the month before. I went to sleep in my parent’s house, staying with them until I could move into my own apartment in three months. I don’t really remember anything about that day, except for the last meal my mother made, my grandmother’s lasagna.

My grandmother, Rose Landry, died the year before and I was devastated, the two of us always having been close. She had a fun sense of humor and we always hung around each other. Maybe it wasn’t cool to hang around my grandmother, but even all my friends all thought she was awesome. I missed her and having her lasagna brought back good memories. I just drifted off to sleep that night, not a real care in the world.

When I woke up, I was in a field which I later learned was on the outskirts of Davenport, Iowa. I was dressed in a grey shirt and tan pants that looked old-timey. I looked around and saw nothing but farmland. I was in Nevada when I went to sleep, and I’m looking at farmland! I got up and started walking till I got to a farmhouse and saw an elderly couple on the porch straight out of ‘American Gothic’. They got me into their house.

I learned they were Norma and George Avondale, and this was their farm. I introduced myself and looked around the house, noticing all the antique furniture and fixtures. At first I thought it was a restoration shop or an antique shop. I then saw a newspaper on the kitchen table dated for July 10^th, 1946. And the paper was brand new! My eyes went wide, and I thought I was dreaming. They were asking me how I got there and how they could help.

I couldn’t tell them I was from 65 years in the future, they’d have me hauled away to an asylum. I told them I’d gotten hit on the head as I was hitchhiking and got robbed, all my money and identification stolen. They had a doctor come take a look at me and he said I was fine. They graciously offered to put me up for a while and help me get back on my feet if I was willing to help out around the house and farm.

I readily agreed and worked on their farm for a few months while they helped me get settled. It still amazes me how easy it was to get a driver’s license, Social Security Card, even a passport with no real proof of identity. I helped out around the house anyway I could, stacking hay, cleaning up, anything.

The couple knew I had done some writing (telling them about my college days) and they recommended me to the local paper. Before I knew it, I had my own column. It helps to have knowledge of the future to help inform decisions, and I was always good at history. I was one of the only columnists in the world to correctly predict that Harry Truman would be reelected in 1948.

Soon after that election, two big things happened in my new life. I got a job at the New York Times as a column writer and the Avondale’s died in a wreck. Since I’d come to the past, those lovely people treated me like family at every avenue. Even after I moved out, they insisted I come for Sunday dinner, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. To them, I was the child they never had. They never pushed me about how I knew so much and never tried to pry into my past. Even now, I miss them dearly, the pain of the loss being the same as my own parents and my grandmother.

After their funeral, I was summoned to a local attorney to deal with the dispensation of their estate, them having named me executor. Since neither of them had any other family, it was all left to me, deciding it would be safest in my hands. The attorney told me that the couple actually did quite well and recommended I keep the farm. He also recommended an overseer to me, since he knew I was soon moving.

I packed up their house solemnly, missing these people who’d for no reason taken me in. I met with the overseer who assured me he’d take care of the place. With that, I left Davenport behind for new horizons.

In the time I’d been in the past, I hadn’t left Davenport at all, trying to get accustomed to this new time. Being that I was originally from Connecticut before Dad moved us all to Henderson while I was in college, I’d been to Manhattan plenty of times. But now it was 1949, not 2009. I was really walking into the unknown. While I knew all the streets and whatnot, I didn’t know this version of the city.

I arrived by train and checked into the hotel that the paper was putting me up in until I could get an apartment. Since the Avondale’s had left me some money, and I’d been able to save pretty well, I was able to afford a great place in the Village at what I considered to be a steal. I furnished and got appliances as best I could, still missing the microwave that wouldn’t be around for another 25 years.

I found a diner nearby that served all kinds of meals and became a regular there. My work at the paper was good, my columns about issues foreshadowing what was to come being popular. I faced some resistance from the old guard when I first got there, considering I was only 25 when I started there. By 1953, I was syndicated in papers all over the east coast. By 1956, I was syndicated all over the country.

So there I was, 32 years old, living in the past for ten years, and at the height of my power. The world was literally my oyster. I was respected and known, even having enough clout to meet President Eisenhower and do a column on him. I’d made friends in New York and by the time I was 32, they all seemed to have the same question for me.

When was I gonna settle down?

It was true, I hadn’t dated since I’d been in the past. Some part of me thought I’d screw up the timeline or something if I did. Up to that point, work had always been enough to keep me occupied, but now, I had to admit I was starting to get a bit lonely.

It was March of ’56 when my editor called me in to say I’d been nominated for another prize.

“You just keep raking ’em in, Jim, my boy,” the gregarious Peter Donald said. He was a good boss and never stepped on my toes.

“Guess I must’ve learned something from you,” I told him in my typical humble way, garnering a smile.

“Hogwash,” he said, as he normally did, as if I needed to be reminded I was living in 1956, “you’re just good, plain and simple. The bosses see it too and are offering you a new contract.”

He placed an envelope down and I opened it up. It was a huge raise, guaranteed five years with the paper, and more syndication, Canada and Britain now being added to the mix. I was astonished.

“I uh…” I said, stunned, “I really don’t know what to say.”

“Well, yes would be a good start,” Peter replied chuckling.

“Yes,” I said, standing up and shaking his hand, big smiles on both our faces.

“Good!” Peter said while reaching for his bar. It was definitely weird to be back in the ’50’s where drinking in the workplace was commonplace, but I certainly wasn’t complaining as Peter got out the good scotch for this. We toasted our mutual success and sat back down.

“This is really good, Pete,” I told him, acknowledging the scotch.

“Anything under 12 years old is for infants,” he retorted back, taking a sip. “Oh! I almost forgot. With the new contract comes money for a writing assistant.”

“I don’t really need one,” I told him.

“Someone to help you type, organize, whatever,” Peter said waiving his glass around. “I’ll have my girl schedule some interviews. Let’s be honest, you’re not the fastest typist in the east.”

Now that was true. Getting used to a typewriter had been tough for me and I still wasn’t as proficient at it as a columnist of my “caliber” should be. I nodded, conceding the point as we continued drinking.

Over the next few days, while setting up the new office I also got, I had about a half dozen interviews with various women. Some were nice, but couldn’t take dictation to save their life, some were clearly just there to “snag a man” and a single, successful columnist would certainly fit that bill. I figured it would just take a while to find the right match.

“Mr. Landry?” Ginger, Peter’s secretary announced opening the door with a knock.

“Hey, Ginger,” I said in greeting, “Peter need me?”

“No, no sir,” she replied, always polite. I always insisted she just call me Jim, but Peter was rigid about formality with the women on staff. “Another girl for you, they sent her from downstairs. You have time?”

“Yeah,” I said looking at the clock and seeing it was only four, “send her in.”

“Yes, Mr. Landry,” she said ducking back out. I got out a notepad and heard the door open. “Mr. Landry, this is Ms. Richards.”

“Hello, how are…” was all I said before I saw I was face to face with my grandmother. I’d seen her picture from the old days more times than I could count, she looked at me with a smile and her dark, auburn hair flowing down. I was stunned. “Sorry,” I quickly said to cover, “you looked familiar to me.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Landry,” she said politely, extending her hand.

“You as well,” I got out, still stunned. “I’m Jim,” I said trying to get the quiver out of my voice.

“Rose Richards,” she said with her trademark, warm smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Landry. I really am a big fan of yours. You’re writing, I mean,” she giggled nervously. My grandmother was nervous about meeting me?! For the first time in almost ten years, I felt uneasy in the past. Up to this point, I’d had no reminders from my past anywhere near me, except my memories. Now my grandmother was in front of me, live and in color.

“Well,” I said, trying to get some composure, “won’t you sit down?” I said offering her a chair as Ginger left us. My grandmother handed me her resume which I looked over. I was mostly using it as a cover so that I could get a hold of myself. I really couldn’t believe this! I mean, what are the odds of somehow winding up in the past, not seeking any of your family, and still encountering them?!

As I “read” her resume, I looked at the woman before me as well. She was smiling the whole time, as she always did when I was a kid, and while I could definitely see enough in her that showed me the woman I knew, it was a stark difference. Doing the math in my head, she had to be about 25 and still living with my great-grandparents in Connecticut. She was taller than I’d remembered, about 5’7″ or so and not a wrinkle to be seen. Even with her conservative dress, I could tell she was in good shape, just as she’d been in her photos. The women in my family all had very full chests, and grandma was no exception, except now she was young and quite frankly, hot!

I got my mind out of the gutter and actually looked over the resume she’d given me. She was actually quite well qualified, having gone to secretarial school and typing up to 60 words per minute. It said she was also proficient in shorthand and dictation. On paper, she was a great candidate.

“So, Ms. Richards…” I said, putting the paper to the side and looking at her, trying to remember she had no idea who I was, “may I call you Rose?”

“Of course, Mr. Landry,” she said quickly, almost eagerly.

“Jim, please,” I said dismissively. I hated formality anyway and certainly didn’t want my grandmother giving me a title. “So, what makes you want to be my writing assistant?”

“Well, Mr. Lan…JIM,” she said quickly checking herself, “as I said, I’ve read your columns for a long time and really love your writing. I’ve worked at an insurance office for a while now and when I saw the advertisement for the Times, I thought I’d give it a whirl. I didn’t know until I interviewed that it would be for you.”

“Well, thank you for the complement,” I replied, it still feeling good that my grandmother was “proud” of me. “It says here you take dictation and shorthand, is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly, before softening, “I mean, Jim. Yes, I can take dictation at a good pace.” She was clearly flustered to be there.

Normally, this is when I would’ve tested the girl on her claim, but this was my grandmother. I was in two camps with this. Would I go to hell for not hiring my grandmother, or slip up if I did? Eventually, I decided that it was fairer to treat her like any other applicant and went forward.

“All right,” I said pushing a pad of paper toward her, “would you mind a demonstration?”

“Not at all,” she said, full of confidence as she took up the pencil and pad. I thought of something for her to dictate and I decided on a letter that I needed to send to Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson. He’d asked me for an interview ahead of the elections and I needed to reply to him.

“All right, take this down,” I said while she prepared herself to right. I felt so guilty making my grandmother go through a test, but I needed to keep the pretense up. “To Lyndon Johnson, Majority Leader of the Senate, US Capitol Building, Washington D.C.” I began. Her eyes went wide when she found out who the letter was to, the most powerful Democrat in the country next to Adlai Stevenson, but she continued unfazed.

“Dear Senator, I would be very interested in meeting with you for the purposes of an article,” I said in my traditional fashion. It was enough to entice, but not enough that I was desperate for the access. “If your office could furnish me with your availability, I can make arrangements to come to Washington as your schedule allows. I typically allow for a two-day period for my talks, but can adjust as necessary, if pertinent.” I knew Lyndon Johnson would want to talk for hours on end and this was just to get his pride up. “Please inform me at your convenance when such an arrangement can take place. I look forward to meeting with you, etcetera,” I ended.

My grandmother had taken it all down quickly and never asked me to slow down in the least. She finished and smiled at me that she was finished. I then saw the spare typewriter on the side.

“Would you mind typing it out?” I asked.

“Absolutlely,” she said, immediately getting up and getting a clean sheet of paper to feed. I watched her type up her notes and was astonished. I’d never seen my grandmother use a typewriter before, but the keys seemed to fly as she hammered away. Within two minutes, she was done and tore the sheet from the machine and handed it to me.

It was word perfect. It was quick, efficient and perfect. I’d almost wished she’d screwed up so that I’d have an excuse not to hire her. I looked at her and she just kept smiling, knowing that she’d done a good job. At that moment, I knew I couldn’t justify it to myself to deny her the job. She was perfect for the job, and I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I turned her away from her dream opportunity.

“Well, I think that settles it,” I said, beckoning her to stand up, Rose looking nervous. “When can you start?”

Rose squealed as she got up and hugged me, her curves pressing into me uncomfortably.

“Thank you!” my grandmother said rapidly. “I promise you won’t regret this!”

“I’m sure,” was all I could tell her.

And so it was that I hired my grandmother as my writing assistant. For the first four months, everything went fine. We worked together closely the whole time, her dutifully taking down all of my columns and notes I had from anything and everything. I tried to keep my distance while at the same time trying to find about as much I could about this woman that I’d known for so much of my life.

I asked about my great-grandparents, her upbringing, her ambitions, all under the auspices of being her boss. I figured if I kept it professional, I could satisfy my curiosity about my past and not get her guard up with my curiosity. To her credit, she never seemed put off by my questions or prying into her life. On the contrary, she seemed quite happy to answer any questions about herself.

As I said, for the first four months, everything was smooth sailing. Then things really took a turn for the weird.

We were in the office late one night trying to finish a piece on Vice President Nixon we were preparing in advance of the Republican convention scheduled for later that month. I touted him as a virtual shoe in for the nomination in ’60 and speculated on the future of the nation with him at the helm. We were putting the finishing touches on the piece for Peter’s desk when I saw on the clock how late it was.

“Oh wow,” I said, looking at the clock and trying not to swear in front of my grandmother. “It’s after eight, I’m sorry I kept you so late, Rose. You can head home now,” I told her, worried that my great-grandparents would be getting concerned.

“No, I’ll stay and help,” Rose dutifully replied, always willing to work longer and help out. “I sometimes stay with a friend in the city at her apartment, so I’ll do that for the night.”

“Oh, all right,” I said as we went back to work. Another half-hour and it was all done. Rose left to call my great-grandparents and tell her she was staying at her friend Carol’s apartment for the night.

“Are your parents ok with you staying?” I asked her as she hung up.

“Oh, they’re fine,” she said almost dismissively. “They understand the demands of working for newspaper, even if I’m only a secretary.”

“You are far more than that,” I told my grandmother. This was true, as in the time she’d starting working for me, Rose had been a huge help in getting things done and really refining my writing process. She could also turn a phrase as well and had contributed with that as well.

“Thank you, Jim,” she said with a warm smile as we locked up the office after putting the column on Peter’s desk.

“Do you want me to call you a cab to get you to your friend’s place?” I asked her.

“That’s so nice of you,” she said with a beaming smile. “But I think I need something to eat first.”

“Right,” I said, remembering that we’d worked through lunch to get everything done. “How about I get you some dinner?” I offered, “after all, it’s my fault for keeping you out so late.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose…” she said in a demure manner. It was moments like this that reminded me most of the woman I knew she would become. Grandma always did everything for everyone else and never wanted to be a bother or a burden. I remember it took Dad four times to convince her to move in with us when she needed help getting around instead of going to a retirement home.

“Not at all,” I said, deciding that she deserved a good meal after all the work she’d done. I took her to high class place that I knew had good food. The owner had become a friend of mine, being a fan of my column, and always got me a table, even when the place was packed.

We got one of the best places in the house as the owner greeted us.

“So good to see you again, Mr. Landry!” Marty said, shaking my hand thoroughly.

“You too, Marty,” I said with a smile.

“And who is this lovely lady?” he said looking at my grandmother.

“This is Miss Richards,” I said in introduction as Marty kissed her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, madam,” Marty said. “I complement Mr. Landry in his choice of accompaniment. A talented man such as he should be escorting beautiful women.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rose replied, which made me realize he thought this was a date.

“Oh, Miss Richards is a colleague of mine,” I told Marty, trying to make it clear this wasn’t a date.

“Oh?” Marty said in a tone the denoted he didn’t quite believe me. “Well, I’ll get you both a bottle of good wine to start out with.” He left the table with a wink.

“Sorry about that,” I said to Rose, “he’s a bit of a flirt.”

“I certainly didn’t mind being called beautiful,” Rose said with a smile and a wink as well. I was kinda confused by that.

We drank and ate and had a good meal in all. We talked and she started doing two things she’d never before done before. One didn’t surprise me and the other did. The first was that she started asking about my background and upbringing. I had committed to telling people that I had suffered from an accident years ago and that my memory was fuzzy prior to 1946. She seemed fascinated hearing my backstory and devoured it like it was a Chandler novel.

The second thing was what really threw me off. I wasn’t sure at first, but by the end of the evening I was sure.

My grandmother was flirting with me.

I really didn’t know how to handle it or tamp it down. Every time I tried to keep things friendly and light, she’d ask something about my love life and what I looked for in a woman. As she asked, I noticed that she was looking at me with adoring eyes and leaning over the table a bit. As this was 1956, she was dressed conservatively, but a hint of her cleavage was notable.

While I never looked at Rose in physical terms, for very obvious reasons, I did know she had a curvy physique. Not fat, not at all. Curves like Jayne Mansfield more like. Around the office, she’d always tried to dress professionally, but somethings are impossible to hide, her generous bust being one of them.

I knew intellectually that she was attractive, the subject to wolf whistles and lewd comments around the office, typical of a 1950’s America that I always tried to discourage. But now, she was using feminine charms on me!

After I paid the bill, I got her outside and immediately called her a cab to get her to her friend’s place. She kissed me on the cheek and told me we had to do this again sometime. I declined a cab for myself and decided to walk home.

That night, I pondered. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that she must’ve had too much wine and that was what caused her behavior. I figured if she remembered tomorrow, she probably apologize for being so brazen. I went to sleep contented with my conclusion.

The only problem with that was that my conclusion was completely and utterly wrong. Over the course of the next two weeks, she flirted more and harder. I also noticed that she began wearing bolder dresses. Not impropriate, just ones that seemed to show off her figure better than others. She’d flirt, wink, casually touch my hand or find an excuse to bend over near me.

Peter saw some of this too and just winked, calling me a lucky bastard. I rolled my eyes and tried to figure out what to do about this. I didn’t want to lose my connection to family after all this time without them, but this couldn’t go on. Finally, I decided that enough was enough and I would have to act.

It was a Friday, and we were working on a column, and she mentioned that she was staying at her friends for the weekend as her parents were going out of town for the weekend. She decided to be bold apparently.

“Say, Jim,” she said after she’d finished typing something up. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I said, taking a sip of coffee.

“When was the last time you had a homecooked meal?”

“Uh…” was all I could get out. I thought back and realized the last homecooked meal I’d had would’ve been with the Avondale’s. “It’s been a while.”

“Well, than let me cook you a meal tonight,” she offered, beaming from ear to ear. I quickly tried to retreat.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” I said trying to be cordial.

“But I insist!” Rose said again. “I want to thank you for the opportunity you’ve given me in working for you.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I told her. “You’re hard work is all the reward necessary.”

“Well, thank you, Jim,” she said grinning, “but really, let me do this for you. You wouldn’t be so rude as to refuse, would you?”

Fuck! She had me and she knew it. Reminiscent of my grandmother of old, she always knew how to get someone to agree to something. I needed another tactic.

“Well, I don’t exactly have much in the fridge,” I told her, “and even if I did, I don’t really have any pots or…” was all I could get out.

“Leave it to me,” she said dismissively, waiving her hand. “Seven o’clock?”

“Uhhh…” was all I could think of to get out and she quickly took that as a yes.

“Good!” she said brightly, “I’ll see you then!” as she turned and left my office.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

I normally didn’t drink at the office, but I poured a glass of bourbon and slammed it down. I was no fool. I knew that my grandmother was planning to make a move on me that night.

Now, contrary to modern belief of the 21^st century, people were just as horny and willing to engage in pre-marital sex in the 1950’s as in the 2000’s. It just wasn’t talked about or acknowledged as much. I’d been to many of backrooms with plenty of men talking about affairs and what not with various women and found some of the depictions they made crude by even modern standards.

I did my best to avoid Rose for the rest of the day and went to Peter’s office.

“Got a minute?” I asked Peter who quickly waved me into his office.

“What’s up, Jim?” he asked, pouring us both a drink. I guess he figured I was worried about something. Good ole Pete.

“I could use some advice,” I told him, taking the drink from his hand and taking a healthy sip.

“Of course, kid,” he said slapping me on the back, “writer’s block?”

“No,” I told him, “It’s a bit personal.”

“Ohhhh,” he said nodding his head, “that, huh?” he said taking a sip from his own drink. “Finally looking for my advice about how to lay Rose, huh? It’s about time.”

“NO!” I said more forcefully than I should’ve considering he was my boss. “No, that’s not what I meant, Pete.”

“Why not?” Peter said perplexed. “She’s a bombshell! You got something else going on?”

“No, that’s not it,” I told him waiving my head.

“You’re not a fruit, are ya?” he asked, derisively asking if I was gay.

“No, no,” I told him waiving my hands, which made him relax.

“Then what’s the problem?” Peter said, seemingly confused. “I think you’re golden, personally. I see how she is around you, and I think you’ve got it made there.”

“Pete, I’m trying to discourage her, not encourage her.”

“What the hell for?” Pete said incredulously.

“Isn’t there an old saying about dipping pens in company ink?” I asked him flatly. He waived his hand at me again.

“Hogwash!” he said. “That’s just idiocy! Who would use their own ink when they could use the company’s?”

“Pete…” I said, trying to get him to focus.

“Grow up, Jim,” he said in a paternalistic way, “there’s nothing wrong with a little side action at the office.” He used his head to indicate toward Ginger, which surprised me. “It’s good to get the edge off. What’s the harm?! You’re not even married, for heaven’s sake.”

“Yeah, but if things go south,” I tried to explain to him. “I’ll lose one hell of an assistant.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t worry,” Pete said. “She’s a trooper. Besides, it’ll be good for you!”

I knew that Pete wouldn’t be any help to me, so I dropped it. He shouted, “good luck!” to me as I left his office, chuckling.

I went home and took a cold shower, trying to figure out how to get Rose off of me. I scrubbed harder than I’d ever scrubbed in my life. I paced and paced until Rose showed up at seven o’clock.

I opened the door and there was Rose in her coat and two bags. I also noticed that she’d applied fresh makeup to herself.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in or help me with the bags?” she asked, in such a way as to denote sensuality.

“Right, sorry,” I said opening the door and taking one of the bags. She placed the other on the table in the kitchen.

“Oh, what a lovely place, Jim,” she said looking around a bit.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Well?” she said looking at me.

“Well, what?” I replied back.

“Aren’t you going to take my coat and offer me a drink?”

“Oh!” I said, “yeah, sure.”

She unfastened the sash around her and removed her coat. I didn’t really look at her as I took it from her and hurriedly put it on my coat rack. When I turned back, I was certainly looking.

She was wearing a skintight dress that hugged every curve she had. A strapless dress that showed off her bare shoulders and seemed to ooze sexuality.

“Uh…”

“Like my new dress?” she asked, spinning around a bit.

“It’s very…” I said trying to think of the right word, “flattering.”

“Why thank you, Jim,” she said walking over to the kitchen.

“A little fancy to cook in, isn’t it?”

“I have an apron in the bag here,” she said holding up a white apron from the bag in the kitchen.

“Oh,” was all I could say as she put it on. I saw her looking at me still and I realized why.

“Sorry,” I said walking over to the bar, “what would you like?”

“Gin, please,” she replied, “straight up.”

I made our drinks while my grandmother made us dinner. Now, back in my old life, my grandmother made me dinner all the time, but now she was 25, dressed to kill, and seemed to be putting the moves on me.

I finished making the drinks and handed her one. She smiled at me as I handed her the glass and clinked our glasses together. I noticed that she looked into my eyes the whole time as she took a sip.

“Would you mind putting on a record while I get dinner ready?” she asked. I went over to my stereo and put on a Bing Crosby album, knowing it wasn’t too romantic. She made a comment immediately. “Do you have a Frank Sinatra album?” she asked. I relented and put on Sinatra. “Much better,” she said happily as she went back to work.

She made us a roast with baked potatoes that looked delicious. I asked her if she wanted me to get out a bottle of wine and she pulled one from her tote bag. She handed it to me to open as she started plating the food and placing it on my modest table.

“Dinner is served,” she said with a smile while taking off her apron. We sat down and Rose raised her glass. “To the best columnist in the 48!” she said clinking her glass to mine.

“Best in earshot, anyway,” I replied, a bit uncomfortable.

I took one bite and knew my grandmother had not acquired her cooking skills later in life. All sorts of memories came flying back to me of so many amazing family dinners. It was so moist and juicy.

“Well?” Rose asked me with a confident smile.

“It’s great,” I told her honestly causing her to smile wider while taking another sip of wine.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “Never underestimate the power of a home-cooked meal.”

“If you say so,” I said focusing on the food.

“Well, just think,” Rose said while taking small bites of her own food, “you could eat like this every day if you finally settle down.”

I rolled my eyes a bit and tried to just keep eating, but Rose was having none of it.

“Why haven’t you settled down yet?” she asked me flat out. I threw and eyebrow toward her and remembered that I was her boss and might be able to use that to get her off this kick.

“Miss Richards, do you really think that’s your business?” I said in a way that denoted playfulness, but also an indication that she was stepping over some lines. Apparently, it didn’t work, cause she didn’t lay off.

“Well, Mr. Landry,” she said, clearly putting on fake airs behind it, “I was nice enough to cook for you. It seems to me that answering a little question is a fair trade for that.”

I wasn’t buying it at all, but I had to think about this. If I told her I hadn’t found the right girl yet, that old trope, I ran the risk of her trying to fill that role when I was trying to dissuade her. I finally chose my shot.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever settle down,” I said plainly. She looked like she’d just been hit by lightning.

“What do you mean never?” she said almost confused.

“I like my life and I like my freedom,” I said, not entirely dishonestly, “why would I want to give that up?”

“But you don’t want a house, or kids, or a wife?” she said, almost insulted that I could want to live the life of a bachelor.

“Maybe someday, we’ll see,” I said, trying to desperately move the subject to something else.

“Well, what if it’s too late by then?” Rose said.

“Too late for what?”

“What if there was a woman that would’ve been a good wife for you, but you were too busy being a playboy?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself a playboy,” I told her honestly when I noticed the album had run out. I got up and flipped it over as Rose continued.

“So, you don’t go out on dates with lots of women?” She was again getting back slightly into the inappropriate territory.

“Not that its really your business, but no,” I told her, hoping she’d move onto another topic, any topic.

“So, what are you looking for?” Rose asked

“Who says I’m looking?” I said in a snarky manner, sitting back down and taking a sip of wine.

“Come on,” she urged, “what do you look for in a girl?”

I took a deep breath and tried to figure out a way to make this an inappropriate question for her to ask her employer. The problem was it really wasn’t at all.

“Smart, funny, bright, kind,” I said rattling off the usual things men said. Not good enough apparently according to the look Rose was giving me.

“Do you want me to call up Miss America, sir?” she said in a smart-ass tone.

“Thanks,” I replied wryly.

“Be serious now,” she enjoined, “what are you looking for?”

“Salt at the moment,” I said getting the saltshaker from the center of the table. Even Rose laughed.

“Why don’t you want to tell me?” she asked, with what looked like a sparkle in her eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” I replied, starting to get tired of this game.

“It’s just a conversation,” my grandmother said, trying to defuse her intent, very badly.

“Well, then what are you looking for?” I asked, trying to turn the tables. I was very unsuccessful as she leaned over the table and looked directly into my eyes.

“I think you know exactly what I’m looking for,” she said with a mix of determination, desire, and who knows what else. Now that it was in the open, however, I felt like I could tackle the issue head on.

“Rose,” I said pleasantly, but with enough timber to let her know I was serious, “I don’t know that that’s appropriate.”

“What do you mean?” she said, now resting her head on the palms of her hand, looking at me while still smiling and “trying” to be coy.

“You know what I mean,” I said while eating more food.

“Do I?” she said in a flirty voice while fluttering her eyes.

“Yes,” I said more firmly as she lifted up and took a sip of wine.

“Look, Jim,” she said now more with determination in her voice, “you know I’m interested in you. I haven’t exactly been subtle. Is it that you don’t like me?” she asked with an impish grin.

“Rose, it’s inappropriate,” I said as if it were obvious. “You work for me.”

“Which just means that I have better access to you and know you better,” she said with a grin. “What’s the point of having a sexy assistant if you don’t use her?”

I was shocked my grandmother was saying these things. On the one hand, it was the 1950’s so sexual harassment suits weren’t a thing yet. But my grandmother had also always been pretty progressive for her age, especially when it came to equality and women’s rights. The contradiction that was happening in my mind was distracting to say the least.

“Jim?” Rose said, getting my attention back.

“Sorry,” I said more on reflex than anything.

“So, what do you think?” she asked again. “Do you like me?” she asked, refilling my wine.

“Rose, I like you very much,” I told her honestly. “But again, we work together.”

“Which just means we know each other very well,” she replied with a twinkle in her eyes. “Is it that you don’t find me attractive?”

“No!” I said faster than I should’ve in any circumstances. Even today, I don’t know what caused me to react that way so quickly. “You’re a very beautiful woman.” She smiled wide at that.

“Thank you,” she said with adoration, “it’s nice to know I can turn the eye of a world-famous writer.”

“I don’t think I’m world-famous,” I offered back. She shook her head.

“You’re published in Canada now, so yes you are,” she said firmly. “What do you think is beautiful about me?”

“Rose, I don’t think…” I said, trying again to show her this was inappropriate.

“Come on,” she urged. “A girl likes to know what men find attractive.” I hesitated but realized there was no way out.

“You have a beautiful face, kind eyes, a lovely smile,” I said trying to get back to focusing on the food.

“Thank you,” she said nodding at me, “what about my figure?”

“Huh?” I asked nearly dropping my fork.

“Well maybe I’m a little more gifted in certain areas than most men like,” she said shifting a bit so show me angles. Now this was not an understatement. Rose, my grandmother, had very large breasts. They had to be DDD’s at least and she had an ass to match. Maybe some would’ve found her too big, but I wasn’t one of them. I then mentally slapped myself for checking out my own grandmother.

“I don’t think that’s true,” I replied, “look at Russell and Monroe,” eliciting another smile from her.

“Thank you, Jim,” she said softly, she said finishing up her food. I was done too, and she took my plate in an instant. I thought this would be a good way to wrap the night up when she put a stop to that. “I’m going to brew some coffee for us. Why don’t you change the record?”

Ugh, fuck!

“What would you like to hear?” I asked.

“Do you have any Nat King Cole?” Rose asked, washing up the dishes and starting up the percolator.

“Yeah,” I said changing out the record and putting on Cole. His smooth voice soon filled the apartment, and the aroma of coffee also did as well. My grandmother went over to the bar to find something to add to our coffee. I sat in my easy chair, hoping I could get a bit of distance between me and my randy grandmother.

She poured out the coffee, adding some sambuca into each, and brought them over to the couch. She saw me in the easy chair and smiled.

“You won’t sit with me?” she asked in a cutesy voice. Ironically, she was the one who taught me to be a good host, so I got up and sat on the couch, giving her as much distance as possible as I took up my coffee. She kept scooting closer to me. “Isn’t this nice?” she said sweetly.

“It was a nice evening,” I said taking a sip, “thank you for cooking.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Rose said with a wave of her hand. “I’m glad I could get you that homecooked meal you needed.”

“Needed may be a bit strong,” I countered.

“Nonsense,” she said, “a man like you needs to be looked after.”

“A man like me?” I replied.

“Someone with so much talent and responsibility,” she said leaning ever closer to me, “it’s easy to see that they would neglect themselves.”

“I do ok,” I replied.

“But you could do better with a little help,” she said, now sitting millimeters from me. “Someone who can support you.”

“You support me just fine,” I retorted.

“But I could do more,” she said now putting one of her legs on me. “Much more…”

“Uhhh,” was all I could get out with my grandmother’s eyes bearing down on me. I was trapped and I knew it. I had two options at this point: give in or convince her this was a mistake which I’d been trying to do all evening. It’s said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result. Nonetheless…

“Rose, we do make a good team,” I admitted. “But don’t you think if we did this, we’d hurt our working relationship?” I was desperate, I admit, but I figured if I convinced her that going further would hurt our working relationship, she’d back off.

“Not in the least…” Rose said seductively to me.

Crap…

“Can I use your powder room?” she asked, giving me a reprieve. I pointed it out to her and she gave me a kiss on the cheek telling me she’d be right back.

I figured now I had time to come up with a plan. I needed to get my arguments in line. It could hurt her career. If it got out, she’d never be taken seriously at the paper again. If it ended badly, it would be hard to work together after that. I figured if worse comes to absolute worse, I’d claim I was gay and get her to back off.

I heard the door open and took a deep breath. I felt ready, standing up to greet her.

“Look, Rose…OH!” was all I could get out as I saw my grandmother in a white, lacy bra and panty set modeling in front of me like she was a pinup girl. She had a huge smile and just started strutting toward me smoldering with sex and confidence.

“I think you like what you see,” Rose said seductively, “still think this’ll hurt our working relationship?”

“More than ever…” I mumbled out as a range of emotions hit me all at once. On the one hand, my grandmother was trying to seduce me. On the other hand, I hadn’t had sex in a decade and a smoking hot woman was in front of me wanting me to ravage her. As bad as this was, I still tried to get my brain functioning more than other things.

“Rose…” I started to say, before she was right up in front of me and put her finger to my lips to silence me.

“Jim, I already know what you’re gonna say and I don’t care,” she said forcefully. “I’m head over heels for you and I know I can make you happy. I can give you so much and I want to help you, any way I can,” she said while standing right up against me now. “I can be your assistant, I can be your cook, I can be your maid, and I can certainly be more…” she said as she started unfastening my tie and throwing it somewhere.

“But…”

“But nothing,” she said forcefully. “I love you and I’m giving myself to you,” she said stepping back and twirling a bit. “All of me. I’m going to fulfill your every desire forever,” she said stepping back to me. “Here, let me show you.”

With that my grandmother was making out with me. I was paralyzed! There was nothing I could do. Even the gay thing wouldn’t work now cause she was certainly close enough to me now to tell I was hard. FUCK! I was hard in front of my half naked grandmother! I was beyond ashamed of myself.

But the problem was, I was also really turned on. Rose was an amazing kisser and knew how much of her body to press into me while we were kissing to elicit a response. Her tongue was in my mouth, swirling around my own, trying to massage it lightly. Her hands were all over my body, one minute they were on my chest and the next minute they were wrapped around my back.

My hands on the other hand stayed straight at my sides. My big hope now was that she would think I was such a lousy kisser, being so out of practice, that she’d think there was no chemistry there and call this off. No such luck as she broke the kiss.

“Wow…” she said, slightly dazzled and amazed, “could you feel the energy between us?” as she resumed kissing me. Instead of rubbing me this time, she was unfastening my buttons and unbuckling my belt. This was getting out of hand.

“Rose, uhh…” I managed to get out before she shushed me again.

“No talking,” she said in a cute voice, “I’ve been planning this for a long time and I want to make it perfect.”

She removed my loafers and socks as she stated working my pants down, exposing my briefs. It was clear there was a lump in there and I’d never felt more ashamed of myself. Yes, Rose was a beautiful woman looking to make me a very happy man, but there was still the tiny thing of her being my GRANDMOTHER!!

She had my shirt off now so it was just my A-frame and my briefs which caused her to start rubbing on my crotch.

“Rose, I really don’t think we should do this,” I managed to get out.

“I don’t think your underwear agrees,” Rose said while still stroking the bulge. Than quicker than I could believe, she yanked my briefs of causing me to reflexively get my hands down to my privates to cover them. She gently pushed my hand away and my penis was now fully visible to my grandmother for the first time since I was an infant. “Ooh, I knew you were hiding something good,” she said as she started rubbing it slightly with her hand, making it twitch a bit. My seven inch cock was staring right at Rose as she moved to put her mouth on it.

“Rose,” I said trying to her attention while she continued to stare at my cock. “ROSE!”

She suddenly backed off a bit and looked at me with fear. At least I had her attention.

“Think about this,” I said softer. “There’s no going back from this. Are you really sure what you want? To be my assistant? To be my lover? To be my wife? What do you want?!” I asked, hoping to make her truly think about all these things. Trying to get a look of shock, to cause her to reevaluate. All she did was smile.

“Yes.” With that, she impaled her face on my cock and started sucking away.

I was stunned. Yes, this woman would one day be my grandmother and make me cookies, but she expertly knew how to give head too. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t stop her. Maybe I feared hurting her, maybe I felt guilty, or maybe I was just really horny, and she was a hot woman, regardless of our future relation.

She was sucking and slurping like she was a $100 a night escort. She’d alternate her eyeline between my crotch and my eyes. The head of my penis kept poking the back of her throat as she now used her hand to cup my balls as well, fondling them and caressing them. She gave my dick a few more licks before she stood up in front of me.

“I want this, Jim,” she said softly taking my hands in hers. “I want you.”

With that, she led me back to my bedroom. By this time, I’d given up all resistance. She had me sit on the bed as she slowly removed her garters, ensuring that I was looking at her stunning legs. She then spun around and unclasped her bra, her heavy breasts falling out of the cups allowing me to see them, even from the back. She turned around and I could see how full and large her breasts were, DD or DDD’s easily as she caressed them and teased her half dollar sized areolas.

Donning a smile that could’ve lit up half the island of Manhattan, she than shimmied out of her panties, now standing completely naked in front of me. Customary to the grooming habits of the time, she was unshaven in that region, light brown hair covering her pubis.

“Do you like how I look?” she asked with a smirk.

“Uh…” was the only answer I could get out, which seemed to be more than enough for her.

“Good…” she said with a smirk as she pushed me onto the bed and started kissing me. I could feel her naked body against mine, and as much as it may condemn me to Hell, it felt really good. “Ready?” she asked me with a smirk.

“No,” I said meekly which caused her to look at me funny. “Uh, I mean…” trying to think, “shouldn’t you get some attention?”

She looked at me with shock and curiosity.

“You’d really do that?” she replied with shock. Keep in mind, this was the 1950’s and not all guys did that.

“Seems only fair,” I mumbled. She smiled greedily and rolled off of me and onto the bed. I instinctively got on my knees and looked at her pussy. Covered with hair sure, but not a complete jungle, I could see moisture on her outer lips, as I started to touch her. For at least the moment, I put away any notion about who she was and focused on what she was, an insanely beautiful woman looking for me to pleasure her.

I started slow, licking and kissing my way up her thighs, trying to remember all the things I used to do to girls back in college. She was squirming and moaning on the bed, clearly enjoying the pleasure I was bringing to her. I eventually reached her folds. She was certainly the hairiest woman I’d ever been with, but I didn’t let it get in my way.

Just like riding a bike, I remembered how to give head. I teased around her outer lips, tasting the moisture around there. It was astonishingly sweet tasting as she writhed more and more on the bed. I gave one lick to her slit, lengthwise causing her to moan fairly loud.

“Oh, God!” she said, quivering with pleasure and delight. I started diving my tongue in and out of her, avoiding her clit for the moment as I let her experience my abilities. She was constantly moaning at my efforts, making me think that this was the first time she’d ever experienced oral sex. I momentarily then tried to think about my grandmother’s previous sex experience up to that point, shoving that aside to do what was expected.

“Oh my lord, this is amazing,” she managed to get out with all her moaning and panting. I knew well enough that it was time to hit her button. I decided to completely overwhelm her throbbing clit as I sucked it up in my mouth before she was even ready for it.

“UNGH!!!” was all she said as she started to buck hard and spasm, clearly in the midst of a strong orgasm. I kept my mouth where it was the whole time, basically giving her one long, continuous orgasm. It was a good 45 seconds before she came back to reality. “Oh, Jim…” she said softly as she tapped the back of my head.

“Jim,” she said asking me to come up to her. Skipping her mountainous breasts, I came up to her face. “That was amazing,” she said while kissing my face. “Put it in,” she said softly.

“Are you sure?” I asked her knowing the answer already.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said, dripping with passion. “I want you.”

My cockhead was currently resting right outside her lips. Without another thought, I pushed forward and entered my grandmother. It was so tight, hot, and wet, I had a flurry of emotions running through me. Betrayal, arousal, shame, and lust. I was in my head for a half second, before I looked at Rose.

Her eyes were closed, but the rest of her expression was priceless. You’d think she’d just discovered gold in the mountains. Once I was fully in, she opened her eyes and looked at me in wonder.

“You feel amazing,” she said once I was completely buried with in her.

“You too,” was the only thing I could think of at the time. I instinctively started thrusting in her while she wrapped me up in a kiss. Her lips were so tender and full of passion, her tongue colliding with mine and playing with it. I could feel her hard nipples scraping against my chest as I thrusted, my body hovering just over hers.

I moved to start sucking her neck as her hands went to my ass, seeming to want more and more of me inside her. Her moans were constant, her breathing was hard and fast, and her body seemed to heat up with each thrust of my cock.

“Oh, God,” she said softly, yet passionately. She started pulling me into her deeper, wanting me to move faster and harder. I got up a bit so I could adjust my angle and thrust more. So now, I had a birds-eye view of my grandmother getting plowed by me. While the thought of this should’ve disgusted me, I had to admit it was amazing erotic. Her heavy breasts were moving like ocean waves, rippling back and forth as I kept going. After a few minutes of this, Rose’s pussy clamped down like a soft, velvety vice as she came.

“UNGH!” she said a loud, sustained growl as I could feel her pussy coat my cock with her discharge. She put her hands to my chest as she smiled and tried to get me to stop for a moment. “Lay down,” she said with a smile.

Knowing she wanted to ride me now, I effectively flipped her over, my cock remaining inside her while she was now on top of me. She hovered over me for a few seconds as she started riding me gently, her breasts swaying softly at her gentle motions. As wrong as it was, I knew I had to feel and taste them. I took one of her heavy hangers, the skin feeling so soft to my fingertips and took her nipple into my mouth.

“Oh, God!” Rose said, starting to ride me faster now. I sucked and nibbled at her breast, seeming to get harder in my mouth as she moaned harder and louder. Her boob slipped from my mouth as she was now going like a wild woman. She leaned back, placing her hands on my legs as she went faster and faster, her tits heaving from the effort. She started trembling again as she came hard from her own efforts, making almost a shrieking sound as she collapsed on to me.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, she started kissing me on my face and neck, not riding me anymore, but I was still impaled within her. She was mauling me while talking.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Rose said almost panting. “You’ve made me feel so wonderful.”

“You too,” I said as she kissed me again.

“Wanna try something a little kinkier?” she asked, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

“Such as?” wondering what my grandmother’s mind was going to.

“A friend of mine said it felt really good from behind,” she said with a smirk. Now, intellectually, I knew that doggie style had been around since the cavemen days, but in 1950’s America, it wasn’t the norm.

“Oh,” I said, trying to suppress my shock, “ok.”

“Neat!” she said giddily, getting off me and shuffling around a bit on the bed. Soon, I was treated to her luscious ass, glaring right at me, her pussy still dripping wet from the amount of her own cum she’d already had flow out of her. I got up and positioned my cock behind her and pushed in. She moaned hard at the new sensation, clearly liking how it felt.

I had to admit, I liked it too. Not just cause it felt good on my dick, but it was also a lot easier for me to pretend that this wasn’t my grandmother if I couldn’t see her face. While I started slowly at first, letting her get used to the new sensations, I soon found myself pounding the stuffing out of her, her moans getting louder and more forceful.

“OH, MY GOD!” she shrieked out, clearly hitting another orgasm. “Keep doing that! Please, Jim.”

I showed no sign of slowing down as I grabbed her hips and kept ramming her. About five minutes of this, and I wasn’t gonna be able to hold out much longer. My grunting was getting louder, and I knew I was gonna cum soon. I then quickly remembered that I was inside my grandmother, with no condom, before the pill was created. I pulled out of her and strings of cum erupted from the head of my cock, splashing onto her back.

I was breathing heavy and so was she. I noticed that I’d just sprayed cum all over my grandmother’s ass and needed to clean it up. I found a rag on a side table and cleaned it off of her. Once I was done, she got onto her back on the side and tried to calm herself down. I laid on the bed next to her trying to figure out what circle of hell I was now consigned too.

“Jim, that was amazing,” Rose said, curling up to me and kissing my cheek. “I was kinda surprised when you pulled out of me though.”

“Well, you know,” I said, trying to justify it, “better safe than sorry.”

“Mmmm,” Rose said, while kissing my cheek, “well, I wouldn’t’ve minded.”

My mind reeled at the moment of thinking of those kinds of consequences. But then again, I’d just fucked my grandmother! In three different positions!! I was wracked with guilt and tried to think of my next move. How do I tell her to move on and not crush her? Maybe I could find my future grandfather and set them up?

We both drifted off to sleep before I could think further.

The next morning, I found Rose still sleeping in the bed. I stealthily went out to the living room and grabbed the extension, calling up a PI I’d used on occasion. I told him where to look and who to look for. I knew I was named for him, and they met in the tri-state area, but that’s all, seeing as he died when I was two. Grandma didn’t talk about him much and neither did Dad, both seeming to miss him too much, so I never pushed. My PI said it should take no time at all and that he should have an answer for me by the end of the day.

I hung up the receiver and just stared out into oblivion. No matter what happened now, I knew I’d have to live with the consequences of this for the rest of my life. The guilt would be horrible, but I figured once I got those two together, they could fade from my life, and they’d never know. I had a brief worry that she’d recognize me when I was a teenager, but I shoved that aside, feeling that was probably ridiculous. I just kept contemplating and staring until I heard her.

“Good morning,” she said, coming up behind me and kissing me on the cheek.

“Morning,” I managed to mumble out.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she said, still behind me.

“Just thinking about last night,” I told her honestly.

“I know, it was so perfect!” she said cooingly. Not the words I’d have used, but oh well. “I’d ask for a repeat, but I’m hungry, want me to make you some breakfast?”

“Uh, all I have is bacon and eggs,” I admitted.

“Such a bachelor,” she said, lightly slapping my shoulder. “How do you want the eggs?” she asked.

“Uh, over easy?” I said.

“Coming right up! Coffee?”

“Sure…” I said as she started clattering away in the kitchen. “I should put on some clothes,” I told her, realizing I only had on my robe that I put on when I got up.

“Why?” she said curiously, “I’m not…” said in a sultry tone.

I whipped my head around and found her tying her apron around her, but everything else was exposed. She saw me looking and twirled a bit.

“Like my new dress?” she asked with a giggle.

“Uh…” was all I could get out while she giggled and started the coffee.

I figured that if I could just hold her off until I heard from PI, I could get this past me and move on. I started going over the whole plan in my head when Rose called me over for breakfast, cheerfully.

I sat at the table in my robe as she placed my coffee and breakfast before me, just like any housewife of the 1950’s. Omitting, of course, the realization that she was only wearing an apron. I also noticed that she didn’t plate a breakfast for herself.

“I thought you were hungry?” I asked almost innocently, which caused her to smile with a Grinch like manner. Without another word, she got underneath the table, fumbled with my robe, and started digging for my cock.

“There’s my morning meal…” was all she said before she started sucking on it like a babe to a teat. I was literally holding the knife and fork in my hand in the air, stunned at Rose’s latest move. The woman was utterly insatiable! “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked almost innocently, taking my cock out of her mouth, while still stroking it.

“Uhhh…” was all I could get out at first as her mouth took its former station from earlier. The utensils were trembling in my hands as Rose continued to go to town on my cock, feeling the head poking the back of her throat. I tried to take a sip of coffee during this, but she chose that moment to start fondling my balls, almost causing me to spill all over.

Rose was going at a fevered pace, even more ravenous then she’d done the night before. It seemed like my cock was going down her throat with the ease of Linda Lovelace. I only halfway finished my eggs when I spurted right down her throat. She then covered me back up and got back up from under the table, smiling away at me while licking her lips.

“How are the eggs?” she asked me with a sinister grin.

“Good,” I replied while trying to regain some semblance of composure. She just smiled and sipped her coffee across from me. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“I thought I just did…” she replied with a smirk.

This is how it went for the balance of the day. I eventually convinced her that we needed to wash up and she insisted on drawing a bath for us. She, of course, joined me in the bathing, ensuring my cock and ball were clean as a whistle.

After the bath, she suggested on a walk in the park. We dressed and walked around, chatting and arm-in-arm just like any other couple. She looked so happy that we were out in public and could show me off. Eventually, she realized she wanted a change of clothes, so that I could take her out proper for dinner that evening. She gave me a deep kiss goodbye as she got into the cab.