My Granddaughter Missy

My Granddaughter Missy

Warning: This is more of a story with sex in it than a sex story, but more sex than I can post other places.

I was thinking about my father when I wrote this. He’s the right age and the right personality, and has had a few flings since my mom died. Before that I think she kept him from straying by making it fun to stay at home, fun in bed that is. I think they were still doing it like rabbits into their 60’s. BTW – I had some help on this from Cathy Cook.


———————- April 2006:

It was a strange request. But I was never very surprised about things my psychic granddaughter said or asked. We were sitting in a park in NYC, visiting the city for her first time. As had happened many times before when I took my beautiful Missy places, she showed little interest in the usual tourist sites. Instead of going to the Statue of Liberty, or the Empire State Building, or the site of the 911 tragedy, she decided she wanted to walk around in some of the residential neighborhoods. Of course, in Manhattan a residential neighborhood was quite different from a Vermont suburb. We found ourselves sitting on a bench eating some wraps and watching some high school boys, young men I guess, shooting hoops. Suddenly she set her sandwich down and stood up, taking a few steps in their direction. She seemed in distress and I immediately went to her. Just as I got to her side she closed her eyes and swooned.

It was another “vision”. Vision is my name for it. She says the information she receives isn’t visual.

I helped her back to the bench. She hadn’t actually fainted, just sort of gone weak in the knees.

“That boy over there. You have to help me meet him. It’s important.”

“Why? Are you going to marry him?” I said somewhat jokingly. But I knew I couldn’t simply laugh away one of these visions. My daughters have had several and they were never laughing matters. The ones Missy and her three female cousins have are always significant.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know I’ll never have children by any other man!”

The young man had African features and medium brown skin. Like many American Blacks he probably had about as many European genes as African. He was quite handsome, but would hardly have interested Missy simply by his looks alone. And Missy was more than interested. She had suddenly discovered she belonged to him, that he was her preordained soul mate, or whatever the term was. Problem was he, like nearly everyone else in the world, wasn’t privy to such knowledge. I noticed she hadn’t said he would be the father of her children, only that no one else would. I guess the prophesy was coming up with two possibilities, no children or his children. She hadn’t said a word yet to the boy, but I could tell what her choice was!

I should point out several things at this time. One is that I love my grand children and Missy was my favorite. Also, I totally believe these messages the women in our family sometimes get. Third, fortunately I have almost no racial prejudices. I hoped the boy wasn’t too anti-white, though God knows he probably has enough reason to not like people like me. This was my hope because at best he was going to father my great grandchildren, at least any Missy had. He could, of course, simply walk away and leave her to wither on the vine. Not having children might please some females. But Missy was born to be a mother, apparently with him their father.

I would do anything for my Missy, even this. As I walked toward them the game seemed to be breaking up. The other two boys ran off and got into a waiting car, leaving him holding the ball.

“Hi.”

It’s sort of a beginning. Instead of saying anything he threw me the ball. I’m in good shape for a 60 year old, but I couldn’t imagine going one-on-one with this specimen of athletic ability.

“How about Horse?” I said lobbing one towards the basket from about mid court. I was never very good at basket ball, and was only hoping to hit the backboard. As “chance” would have it, my Hail Mary dropped straight in. He stood there for a second just looking before retrieving the ball. He discovered almost immediately that I’d just been lucky. But I did pin him with an H-O-R before he made me an H-O-R-S-E.

“Name’s Ben, Ben Rogers. You can call me Ben, or gramps, or old man, even Mr. Rogers if you insist, even though my father died thirty years ago. I really prefer just Ben.”

“OK Just Ben, I’m David. Last name’s Copperfield, no joke. At least it’s not my joke. You can ask my mother why she decided to name me David. You with the girl over there?” It wasn’t a question, since he’d seen us sitting together. “You two live around here?” This was a question.

“No, up north in Vermont.” I answered. “I was born out on the Island but have lived in Vermont most of my life. Missy all her life. You have to meet her. In fact, that’s why I came over to talk to you. So I could introduce you to her. She’s too shy to approach a guy on her own.”

At this point the two of us had walked about half way to the bench where she was sitting quietly, waiting to meet the man. As we walked toward her I realized she was probably more vulnerable than any girl ever was walking down the aisle. David had not even smiled at her and yet she was convinced he was the only possible mate she’d ever have. I’m 6-1 but I had to look up slightly to talk to him. Missy’s 5-7. I assume she likes tall guys. He was smiling and he wasn’t looking at me. There was a good sign.

“David,” I said making him pause for a second, “Please be nice to my grand daughter. She’s psychic, and she’s had this revelation. You figure pretty big in it. So she’s a bit at your mercy. I should add she’s also a virgin and hopes you can do something about it. A girl only has one first time. Be nice to her and she’ll love you the rest of her life.”

I guess I do have some prejudices. It never occurred to me that he was also a virgin.

He sat down on the bench next to her, took her hand and looked her in the eyes. When she raised her eyes up to look at him the two of them went into stasis. I stood there a while then went and found myself another bench. What was going on deserved some privacy. It was also beautiful. From about a hundred feet away, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Other people stopped, stared, and smiled. I might have been surprised that no one seemed bothered that the two of them were of different races. Some things are obviously so beautiful that stupid prejudices can’t compete. A middle aged woman stopped next to me.

“Isn’t that beautiful? Do you know them?”

“My granddaughter and her fianc? I think she hardly needs a chaperone, however.”

“I think I see what you mean. She’ll have him at the altar in a lot less than nine months, I’ll wager!”

We both smiled at each other and she finally went her way. After about an hour the two of them rose, and hand in hand walked toward me.

“David wants us to meet his mother.”

“We live about a block away, Mr. Rogers.” I groaned, but it was obvious he was simply too taken up with Missy to even remember what I’d said earlier. “Oh! Sorry Ben. Anyway it’s not far.”

Sara Copperfield was an attractive woman of thirty-eight, who was raising two boys on her own. She was much lighter skinned than her sons. David’s mother’s father had been a “whitey”. He had died three years earlier, but Sara’s mother was still very much around. David didn’t know much about his other grandparents. Sara’s “man” had been a real African, and gone back when he left her. David had been three the last time he saw his father. His brother was two years older, nineteen, and going to college part time. Very part time, but Sara was pleased he was going at all. Karl worked about thirty hours a week in a hardware store. He sometimes lived at home, sometimes with a girlfriend. Sara worked five days a week but not on Saturdays.

“Mom, I’m home! I brought along a couple of friends I want you to meet. This is Ben Rogers. We’ve been playing basketball together. This is his granddaughter, Missy.” I could tell David was trying to sound casual about it, but it all fell apart when he said “Missy”. Sara was surprised about being introduced to a 60 year old white man and then flabbergasted when she was suddenly being introduced to a sixteen year old white girl with whom her usually shy son was obviously smitten. She did the obvious thing and temporarily ignored the obvious.

“Can I fix you some coffee, Mr. Rogers?”

I hate coffee, but can sip it if the occasion demands. Preparing it is a ritual that Sara needed to perform. I also said nothing about wanting to be called Ben. I went into the kitchen with her, leaving the two love birds alone. I sat down at the table and watched Sara pay homage to a percolator.

“Mr. Rogers, can you tell me what’s happening?”

She looked at me as it I’d done something wrong. Well, maybe I had. At least under normal circumstances one might have expected me to try keeping them apart instead of making it easier for them.

“Sara. May I call you Sara? Did you get the usual religious training? You know the story when the angel comes down and tells Mary she’s pregnant? Well, this was a bit more believable I guess. Anyway, it’s scary how much Missy’s in love with your son. For life ever after, I think, if he’ll have her. Even if he won’t, which puts her in a precarious situation.