Wait for us, grandpa

Wait for us, Grandpa

Irka walked slowly around the house, looking with involuntary respect at the dark log walls. A family nest, after all. Built by one of her great-, great-, great-grandparents. She gently touched the warm, sun-heated wood. The massive, arm-span oak trunks, laid into the log house about three hundred years ago by plowmen fleeing Peter the Great's reforms, seemed to have remained impervious even to the passage of time itself. Wars flared up and died out, entire states appeared and disappeared, yet day after day they continued to shelter their owners from wind and bad weather, cracked and blackened on the outside, but remaining just as rock-solid

inside.

Irka suddenly thought that her grandfather and this house were alike. Gray-haired, with a face darkened by the sun and etched with wrinkles, hands twisted with "ropes" of veins and knots of muscles, broad palms worn by work, Grandpa was still a sturdy man, though life had beaten him.

And just like his house, unbending by time. Grandpa was pushing seventy, and Irka had never once heard him complain of any illness. In a light, loose-fitting shirt, wide trousers, most often barefoot—that's how Irka always remembered Grandpa. In winter, of course, he dressed differently. But in winter, you couldn't even reach Grandpa's "estate" with just any off-road vehicle.

Rounding the corner, Irka came to the veranda. In honor of her arrival, a samovar was puffing. It smelled of pine cones, and on the table there was honey and Grandpa's bread, which you could eat instead of cake, and wild raspberries, and homemade cottage cheese. All things you'd never get to try in the city.

"It's so hot." Irka happily climbed into the cool shade of the veranda.

"Stifling. A big storm is brewing." Grandpa replied, glancing sideways at the sky. "And you're still dressed like it's not summer outside. You girls have taken to wearing those damn jeans, roasting your butts in the heat. Why not put on a light little dress or a skirt? The body breathes, you can see pretty legs. A pleasure to look at, a pleasure to stroke with your palm."

"Grandpa, but for you, I guess, there's no use in that pleasure anymore, stroke or not. Just memories."

After turning eighteen, Irka decided she had earned the right to "adult" conversations, which sometimes annoyed her parents. But Grandpa Yegor didn't lecture his cheeky granddaughter.

"Well, you try, my berry." He suggested slyly. "Slip your little hand in and hold on gently."

The eloquent gesture accompanying Grandpa's words left no doubt about how and where Irka should hold on.

"Grandpa!" Irka snorted indignantly. "I'm your granddaughter!"

"Well, a granddaughter isn't a dog, she's a person like everyone else." Grandpa Yegor grinned and, looking into Irka's astonished, wide eyes, condescendingly explained. "Here, Irka, such things aren't considered much of a sin. Our parts are still a bear's corner. And in the old days, it was complete backwoods."

A family settles on the land, and for many versts around you won't meet another soul. Where are the young ones supposed to find fiancés and brides from elsewhere? So it sometimes happened that a sister would marry her brother, and a father would sin with his daughter. Cousins—that was completely normal. So here, even now, you can't shock anyone with this. In the nearest area, everyone is related, at least by a drop of blood.

"No way!" Irka even forgot about her tea. "So, you could have been both my grandfather and my father?!"

"Well, there's been no need for that for a long time." Grandpa shrugged his broad shoulders. "But to try if I made a good daughter, that's another matter."

"What, you and my mom, just like that, easy?!"

"Well, why not easy? We're family after all." Grandpa shrugged again.

"Holy shiiit!!!" Irka, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks, shook her head in disbelief.

"Hey, don't get so upset." Grandpa Yegor affectionately ruffled Irka's hair. "It's just that everywhere lives by its own custom. Here, for instance, a guy and a girl can live together without any stamp in their passport and without parental consent, but somewhere else they'd kill you for that. And there are places, I've heard, where the right of the first night is still preserved. And somewhere else even stranger things happen."

"But that's somewhere else." Irka sighed. "But here, my own relatives."

"Big deal." Yegor, taking the cup of cooled tea from his granddaughter, poured her some hot. "Here, everyone decides for themselves, no one drags you by force. Drink and don't worry about it."

After tea, Irka decided to go for a swim. After changing, she appeared on the veranda in a short dress that barely covered her buttocks and flip-flops on her bare feet.

"Now, that's more like it!" Grandpa, looking his granddaughter over, approvingly slapped her firm butt and, without any embarrassment, ran his palm from behind along her thighs. "To the lake?"

"Yeah."

Strangely enough, Grandpa's unambiguous liberty didn't anger or offend Irka at all. On the contrary, the sincere approval, reinforced by action, seemed natural to her and even, unexpectedly, pleasant.

"Go to the near one." Grandpa instructed her. "It's too long a walk back from the far one. The storm, I feel, is prowling somewhere nearby. Or wait, Natka should be back from Sosnovka, you can run together."

So that's how it is. Her cousin had also come to Grandpa's. I wonder for how long?

"Just yesterday. And her mother told her to buy some herbs from our witch woman, and Pashka was driving this morning. They'll be back soon. So, will you wait?"

"Nah. I'd rather go again later."

Irka didn't stay. And she didn't go to the near pond either. Even though it's close, people are always milling about there. And after Grandpa's revelations, she wanted to be alone, to somehow digest it all. A good walk was just what she needed. An hour's walk and the deserted, not a single soul in sight, shore became Irka's well-deserved reward for the long journey. Besides, Irka had long dreamed of swimming and sunbathing naked, and here was such a chance. On a beach, among people, you can't really undress. Maybe topless, and even then, if you don't mind everyone staring at you. But here, freedom! The far lake was also good because the approaches to it were open. You'd see from afar if someone was walking across the field, you'd have time to get dressed.

Once more, just in case, looking around, Irka stripped herself down to the last thread and for a long time, with pleasure, splashed in the clean, cool water, enjoying the unusual sensations of her naked body. Great! Swimming naked is beyond all praise! Finally, Irka climbed ashore and freely sprawled on a wide towel. Good.

The walk and swim had calmed her. Now Irka honestly tried to sort out the jumble of thoughts that had overwhelmed her. The sudden shock from what she'd heard had passed, and what Grandpa had told her no longer seemed something beyond the pale, extraordinary. Just a previously unknown facet of adult life. Yes, on one hand she always knew it was not good, it was reprehensible. On the other hand, it turns out there are people, and not just anyone, but people close to her, who think completely differently. And she too could cross the line, experience sensations of closeness with a relative unknown to others.

The unusualness of the situation teased Irka, simultaneously frightening her with its unfamiliarity and luring her with the sweetness of the forbidden fruit. Here it is, please. Come and take it freely. Irka suddenly, clearly, as if seeing it, imagined Grandpa doing it with her mom in her current room, on that very bed. Mom, legs spread wide, lies on her back, long hair scattered over the pillow. And Grandpa, leaning on his hands, covers her and enters with sharp, strong thrusts. And Mom, shuddering, moves to meet him, and her breasts bounce in time with the "blows," and both of them breathe loudly and heavily, and ...

Irka, sitting up and opening her eyes, barely reined in her runaway imagination. But she could do it too. So what? She came alone, without parents, no one would forbid it, no one would interfere. And no one would find out. It's too late to worry about innocence. Her experience wasn't great, but, as they say, she'd already had it. So ... Oh my! Irka pressed her palms to her face. Her cheeks were burning.

Irka quickly swam to shore, hearing the heavy rumble of a thundercloud behind her. A sharp gust of wind, pushing her, lashed the girl's wet back as she came out of the water. But she was hurrying anyway. On a forest road in a thunderstorm isn't too pleasant, but staying a lone target on the lake is even worse ...

The slanting streams of unexpectedly cold downpour caught her halfway to the forest. They struck her wet, taut ropes on her back, shoulders, bare legs, then merged into one solid wall of water. And that was just the beginning. A thunderclap split the sky overhead. A bright, snaking flash went into the blue of the lake. Another one. Fortunately for Irka, the storm was passing slightly to the side, not threatening her with lightning, but the downpour made up for it on the girl as best it could.

The road underfoot turned into a continuous puddle. Irka, in her flip-flops, kept slipping. The dress, soaked through, clung unpleasantly to her body, chilling her with every step. It was pouring so hard from above that streams of water ran down her stomach and butt right under the fabric. But worse than that was the prickly, unseasonably chilly wind. Having gotten seriously worked up in the field, it became downright furious in the narrow tunnel of the forest clearing. Its piercing gusts lashed the girl viciously, trying to knock her off her feet, mercilessly stealing the crumbs of warmth Irka still had left. It was still a long, long way home, and her teeth were already chattering. Irka, shivering, wrapped her arms around her shoulders covered by a wet towel, and hurried home with all her might.

Still far? Irka no longer had the strength to endure this refrigerator. Serves you right, fool! Might as well perish now. What's that? Ahead, through the murky veil of falling water, a dark figure appeared. Grandpa! Exactly. Looking like a wet, angry gnome in his pointed raincoat, Grandpa Yegor hurried to meet his granddaughter.

"Knew you'd gone to the far one!" He grumbled, hurriedly pulling out a dry cloak from under his coat and deftly wrapping it around the girl.

"Th-thank y-you." Irka gratefully buried her head in Grandpa's shoulder. Her chattering lips still weren't obeying, but Irka was already coming back to life. The heavy, dense, almost ankle-length raincoat reliably sheltered her from the villainous wind and the pouring rain.

Her clothes, of course, didn't get any drier, but that wasn't so scary anymore. We'll make it!

"Don't stand, come on." Grandpa pushed the girl in the back. "Hurry home to warm up."

"I'm going." Irka, outpacing Grandpa, splashed down the path.

"Run straight to the bathhouse." Grandpa shouted after her, over the noise of the downpour. "Just heated yesterday, hasn't cooled yet. Hot water ..."

It was indeed warm in the bathhouse. Even in the dressing room. Chilled to the bone, Irka threw the raincoat on a hook, tore off the clinging dress, and hurriedly rushed into the bathhouse semi-darkness smelling of birch twigs. Ahhh! How good it is here! To steam properly, of course, there wouldn't be enough heat, but to warm up as much as you like. Irka, scooping up a bucket of hot water—she had to dilute it—poured it over herself in one go. Another one. There, that's better. Irka scooped up a second bucket and settled on the bench, putting her feet in a basin of water and slowly pouring water over herself from another. Bliss!

Grandpa barged into the dressing room, noisily shaking off his raincoat.

"Well, it's pouring." He grumbled and lightly knocked on the door. "How are you in there, icicle? Thawed out?"

"Here." A terry towel flew through the slightly opened door. "Wrap yourself in this, I'll come in for a minute."

Irka found it amusing that Grandpa didn't even stick his nose in to see her. After today's stories about the freedom of morals in this particular family, he should, rather, have entered the steam room without any ceremony than loiter outside the door. And here's such Versailles. To tease her maybe? Quickly fashioning something like a turban on her head, as one usually does after washing hair, Irka stuck her head out. Though, only showing her shoulders.

"Like this, Grandpa?"

"Goat!" Grandpa Yegor grinned, looking at his mischievous granddaughter, and, stepping closer, pulled the door towards him. "That's fine too, if you're not afraid to flash your charms."

Oh-oh-oh! That wasn't the plan! Irka, hastily jumping back, blinked in confusion at Grandpa entering. It was too late to dart about, tearing the towel off her head to somehow cover herself. Now just sit on the bench, goods on display. Irka only pressed her knees together tighter so as not to be completely on display in front of Grandpa. However, he didn't particularly try to embarrass his granddaughter, studying the details. He gave her a male glance, of course, then snorted mockingly:

"What a good moment this is. Now a switch on the bare behind, so you listen to your elders next time."

And the tension that had begun to arise immediately dissipated, and Irka somehow relaxed. Well, so what, she ended up naked in front of a man. And in a bathhouse at that. Big deal! She did pull the towel off her head, but didn't wrap herself in it to cover up. Just threw it over her shoulders. Meanwhile, Grandpa poured about half a glass from a dark flat bottle of a tea-like, strongly herbal-smelling tincture and handed it to his granddaughter.

"Drink this, to warm up from the inside. It's a bit bitter, though. But bear with it. Then you'll avoid a cold."

The astringent liquid slightly burned her throat, but overall, it wasn't too strong and not at all nasty. But inside Irka, it was as if a fire had lit up. Even sweat broke out. But her head, contrary to fears, remained clear.

"Put your feet up." Grandpa moved the bucket of hot water closer to the bench and straightened up, leaning slightly on his granddaughter's shoulder. "Warm up. I'll go get dry clothes and perk up the samovar."

"Wait, ah." Irka covered Grandpa's paw with her palm. "Sit with me."

After all, a certain piquancy of the situation was provoking the girl, tuning her thoughts in a certain direction.

"Tell me ... with Mom's sisters, well, with Aunt Lena and Lyuda, did you also ...?"

Grandpa, sitting down beside her, looked at his granddaughter with mocking interest.

"Well, well, how it's got you. Like someone's poking you in the behind with an awl. Did I, didn't I ... Well, what do you think yourself?"

Irka, in general, had no illusions left about the answer. Grandpa had tried them all. And no one ever said a word, not even a hint. Family, they call it!

"Grandpa." She hesitated a little, gathering her courage. "Grandpa, what's it like, when it's with your own?"

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