Granny's Little Girl

Her thighs were smooth beneath his fingers, but not so smooth as the exquisite area fringed by silky hair. Terry stroked, caressed, and fondled her there until Christy arched against his hand. He slipped a fingertip into the moist separation and touched the ripples of secret skin. Christy groaned and reached for him. Inexperience caused her to fumble; experience came quickly and she learned well.

As Terry slipped his finger lower and deeper, Christy instinctively raised her thighs. Terry felt warm wetness and ventured further. His fingertip entered her and Christy moaned at the sensation before caused only by her own hand. She reached for his wrist and pulled the fingers higher.

“There, Terry…, oh…, yes, there.”

She pulled his face to her breast, and Terry circled her nipple with his lips. Christy shivered at the wave that raced from her nipple to deep in her belly. The tightening sensation was wonderful. Terry sucked gently, and the wave was stronger. Her hips lifted from the feather tick and Terry’s finger slipped into her passage. Christy cried out as he slowly rubbed from her entrance back to the little soft nub that peeked from the folds. She cried out again when Terry touched it, and thrust herself into his hand again.

She began pulling at him, leading him to kneel between her thighs, pulling him to the center of her passion. At the touch of his hardness, she stopped, pulled his lips to hers and kissed him.

“I want you, Terry.”

He pressed forward, found he was in the wrong place, then lowered his position, and slipped into her entrance. There was resistance. He withdrew, then pressed in again. The resistance yielded a little and Christy yelped.

“Ouch.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“A little. Granny said it would hurt some the first time.”

“Want me to stop? We could try again later.”

“No. Just do it. Then the next time will be better.”

Terry was cautious. He pushed gently, withdrew at her grunt, then pushed forward again. Suddenly, he slipped past the resistance and deep inside her body. Christy shuddered and hugged him close.

“OK, now?”

“Yes, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Evelyn told me something. I…, just go ahead. You’ll see.”

He felt her hand moving between them, and then the rhythmic motion of her knuckles against his belly. Christy caught her breath when he withdrew and then pushed himself back inside her. The rhythm of her fingers increased and Christy began to shake. The sensation of her body moving around him was more than he could control. With a groan, he thrust deep and felt the surge race from his loins. He thrust in again, then again and sagged, panting, against his arms. In another moment, Christy cried out and shuddered beneath him. When Terry rolled to her side, Christy put her arm around him and snuggled her body into his chest.

“Now, I’m really a woman. I love you, Terry.”

“I love you, too, Christy.”

They stayed in the little cabin for Christmas Eve. The snow in the pines and the blaze of the cardinals that flew past the little windows were too beautiful to leave. They also enjoyed the seclusion, and the intimacy it afforded. In four short days, they learned as much about themselves as about each other. On Christmas day, they walked down the mountain and joined Christy’s family for dinner. Terry drove them back to Nashville, and a life together, the next morning.

Christy and Terry retired from performing a year later. Their first child was on the way, and for Christy, just as for all the people around May’s Peak, family is everything. Now, she, Terry, and their three daughters live in the big cabin he built on that same mountain. Together, she and Terry write songs, and as Harry once said, for a singer and a bass player, they’re pretty good songwriters. Their work is usually somewhere on the charts.

Granny’s cabin is still there. Terry keeps it up, just like Granny would have wanted. They don’t use it much anymore. Somehow, it seems as if it still belongs to Granny. Their wedding anniversary will usually find them there, though, a fire in the stove, and candles on the table. They don’t think she’d mind once a year, since that’s where they found each other.

Christy does still sing, sometimes, although she can never fill all the requests. Her last appearance was in Bar’s Ford. James Wilson’s grandson was getting married, and James asked if she’d sing with them at the service.

Then there’s the revival at the May’s Peak Church of Christ. They still have it, every year, and every year, Christy is there. Her daughters will represent the church at the next one. They’re still small, but Angie, the oldest, has quite a voice for an eight-year-old, and Rachael and Autumn are pretty good too, for only being five and seven. Pastor Jackson says people will enjoy hearing them. They’re going to sing Rock of Ages.

The Crestwood Quartet will be there, too. Christy will just be a proud parent until the kids go to bed. Then, she and the Quartet will entertain the attendees until bedtime. Just like every year, their last song will be “Amazing Grace”, and just like every year, James will whisper to her to, “Sing right out, ‘cause your Momma and Granny are listenin’.” Christy will close her eyes and see them both, hankies in hand, and smiling for all they’re worth.

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Ronde.