Grandpa's LapI used to spend a lot of time at my grandparents' house—it was one of my favorite places to be, and they were two of my favorite people. Their house was so much calmer and quieter than ours, and I felt loved and wanted over there. (Not that I felt unwanted or unloved at home, but I guess I felt that they liked me more, or something....) Anyway, I was over there a lot, often stopping on my way home from school and staying for dinner before going home. On weekends and during the summer, I was often there all day, and slept over fairly frequently.
When my Grandma would go into the kitchen to fix supper, I sometimes went in to "help" and keep her company, and sometimes stayed in the living room to sit on my Grandpa's lap and watch tv while we waited.
Now, as I've mentioned in other stories, I *********** a lot. I didn't know what it was called—just that I wasn't supposed to touch myself in front of other people. When I wanted to touch myself but couldn't, I was usually able to find SOMEthing to rub against—sometimes a pillow, or I'd lean forward and press against the corner of my chair, or I'd lean into the corner of a table, or sit on the arm of a chair or couch—and either nobody noticed, or they were too polite to say anything, so I assumed this was acceptable.
When I sat on Grandpa's lap in his recliner, I usually tried to make sure I had a pillow with me. I would sit on one of Grandpa's legs, with the pillow between mine, and press it as discreetly as possible agains my ****. I got very good, very early on, at maximum stimulation with minimum motion (so as not to draw attention to myself), but I wasn't taking into account the fact that I was ON his leg, so he was going to notice ANY movement. But he never said anything about what I was doing with the pillow, so I assumed he wasn't noticing, and eventually got a bit less cautious with my wriggling.
One day, I must have gotten myself a bit more worked up than usual, because Grandpa finally had to say something to me. He muttered under his breath, said, "Give me that!" then pulled the pillow away and tossed it on the floor. I was afraid I was in trouble, but still awfully worked up, and I whimpered, wondering what was going to happen next.
He put his hands around my waist, lifted me off his leg, then settled me on the other leg, but tipped me a bit forward, instead of leaning back to rest on him as I had been. "There!" he said, and rocked my hips forward so I pressed into his thigh. He rocked my hips back and forward a couple of times, so I could see that he didn't mind, then let go as I started rocking on my own. I eventually tipped forward so I could get a better angle, and braced myself on the end table next to us. It didn't take long for me to finish, and I wasn't at all quiet about it.
Grandpa laughed and said, "You're a noisy one, aren't you?" I was very relieved at not being in trouble, and smiled back at him, blushing. He said, "Look what you did to me!" and set me on the floor for a moment, so he could adjust his pants. There was a small damp spot on one thigh, and I thought that was what he meant, so I grabbed a napkin and tried to dry it. Grandpa laughed again and said, "Not that!" He took the napkin away and lifted me back to his other leg. "This," he pointed between his legs," is what I'm talking about."
I was confused, and he could tell I had no idea what he meant, so he picked me up again and set me right in the middle of his lap. "See?" I wobbled a bit because there was something there that usually wasn't. I tried to find a way to sit comfortably as I tried to figure out what his lap had to do with me. The only way I could sit there without falling to one side or the other was to straddle his legs, with the lump just under my panties. It was like trying to balance on the top rail of a boys bike, and I slid back and forth a bit before discovering that I could rock on THAT even more easily than on his thigh. I only rocked a couple of times before he snatched me off his lap and set me on the floor in front of him. "Much more of that and I'd have a real mess on my hands!" I was still confused, and Grandpa laughed again.
"Honey, that's something for when you're much older. Men put these inside ladies—grown-up ladies. It isn't for little girls." I was indignant at being called a little girl, and tried to argue, but Grandpa cut me off. "Feel how big this is," he put my hand on the lump, and I wrapped my fingers around to see how big it was. It WAS pretty big.... "Do you know how tiny your little hole is? Even my fingers are too big to go in there. If I put this in you it would hurt. A lot." I was pretty much convinced, and Grandpa said, "If you're still curious when you're bigger—much bigger—then we can talk about it. For now, we should make sure you're sitting on my legs, not between them."
And that was that.
He never asked me to touch his penis or kiss it, like so many of the stories I've read online talk about. He never tried to put it inside me, because that would have hurt me. He never even asked me to sit on it again, and I know he only did it that day because I was asking about it.
I DID sit on his lap many more times, and he did touch me—and I'm working on another story about that. (This one has gotten pretty long....)
(Part two is up: http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Had-Sexual-Experiences-In-Childhood/2477589 )