Every dirty granny fantasy starts the same way. With a sweet old lady who is not nearly as sweet as she looks.

I am Edith. Sixty seven. Three grandchildren, one hip replacement, and a sex drive that would put your twenty year old ex to shame. This dirty granny fantasy is the story of yesterday afternoon, when the bingo hall lost one player and my bedroom gained a very lucky young man.

Your Dirty Granny Fantasy Begins at Bingo

I was supposed to be at bingo. I told my daughter I was going to bingo. Instead, I was home, naked except for my pearls, with my hand between my legs and a young man on the phone who could barely believe his luck.

You sound just like my grandma, he said.

Honey, I said, I am somebody's grandma. Now tell me what you are wearing.

That is the thing about a proper dirty granny fantasy. The contrast. The sweet voice saying the filthiest things. It scrambles their brains, and I love it.

How a Dirty Granny Fantasy Gets Wicked

I told him what I was doing. In detail. The kind of detail you only learn from decades of practice. I told him about my hands, wrinkled and knowing, and exactly where they were. I told him about the toy I keep in my nightstand, the big one, the one my late husband never knew about.

You are kidding, he whispered.

Honey, I have been fucking since before your mother was born, I told him. I do not kid about this.

I described the way I touch myself. Slow. Patient. The way only a woman who knows her own body completely can. I told him about the sounds I make, the real ones, not the polite ones I use at church. I told him I was getting close, and I told him to keep talking, because his voice was making it even better.

The Middle of Every Dirty Granny Fantasy Is Where I Take Charge

Then I flipped it on him. Because in my dirty granny fantasy, I am not just a sweet old lady telling stories. I am in charge.

Now you, I said. Tell me what you would do if you were here.

He stammered. They always stammer. I... I would...

Use your words, young man. I did not raise three grandchildren by accepting mumbling.

He found his words. Oh, he found them. He told me exactly what he would do, in filthy detail, and I coached him through it like the teacher I used to be. Slower, I told him. A woman my age likes it slow. And deep. And do not you dare stop until I say so.

He was panting. I was glowing. Sixty seven years old and I still have that effect on men. Some things never change.

Why My Dirty Granny Fantasy Always Ends With Them Speechless

Because nobody expects it. Because their grandmothers bake cookies and mine bakes cookies too, but mine also knows seventeen ways to make a man forget his own name. Because experience is the sexiest thing in the world, and I have got it in spades.

I have seen trends come and go. I have outlived two husbands and one very boring boyfriend. And I can tell you right now, nobody eats pussy like a woman who knows her own body, and nobody takes a pounding like a granny who has got nothing left to prove.

He came so hard he forgot how to talk for a full minute. I just laughed, that warm grandma laugh, and I said, There there, honey. Catch your breath.

Your Dirty Granny Fantasy Is One Call Away

So call me, young man. Tell me you want the sweet old lady with the filthy mouth. I will tell you stories that will make your hair curl, in this sweet voice, and I will make you feel things your girlfriend cannot even pronounce.

If you want to talk to me right now, call the dispatcher at (888)-202-6036 and ask for Edith. Bingo can wait, honey. You cannot.