Melissa at thirteen was a beautiful young woman verging on the edge of sensual maturity. Maybe those small tits under the sports bra hadn't achieved full blossom but the rest of her body was in perfect form. The high school tennis team logo on her shorts and top denoted she probably kept in good shape, the curves of her ass magnified by the stretch of the tight shorts across her rump. I watched the defined wiggle of her ass as she led us in to the living room, the display surely intended to present her rear in it's best aspect.

Mallory, the eleven-year old sister followed with Hank's arm clutched in hers as she scrunched against his side as tight as she could, once having to steady him as he suddenly lurched sideways.

"Whoa Gramps, you're a little unsteady on your feet, you all right?"

"Yep, fine. Just had a little too much rot gut is all, I'll be great jest let me sit for a spell."

"Do you want to lay down?" the younger sister asked.

"Naw, I'll be fine just like I said, don't you fret about old Grandpa Hank, hear?'

The young pre-teen eased him onto a big stuffed chair in front of a huge marble mantled fireplace. Shit this place had more expensive marble than the Taj Mahal. Alex and I sat on a long couch with Mel perched at the far end. Mal squatted on the floor in front of us smiling broadly.

"How'd you meet Gramps?"

"On the Queen, we were dining in the same restaurant and met outside."

"Actually that is not quite accurate," Hank said looking at us, "I'd been booted out of the place because they didn't like my fucking sneakers and was I was just sitting outside smoking and pissed as all get out."

I'd never realized Hank had not eaten in the Sir Winston's but now that I thought about it I remembered the semi-formal attire restriction mentioned tennis shoes. Alex and I had slipped on casual sport coats to oblige the required attire but it was still not formal enough to make me feel like a monkey suit wearer to indulge in the faire. The rack of lamb I'd had and Alex's sautéed pawns were both magnificent.

"Well then," I said casually grinning at the girls, "we met Hank after we ate and while he was sitting on the bench outside the restaurant. I stand corrected," and I turned and gave Hank a mock bow. He nodded, looked smug that he had corrected the misstatement. His alcohol fused societal graces had slipped some since we'd first met, the cantankerous old man robbed of his two granddaughters rising to the fore.

Mel glanced at the two of us, her eyes measuring what she saw in front of her and apparently approving the looks. Two men, both dark tanned and well over six-feet in height and ruggedly handsome gracing a couch with her only a foot or so away, how lucky could a young girl get.

"You're not American, are you Alex?" ......(cont)