It had been Queenie’s chair. My maternal grandmother had loved the plush pale green arms, the green and lavender brocade seat. It had supported her in comfort for many years.. As a child, I loved gentle Queenie. She always had time for me, sharing her sweets hidden under the cushion.
It was still her chair, although now the arms were rubbed and stained, the brocade faded and the once firm cushion, had the shape of buttocks and legs firmly indented into the seat. It had become grandad Malcolm’s chair after Queenie passed away.
Malcolm was my father’s father and a stroke had robbed him of his independence. From just being a large, dour old man, he had turned into an angry tyrant. He’d flatly refused a care home, so dad reluctantly asked him if he would come to live with us, going against mom’s wishes. Every day, he sat morosely in Queenie’s chair and his only purpose in life it seemed, was to berate me and everything I did.
At fourteen, you are neither a child nor fully a woman. I enjoyed dressing in hot pants and mini skirts, daisy motifs and ponytails; this was after all, 1969 ! .Grandad Malcolm would watch me and glower. ‘Was I a harlot to dress so skimpily ? Was I intending to invite men to leer at me ? I was an immoral Lolita, up to no good.
“For shame!” he thundered.
Dad assured him I was truly innocent and just having fun. All the girls dressed like this, but grandad Malcolm would have none of it… I grew to hate him !
Mom got upset: dad was frustrated that Malcolm was so scathing of his darling only child… That was when I devised my plan. It was customary for friends and neighbours to have drinks or a barbecue on Saturday nights,. This particular weekend, my parents were invited next door to a garden party, the summer being warm and sultry. I was left watching tv in my room while granded Malcolm was doing the same in the lounge.
Once the party was under way and the music almost drowned by chatter and laughter, I prepared to repay grandad Malcolm for all his unpleasantness. Fate even lent a hand. Just as the Rolling Stones record ‘I can’t get no satisfaction’ started booming outside, I flounced into the lounge.The look of startled shock on granddad’s face when he realised it was me, made him gasp and then choke, as his face went from pale to crimson then pale again.
Dressed in my skimpiest, most daring underwear I danced for my grandad in the most provocative and lewd way i knew how… Gyrating and pouting I rocked my body, shaking my small breasts in his face and blowing him kisses from my red harlot lips… I twirled, squatted and leapt around the room… It was fun and very liberating, although it didn’t last long… Grandad Malcolm fixed in horror, suddenly choked, collapsed and closed his eyes.
I got dressed as I was before and returned to watching television in my room. Some time later, mum came in to check on us and found poor grandad Malcolm dead in his seat.
The next day, Queenie’s old chair was left out on the pavement for the refuse collection