I Am Lilly Rose: This is My Story - Sex Stories

I Am Lilly Rose: This is My Story

This story took place many years ago. I feel it is now my duty to write it down in some detail to give to you, my granddaughter, Lilly Watson née Gross, the eldest daughter of my son, Walter, on the occasion of your wedding. In this day and age of much more liberal expression in matters of sex and marriage, my story will seem tame. It is, however, true, and I hope it will be of comfort to you, dearest granddaughter. You have married at the age of seventeen to a much older man as did I when I married your grandpapa Otto. Mr. Watson is twenty-nine and will be thirty years of age in a few months. May to December romance is often the richest and strongest type. I want you to know what your grandmama experienced in almost the same circumstances, many years ago. ooo I am Lilly Rose, a second generation Italian. Rose was not our real family name. My father changed it upon coming to this country to make it sound more 'native.' Of course his crude, broken English seemed to belie the fact of native birth, but that didn't deter him. He was a hard worker who built a successful restaurant business that provided the sustenance for our family of six. I was the youngest of four girls. During my seventeenth year, life took a turn none could foresee. In the early Spring of the year in which we pick up this story, my father's dream was terminated by a massive heart attack. His death was grieved by many in our little Italian enclave. He had helped many immigrants to establish themselves in ...

... the new country and had married off his three older daughters to promising young men of good stock. His funeral was attended by hundreds. Father Angelo's burial mass was intoned in the Latin of the Church a language that few in the pews understood. The vernacular of the Church was the province of the upper classes in the Old Country, and we who came from more rustic, working stock were expected to believe the strange noises as conversations with God. Mother was presented with a formidable challenge. She could choose to run the restaurant, a business she knew nothing about, or sell it. Taking the latter course she discovered that of all my father's 'good friends' none was interested. Oh, there were one or two very low offers, but nothing that would provide an income for the two of us for very long. She sold the business to her oldest son-in-law, and he made payments as he could. They were not enough to live on. Thus, she set out to find work and in lieu of something more permanent, she began to do laundry and housecleaning. We lost our house because the bank would not extend more liberal credit terms to her and ended up living in a small apartment on the edge of the Italian area. It would prove to be the turning point in my life. ooo The single family dwelling next to our apartment building was home to Otto Gross, a young widower with two school-age daughters. His wife had died in the great influenza epidemic the year before. Our landlady, Mrs. Mazzeti, had told us about how ...