Grandfather Ivan sat in his chair, staring at the television, where the news blared endlessly. His head was racing, his thoughts lazy and fragmented. Life after seventy seemed like a drawn-out, slightly faded film. His body ached, his bones creaked, and the only thing that remained to remind him of his former strength and passion was the occasional morning when he rose, a stubborn and mute witness to the past. There was a knock on the door. First timidly, then more insistently. Ivan sighed, rose with a creak, and trudged to open it. Katya, the neighbor upstairs, stood behind the door. A young, devilish woman, about twenty-five. She wore a simple housecoat that had fallen open, revealing a deep neckline. Ivan couldn't help but glance down at the firm curves protruding from beneath the thin fabric and felt a familiar throb in his groin. "Uncle Vanya, I'm sorry to bother you," her voice was clear, a little guilty. "The faucet in my bathroom is leaking again, it's practically gushing. I don't know what to do anymore. Could you help me? You used to be a plumber..." Ivan groaned. Old fart. But something stirred inside. That request, her helpless gaze, her body smelling of soap and something sweet… He felt needed. “Okay, show me,” he muttered. “I have the tool.” He picked up his old, battered suitcase and trudged up the stairs after her. She walked ahead, her robe outlining every curve of her youthful, firm body. Ivan looked at her rounded bottom, her slender waist, and the blood began pounding in his temples louder than usual. Her apartment smelled of femininity, flowers, and food. The bathroom was cramped and damp. The faucet actually spewed a thin, stubborn trickle. “Here,” he said, handing her the flashlight while rummaging through his suitcase. “Shine it.” She leaned over him to get the light better, her chest almost touching the back of his head. He felt the warmth radiating from her, heard her breathing. His old fingers trembled as he tried to unscrew the old gasket. He felt like a dinosaur, feeble and withered next to this flourishing body. Suddenly she put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you so much, Uncle Vanya. I was absolutely panicking. All the men were around, and there was no one to help." Her touch burned through his shirt. He turned around. They were squatting across from each other in the cramped bathroom. His knees were almost touching hers. He saw her dilated pupils, her parted, moist lips. And he saw more than just gratitude in her gaze. There was curiosity. Embarrassment. And something else… a challenge? “You’re welcome,” he croaked, his voice failing him. “I will definitely thank you,” she whispered, and her hand slowly slid from his shoulder to his chest, then to his stomach. Ivan froze. His brain refused to believe it. Was this a dream? Insanity? But her fingers were real, warm. They lay on his stomach, trembling slightly. “Katya…” he began. "Shut up," she interrupted. Her eyes were burning. "Just shut up." Her hand moved lower, slid down the fly of his worn pants, and felt a hard, genuine bulge. His old cock, despite everything, was rock hard and aching for attention. "Wow," she breathed out quietly, a smile appearing on her lips. "You're not that decrepit, grandpa." She unzipped his fly. He didn't resist. He could only watch as her slender fingers brought his wrinkled but desperately erect penis into the light. The skin on it was dark, the veins standing out like blue. He was burning with shame and a wild, animalistic arousal. Katya looked at his penis with the air of an explorer who had found something amazing. "Lie down," she ordered, pointing to the bathroom floor covered with an old towel. "It's softer here." He sank down onto his back, submissive. His heart was pounding, threatening to leap out of his chest. He saw the ceiling, the light from the bulb, and then her face, leaning over his groin. She took his penis in her hand. Her touch was gentle and confident. He gasped. He was seventy years old, but his skin was crawling like a boy's. “Beautiful,” she whispered and ran her tongue over the very head, lubricating the drop of lubricant that had appeared. Ivan groaned. Her tongue was hot, rough, incredible. She wrapped her lips around just the head, playing with it, sucking, nipping lightly with her teeth. He dug his fingers into the towel. He watched her cheeks draw in, her lips, bright and wet, glide over his shaft. She worked her mouth with rapture, as if she were sucking not an old man's penis, but the most delicious lollipop in the world. “Yes… just like that…” he wheezed, no longer embarrassed. She took him deeper into her mouth, and he felt the head press against the roof of his mouth. Her hand stroked the base, wetting it with saliva. The sounds were raw, wet, animalistic. Slurping, her ragged breathing, his old man's groan. He looked at her, at her lowered eyelashes, at the way her lips stretched around his cock, and it was the most depraved and beautiful sight he had seen in thirty years. He felt a familiar, long-forgotten pressure growing in his lower abdomen. “Katya... I’m going to... cum now...” he warned, trying to push her head away. But she only took him deeper into her mouth, her eyes lifting to his, full of determination. She wanted this. His body shook in orgasm. Spasms, sharp and painfully sweet, squeezed every ounce of release from him. He came in her mouth, his eyes rolling back, making inarticulate sounds. He felt himself pulsating in her hot mouth, filling it with his seed. Katya didn't pull away immediately. She accepted his sperm, letting the warm, thick liquid fill her mouth. She lingered there for a moment, her cheeks slightly puffed out, her eyes wide open as she stared at him, taking in every twitch of his face. Her gaze held no triumphant smirk, but rather a deep, almost scientific concentration tinged with obsession—as if she were studying the taste, the texture, the very act of this intimate act. Then she leaned over the sink and, without taking her wet gaze from him, spat out a thick white liquid. It glistened on the white enamel before being washed away by a trickle of water from the still-dripping faucet. "You're still going strong, Grandpa," she breathed, licking her lips after wiping away the last drops. Her voice was surprised. Her smile no longer held triumph, but a strange respect and satisfaction at a job well done.