Back Fence Glory Hole

I met Dorothy at a community meeting to discuss zoning proposals in our neighborhood. I recognized her as the elderly neighbor who lived behind us, but we had never been formally introduced or spoken to each other. We made small talk about the issues being discussed, how nice the neighborhood was, and so on.

I'm 41. Dorothy was older. Much older. She mentioned that both she and her husband were retired but didn't get out much anymore due to health concerns.

My wife wasn't interested in attending these meetings, hence her absence. When I inquired about Dorothy's husband, she then revealed to me that he was in the end stages of Alzheimer's disease and she was his primary caretaker. He was 76, and she then implied her own age in a statement about him being almost a decade older than her. I put her age between 65 and 66.

I didn't find her sexually attractive, but I could tell that in her younger years she was probably a stone cold fox of a lady. She was still slender, petite, and had bright silver hair that was straight and shoulder length. She still dressed professionally - at least for this meeting she did. She wore a soft gray jacket and dress and a white blouse.

She talked about her husband, and how hard it was caring for him at her age. She was sharp as a tack mentally, very well spoke, and quite humorous. More like sarcastic. She started becoming a little more "forward" with her comments, almost to the point of inappropriateness.

"When you have a sick spouse, the first thing you lose is your sex life. Hell, with him on a catheter now, I can't even suck his beautiful cock anymore." She glanced at me and raised her eyebrow, causing her forehead to wrinkle even more. "He doesn't have to know who he is, where he is, or who I am for that matter for me to enjoy giving him a good blowjob, right?"

I grinned despite the shock of the candor she was exhibiting. Then I tempted fate and pushed the envelope a little farther. Kidding around with this nasty granny might be fun.

"Well," I replied, "my wife hates giving blowjobs. Always has. So I guess I'd just not know the name of who wasn't satisfying me if the roles were reversed."

She told me she knew who my wife was. She became even more forward when she told me that my wife reminded her of a lesbian lover she had in her youth, and if she were a bit younger she'd have to hold herself back from propositioning my wife for one last lesbian fling. This older woman was definitely full of surprises.

In for a penny, in for a pound - so the saying goes. I was feeling feisty, so I wanted to see if I could shock her.

"I've been meaning to ask you, I need to make repairs on the fence between our properties. Do you mind if I replace some of the pickets and posts?" I asked. She told me she didn't mind at all.

"Well," I leaned over and whispered, "I'm going to put one picket in the fence that's directly behind my shed. It's going to have a hole in it about waist high to me. On the first Wednesday of every month, I could, if you'd like, stick my cock through the hole and let you give that blowjob you've been longing to give. That would make us both happy, right?"

I leaned back and half expected her to scream in shock and disgust. She looked at me with no reaction, then leaned over to me and whispered in response, "What time?"

"How about midnight?" I answered.

"Make it 1:00am? I'm a night owl," was her counter proposal.

"I can do that," I finally replied in a somewhat shocked state. She had called my bluff.

She leaned over and made one more statement. "There are a couple of conditions."

I leaned back and whispered in her ear, "Name them."

Her eyes met mine and she said, "First, no one ever knows. Second, I want to taste your pretty wife's pussy on your cock every once in a while." Then she told me how she'd respond when she could tell she could taste my wife on me. Again, I grinned at her lewdness.

I kept my gaze toward her, and without hesitating whispered, "Deal." I shocked myself by saying it.

She started to get up to leave, leaned over to me, and whispered, "The beginning of September is in about a week. You better get started mending that fence tomorrow."

I grinned once again. But she wasn't finished...

"Don't turn chicken shit on me and fail to show up. When I offer a man a blowjob, I don't bullshit around, young man. You'll get my best efforts. You just make damn sure you bring your best load of sperm to give me. I'm very thirsty, so to speak. It's been way too long..."

"I'll knock twice when I'm ready to stick it through for you, and three times just before you get your drink."

Holy. Fuck. Needless to say, the fence was repaired in the next three days. Hidden from plain sight, behind my shed, was a single picket with a good sized hole drilled in it with at doorknob installation drill bit - plenty large enough to slip my cock through with some space to spare. The following day after repairs were complete, I noticed a lawn chair had been moved against the fence on her side immediately below the hole.

The scene was set. Now all I had to do was wait, and hopefully not turn chicken shit.

* * *

It was finally the first Wednesday of the month. It was September. That night, the kids were in bed and my wife and I had just made love. I easily brought her to orgasm, but I withheld mine from her. I lied, saying I was tired and didn't believe I would be able to cum. The anticipation and excitement of what was to come made it even more difficult to do so. My prostate felt like a burning, red-hot coal deep in my groin. I needed sexual release desperately.

My wife had rolled over and drifted off into a restful slumber. The clock showed 11:30pm, then 12:30am, and finally 12:57am as I continued glancing over at it.

It was time.

I arose from bed, still nude from our lovemaking session, and silently padded to the back door on the other side of the house. Once outside on the back porch, I slipped the flip-flops on my feet that sat just outside the door and walked out into my yard and circled behind my storage shed. It was a moonless night, yet cloudless, and the stars were brilliantly bright. The air was just slightly cool against my naked skin.

Obscured by my shed and the surrounding fence corner, I stood in front of the waist-high, make-shift glory hole that I had drilled out of the wooden picket. My cock was rock hard and erect, but I was nervous with anticipation. I had pretty much convinced myself that Dorothy was just bullshitting me and fueling this young man's fantasies. I would soon see for sure.

I knocked softly on the fence twice. There was no response. Damn. I knocked twice again, much more loudly this time. About five seconds later the knocks were returned. I was shocked. I inhaled deeply, summoned up my boldness, and stepped toward the fence. I was so hard that I had to push my cock downward to point toward the hole in the fence, but I did. I stepped forward and aimed it through the entrance, pressing my entire body against the fence.

The contrast between the sensation of my pelvis pressed against the wooden fence and the cool night air of my cock sticking through the other side was fascinating. My cock didn't have to endure the open air for long. To my delight, I felt a warm, wet mouth envelop the head of my cock and a tongue gently start to lick my frenulum. The tongue then began circling the head of my cock and flicking its piss slit. It twitched in response. I felt a surge of precum course through its length and I knew her tongue was getting a generous taste of its sweetness.

She didn't engulf its length with her mouth at first. She took long, slow licks of the shaft starting at its base and working her way toward the tip. Then she momentarily paused. I felt her face close to it, as if she was smelling it. Then she placed three quick kisses on the tip.

Those kisses were a sign. An acknowledgement.

I had promised her during our initial conversation that she'd be able to taste my wife on my cock periodically. Those kisses were the sign she said she'd give me as a "thank you" for doing so. My wife's vaginal secretions were still coating my cock from our earlier lovemaking. Dorothy proceeded to lick and kiss every remnant of them from my cock. I could tell she was savoring both the taste and the smell.

Then she began to service my cock in earnest. I could tell that her older age had not diminished her skill. Or her enthusiasm. She sucked and serviced my cock like an expert. I wondered how many cocks she has sucked in her life in order to acquire such a talented technique. One? One hundred? It didn't matter. I was now the beneficiary of her fellatio artistry. My mind reeled in awe at how masterful her mouth was at giving me pleasure.

By this time, I was producing precum freely. I'm probably an over-producer of it and have been all of my life. It's a nuisance when your underwear gets saturated with the stuff when you're in a continuous horny state. I could tell Dorothy was consuming it like it was royal nectar.

At one point, she took my entire length into her mouth and held the crown of my cock in her throat. I heard no sound of gagging. She did not reflexively jerk her mouth backward. At one point, she slid down the length of my cock to where I could feel her lips pressed against its base.

Then, with my cock still impaled down her throat, her tongue slid through the hole in the fence and begin to slowly lick my balls in a sideways motion. Oh Heavens! This old woman was showing off.

I cannot sufficiently emphasize how skilled her cocksucking was. If she lived in the times of mythology, she would have been the goddess of fellatio in my mind. There have been many discussions written on online forums about who makes for a better cocksucker - a woman or a gay man. It seems most women suck cock out of obligation, or for foreplay, or to provide pleasure to a man. Gay men suck cock due to an internal need. They crave cock. They thirst for cum. Dorothy was the latter. She wasn't just doing me a favor - she was worshipping my cock. She needed it - more than likely thirsted for it as she had told me. Inside that elderly woman was a lusty, cock-crazy young woman hidden in an old body.

She was about to get her thirst quenched.

I had reached my limit of holding back. If cum could boil inside my prostate it was doing so at that point. Every muscle in my calves and thighs was tensed up. I was standing on my toes. As Dorothy was making long, rapid strokes with her mouth down the full length of my cock I knocked on the fence three times. That was the signal I told her I would give. That was the signal that I was about to cum.

My expectation was that she would pull off of me completely and my cock would be spurting aimlessly into the night air. It would not be so. Upon hearing my knocks, she began concentrating on the head of my cock and the first inch or so of my shaft in rapid sucking motions. Her lips were locked around me and not coming off.

The orgasm hit me with great intensity. Time seemed to stop. I literally saw stars against the wood pickets of the fence directly in front of my face. I only made one sound as it began - one soft, audible moan.

It had to be a record amount of semen that I ejaculated that first night. I could tell I was shooting a big load by how the cum felt as it gushed up the shaft of my penis and out the tip. Hell, my normal ejaculations are very copious anyway. My wife complains about the mess it makes on the sheets. Personally, I take pride in the usual amount of cum I produce. This load was even larger. But I digress... After my first two cumshots, the bobbing motion of her mouth up and down my shaft synchronized with the contractions of my prostate. After about the fourth shot into her mouth, the suction increased and her cheeks collapsed. I could tell she had just swallowed what I had given her so far. After about the eighth or ninth and final spurt of salty ejaculate left me, she swallowed again.

Her mouth never left my cock once. During the entire session, her hands never touched me. She continued to lick and suck my length as I remained in a semi-erect state. Twice she went all the way down on me, tightened her lower lip against my cock, and sucked upward back toward the end, gently sucking on the tip afterwards. She was milking every last drop of semen from my cock's urethra. She left no semen behind.

The licking and sucking lasted a couple of more minutes as I came down from the intensity of my orgasm and I returned to a flaccid state. In doing so she ensured that every trace of seminal fluid was cleaned from my cock. She then gave the tip of my cock a soft, gentle kiss, and then she was gone. No words were spoken between us. Nor would they ever be during our sessions. All that remained was me standing in my back yard at the back fence and the cool night air wafting across my very wet, saliva-coated cock.

Dazed but euphoric, I went back inside. I went to the bathroom, emptied my bladder, and then washed my cock in the sink. Silently I crawled back in bed to the rhythmic snores of my sleeping wife and drifted into a deep sleep, utterly and completely sexually satisfied.

Our monthly sessions continued for over a year. Well, there were exactly 19 occurrences. Believe me - I remember every single one quite vividly. Of those, she had the pleasure of tasting my wife seven times. Each time she successfully recognized her scent and taste on me. Each time she gave the tip of my cock the three kisses. Dorothy's husband died a few days after our final session, and in a matter of a week she had moved out of her house. It was never put up for sale, but sat vacant for the longest time. While no one was living in it, a yard service kept the landscape immaculate on a weekly basis.

I never saw or heard from her again. I replaced the picket in the fence with a new one a few months later as closure to the end of an era. But I didn't discard it. I placed it in the back of my storage shed. Perhaps as a trophy of sorts.

* * *

Two years later, I was scanning through the obituaries in the newspaper and saw where Dorothy had passed away. She had four children, seven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. Judging by how the obituary was written and the activities she took part in, it was obvious that she had a family who loved her very much and was a pillar of the community.

Conspicuously missing, as expected, was mention of her status as an accomplished fellatrix and cum connoisseur.

I clipped the obituary discretely from the paper and put it in a small memories chest where I keep other mementos of my own family and important events. I look at it from time to time and recall the fond memories that she left me with. Had circumstances been different - had I been born 20 or 30 years earlier, I would have been honored and fortunate to have been her lover.

A few months after her obituary was published, I received a card in the mail. Even though it was addressed specifically to me, my wife opened it and read it. She brought it to me in my home office and handed it to me.

Her words caught me offguard when she said, "You received something in the mail today. I had no idea you were so kind to the neighbor behind us when she lived there! Replacing that fence certainly made an impression on her!"

Panic immediately set in deep inside my gut. Oh shit. I looked at the return address on the envelope. The name was Dorothy. I'm doomed. But rather than exhibiting emotions of anger, my wife kissed me on the forehead and said, "Read this. It's very sweet. I'm proud of you," and walked casually out of the room. I fearfully opened the greeting card, which was a thank you card, and read the writing on the piece of paper enclosed inside:

"Dear Mr. ******,

You don't know me, but I am the granddaughter of ***** and Dorothy ******, the neighbors who previously lived behind you. My grandmother was an amazing woman, and she considered me her closest grandchild. Perhaps because I was named after her. She confided all of her adventures and experiences to me, and I can only hope to live a life remotely similar to hers.

I'm a recent college graduate, unmarried, and will be moving into their house to save expenses and get my career off the ground. I'll be very busy and absent from home most of the time. However, my grandmother mentioned to me in great detail how you so dependably maintained the back fence of her property for her. She was so thankful of your offer to do so during that community meeting both of you attended.

I would be very much appreciate (just as much as my grandmother) if you would resume the same maintenance routine for me that you performed for her - in the same manner, down to every last detail. Due to my current situation, I'm challenged in that same area as she was, and I'm hoping I can depend on you, as she did, to continue your weekly fence inspections.

Also, if you happen to do any plumbing work, I'd love to know. I'm sure leaks of some nature will occur in this house from time to time, and I'm quite fearful of letting just anyone inside. My grandmother suggested I ask you to take care of my plumbing needs as well, if you're willing to do so.

I'm looking forward to moving in and getting my first taste of living on my own!

Regards,

Dorothy (named after my grandmother)"

Plumbing. Leaky plumbing. Such deliciously erotic code for a young, wet, receptive pussy. Yes, sweetie, the innuendo is not lost on me. And yes, I would be happy to handle your "plumbing." In fact, I have just the tool for the job.

Today is the first Wednesday of the month since the "new" Dorothy moved in. The old picket is back in its place. I noticed the lawn chair on her side has now been moved back up against the fence.

I hope she is thirsty.