Kyle Whitley was getting tight. He wasn’t falling down drunk yet, but he was getting there. That was why he was trying to fumble open the sliding patio door leading out to Paul and Ann’s rear deck. It was a nice one, solid as a rock. They’d only had it for a couple of weeks. After having seen it earlier in the evening, Kyle was thinking of building one to replace his back porch too. Paul said it hadn’t taken him but four weekends to do the whole thing. Kyle stumbled over the track for the sliding door.
It was February, Valentine’s Day. Even in south Texas, that made for pretty cool evenings and he thought the fresh air would help clear his head. He reckoned the party would last at least another couple of hours and that would give him just about enough time to sober up well enough to drive himself and his wife, Peggy, home.
The nearly full glass of Jack and coke he held in his right hand couldn’t be left behind. He couldn’t remember why, but he’d worked it out in his mind just a few minutes ago. He was satisfied with the knowledge an earlier version of himself had made the decision. He wasn’t of a mind to pour the Jack and coke out. Huh-uh! That would be alcohol abuse. He chuckled. He wasn’t going to abuse alcohol by pouring it out.
Still chuckling, he finally got through the big glass door and even managed to slide it shut behind him. He ambled to the far right corner and leaned over to put his elbows on the top of the railing. Kyle enjoyed the comfortable slouch for a time. When his back began to hurt after a while, he straightened, pressed his belly against the top rail, and arched his back to relieve stiff muscles. The deck was only a couple feet off the ground, just enough to give a man a feeling of being elevated over the landscape but not far enough to make falling off it something to be afraid of.
He bumped the rail with his belly again, harder this time. He surprised himself by breaking wind in an especially long and disgusting manner. But lordy, lordy,lordy, it sure felt good. Someone snorted a highly opinionated disdain. Kyle was momentarily embarrassed, but the self-consciousness didn’t last long in the whisky-induced fog in his mind. The breeze quickly took any foul odor off downwind behind him anyway. He bellied back up to the railing and stretched his arms above his head.
He vaguely felt a hand slipping between two of the vertical supports but it didn’t provoke a response. He was going to have to think about it and thinking was difficult just now.
When he felt his zipper being pulled down, he tried to get his hands down to defend that precious region of his body. He banged the heel of his palms on the top of the railing…and that hurt. He spent a few moments massaging each hand. By the time he thought to move away from the railing, his prick had been removed from the protection of his boxers and exposed to the night air. That lasted only a second or two. Almost immediately, his penis was engulfed in something wonderfully hot, wet, and velvety smooth.
He didn’t know if the moaning came from his throat or from down below. He decided it didn’t matter. What the unseen mouth was doing down there felt damn good. He knew he’d found Peggy. He’d thought she might be out here somewhere.
His wife was one hell of a good cocksucker although she’d learned it virtually from scratch since they got married. He chuckled to himself, remembering their first few uncertain attempts to perform oral sex on one another. It had been fun though…lots of breathless giggles from her and hearty guffaws from him.
Peggy’s mouth was a volcanic cavern of pleasure for him. Her tongue slathered all around the helmet-shaped head and probed into the sensitive region beneath. It felt sooooo good. Backing off slightly, Peggy adjusted her grip on Kyle’s shaft and came back with her head angled slightly to take more of him inside. Kyle hissed in appreciation as he felt his prick slide down his wife’s throat. She only did that occasionally. Usually she couldn’t get her throat relaxed enough. When she had a few drinks though…