The Fence (Part One) – How Two Empty Nesters Work It Out

Empty nesters.

The term had such a ring of finality to it.

My bride of 31 years and I had just completed helping our second and third sons move the last of their belongings to their new apartment. We were on our own for the first time in 30 years. We had spent the vast majority of our lives raising three God-fearing, God-serving men, and now we were faced with the task of re-inventing our relationship. No easy task.

I’m David, husband to Sharon and father of three sons. I work in a high-stress, construction B2B environment as a marketing and creative director. Sharon left her high-stress construction project manager gig to work as a receptionist in city government, but that didn’t work out so well. Her job got phased out, and she was moved to a customer service position. You guessed it: more high stress.

So, the table is set: One 51-year-old male, one 49-year-old female, empty nesters, working in high-stress jobs. Three sons and a daughter-in-law living very successful lives. A grandbaby on the horizon. And the elephant on the table is “where to from here?”

And that’s where the fence comes in.

Weeks back, Sharon and I sat down to determine where home improvement dollars could best be spent. We decided that the backyard would be our focus this year. The patio doors leading out to the pool would need to be replaced. Towering 50-foot Leland Cyprus that blocked out the sun on the pool would have to come down. A privacy fence would have to go up in the trees’ absence. Not just an ordinary privacy fence–an eight-foot privacy fence–as tall as city ordinances would allow.

That’s how we spent our spring: replacing patio doors, chopping down towering trees, erecting an eight-foot privacy fence, and spreading mulch. Lots and lots of Leland Cyprus mulch. Lots of blisters. Lots of sunburn. Lots of time for Sharon and I to work together. To bond once more. To think about our lives together as just two happily married people trying to get through the stress of another day without a house full of children to consider.

We dragged our tired bodies from the truck into the house after moving the boys.

“I’m going to grab a beer, get on my trunks, and lay in the pool for a while,” I stated.

“I’ll join you,” Sharon countered. “Will be down in just a bit.”

I grabbed my suit in the downstairs bathroom, quickly stripped in the den, put my trunks on, and headed towards the beer fridge in the pantry. I took two long draws from my Corona Light, thinking beer had never tasted so good. Out of the freezer, I grabbed a bottle of my favorite bourbon and topped the beer off. Boilermaker–Dave style–just the way I liked it. Grabbed a Dos Equis for Sharon and headed to the pool.

Traps were checked for critters. Polaris bag emptied. Salt levels checked. Edges skimmed with the net. Big float filled with air. Ah, finally, time to relax.

I waded into the shallow end and mounted the float, beer in hand. The sun was still high on this May afternoon and in the south where we live that translates to high 80s heat and a lot of humidity. I took a couple of swigs from the beer, feeling the heat, feeling the weariness from the move, letting the stress of the day fall off me like a sack of concrete. I laid back on the float and closed my eyes. Sometime later, I felt Sharon join me on the raft.

“Sleepy?” She wanted to know, then sipped on her beer.

I groggily propped up on one elbow. “I was.”

Sharon had on a new, hot pink bikini top and high cut booty shorts. Her short-cropped, blonde highlighted hair sparkled in the sun. Sharon is a voluptuous woman with an hourglass figure; large breasts spilled out of the bikini top, and a hint of cheek showed out of the bottom of her shorts.

“You look amazing,” I offered, then yawned.

She smiled and nuzzled up to me, her head on my chest and beer bottle between her legs. We reclined and closed our eyes, letting the sun and the alcohol do their jobs.

I dozed for a while. When I stirred, I could hear Sharon’s steady breathing. Her arm was wrapped around me. Her breath was warm on my chest and gently riffled the very few hairs I have there. I thought about our life together. I thought about our boys. I thought about the full-length triathlon training session slated for tomorrow and sighed heavily. Sharon moved her arm away and laid beside me.

I marveled at her figure. Full breasts. Round tummy. Sturdy, athletic thighs. I dipped my finger in the pool and began to trace lines on her breasts just outside her bikini top.

“Mmm, that’s nice, babe,” she offered.

“Yes, they are nice,” I replied.

I pulled back the fabric on both sides and began tracing lines around firm nipples. A little water. A little circle. A little pinch. Repeat. Pretty soon, Sharon’s areolas were very firm, and her nipples stood out like large pebbles on sand piles. I leaned over and took a nipple in my mouth, sucking firmly, slowly, deliberately. My left hand found her right breast, and I began to knead her ample flesh, occasionally pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Leaning up from the feast, I gave Sharon a peck on the lips and a wry smile, “Really enjoying the privacy fence, baby. How about you?”

Sharon smiled. Her sunglasses hid her eyes so I couldn’t read what was going on behind them. She cupped her left breast, pulled it toward her mouth, and began sucking eagerly on her nipple. She knows that turns my crank, and I let out an audible moan.

Twisting and kneading her right breast, more determined now, I tried to match her intensity. Sharon brushed my hand away and cupped both her breasts, alternately sucking each nipple. She pulled away for a moment and looked right at me.

“Get your dick out. I need something else to suck.”

Not one to disappoint my darling wife, I slipped out of my trunks and positioned my dick inches from her lips. Then Sharon put on a show I hope I’ll never forget.

Nipple. Dick head. Nipple. Dick head. Nipple. Strings loosened. No more bikini top. Nipple. Dick head. Nipple. She moaned and took most of my shaft in her mouth, continuing to twist and manipulate her breasts. It was my turn to moan, and I placed my hand on the top of her head, urging her to swallow all of me. The teasing continued. Nipple. Dick head. Nipple. She pulled completely off my dick and gave me a smile.

“Jerk off for me, lover. Shower my tits and face, please.” That said, she turned her attention back to her breasts, kneading, licking, sucking, moaning.

I grabbed my dick with my right hand–not the hand of choice for such tasks–and began to slowly, awkwardly pull off in the direction of my lover’s face.

Precum surfaced. I coated a nipple, and she sucked it off. More precum. I painted another nipple, and she swallowed with a giggle. A big blob oozed out, and I swabbed down her lips. She greedily licked it away.

It didn’t take long for our moans to join in unison.

“Baby, I’m about to blow quite a load!”

“Do it! Do it!” she hissed, then bobbed down on a nipple.

I began. One stream after another of a month’s worth of built-up cum shot out of me like a geyser. A shot between her tits. A shot on her chin. A shot to the cheek. And one final salvo that coated her bangs.

It took a little while for our breathing to slow and words to catch up with us.

“Wow,” Sharon exclaimed.

“Wow,” I retorted.

“Quite a load, baby.” She scooped up the shot on her tits with her fingers and sucked on them.

“It’s been a while, baby,” I sighed.

“I like your cum on me, lover,” she offered, scooping up more of my joy juice and sucking it down.

“Then we’re a perfect match. I like cumming on you.”

She smiled, sat up, leaned over, and swallowed my still stiff dick. Coming up for air, she inquired, “Any more cum in there for me?”

“Baby, there’s tons more where that came from, and it’s ALL for you. But right now I’m going to grab us a couple more beers. Stretch out on the float, shimmy off those shorts, lie back, and relax. When I come back, I’m going to show my girl a really good time.”

She leaned in and devoured my tongue like she hadn’t done since we were high school sweethearts. Pulling away, she offered, “I do like the fence. The best addition to this relationship since foreplay.”

“Sassy ass,” I replied, turning her over quickly and slapping her luscious fanny.

We giggled together as only two well-versed lovers can.

To be continued…