It was a muggy summer night and the air was as stale and sweaty as a YMCA locker room. The sun had just dipped behind the horizon but the hazy pinks and reds of dusk still stretched across the sky. The steady hum of a bug zapper, interrupted frequently by the harsh sizzle of its victims, signaled that the city’s mosquitoes were out in full force. It was a perfect night for porchfucking.
Most people think porchfucking is something you do in the darkest hours of the night, when families are fast asleep and you can run off under the cover of darkness. But that’s no fun. There’s no challenge. Porchfucking, if it’s about anything, is about challenge. It’s about testing your limits, embracing your Id, and fucking your brains out on other people’s porches. Strangers’ porches.
Derek stepped out of the bathroom wearing the pants I modified for him last week. This was our first night trying them out. I’d sewn some extra black fabric into the crotch, giving him a bit more room, and gutted the fly. Now it had an eight inch zipper with a big, easy-to-grab pull tab that ran down the crotch and continued into his right pant leg. Porchfucking is about stealth, speed, and agility. There’s a lot of times when you need to get your pants down quick, and back up even quicker. There’s no time to struggle with a tiny zipper when you’re running fast as you can towards a fence
I finished putting on the rest of my outfit while Derek watched, an excited grin sneaking across his face. We’d learned a lot the first time we went porchfucking and by our third night out, I’d already started brain storming clothing alterations. It took a couple of rough drafts to get it right, but my porchfucking pants are basically perfect now. I cut the crotch out of some black denim jeans, hemming the edges clean, and then attached a long buttflap in the back. The flap gets pulled between my legs and hooks onto my hips in the front like the bib on overalls, leaving everything nice and covered when we move from porch to porch. But when the flap swings back, I’m as wide open as I get.
Derek bit a Viagra in half, swallowed it, and then kissed me. I held onto the kiss longer than he’d expected, giving him tongue while I ran my hand down the length of that eight inch zipper. We pulled apart and grabbed our masks off the table. Derek was the Rabbit, I was the Giraffe.
Dusk is the perfect time for porchfucking. You’d think people would be out on their porches, soaking in the day’s remains, but really they’re inside eating dinner and avoiding the bugs. Sitting on a porch when the bugs are bad – even with Citronella candles, Off!, or tiki torches – sucks. You get eaten alive. Average people avoid discomfort and so at 6:37PM on a Tuesday night, they’re either around the dinner table or the TV set.
We drove to a neighborhood we’d had our eye on for about a week – lots of nice porches and plenty of quiet streets – while I rubbed Derek’s dick through his pants. Be it Viagra or my own natural talents, he was good and hard by the time we parked, a couple of blocks from our starting point. I pulled the custom utility belt from my bag and passed it to Derek. Just the essentials. Prepaid cell phones in case we get separated, pump top bottle of lube, and Mace; a precautionary measure should a homeowner get too out of hand.
Sprinting through sideyards and across four way stops in all black with an animal mask on is a rush in and of itself, but doing it with a goal in mind takes it to a whole other level.
Our communication was silent and perfect. Derek and I spotted the roofed veranda at exactly the same moment and adjusted our trajectory accordingly. We vaulted the railing smoothly and I moved into my favorite position – doggystyle with my ass in the air – on the porch swing and unhooked my flap. Derek pulled it through my legs and flipped it onto my back with one hand while dropping his zipper with his other. From inside the spacious confines of his pants, his cock burst free, rock hard and raring to go. God bless that little blue pill.
Porch swings are difficult to figure out at first, but once you’ve learned the rhythm, there’s nothing like it. Derek pushed me back and forth, his cock plunging into me on each return swing. From inside the house, I could hear the garbled sounds of a television, probably the news. Derek tapped my shoulder and pointed at the door, the screen was shut but the inner door was wide open. We caught each others’ eyes and stifled a giggle, and then he pushed in all the way and made me gasp.
Running through the backyard, we were silent and free. Our movements were fluid, our lust an open secret to anyone who cared to look out their window. We ran past a middle aged women, out walking the dog, and then crawled through the bushes onto her neighbor’s stoop, which was little more than three concrete steps and an old Foldger’s can full of cigarette butts.
I rode Derek’s fast and rough while he sat on the gritty, stone steps. We fucked missionary on a beat up couch that had seen more than its fair share of sun, rain, and assorted mold. On one doorstep, barely a welcome mat and a tiny outcropping for a roof, I sunk to my knees and tenderly sucked his dick. Turning to look into the house, Derek locked eyes with a woman staring back at him, her mouth agape. She could only see him from the chest up, but a man in a bunny mask on your front step is pretty shocking in any circumstance. We ran off into the night before she could even react.
We were too good to get caught, and just horny enough to almost let it happen. We didn’t want them to see us, we just wanted them to know we didn’t care if they did. We were getting our sexual thrills in the way we saw fit, and all we wanted from them was to interrupt their meal, interrupt the grinding routine of their existence, and show them something wild.
I hopped a shrub and bent over the railing of a nice long wrap around porch, my feet clinging to the thin ledge as I faced the house. Derek popped up behind me, pumped a handful of lube into his palm, greased himself up, and slid right in. We leaned back together while holding the railing, using it to counterbalance our intertwined bodies. I ground against him while we watched the perfect domestic scene. It was truly something out of Father Knows Best. They were even having meatloaf.
I came for the first time that night, but not the last, while looking right through the window at the quaintest all-American diorama I’d ever seen, just on the other side of the glass. It took almost three minutes before the patriarch finally looked up from his plate and saw us. A Rabbit, dressed in black, fucking a Giraffe hard from behind while they hung off a porch. His porch.
His reaction time was good and he managed to get out on the porch just as we reached the edge of his yard. I shit you not, he shook his fist in the air and yelled, “Get out of here. I’m calling the cops. You-you-you crazy… PORCHFUCKERS!”
We laughed into the night, that was us alright.
they live by night
