Your erotic stories

MATURE HEDDA IS PREGNANT I attended a clinic for football coaches for three days in Orlando and returned home well after midnight; Hedda, my lover, was asleep and I did not want to wake her up. On the first morning of spring break, I smelled coffee as I got out of bed late; it meant Hedda was up. After a quick shower and drinking a cup of coffee, I went to the living room to find Hedda reclined on a sofa and talking on the cell phone. She had on a black, translucent, mesh, crotch-less, body stocking.

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"Here she comes boys," he shouted, waggling his eyebrows at me as I walked through the classroom door. My eyes focused on him, I watched while he watch me saunter the ten feet to where he stood with his jock friends. "Jared Casey, you are so full of shit." His grin widened, "I knew you were hot for me, babe. Come on, Adia, let's ditch this class and find a quiet room to do studying up on our biology?"

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6'4" Joe, met Kate in the real-estate office when buying his home several years ago. She and her husband became close friends over time. He and Robert had gone hunting and fishing together and in some of the harder times, helped each other out. Just like now, as Joe was recovering from a serious virus, which had put him in the hospital for five days, Vicky, (their daughter), would stop by and help Joe out with some of the chores around the house. Vicky is 19 years old and lives with her boy friend in town.

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Every man should have a hobby. Some guys like to collect stamps. Others climb mountains, scuba dive or garden. Me? My hobby is fucking old women. And like any worthwhile hobby, you've got to put the time in to make it worthwhile. I mean, if mountain climbing is your hobby, you know it's about more than standing on the peak of the mountain. It's preparation and the rigor of the challenge. Hell, you could have a helicopter take you to the mountaintop if that was all it was about.

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The neighborhood seemed neat, quiet, and well-established, a lot like Bette herself. The little apartment building fit the surroundings comfortably. I checked my directions one more time, and found her door, number three. I noted the silly coincidence -- this was to be the third time we'd been together. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, I noticed that my mouth had gone to cotton, like a nervous teenager. I guess you never outgrow some things. (I hope not!)

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It was back in the forties, a more innocent time. It was the summer after I graduated from high school and I was eighteen. I was not as worldly and knowing as most young men are today. Mrs. Bronson hailed me from across the street. "I just made me a fresh squeezing of lemonade. Stop in and have a drop." When walking uptown, I always waved to Mrs. Bronson when I passed. I was planning to take in a Thursday night double feature.

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Ellen Brophy was grateful for the ringing of the telephone, because it jarred her out of her melancholy reverie. She’d been thinking about Jack again, and how much she missed him, and that was never good. She picked up the phone and answered dully, “Hello.” “Mom?” It was Ellen’s daughter, Robin. “Mom, are you OK? You don’t sound so good.” “I’m awright,” Ellen said, although she knew she wasn’t. “Mom, you’ve been thinking about Daddy again, haven’t you,” Robin said in a tone that was half accusatory and half sympathetic.

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Wedding time. Not Dan's, of course, but that of Marc Chapman's sister, Belinda. Dan and Marc had gone to college together, and he had gotten to know the Chapman family well during the summer months. Though Dan and Marc did not know each other in high school, they did grow up in nearby towns; as such, they saw each other frequently when they were home from school.

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"Don't worry about it" the young blonde woman said as the older man rolled off her naked body muttering. "Fuck it, I'm sorry Sammi." "Bob it doesn't matter, please don't beat yourself up. It's only a fuck." They had been in bed for an hour or so. The fifty seven year old married man had made the twenty four year old single girl cum three times; once with his fingers as he undressed her standing behind her with his hands in her panties and twice with his mouth as he made awesome, well she though it was, oral love to her.

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Having finished her shopping Anita decided on a cup of coffee before she made for home. Struggling along the high street with her plastic bags of purchases she arrived at her favourite café and entered. After giving her order she looked around in the hope of seeing someone she knew, but there was no one. The truth was, Anita was a lonely woman. At forty-nine, her two daughters lived far away, and her husband had died from a heart attack, so Anita was lonely.

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