Your erotic stories

Several pictures of her were tucked into the sides of the mirror over his dresser. Most were school pictures, and one was of the two of them together, their arms wrapped around each other, both of them smiling at the camera. My hand, holding the brush that I had picked up from amidst the clutter on his dresser, stopped in mid-air as I peered at those pictures.

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Summer was coming to a close, and Jason was about to start his final year of high school. All his life he had let his neurotic over-analytical nature control how he interacted with people. He had always put too much thought into everything, and as such had wasted his childhood. He believed he was unpopular, and therefore he was. With the social experience he had gained over the summer however: after having turned 18, going to parties, and fucking a busty young mall rat senseless, Jason was ready to improve his social standing. Life was finally a game he was ready to play.

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Mandi’s headlights served almost no usefulness in the snowstorm. It would take her an hour to get home down the winding 2 lane highway creeping along at 35 miles an hour. She bristled as she thought of the horrible day she had at work, almost half the staff had called in due to the weather and she lived further than all but Joan and had much worse roads to travel on. She had to fill in for Stewart in sales and had actually made a sale to a new customer from Nashville. She didn’t like sales much but as inventory manager and purchasing agent she knew the product line better than anyone who had made the attempt to get into the office.

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It's 4:48 AM by the clock on the nightstand. I can hear you stirring behind me in the bed, your arm reaches out instinctually to find my waist and snuggle in. Knowing how hard I find it to sleep without you, I wonder do you do that even when I'm away, and when you find the bed empty, do you clutch the pillows close and pretend it's me?

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I had just recently met Tiffany, who was a nineteen year old sophomore at the university I'm attending. I must say that Tiffany is absolutely gorgeous. She has long chestnut brown hair with striking dark-colored eyes. Tiffany is about five-five and weighs 115Ibs, and she has the most gorgeous set of legs I've ever seen on a woman (well, in my opinion).

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Here's another story for you guys that's been bouncing around inside my head for a while. Hope you enjoy. All characters are over the age of eighteen. Hi, my names Richard Williams, Rich to my friends. I live in southern California with my mom Stacy. My dad died when I was too young to remember. The accident that killed my dad, while tragic, was made less so by the size of the settlement his company paid my mom.

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I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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I've always felt attracted to younger men. Some time ago, there was family living next to me in our small neighborhood. This was several years after my husband had died. I'd finally begun to feel somewhat whole again and yet the loneliness was getting me down. I had sexual cravings I hadn't felt in a long time and thought I'd go crazy if they weren't satisfied by someone, and soon.

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Three of us were sitting together in the company cafeteria having lunch. Because all three of us are married men the conversations usually were about sports, politics, money or occasionally, sex. If one of our offspring had done something noteworthy we allowed a little time for parental bragging. All three of us were in the age group where our offspring were either out-of-the-house at college or out-of-the-house married and gone.

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CHAPTER 1 Early morning sun cut through the mist as lean and white-haired Bill Soper rubbed under an armpit and once again thought will he or won't he? On six consecutive mornings the fit-looking 70-year old had looked impassively at the boatshed on the edge of the estuary and returned inside his cottage that he no longer shared with his wife.

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