Your erotic stories

There must be something inherently lucky about February 29--leap day. That's the day I went to get my hair cut by the gal Carla who's been cutting my hair for over a year. She does an excellent job and has an interesting personality, so I always wait for her. To tell you the truth, I originally selected her because she's good looking.

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Next month I shall be sixty-seven years old. Before then there will be the fifth anniversary of the day my darling Dorothy was taken from me. A merciful release, said people who had known of her illness; and so it was. I still think of her, of course, and that is why I cannot help feeling just a little guilty about the turn my life has taken in the intervening years.

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I'd never had a massage in the UK. I'd never needed one or wanted the sort of pleasure I gained from attending spas in such places as Crete, Thailand and Spain. I had enjoyed those. They were part relaxing, part sheer pleasure and part, I knew, but they were not sold that way, part erotic. But now I needed one. I needed a proper massage. My back was so tight and had been for two weeks now. I had to do something.

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I had just finished my Junior Year in College when I was invited by my fiancé Matt to spend a few weeks with his parents at their Beach house on the Jersey shore. I had met his parents a few times and they were both terrific people. His Mom, Brenda, was one of the sweetest women I had ever met. She wasn't typical of Mother-In-Laws since she kept to herself with her opinions. Matt's father, Steve, or Mr. Robinson, was also very nice and was also very handsome.

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Valerie Templeton was a beautiful woman. Every time Tommy went to his friend Mike's house he loved to watch her. The way she moved, the open way she talked, and of course, the wonderful way she smelled as she walked passed him. Mike and Tommy were on the front porch just making plans for the weekend when Mrs. T pulled in the driveway. Mike kept talking about where they would go and who they would meet, but Tommy was no longer listening.

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Lyn looked away from the sick green background of the computer monitor. Still, she could sense the face in the screen looking back at her; mocking her. It scorned her for turning 45, for staying married to a man she didn’t love, and for having a job she couldn’t stand. The woman swiveled in her chair and was confronted by windows that reflected her short legs, lifeless hair and insignificant body. Had a more nondescript female ever been born?

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I'm sitting here wondering what tomorrow will bring. My stomach has been hurting me for months and I finally made a doctor's appointment. I must admit I'm a little scared. Cancer is too dominant in today's society. Maybe I just have a stomach problem. Time will tell. I'm a sixty-three year old man who has been married for forty-two of those years. My wife is now sixty-six.

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I was on my way over to Karen's little home studio, Bob Segar was wailing away on my stereo, I was feeling fine. Karen always made me feel fine, if you saw her you would know just what I mean. Maybe 30 at the most, she is a Licensed Massage Therapist. ALL massage therapists should look like her, long dark hair, a set of boobs to die for. Just a trace of a pouty Bardot type tummy and sway back, blending down to an ass that gave me a reason more than once to reach for my dick.

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Standing in front of the large, automated doors of the college library, Jacob Michaels, 23, released a heavy sigh. His mind was still in a whirl, trying to comprehend exactly why he was here. He worked at the college library as a student aide on regular school days, but this was his Spring Break! School was closed and so was the library. But he was forced to be here; told at the last minute that he had to work this week, the week of his only vacation for months to come, with one of the librarians to help make the shelves orderly and nice for the returning students.

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It was the late 70s. I was in college and not old enough to drink legally, but looked old enough so that my ID was rarely checked. I worked as a cook in a steak house and my asshole manager, Newman, stalked into the kitchen after closing time and barked "There is some cunt asking about you in the bar. The only reason I didn't throw her out is because she is spending money. Go get rid of her and get your ass back here to clean up."

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