Your erotic stories

In all the fantasies in my mind, I'm a thin, svelte, beautiful woman. In real life I'm a plump, voluptuous, attractive woman. I have curves like a real woman, not angles like Barbie. The man I'm looking for doesn't have to be a Ken. (Actually, I don't want a Ken, because I want a man with working parts.) I'm not adverse to finding a good looking man. I like a sculpted chest, and I love a nicely formed ass, one that fits well into my hands. Those usually are my standards, I have been known to take a chance on a man who doesn't meet those rules.

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I guess it all began two months ago. The house next to mine had been on the market for about nine months before someone bought it. My mailman volunteered that the new owner was named Amber and she was young. That was about all he knew about her. For about six weeks there was a lot of construction going on over there and an endless stream of deliveries. Than it went quiet.

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It was a hot July day, the sun beating down as if this was the middle of the desert. I decided to use my season pass and go to the amusement park two towns over to cool off. Lakefront Park has its own beach, a water park and of course amusement park rides, games of skill and the holiday junk food you always find at such places. I tossed a towel, a blanket and a bottle of water into a canvas tote, climbed into my van and drove off.

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The thumping bass sound announced the approach of Miguel's car long before Damon saw it come around the corner and pull up to the side of the basketball court. Damon took one last shot, banking the ball off the backboard and through the hoop before jogging over to the high chain link fence surrounding the court where Miguel's car sat on the other side. The passengers side window of Miguel's Camry slid down and Luke leaned out.

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One of the things I enjoy about my job as a marketing representative is that it allows me to get out of the office and travel. I've never liked being stuck behind a desk, though when my two kids were young, travel was a bit of a problem. Their mother left us when they were four and seven, so I had to be both father and mother from that point on. That made out of town travel very difficult, but I needed my job to make a good living for us.

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I dashed for the phone, hoping to answer it before the voicemail picked up. "Hello," I said, breathing hard. "Ken, it's Sam Clemens." No, not that Sam Clemens. Sam is Samantha Clemens. She and her husband Dave live about two miles from me on Huckleberry Hill Road. We have the only houses for miles, so we've become pretty good neighbors. Dave is a realtor in town. He has done very well financially selling commercial real estate, and it shows.

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CHAPTER 1 Sun shafts through the treetops infiltrated early morning mist over the river as Loretta Oblinger sat in the sales office, hands warmed by a hot mug of coffee resting against her breasts. Smiling faintly, she contemplated the scene and thought about the wedding she'd attend that afternoon, alone, although the invitation stated 'and partner'.

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Free. Marie sat there numb, not knowing what to say, do, or think. Her attorney had just informed her that her marriage was over, her life as she knew it would cease to exist, and that she was a free woman at last. Her very recently ex-husband had agreed to all the stipulations (which were very few), and signed the papers terminating their 15-year marriage. All Marie was asking for was "out." Their home that had been lovingly built by the two of them had been auctioned off in a foreclosure sale.

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There are many moments in life that one can see as stunning; I am witnessing such a moment. My home is in the mountains of Pennsylvania, when the snow falls across the landscape, especially around the holidays it reminds me that God,in his infinite wisdom, allows us the time to reflect and remember the beauty in our lives. It has been some time since I've written of my deliciously decadent liaisons. As you know, I am a lover of older men.

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The summer of 1970 was the time, and the place was Holland Patent in rural central New York State. Arthur Connors was a recently retired man of 65 with a lot of time on his hands, and after his wife of 36 years had passed away a couple of years ago, that time seemed to pass more slowly. Deciding to take up gardening, Art cleared out the area near the fence out back that divided his property from the Miller's spread next door, and began planting tomatoes.

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