Your erotic stories

I grew up with one really good friend all of my life. Billy had been my best pal since we were in first grade. In fact most people thought that we were brothers. He and his parents lived a few blocks over, and since my older sister seemed to have control over what was happening at my house, I spend a majority of my free time at his. It got to the point where I didn't even have to knock to get in. Mrs. Blair would always leave the door that led into the downstairs rec room open for me. Mr. Blair really didn't approve of this, being away on business as much as he was, but Mrs. Blair seemed to enjoy my comings and goings.

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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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This is a tale from my younger days, when I was in the 6th form. I was 18 and studying my second year at Advanced or 'A' level. I was studying English, Chemistry and PE, so I kept in shape, both physically and mentally. For the courses we did, there were three teachers in every subject, but each particular subject was taught by a combination of two of these teachers. My favourite subject was English, particularly with Mrs Green. She was in her late 30's and had a fine figure. She was about a size 12, with nice curves, all in the right places.

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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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"Asshole," Jeri said out loud as she drank a tall glass of water near the kitchen sink. Jeri stared lazily at the backyard where the young neighbor was mowing and trimming the backyard. It had been a task he had completed every summer for them for several years. Jeri and her husband had paid him well for his work, which wasn't so good when he first started, but became better and better. Being a scorching day, he was out there with his shirt off. Jeri would watch if she was home when he worked, but never fathomed the idea of anything more.

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Although Jo took Ann to the same area several more times following their encounter with the voyeur, the man never reappeared. At least, not physically. But he remained vivid in Ann's imagination. At home, Roger's attentions continued to be spasmodic and unsatisfying, and while meetings of the Friday Flower Club, supplemented by private sessions with Jo, delivered orgasms of varied intensity, Ann was growing conscious of something missing.

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My preference is for stories are all about the sex rather than with vast amounts of background, so this is in that vein. The plot is based loosely on a story I read many, many years ago; I don't recall the author or title. I'd love to say this happened to me but that would be ludicrous: the scenario is a sexual fantasy and not meant to be completely realistic.

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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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Let's start out with a joke this time, to evoke a light-hearted mood. The guy goes to the check-out counter of the supermarket with a salad for one, a pre-wrapped sandwich, and one can of soda. The cute young clerk eyes his purchase and says to him, "You're single?" The customer grins and nods his head. "You can tell by my meal, huh?" And the girl says, "No, you're fuckin' ugly." It was that round, tight, perfectly sculptured bubble ass that caught my eye in aisle six of the Food Lion in Fairfax, Virginia.

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Robert Kyle had finally had it. Everyday he allowed his American History class the last five minutes of the period to themselves. And everyday during those last five minutes, the female student sitting directly in front of him would do something to give him a raging hard-on. Dropping a pencil. Re-tying a shoelace. Tossing something in the wastebasket and missing by a mile. All three caused her to have to bend over.

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