Your erotic stories

The tale I am about to relate was told to me by a dear friend of mine. I had known her for about twenty eight years when she came to me with her story. I shall call her Nancy, which of course, is not her real name. Over the years she has shared many of her thoughts and troubles with me, and she certainly had plenty to share. A husband, whom I shall call Kevin, is an alcoholic and transvestite. He cannot perform sexually unless he is dressed in female clothes, and try as she might, Nancy can’t cope with this.

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The engine ticked lightly, rhythmically, having only recently completed a twenty mile journey. Rain dripped from the frame of the car, from the edges of its bumpers. The windows were blurred, save for the two arches where the wipers had recently swept drops from the tempered glass. The car didn't belong there. Not in that parking lot. Not in that town.

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Older hospital volunteer shares his passion for helping with a young nurse. Cassie smiled at Henry as soon as the elevator doors opened. With his red nose, face makeup, and colorful Halloween costume, she watched him clomp down the hall in his big, red clown shoes that pointed to the opposite sides of the corridor. Her smile turned into a laugh, when he honked his horn. "Honk! Honk!"

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When I was a junior in college, I got a part-time job doing computer work at a small consulting firm. It was a friendly, informal group - the founder, a handful of consultants, the office secretary, and me. The secretary, Patty, quickly became the object of many of my fantasies. She was in her early 40's, with short chestnut brown hair, green eyes, maybe 5'4", and slim, but voluptuously curvy. She was divorced and the mother of a teenage boy. We hit it off well, and quickly became friendly.

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This story takes place in the summer of my 19th year. I had returned to my hometown after an accident which had left me hospitalized for two months. Upon returning I needed to determine a direction for my life. I had enlisted in the army and was awaiting my active duty date in late 1969 when the accident happened. The damage to my body was sufficient to cancel my enlistment and give me a get home free pass from Uncle Sam’s party in Viet Nam. While many of my friends had suffered as a result of that war, I was not sorry that I did not have to go.

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Sometimes I wake up at night and I can still feel her mouth on me. I wrap my arms around myself and ache to feel her body on mine, lick my fingers and wish I could taste her salty skin, find my hands inside my shorts and fool myself for just a minute that it is her hands on me, making me moan. Still, this is not nearly as difficult as being in her presence. To admire her, watching her move, studying every curve and remembering how my hands explored, no, loved every one of them. To talk with her, not hearing the sounds she makes, only seeing the shapes that form as they exit her lips, knowing how wonderful it felt to be inside her mouth.

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She stepped off the plane into the brisk fall wind. It was September only, and this was such a change from what she was used to. She grabbed her carry on from the steward at the bottom of the stairs with a smile. Stupid puddle-jumper plane was so small her carry on hadn't even fit in the overhead. She walked across the tarmac to the small regional airport, shivering in the cold wind. The little Saab plane had been a bumpy ride, which kept her awake the whole flight from Toronto. She was looking forward to getting to the place the school was putting her up in while she settled in.

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Pam Angelo's nipples ached with arousal and threatened to poke holes into her ebony turtleneck sweater, even as her stomach turned flip-flops with butterflies of anxiety. She smiled despite herself and remembered a line from the Arnie Becker character from LA Law. Pam was "overwrought with ambivalence". People always say 'I've never done this before', Pam thought as she eased her white Lexus into the hotel parking lot, but she had really never done something quite like this before.

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Simon's hands automatically went to my waist, slipping low to cup my ass in his palms. I'd already pushed him past the point of no return, but he was still trying to reclaim control of the situation, feebly asserting his authority. "Amy—we can't," he said. "We said we wouldn't." Even if there had been conviction in his voice, the presence of his hands on my ass and the way his mouth opened against mine, his hot breath filling my mouth, made his true feelings clear. I felt a little guilty for pushing him, but not enough to stop.

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I had just finished a nice dinner and was walking back to the Bed and Breakfast where I was staying. It was still light and there was an orange glow in the west where the sun had set over the Pacific. I thought a glass of wine would be just the thing before turning in. Fortunately, the B&B had some available, honor system of course. That's what I like about them, so friendly, so trusting.

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