Your erotic stories

Laura walked back to her house. Still smiling. Still warm. Still electrified. She never would have imagined kissing her friend good bye after the lunch date they just had. Not even to mention kissing her that way... Gail has licked Laura's lips. That was nothing like kissing her husband. It was nothing like she had ever felt. She decided that she would indeed have a terrific rest of the day off. When she went into the house, she set the security system. She certainly didn't want her husband walking in on her. As she passed the kitchen, she picked up matches and then continued up stairs.

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I've always loved Paris art cinemas. These old, worn-out theatres, showing forgotten films in bad state, smelling of rotten fabric and dust, nowhere in the world is quite like them. There is something special about Parisian art-house cinemas; the very bohemian meets the very snotty, the richness of the film and the beauty on the screen conflicting with the nastiness of the space and people.

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Given the choice between a young, hot, ravenous stud and an older gentleman, simmering in passionate wisdom and experience, my preference will always be without a single doubt the old man. I often wonder if men realize that while a woman is walking down a street being appreciated for her eye catching silhouette, offering them a break in the usual nothing to get excited about scenery, that she may be doing a little appreciating of her own.

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MATURE HEDDA IS PREGNANT I attended a clinic for football coaches for three days in Orlando and returned home well after midnight; Hedda, my lover, was asleep and I did not want to wake her up. On the first morning of spring break, I smelled coffee as I got out of bed late; it meant Hedda was up. After a quick shower and drinking a cup of coffee, I went to the living room to find Hedda reclined on a sofa and talking on the cell phone. She had on a black, translucent, mesh, crotch-less, body stocking.

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"How'd you like to get hold of that?" Roger Goins asked as he stirred his fresh drink. Roger was one of those guys who always talked about strange pussy, but never seemed to make an attempt to get any. He was too pussy-whipped by his wife, Elaine, to take a chance. Me, I was on the look out all the time—but so was my wife, Shirley. It took about fifty years and four marriages for me to learn that a woman who liked to fuck all the time—the only kind I wanted to be married to—was going to fuck somebody else every now and then.

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Vikki came into my life through a business venture of mine. I had to make some contractual agreements with several not for profit organizations so they'd agree to lend me certain information that they had in their possession. Vikki put the contracts together so I wouldn't get myself into legal trouble. I was expecting to get a 60-ish balding lawyer when I contracted her firm for legal services and instead they sent her out. When we first met she was dressed quite smartly, as one would expect, and conservatively enough to satisfy even the most up tight executive.

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It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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No sooner had the key turned off in the ignition than I saw disaster about to strike. Snatching open the car door, I raced across the street. "Wait!" I yelled as I Olympic-hurdled a lawn sprinkler. Three feet up a ladder, Mrs. Kemp turned to look at me. She smiled and stepped back down. "Hey, Jimmy. When did you get home?" Panting to catch my breath, I gave her a grin. "Came in... late last night." I pointed over my shoulder at my car. "Mom had me to go grab a few things at Wally World for her."

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The day I slept late that July was unforgettable. I had just graduated high school and was gently preparing to go off to college, but mainly that summer I was relaxing – sleeping late and not having many plans. My sister was travelling somewhere in Europe and my parents were both working long days, probably thinking about my college expenses. We also had a house guest for a few weeks that summer. Leigh Chandler was an old friend of my mother's from her college days. Leigh had recently started a new job in town and was staying with us while she looked for an apartment.

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It was time to leave again. These visits were wonderful in their joy and painful in the parting. I stood and took her small hands in mine. “I have to be going now. Gotta catch my plane or I’ll have to stay the night.” The little grey-haired woman used my hands to pull herself up. I saw a wicked little gleam sparkle in her eyes. She pulled my hands around her waist and shoulders, and dropped her arms around my neck. It was a tradition begun years ago.

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