Your erotic stories

I had a visitor the other day; hadn’t seen her in twenty years. Last time I saw her, she was eighteen; must be about forty now. I was sitting on the patio shooting the breeze with some of the other residents here, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the patio door open. As soon as she stepped out, I knew her. I would have recognized her from a mile away, she had the same charisma, the same force of character, she had as a little girl.

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Have you ever sat down and thought about a moment in time? Something or some time, which has stayed in your memory forever. I'm not talking about a wedding or a death in the family. Those are things we all remember. I talking about something insignificant to most everyone else but it meant something to you. I was at a funeral recently of a brother-in-law. After the service as we entered the restaurant, one of my sisters, I have three, said that two women wanted to say hi to me.

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Will sat silently in his plush recreation room, waiting for his wife to return from the Country Club Halloween Party. His mind was still reeling from the fact that he and Jessie had actually gone through with their plan, at least as much of the plan as he had been involved in. The remainder would have been up to her and how daring she would be. His hard cock wavering between his legs was the telltale sign of how eager Will was for her to get home and tell him how the evening had played out.

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"Whoa, Whoa, who's the new kid?" Betty said turning to the three other ladies seated at the picnic table. "Billy, he's here to fix whatever goes wrong in this place," said Wendy looking up from her sandwich. The four ladies ate lunch every day at the picnic table outside the daycare where they all worked. They were all great friends and enjoyed their daily girl-talk even through there wasn't a one of them under the age of forty.

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"Well, I have like 45 minutes to kill," sang the high-pitched, sweet teen voice of my daughter's curvy Latina friend Marisa, "would you like a sloppy blowjob?" My ears weren't expecting that question, and I swear I must have blushed. Perverted middle-aged fathers don't get that question often, or at least, this one doesn't. Or hasn't before at least. Maybe she saw me staring at her ample boobs in her tight babydoll, or she detected my eyes on her stellar round butt in that thin little skirt a few minutes earlier.

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I had made the trip from the little cottage across the street and about 50 feet down countless times but never faster than that afternoon in June of 1976. After I sprinted blindly from our neighbor's back yard, a yard I had mowed for the last four years - not even watching for cars on the rarely traveled gravel road - I ran into our house and closed the door. Closed it and locked it and then looked through the blinds for what was about to happen.

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I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world. There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.

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Alan's mother, Nora, had retired to a gated community to golf away her twilight years. Her comfortable home was across the street from Jim and Sally. They had been so nice to Nora when she moved in, shortly after the death of her husband, Alan's dad. Jim was a retired banker who married late in life. He was in his late 70's now, while Sally was in her early 50's. He was a tall slim southern gentleman. She was a short bubbly blonde who was aging gracefully. She stayed active enough to look a few years younger than she was. She was devoted to Jim.

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The weather was getting colder by the minute or at least that's the way it seemed every time they talked about it on the TV. It was snowing but not too hard YET. The forecast was calling for six or seven inches before midnight. The way it was going I would get to my cabin around seven so I should be all right. I'm thirty-one and work in Manhattan as a lawyer and have a hunting type of log cabin as a retreat up in the Maine woods.

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Sara walked into the bar, she hadn't been in one in years. After her eyes adjusted to the smoky dimness, she found her way to the bar. There was one stool open between two men. She politely asked if the seat was taken and settled onto it after the guys looked at her dumbly. Now she remembered why she quit going to bars and sitting at the bar itself, the stools just didn't fit her ample ass comfortably.

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