Your erotic stories

It was summertime and the campus was dead. I was in the English graduate program at the University of ______________, and nearly everyone had gone to wherever they go. I was trying to finish my degree as fast as possible because I was 29 years old and I wanted to get on with my life. Don't get me wrong, I liked being a student, but I didn't want to be one forever. So, during summer school I was hanging out with three other students—practically the only people left, at least for a couple of weeks.

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I was trying to be careful as I carried the brimming pitcher of dark brown beer to the table in the corner. Jack had managed to arrive with only three-quarters of one after his trip to the bar. I was limiting my intake, and so was a bit steadier, but I was also trying to stay out from in front of the projector. The pitcher finally sat safely on the table. Helen carelessly sloshed the nutty brew into her pilsner and took a long draught.

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Life in the detective bureau was anything but routine. Everyday there were new challenges. Crime never stops. My day began at 8:30 am. I usually stopped off on the way to work to pick up coffee and some form of breakfast for myself and for the rest of the detectives, as well as the Chief. One of my duties was a review of the crime reports filed by the uniform division during the previous 24 hours. Cops often were not skilled writers. It was my job to review their reports for accuracy and completeness.

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This is a coming of age story of a young man in the 1960s. My father and I never really got along. He was a hard man, few words and worked hard all of his life to provide for his family. He was tough though. When I turned 13 he came to me and told me that he would provide a roof over my head, food on the table and laundry, but if I wanted any thing else that I had to do it for my self.

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I was a regular at a small club that was known to be a "meat market." Women of a certain age, divorced and horny were there often. I was there every Friday night and the occasional scattered evenings throughout the week but mostly on Fridays. I knew who the regulars were and their preferences. I also knew who the witches, the desperate, the players, and the losers were. There was a smattering of women that were there to dance and a smattering of people that did not seem to belong. I was one of those.

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Let me start by saying that I am always willing to step up and admit when I've made a mistake. I also hate being wrong so I have a tendency to avoid situations where those words "I was wrong" would have to escape my mouth. That said, the phrase "This is stupid," kind of became my mantra as my minivan sped along the nearly deserted roads to the lake. It was too late to turn back so I let those cursed words roll around in the back of my mouth.

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This move was a big step for me. After being married for thirty years I finally had my kids raised and was left without a life, neither; personal, professional nor sexual as we'd been living apart in the same house for two years. I finally made the decision to leave and make my own way again. Needless to say, much was my own fault as I tolerated the neglect and did so from personal fears and the loathing to be on my own with two kids, but none the less, as I approached my thirty year anniversary I kept asking myself, "Do you want another thirty years like this?" and the answer came back every time as "fuck no!".

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The vibrator hummed strongly as it parted Julie's swollen lips. "God, that feels great," she thought. Another climax washed over her and shook her from her painted toe nails right up to her bottled blonde hair. "Just a little longer" she smiled and held the plastic vibrating tube tightly against her clit. This time, the climax shook her and her entire bed. Peace washed over her face as she turned the vibrator off. Closing her eyes, she drifted back to sleep.

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On the evening following my 23rd birthday I headed over to Danielle's house. I had met Danielle through my girlfriend, Janie. Actually, my ex-girlfriend. I say my ex-girlfriend because the day before, on my birthday, I drove to Janie's house for my "Happy Birthday rough and wild monkey sex" (my words, not hers). When I got to her house I knocked on the door and it swung open a bit. I poked my head in the door and called out "Hello!" and nobody answered.

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Surfing the net through the "amateurs'" pages, I have been delighted to find a number of sites dedicated to "mature" women - i.e., those over 40. Some of them, admittedly, should have kept their photographs to themselves, but then there are some incredibly attractive and sexy "older" women. Looking at them made me recall my first experience with a woman many years older than I - it happened when I was 33, and the woman was, as she put it, "approaching 50".

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