Your erotic stories

I couldn't believe I was doing this. No matter what I said to reassure myself, nothing would make me believe that I was ACTUALLY doing this. I had always been the good girl, the one who went without, the one who put others first at her own expense. I had spent so many years bottling up my deepest desires that I almost couldn't remember them. But not anymore. Not this girl. No way, no sir. Technically, I was cheating. The papers weren't even drawn up yet, and here I was, fully contemplating a lusty afternoon chock full of sin.

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Emily awoke to the stillness of pre-dawn. She turned her face to the window and noticed the gray light stealing in through the window. Sighing deeply, she tried to keep still and not wake Ralph. Not yet. This was her time and she cherished it. Ralph's snoring cut through to her and she smiled slightly. How many mornings had she quibbled with him over that? And when had it no longer bothered her? In fact, when had she learned to fall asleep to it?

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Back in ’72 I spent the summer mowing lawns. This particular morning I was cruising down the road listening to my newest album, Eat A Peach. I had picked this cassette because I was on the way to a friend of my mother’s to cut her lawn. Her name was Dolores but since she was a kid everyone called her Peachy. I had known her since I was a kid and without a doubt, she was a total babe. I had spent many a night dreaming about Ms. Peachy. Well dreaming is not the right word. Ms. Peachy had to be without question the finest looking of my mother's friends.

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Mariel Archer stared out the front window of her attractive two-story home as her husband, William (not "Bill", too informal) slowly walked down the manicured sidewalk to his car. He was 65 years old now and really didn't need to work any longer (house was paid for, kids all off on their own) but he didn't believe a person should take up space on the planet without working to pay for the privilege. That was William.

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'What was I thinking?' Louise thought holding up the red baby doll before her. The idea was a month old, a way of re-kindling her husband's passions for her, of showing her husband that Louise Chester was still a woman at fifty and a sexy one at that. Boudoir photographs, erotic yes, dirty surely not. They had been her best friend Carols idea. Louise had spent the afternoon bitching and moaning about her husband Mike with Carol throwing in her own thoughts before she finally gave her the idea.

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"Hey there Mrs. Kripke how are you, noticing she looked unusually more attractive then ever before. "I am fine Mr. Stephen," referring to the idea he seamed much more mature each time she saw him. "My, my Stephen haven't we grown, and matured even over the last several months. And how is college going too dear?" "Well as good as you said it would. I can't believe how much goes on, and all the time. It's crazy and I've met so many people too."

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"I was sure you were going to get the manager's job at the bank's new branch over on Castle, Don. Maybe it's because you can't be spared from this branch." "No, Ted, I don't think I'll ever be given a manager's job." "I don't understand." "Let's take our coffees over to the corner table there and I'll see if I can explain it." We'd planned on just picking up coffees to go and to walk back to the bank and have our break in the staff break room. But I wasn't really in the mood to be back there. The announcement of the staffing of the new Castle branch had come an hour ago.

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I've always wondered why older guys gravitate toward younger women, whenever they have the chance. Until I met Holly, I didn't realize that I, and the women that I've been with for the past 25 years, have changed, a lot. When you're 18, and you're dating other 18 year olds, you never really realize that bodies change as they age. Heck, the woman that you date and eventually marry, then spend the next few decades with is aging at the same pace that you are. The changes are subtle, but they occur.

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On a very hot and unreasonably humid summer day around the middle of August, I found myself on the receiving end of Mrs. Nadine Broome's affections. I was mowing her lawn that day because their regular groundsman was off sick and word was getting about that my services were excellent and highly recommended. The lawn covered approximately 6 acres alongside the River Thames. In some ways it looked more like a bowling green than anything else, Rob always mowed and groomed it to perfection.

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I met Brian Carmichael in early July. I remember this because it was almost a week after my fifth birthday. I was in the driveway of our yard, playing with a Tonka dump truck and bulldozer that my Uncle Jake had bought me for my birthday. I looked up and saw a small black dog (a Labrador retriever, I later found out) run across our lawn. The dog wandered over to me, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging.

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