Your erotic stories

"You probably think I'm too old for you." I paused to consider. The fact was: he was too old for me. He was more than twice my age. I had dated men a little older than me, but I usually stuck with men under thirty. There was also the fact that Aaron was the Santa Claus at the mall where I manage a department store, and while he looked decidedly different, and more attractive, when he was out of his costume, I still couldn't bring myself to go on a date with Santa.

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At eighty-three Geoff Weetman was still active, admittedly not as spry as in his youth and with a lot of curses for the stiffness of his joints, but active nevertheless. Although a member of a number of social clubs and groups, he was lonely and had been for the past fifteen years following the death of his wife, he smiled at the memory of her. Their time together had sped by, it had been a shock when she had been found to have cancer, she'd died within a year of the diagnosis and right up to the end she had taken great pleasure in the act of sex with him.

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Some years ago I worked at a small engineering firm. One of the typists there was called Barbara, and she did most of the typing for me. I was about 25 at the time and she was coming up to retirement. She was a small lady, and had put a bit of weight on round the middle. She had quite a large bust which she didn't try to hide, and usually wore a skirt and blouse. One day we were doing stocktaking and we were in the production office. There was the usual girly calendar on the wall (not allowed nowadays!) which I had a glance at. Barbara came over to me.

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It was one of those days when there just wasn't anything to do. I had tried the TV, the radio, and had looked through my CD and tape collection. Absolutely nothing appealed to me. I had even considered putting one of my porno tapes in the VCR and jacking off to Ginger Lynn, Nina Hartley, or Annet Haven. Even this really wasn't what I wanted.

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When, Sally, who had worked for my employers ever since she had left school but, having been redeployed, was to me, the new receptionist, I really took notice. She was an extraordinarily pretty, slim lass, with long blond locks, sparkly blue eyes, a pert nose with a cutely bulbous tip, slightly younger than I and, unfortunately, possessed of an engagement ring that she displayed with, considerable, pride.

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I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me. After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

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"I'm worried about my boys, Marge," Gina Smith confessed to her best friend after church one day. "Why?" Marge replied. "You're a great mother, and your boys seem happy and they do ok in school, right?" "I know... maybe I'm over thinking, but I feel like they need more of a male influence in their lives. Clancy never was around that much right after the divorce, and he rarely calls now than he and Kimmy have moved to California," Gina said, practically spitting out the name of her ex-husband's new, younger wife.

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DING DING DONG. "Oh damn," Lauren sits up in bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, suddenly remembering the air conditioning man is supposed to arrive at 8:00 o'clock. She stayed up late, chatting online with some college classmates while watching an old movie and forgot to set her alarm. Grabbing her red silk robe from the foot of the bed, she pulls it over her dad's old undershirt and little boy boxer shorts.

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It was Sunday, a full day off from work. That meant I had the whole day to devote to my other job, the one I should have concentrated on years ago. I planned to do some serious work on my thesis. On the wrong side of my thirty-fifth birthday, I, Joseph Middleton, was a college boy. I was an average student in high school. My grades weren't good enough to get into a decent college, which didn't matter to me at the time. I just didn't care about much except hanging out with my friends and trying to get laid.

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Drew put-in before Dooley Bridge, his goal being to photograph the length of the river through town, marking its changes as it went from rural to urban to estuarine environments in the space of four miles. Being June and approaching the summer solstice in this northern state, the sky began to lighten before five in the morning. Drew had been up since four, having loaded his kayak onto his Subaru the previous evening. His main goal was to be up before the tourists and their jet skis, and he had provided himself a wide buffer.

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