Your erotic stories

I looked up at Emma's beautiful body, marveling at its perfection. She is athletic and toned with pert B-cup breasts which were quivering. Her face is heart-shaped and crowned with thick ash-blond hair cut to a medium length. Her eyes were closed, and her pink lipped mouth was open. I let my gaze travel down her smooth creamy flesh noting the trimmed line of her pubic hair. God I was going to miss her!

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After another bout of love making, we were exhausted and fatigue had taken over our bodies. We showered together in the lavishly sinful bathroom, dressed again and left the place along with James, who drove us back to her place. On the way back to her place, she promised me another good time, and we fixed the appointment, and scheduled our program. We planned out where and what we would do for that next evening. James glided the car to a stop at her apartment gate. I pulled her in, as she was about to alight from the car.

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Jake knew he was in for a long weekend. His mother in law was coming for a visit and he really did not have the patience to deal with her. It wasn't that he didn't like her, but she was an extreme busy body. She spent most of her time suggesting ways in which him and his wife Patty could change. On her last visit, she had gone as far as rearranging all of the furniture when they were at work one day. His mother in law Karen, meant well, but didn't know when to back down.

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I approached the women's lingerie department with great trepidation. Normally I cruise by thehanging bras and panties; averting my eyes and looking to the far horizons of the store for the men's department. But today, I was on a mission and I had come to the department store early to avoid any semblance of a crowd and to, hopefully, find someone who might be able to help me find whatever it was I was looking for.

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The only reason that I moved into the 'Assisted Living Community' at all was so that I wouldn't become a burden to my grandson, Jeffery and his family. I had just turned 80, and hell I knew there were things I just couldn't do on my own anymore. I had always sort of thought that when I got to be too old to be self-sufficient, that I would buy a one-way ticket to the Himalayas; go on a trekking expedition and quietly slip away onto some glacier.

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My name is Nicholas Ichabous Crane Evanston. I'll spare you the long drawn out story of how I got that ridiculous name. The short version is that my dad saddled me with that long name so I would never forget the acronym, and always be NICE to people. Sometimes big stories have small beginnings, my story started at a CVS Pharmacy in a small town in North Carolina. I was in town to oversee a six month construction job and was having a pretty crappy day, so I dropped in for a sugar fix at the pharmacy near the work site.

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When I was younger my dad got me a summer job working on Saturdays for Mrs Jones. She was a woman who had a property out by the river and my job was to help her do landscaping, cut back trees, lay pavings etc. The property was a bit run down and it was hard work. Mrs Jones was a bit of a hippie. She lived alone and I guess she must have been divorced because she never wore a wedding ring, even though everyone called her Mrs Jones.

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This true story was written for mature women by a mature woman. I am willing to bet that there are many women out there just like me who are over 60 years old, divorced, widowed or single by choice that just don't think that they are sexually desirable any longer. I am here to tell you that is a lot of hooey. I know this because until my 62nd birthday I felt the same way.

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My eyes open hesitantly - struggling to adjust to the early morning sun filtering in through the bedroom curtains. I let out a small groan as I reached across the nightstand at the side of the bed in an effort to turn the alarm clock in my direction so that I could see what time it was. I froze in mid-reach when my mind finally processed the fact that I was completely naked and in somebody else's bedroom. It came rushing back to me in a hurry why nearly every muscle in my body was protesting with my every movement. I slowly turned my head, hoping that it had all been a fevered dream.

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CHAPTER 1 Twice divorced with continuing strong interest in working and male company, Lillian Smith, who'd once again reverted to her maiden name, made her seventh application for a new job and secured a position as personal assistant to the female operations manager of a courier company. The two women settled in together fine, both being the same age of fifty-two, and with similar interests except manager Marion had been married to the same man for twenty-seven years and had warned her new recruit she didn't talk about her husband or home life.

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