Your erotic stories

I'm a sixty year old retired widower with completely gray hair, a little paunch and live in a very nice three bedroom house in Wichita, Kansas. I drive the obligatory, for guys of my age, late model Mercury Grand Marquis. Everyone tells me I am a good-looking guy who has aged well. If I were trying to describe my interests I would only have to mention two. Travel and reading. I got away from buying the Book of the Month selections and now get most of my reading material from the nearby public library.

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I'm a 55 year old widow who still looks pretty good. My figure is 36C-24-36 and still pretty firm. I weigh 130lbs which is only ten pounds more than I did in high school and that ten pounds is muscle. My hair is dirty blonde which is just starting to turn gray. I'm pretty tall for a woman - 5' 10". The main reason I still look pretty good is I take a Pilates class every week on Mondays. I really enjoy it and it's keeping me looking good.

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I had a really shitty day. My secretary quit, to move to Texas with her new boyfriend. Somebody clipped my brand new Porsche in the parking garage, denting the hell out of the passenger side door and both fenders. One of my clients, the Avengers, tore up the hotel they were staying in. And Ozzie Schmuck, the drummer for Snakepit, got busted for coke and can't make the Australia tour.

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This wasn't the first time he'd seen her here at the supermarket. It was a few of weeks ago, on a Wednesday, that he first cast his eyes upon her mature, full figure and her fine head topped by billows of natural red hair. She was about 45, and her large hips and breasts where accented by a slim waist. She was a West Texas earth mother type, but with a hint of sadness. Since then, he'd made Wednesdays his regular shopping day in the faint hope that he might run into her again. And now, here she was in front of him.

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Chapter 1 Brad McGibbon was not coping well following his wife's decision to leave him to live in a warmer climate because her joints were playing up. Brad's were too, a bit. He thought Heather should have hips, knees and anywhere else that was painful replaced instead of sloping off to a warm climate where one sweated all day and perhaps half-froze at night. She chose Hawaii while he stayed put in Twin Forks on the John Dee River.

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I can describe beauty. It stands tall and slender at the rails of the boardwalk, allowing the sea breeze to dance with white hair glowing in the moonlight. It is elegance wrapped in a cream-colored mock turtleneck sweater and matching cashmere slacks. Beauty is a countenance of serenity, absorbing the power and wonder of creation knowing all share a common source.

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"Paul, would you like to go and house-sit for Aunty Jean on Friday evening?" his mother asked. Engaged in trying to write a tutorial paper on the computer for next morning – a paper he should have been prepared two days before – Paul asked suspiciously, "Why?" "Oh well, the girl she usually has can't make it, and Jean's booked a seat for the opera, and as she'll probably be home late she says you can stay overnight."

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The first thing I ever noticed about Lady B were her legs. They were gorgeous. Her upper body was hidden by the side of a wing-backed chair but stretching out over the side of the chair were her legs, endlessly long and clad in a pair of black seamed nylon stockings, the rounded white thighs above that wide band of dark double webbing bisected by black suspender straps. They were perfection - totally erotic, beautifully shaped, warm soft flesh which made you automatically lick your lips - in anticipation of licking her lips -- upper and lower, outer and inner.

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Robyn sat alone on the railing of the massive sun deck and heaved a sigh of general discontent. Attending the engagement party of a fellow college alum while accompanied by your own future mother-in-law was certainly not her idea of a hot summer Saturday at the Jersey shore. Robyn had never been one of those young women to revel in these 'girlie-girl' type celebrations, anyway, although Robyn herself wore a nearly two-carat diamond engagement ring on her own left hand.

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I am at the wheel of my rusted, two-decades old Chevy pickup. We have pulled off the road since we're in sort of a rain white-out, a blinding storm with whipping winds that are beginning to rock the truck itself. I shouldn't be surprised. Storms like this, coming in from the Atlantic, are not infrequent on Hatteras, part of the Outer Banks island chain along the North Carolina coast.

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