Your erotic stories

"How'd you like to get hold of that?" Roger Goins asked as he stirred his fresh drink. Roger was one of those guys who always talked about strange pussy, but never seemed to make an attempt to get any. He was too pussy-whipped by his wife, Elaine, to take a chance. Me, I was on the look out all the time—but so was my wife, Shirley. It took about fifty years and four marriages for me to learn that a woman who liked to fuck all the time—the only kind I wanted to be married to—was going to fuck somebody else every now and then.

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I had always wondered what it would be like to make love to an older, more experienced man for as long as I could remember. Well, one wild spring night, my fantasy came to life, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.... I am an English teacher in a middle school, and I pretty much love every aspect of my job. Writing and literature have been my passions for as long as I can remember. I began my teaching career as a substitute and gradually made my way to having my own classroom just three years ago, but it seems like I've been doing this forever.

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Some men do better alone than others. I do better with a healthy female companion who enjoys being active, talking, kissing and touching. However, after "losing" my wife of thirty years to Alzheimer's, three years ago, I found that I was really out of practice as how to approach the "modern woman." I'm healthy, successful and attentive but was not getting anywhere by trying church, "meet and greets," dating sites, bars or hanging out in the produce isles at the super market.

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On that particular morning, I woke up with a massive hard-on. So it was quite convenient that my cock was deeply buried in Patty's throat at the time. Chicken or the egg? I had been "dating" Patty, if you can accurately categorize marathon sex sessions as "dating", for about six weeks now. During that time, my dick was usually buried in some orifice, crack, or crevice of Patty's torso and head a great majority of the time. Her eardrums might have been safe, but pretty much every other hole was fair game.

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You Are Not My Father. That was what my daughter Amy said to me. She was right of course, we had not met until she was twelve but much to the amazement of the three of us we got along well from the start. I did all the Dad things and perhaps a few more. I took her out on a to dinner dates on her birthdays, just the two of us. I taught her to drive. I was always dressed and polite when her friends came over.

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I was laying on the moonlit bed of our recently converted spare room, looking out the low window wondering at the changes moonlight makes on the flowers and trees in full bloom in these late days of spring. The window was open letting in the cool, scent filled air. While I missed my children I was enjoying the peace and quiet of being an empty nester, of being young enough to enjoy it. Feeling so calm and at peace I dozed off.

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Maxwell Anderson Jr., or Max to most of his friends, had waited years to be allowed to attend his parent's annual Mardi Gras party. It was considered by many in their social circles to be the grandest party of the season. Max's mother, Edwina Anderson, was born and raised in New Orleans, and left when she married Maxwell Sr. so he could take a position that ultimately led to his running his own law firm. Edwina, like so many other wives of wealthy and successful husbands, was a 'bored housewife' who did charity work, worked out, and drank too much.

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Harvey sat in his office. Looking up from his desk, he watched as Mary, his secretary approached his desk. She wore her normal work attire. Mini skirt, high heels, stockings, and tight blouse. Like all of his personal female employees, she was in her late 20's to early 30's. She was loyal to a fault, meticulous in her work habits, and submitted to any and every whim that Harvey requested of her. She had only been working for him for 1 year but in that year, she had proven herself over and over. As he watched her slow walk, he felt his dick twitch in anticipation. She came around his desk and bent to place the papers on it.

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"Hi ya," I jumped at the unexpected voice and fought not to drop the drink I was holding. "What the fuck!" I gasped. Just as I lost my fight, and watched as my beer spilled out on the lawn. I glanced towards where the voice had come from, the next door neighbours garden. What I saw increased my shock immensely. Standing in the garden, now laughing softly at me, was a stunning blonde haired young woman. She was wearing just a small red thong and nothing else, which gave me a good look at her body.

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Chapter One: Never heard of such a thing. Some people have more money than brains, I figured, after listening to the explanation my pain-in-the-ass neighbor Bob Brennan gave me regarding his upcoming cruise. We were talking over the fence, as was our custom, and since he had handed me a frosty Sam Adams, it made the conversation more tolerable. I still thought the idea was goofy though.

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