Your erotic stories

"Getting old is a bitch!" The words were spoken softly and with proper venom. I had just entered the bathroom after noticing the illuminated dial on the bedroom clock. "2:18am" I didn't turn the bathroom or bedroom light on because I wanted to let my wife sleep. We had a good evening, shared dinner with friends, joked and laughed. Then those friends went home and we went to bed.

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Fading autumn sunset caught the trees as I left the bus. Waited to cross the road, thinking about the last night I'd been with him. Her husband, and my closest friend, Allan. He'd died a few days later, a heart attack in his grim bedsit, during one of their periodic separations. I strode across the park, my head in confusion. Our evening would be difficult enough for me, but I couldn't begin to imagine how hard it would be for Betty.

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The naked woman next to me takes the five dice with her right hand, cups it with her left, and looks at me as she shakes them up. There's a sparkle in her hazel eyes and a wry smile as she watches me watching her tits shake up and down as she jostles the dice in her hand. I'm thinking that perhaps they're the size of baseballs, and the weight makes them slightly sag. I would love to heft one in my hand to see if I got the size right. "Come on, give me 250."she says dropping the dice on the table.

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You haven't lived until you have experienced the lust of an older woman! I have been particularly attracted to woman 15 to 20 years older than myself. There is a confidence that radiates from them. Even when I was 18 I found many of my girlfriend's mothers to be sexier than they were. To my surprise now that I am in my forties I still find woman in their mid-fifties to mid sixties sexier than the woman my own age. I wonder if when I am seventy if I will seek 90 year old ladies. It is an encounter with a woman 18 years older than myself I want to tell you about.

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"What do you think I should do about him?" I asked my slightly younger sister Tina. "What do I think you should do?...... Get him in the house, fuck his young brains out and send him home until your ready for another go. That's what I'd do." "Why do I even bother talking to you. Your incorrigible. Besides, I'm old enough to be his grandmother."

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My grandmother has been put in a nursing home. She is 92 and I miss her a lot. When I was growing up, she lived 2 blocks behind us and I would visit her several times a week. We were best buds. As I got older, time would not permit me to see her as often, but I would try. When I was away at college, I would drop my things off at my parents' house, and see her before I went out with my friends.

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She knew I watched her; she knew and she made me suffer. I couldn't help myself, I had to watch her; she was so damn sexy I was hooked. I would watch from the study window on the second floor of our house. I could see down onto the decking at the rear of her house, it was a vantage point that offered a superb view of her whenever she sunbathed during that long, hot summer.

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I first noticed him at the opening game of the high school basketball season. I had heard the team was going to be good this year, and wanted to see the top senior scorer. He wasn't the one, however, that caught my eye almost immediately. It was the other senior. The shorter, more rugged guard, who was quick and handled the ball with skill. I wondered who he was, so I casually asked a parent sitting next to me in the bleachers. They told me his name and gave me a little background information.

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Standing at the mirror, Sandy brushed back the stray hair from her face. Then she stepped closer and frowned at the reflection looking back at her. When did the wrinkles appear? Had they always been so deep? Her friends told her she could pass for 40, but she knew they were just being nice. The mirror didn't lie, and it was telling her she looked every one of her fifty-one years.

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To the average outsider, Paul had the world at his feet at the age of thirty. He'd been in charge of the entertainment agency since his father passed away four years earlier. He had a beautiful, spacious office that showed the city's skyline behind his desk, fine, mahogany furniture, with a imported leather couch in one corner. He drove a vintage Mercedes, lived in a dazzling condo in the best part of the city, and money seemed endless.

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