Your erotic stories

My favorite teacher was my math teacher, Mrs. Gibson. She was in her late thirties, a wife and a mom, but man, was she sexy! She had long full blonde hair, a pretty face, was average in height, and had big tits. Like most of the teachers she dressed casual more than she dressed up, but whatever she wore, it was hard to hide her hot body. I wasn't much of a math student, and since I had math my last class of the day, I spent most of the period staring at Mrs. Gibson and having fantasies about her.

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I stood at the door with my colorfully wrapped gift. I had just rung the doorbell a minute before and was waiting patiently. I'm 19 years old and it was my friend Janet's 20th birthday, and she was having a birthday party that evening. Nothing huge, a few of her relatives and a few friends, but I had been looking forward to it nonetheless.

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My fiftieth birthday, the big five-O, I was so determined to treat it like any other day, "It's just a number." I said to myself speaking out loud as I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a bath towel around me, tucked it into my cleavage and walked back to my bedroom across the short landing. Reality soon disillusioned me as I removed the towel from my naked body in front of the wardrobe mirror.

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It was the first day of class and Chris was feeling very self conscious. The professor went around the room having everyone introduce themselves. At 39, Chris listened to student after student saying their name, and that they had just gotten out of high school. When it was his turn, Chris stood up, turned to the class and said, "Hi, I'm Chris, and I did not just get out of high school."

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I was in Los Angeles on business and one day I was in Century City for a business conference and when we broke for lunch I headed for a restaurant I'd heard about. I was walking down the street when something slammed into my shoulder and I heard a voice say: "Watch where you're going asshole." I turned and saw a guy standing there looking at me and smiling. It took me about half a second to recognize Bill Gibson and I stepped to him and took him in a big bear hug.

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An old Army friend of my husband showed up one day out of the blue. Norman had just bought a business hear our home town and came by to say 'Hi." To my husband. That is how Fred and I became interested in RVing. Norman sold motor homes and travel trailers over in Ohio just across the state line. We visited Norman at the sales lot and Fred was hooked on this as the only way to travel. So we bought a new motor home with all the bells and whistles. We also found out about snow-birding.

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The damned old truck just gave up the ghost. It coasted down to the bottom of the hill and died. It was very old, 400 and some thousand miles on the clock. Everything in it was worn out including the driver. Life can be a real bitch. I shouldn't have tried to go that far with it anyway. I figured the little trailer we were dragging behind her didn't help any. I hadn't had much choice. My new truck was in the shop because it was acting up. The parts for the plane had to be picked up at the freight office. I had no choice but to try old Betsy, I don't think she had been more than a mile or two from the ranch in years. Mostly she was strictly used on the place.

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Fuck me. It was two days until I started my period and I was so goddamn horny I was ready to screw the neighbor’s dog the next time it came into my yard to pee on the shrubs. Instead, after a long day at the office, I showered and slipped into my favorite over-sized shirt. Padding barefoot and bare-assed down the carpeted stairs, it was my plan to curl up in front of the television for an evening of watching X-rated videos and playing with a variable speed massager that I bought to treat a knee injury but ended up using as a vibrator.

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Newport, New York 1972 was just as sleepy a little town as it is today. Despite the simple rural setting, like any other town there were countless stories going on behind closed doors. This was one of them. *** "You look lovely tonight, Mrs. B." Kenny said as he walked into the kitchen of his neighbor, closing the door behind him, and as the woman who had let him in rolled her eyes, the young man smiled and followed her over to the sink.

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Every Friday evening we at my work place have some sort of celebration. Usually it is just a meal or something and on the odd occasion we hire a restaurant and have our own 'knee's up' so to speak. Most of those at work have partners and usually l am the odd one out, but that doesn't usually bother me, however, one such occasion was around saint valentines night and our restaurant was made out in that theme.

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