Your erotic stories

Since Dave was “in between jobs” thanks to the slow economy, he spent many of his days doing errands. He didn’t particularly like fighting the moms and kids everywhere he went but it did give him a reason to get out of the house. And it kept him from spending too much money on leisure activities like golfing with none coming in right now. So the trip to the car wash with the SUV was item number one on today’s to-do list and the trip outside was welcome.

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Joni Mitchell came out with an album named 'The Hissing of Summer Lawns' back in the middle seventies. I was wondering if it was available anymore, some are, some aren't. What even brought it to mind was my pulling off the thoroughfare and into my subdivision. Seemed like she summed it up pretty good, I reflected, as I drove past sprinklers gently arching their artificial rain onto picture perfect lawns. A landscaper was getting out weedeaters for a group of little brown men two doors down. They stood there patiently in the white hot mid day heat.

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Ramsay closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and unzipped her jacket. Her mother would have never let her leave the apartment had she seen how her daughter was dressed. The snug, low-cut camisole didn't quite conceal her lacy black bra; the hem of her plaid skirt fell several inches above her knees. Her black patent stilettos were decidedly of the "fuck me" variety. Ramsay peered down at her ample cleavage, watched it rise and fall as she struggled to catch her breath.

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She lay, elbow on the bed, head propped on her hand looking down at him. It was impossible, and yet it had happened. Here was the living proof lying beside her and the sperm she could feel in her vagina and the bed redolent of their coupling. He was asleep now and she reached out and touched his light brown hair as if to reassure herself that he really was there. Then she touched his penis, still warm, wet and sticky with their mingled fluids.

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I saw him across the room being greeted by the host. I felt the blood drain from my face. I thought for a moment I was going to faint. I was attending the exhibition of a third rate painter's work, for which, as a freelance journalist, I was to write a review for a minor local paper. I had got sick of the sugary pink and white creations, and was standing around with a cocktail called, I believe, "A Landmine." It tasted of dishwater and kerosene.

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I came in from work about noon on Friday. I had been gone for a little over two weeks. Pulling in the driveway, I noticed that my daughter's car was gone but her best friend's car was parked in front of the boat on the far side of the carport. You talk about a pair to draw to; those two were it. My daughter is tall, dark, and slender, Sissy is even taller, blonde, and equally as slender.

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About a year and a half so ago my wife Debra decided that I needed to get into better shape. Why wives do things like that beats me, hell it can't be to keep me able to work longer. I don't work at all. I guess it's just because she does love me, it can't be for my money. I don't have any of that, either. I did have money and stuff once, but things I had planned on having in my old age just never panned out.

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"You know, I never thought I'd ever say this, but divorce really does agree with you," Cindy said as she trimmed another inch off my shiny mane of auburn hair so that it fell softly above my shoulders. If she was talking about the overall way I was looking, then she was right. The new style she'd created with the wispy fringe accentuating my deep blue eyes was indeed flattering and my return to the gym was showing pleasing results.

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A beautiful, outraged, and thirty-nine year old brunette with an elfin face, full lips, clean white skin that dove past her neck into an ample vertical line of cleavage, and authentic silk stockings – the seams of which climbed upward in a perfectly straight line from her trim ankles to disappear under the hem of her professional, side-slit skirt – swept down the long, richly carpeted corridor of the sixty-ninth floor like a small tornado, sweeping a cheap imitation dynasty pitcher from an expensive walnut sidetable with a vicious blow from her open hand and pausing not at all as it cracked like an egg on the plastered wall and tumbled to the floor.

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Vanessa Perry sipped coffee from her mug as she looked out at the summer sun rising over Philadelphia. The forty-year-old executive sighed deeply as she reflected back on her life. She had grown up the youngest daughter of an extremely wealthy family. She had dreams of growing up, falling in love and getting married, like her four siblings before her. However, as she watched their families evolve before her eyes, it became clear that that was not the life she wanted to lead.

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