Your erotic stories

At eighty-two years old, I thought all I had left to do was wait to die. When I got real sick, the agency sent over a girl to take care of me for a few hours a day. Ginger was one of those real brainy girls who graduated from high school when she was fourteen, got a degree in pre-med by the time she turned eighteen. She was working for the agency to help pay her way through medical school. It was nice having someone to visit with and she wasn't hard to look at, either.

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What a lucky kid. I thought as my son bustled through the door of our entryway. He was laden with bags of luggage, grumbling about how he had married an overpacker. His wife followed him carrying two suitcases, her blonde hair falling in her face. The pair bustled up the stairs into the spare bedroom. I walked out to their Lexus and saw they had gotten most of the bags in. There were just two left. A brown suitcase in one hand and a black gym bag over one arm and I was in.

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Mike parked in the driveway and walked up the front stairs and through the door. As he opened it, he found the house in silence, as it usually was. Where Debbie, his girlfriend was, was anyone's guess; he supposed that Jennie, Debbie's eighteen year old daughter, was out with friends. He smiled absently, thinking to himself that everything was just as it should be.

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I am kneeling on the bed in a seedy Motel room where my new husband has left me. We just got married an hour ago, and before our honeymoon, he insists on stopping here. Rodney and I graduated from school this week, and after loving one-another for four years (limited sexual activity), we have certain things already planned out. This Motel is not something we planned together!

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"You probably think I'm too old for you." I paused to consider. The fact was: he was too old for me. He was more than twice my age. I had dated men a little older than me, but I usually stuck with men under thirty. There was also the fact that Aaron was the Santa Claus at the mall where I manage a department store, and while he looked decidedly different, and more attractive, when he was out of his costume, I still couldn't bring myself to go on a date with Santa.

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At eighty-three Geoff Weetman was still active, admittedly not as spry as in his youth and with a lot of curses for the stiffness of his joints, but active nevertheless. Although a member of a number of social clubs and groups, he was lonely and had been for the past fifteen years following the death of his wife, he smiled at the memory of her. Their time together had sped by, it had been a shock when she had been found to have cancer, she'd died within a year of the diagnosis and right up to the end she had taken great pleasure in the act of sex with him.

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Some years ago I worked at a small engineering firm. One of the typists there was called Barbara, and she did most of the typing for me. I was about 25 at the time and she was coming up to retirement. She was a small lady, and had put a bit of weight on round the middle. She had quite a large bust which she didn't try to hide, and usually wore a skirt and blouse. One day we were doing stocktaking and we were in the production office. There was the usual girly calendar on the wall (not allowed nowadays!) which I had a glance at. Barbara came over to me.

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It was one of those days when there just wasn't anything to do. I had tried the TV, the radio, and had looked through my CD and tape collection. Absolutely nothing appealed to me. I had even considered putting one of my porno tapes in the VCR and jacking off to Ginger Lynn, Nina Hartley, or Annet Haven. Even this really wasn't what I wanted.

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When, Sally, who had worked for my employers ever since she had left school but, having been redeployed, was to me, the new receptionist, I really took notice. She was an extraordinarily pretty, slim lass, with long blond locks, sparkly blue eyes, a pert nose with a cutely bulbous tip, slightly younger than I and, unfortunately, possessed of an engagement ring that she displayed with, considerable, pride.

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I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me. After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

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