Your erotic stories

I hardly recognised him when I saw him. I had been idly sitting on a bench along the river path about halfway through my daily walk when a guy came strolling along dressed in a business suit, which is unusual along the path where casual clothing is the norm. It is customary for people to greet each other, even strangers, along the river path so I glanced up and said, “Hi.”

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I was sitting backwards on one of the chairs in my tenant's kitchen, watching him cover an easel with bold strokes of varying shades of green. Sean had moved into the basement suite in late August, and we'd hit it off right away. He was a nice boy, 22 years old, a couple years older than my own son, who was also away at university.

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Fred awoke lazily the next day with the sun shining through his bedroom window. He immediately knew that he must have overslept because it didn't get light in Spain at this time of the year until almost eight o'clock. Nevertheless he still luxuriated in his bed. He turned over and took hold of his firm erection. Fred slept naked, always. He pushed his light covering off and peered down at himself, admiring his thick hard dick.

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I hadn't thought about this in years. I've been married for 15 years and stories about ex-girlfriend's and their mothers are not the kind of thing you brag about at the dinner table. The thing that brought this memory back was meeting this particular mother in the mall parking lot. I was getting out of my car and I saw this old lady coming toward me. She seemed familiar. "Mrs taylor?" I said.

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Fifty is such a daunting number. Half a century and it seems just yesterday when I was young and the world was new. I sit alone in a crowded bar nursing my third bourbon and coke as music blares around me drowning the sounds of younger people chatting and laughing. Today I am still the 'right' side of that psychological figure. I am forty-nine, but it is the eve of my 'Big 50'. It is only a number, I keep telling myself but in the back of my mind a small voice is chanting in a child-like taunt, "oldie, oldie, you are an oldie..." over and over.

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My beautiful daughter Katie and her best friend Mindy had spent the night at my house. I am forty-four and have been divorced from Katie's mom for nine years. I have dated quite a few other women but have not found any that I wanted to settle down with. Katie is twenty years old and my pride and joy. She and Mindy have been best friends since sixth grade and were now in the same sorority together at college.

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It was not a good day as it started out. My fishing partner had canceled out before I left to pick him up. He had an upset stomach. Well, the boat was hooked up behind my truck on it's trailer all loaded and ready to go, even down to bait and two lunches in the cooler. The Hell with it, I would go alone. I drove to the ramp and launched the boat.

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Nina Collins tossed and turned in bed. She glanced at the clock: 2 a.m. Downstairs, clanged dishes and opening doors, which she knew was her 22-year-old grandson, Billy, and his drunken buds coming in from a night of carousing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nina wasn't happy about the sleep interruption, but was happy to have Billy with her for the summer after graduating college in her seaside home, giving him a rest and knowing he'd be setting out on his own soon enough, leaving his parents and them far behind as he found a new life.

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A wisp of brown-gray hair fell before her eyes. And there was a hint of spittle on her lips I remember thinking how odd it was that this 65 year-old woman, whose manner and appearance was so proper, so in-place, was now riding me like something possessed. Thinking back, I know she grunted like a sow while she was on top of me and I was fucking her. Yes, I remember the hard grunts as she thrust her hungry, aged cunt at my cock. I remember the folds on her neck and how the loose skin on the backs of her arms slapped back and forth while she grabbed at my ass with her hands.

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One moment, one lapse in concentration, and it was all over. It was my fault. She had just stepped off the kerb and I called out "See this evening." She turned, smiled; there was a screech of tyres as a bus pulling in to stop hit her. The love of my life was dead. I met Clare when I was tutoring in English literature and she a student. I don't know if there is such a thing as love a first sight but it seemed like to me. Six months after first meeting her we were married; she was eighteen and I twenty four.

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