Your erotic stories

Here's another story for you guys that's been bouncing around inside my head for a while. Hope you enjoy. All characters are over the age of eighteen. Hi, my names Richard Williams, Rich to my friends. I live in southern California with my mom Stacy. My dad died when I was too young to remember. The accident that killed my dad, while tragic, was made less so by the size of the settlement his company paid my mom.

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I was watching a movie the other day, with academy award level acting by the way, where a housewife fucks the plumber when he came by to "fix" the pipes. It reminded me of a role playing situation, I found myself in quite unexpectedly one night. It involves me, a certain man of whom I had a very active sex life with (two guesses for my fans), and

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I had known Emily since she was a baby. I watched her grow from a young child to an exuberant teen and finally to a very sexy young adult. Yes she was half my age, and to be honest, when she was an 18-year-old gymnast, there were times that I had less than wholesome thoughts about her, but as every father thinking things like that about their kid's friends, I kept them well to myself. I suspect that as she grew into her early twenties, those full body hugs she gave me, the ones where she couldn't seem help but press her hips tight to mine, were an indication that she had picked up on those hidden desires.

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"How'd you like to get hold of that?" Roger Goins asked as he stirred his fresh drink. Roger was one of those guys who always talked about strange pussy, but never seemed to make an attempt to get any. He was too pussy-whipped by his wife, Elaine, to take a chance. Me, I was on the look out all the time—but so was my wife, Shirley. It took about fifty years and four marriages for me to learn that a woman who liked to fuck all the time—the only kind I wanted to be married to—was going to fuck somebody else every now and then.

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I had always wondered what it would be like to make love to an older, more experienced man for as long as I could remember. Well, one wild spring night, my fantasy came to life, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.... I am an English teacher in a middle school, and I pretty much love every aspect of my job. Writing and literature have been my passions for as long as I can remember. I began my teaching career as a substitute and gradually made my way to having my own classroom just three years ago, but it seems like I've been doing this forever.

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Some men do better alone than others. I do better with a healthy female companion who enjoys being active, talking, kissing and touching. However, after "losing" my wife of thirty years to Alzheimer's, three years ago, I found that I was really out of practice as how to approach the "modern woman." I'm healthy, successful and attentive but was not getting anywhere by trying church, "meet and greets," dating sites, bars or hanging out in the produce isles at the super market.

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On that particular morning, I woke up with a massive hard-on. So it was quite convenient that my cock was deeply buried in Patty's throat at the time. Chicken or the egg? I had been "dating" Patty, if you can accurately categorize marathon sex sessions as "dating", for about six weeks now. During that time, my dick was usually buried in some orifice, crack, or crevice of Patty's torso and head a great majority of the time. Her eardrums might have been safe, but pretty much every other hole was fair game.

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You Are Not My Father. That was what my daughter Amy said to me. She was right of course, we had not met until she was twelve but much to the amazement of the three of us we got along well from the start. I did all the Dad things and perhaps a few more. I took her out on a to dinner dates on her birthdays, just the two of us. I taught her to drive. I was always dressed and polite when her friends came over.

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I was laying on the moonlit bed of our recently converted spare room, looking out the low window wondering at the changes moonlight makes on the flowers and trees in full bloom in these late days of spring. The window was open letting in the cool, scent filled air. While I missed my children I was enjoying the peace and quiet of being an empty nester, of being young enough to enjoy it. Feeling so calm and at peace I dozed off.

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Maxwell Anderson Jr., or Max to most of his friends, had waited years to be allowed to attend his parent's annual Mardi Gras party. It was considered by many in their social circles to be the grandest party of the season. Max's mother, Edwina Anderson, was born and raised in New Orleans, and left when she married Maxwell Sr. so he could take a position that ultimately led to his running his own law firm. Edwina, like so many other wives of wealthy and successful husbands, was a 'bored housewife' who did charity work, worked out, and drank too much.

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