Your erotic stories

"Why is Gopal not to be seen these days?" My husband had asked once last week. I didn't answer and instead quickly diverted him to some other topic. Somehow, I have been cursing my beloved husband all these days for deciding to leave all the luxuries of Mumbai and settling down in a rather smallish town in the southern most part of India. He wasn't willing to let the lucrative offer go and jumped to grab the new job in a windmill power generation company.

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Pain scorched the young man's esophagus. Pain burned the inside of his mouth. Good old pain. The young man welcomed the awful smell that accompanied the pain. "Pain is weakness leaving your body," several of his coaches had quoted to him. This time, pain was empty calories and disfiguring fat leaving his body. The pain and the scent were signals. He was fighting to maintain what mattered.

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The fact that Terry was married had me wondering just what was going on. I knew from talking to her over the years that I had known her, that she had been a wild child at one time. Now, here she was, telling me about the foursome, she and Lonny had had the month before last. I had the feeling that there was more to this than readily met the eye.

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I have a secret that I've never told anyone, not even my husband who knows everything about me. The events of a summer night, after I turned 18 and graduated from high school, that changed my life and contributed to who I am today. I learned a lot of things from my mother that summer, some of which she didn't intend to teach me.

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Carla has visited my NYC office on many occasions. She is a product manager for one of the lines of formal female dress shoes my stores and consignment partners carry. Once she had a late flight and had to check out by noon from her hotel. I let her put her luggage in my storeroom and offered to make her dinner at my week-day apartment just around the corner. She felt safe with that. I'm twelve years older; we have a working relationship to protect; we had little time before her flight and I had no plans to take advantage of her.

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I couldn't believe I was doing this. No matter what I said to reassure myself, nothing would make me believe that I was ACTUALLY doing this. I had always been the good girl, the one who went without, the one who put others first at her own expense. I had spent so many years bottling up my deepest desires that I almost couldn't remember them. But not anymore. Not this girl. No way, no sir. Technically, I was cheating. The papers weren't even drawn up yet, and here I was, fully contemplating a lusty afternoon chock full of sin.

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Emily awoke to the stillness of pre-dawn. She turned her face to the window and noticed the gray light stealing in through the window. Sighing deeply, she tried to keep still and not wake Ralph. Not yet. This was her time and she cherished it. Ralph's snoring cut through to her and she smiled slightly. How many mornings had she quibbled with him over that? And when had it no longer bothered her? In fact, when had she learned to fall asleep to it?

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Back in ’72 I spent the summer mowing lawns. This particular morning I was cruising down the road listening to my newest album, Eat A Peach. I had picked this cassette because I was on the way to a friend of my mother’s to cut her lawn. Her name was Dolores but since she was a kid everyone called her Peachy. I had known her since I was a kid and without a doubt, she was a total babe. I had spent many a night dreaming about Ms. Peachy. Well dreaming is not the right word. Ms. Peachy had to be without question the finest looking of my mother's friends.

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Mariel Archer stared out the front window of her attractive two-story home as her husband, William (not "Bill", too informal) slowly walked down the manicured sidewalk to his car. He was 65 years old now and really didn't need to work any longer (house was paid for, kids all off on their own) but he didn't believe a person should take up space on the planet without working to pay for the privilege. That was William.

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'What was I thinking?' Louise thought holding up the red baby doll before her. The idea was a month old, a way of re-kindling her husband's passions for her, of showing her husband that Louise Chester was still a woman at fifty and a sexy one at that. Boudoir photographs, erotic yes, dirty surely not. They had been her best friend Carols idea. Louise had spent the afternoon bitching and moaning about her husband Mike with Carol throwing in her own thoughts before she finally gave her the idea.

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