Your erotic stories

SUNDAY It was my third time in England and the big British Airways jet came in over London and touched down at Heathrow thirty minutes early. As usual, it seemed to take almost as long to taxi and disembark as it had to cross the Atlantic, but finally I made my way with the other passengers along a carpeted corridor with a one way mirror at the end and came out into the baggage area. I had my laptop, as usual, and a bottle of Scotch I'd bought at O'Hare.

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Annie Daniels sighed softly and paused at the large steel-and-stone gate, then accelerated to glide up the hill. Tall statues of cement cast spooky shadows on the ground, and she shivered as she killed the engine and stepped out into the slightly chilly air of early evening. She made her way hesitantly to the fat gravestone a few yards away, a sunflower clutched in her hands, which she lovingly placed at the base of the marker. "I miss you, Matthew."

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Hello. This may sound strange, maybe even a bit false but I swear it's true, I am carrying a lot of guilt. Every so often it plays on my mind. So, through you, the readers, I intend to unburden myself. You see, for years, well more or less since my divorce, well lets put it this way, over the past four years I've become steadily attracted to my son-in-law, Graham. Culminating with us fucking. It started out as one of my teases, but things went a lot further than I originally intended. All the teasing and flirting came to a head a year ago.

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Moira was in the kitchen finishing a bit of straightening out of the pantries. The afternoon summer sun shown through the wide window above the sink in an almost liquid crystalline flow, the colors diffusing off the beveled edges in a harlequin rainbow dance of color. Outside it must have been a good ninety degrees while inside it was a comfortable sixty-eight. As she peered with her electric blue eyes out the window and onto the back lawn she studied her husband of ten years, Liam, shirtless and with broad shoulders, slim waist, a fine chest and muscular arms.

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Gary eased himself into the very hot waters of his hot tub. The contrast of the hot water to the nearly zero degrees of the freezing night air always startled him. It was nearly midnight and other than the light of the moon, it was dark in his backyard. When the clouds passed between the moon and Earth it became pitch dark. Gary wore no bathing suit, as usual, because no one could see that he was naked, even in the clear daylight. His wooded backyard assured that he could be naked in his hot tub without fear of being observed by neighbors.

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I have mentioned in other stories I have written here that I worked for many years as an English professor at a small but expensive New England college. I retired at the age of 65 as a result of the college's policy of mandatory retirement—a stupid idea in an age when most people live longer than they did in the past and most retain their brain capacity. I continued to live in the same town and the same house that my late wife and I had occupied for 30 years.

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Dan had never been to this place before. Fox Lake was not really one of his favorite places to play. But this bar was interesting enough. Situated right on the lake, Wokini's was typical of lake bars the country over. Darkened windows, bright neon lights flashing 'Budweiser,' 'Lite' and 'Southern Comfort.' The smell of stale beer and fried food permeated the air, as did cheap cologne. What brought Dan here were not the rave reviews from Metromix, but rather the fact that Donna Morgan frequented this place as a source of young men to satisfy her nasty debauchery. Dan thought, 'What's good for Mrs. Morgan may be good for other married sluts.'

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My first two years out of high school, I attended a community college, and worked as a delivery driver for a well-known pizza delivery chain we'll call "Checkers" to protect the innocent. It was a pretty good job. Most of the drivers were needed in the evening so it didn't interfere with classes. You got paid a salary, tips and commission (to pay for gas) which averaged more than $8.00 an hour when minimum wage was closer to $4.00.

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'Old Vinyl Classics – The station that brings you the greatest hits of the 60s, 70s and...' The old car stereo in my car crackled as I turned it off and parked my car alongside the curb. Once again I was in a familiar part of town; it was a place where I had parked my car many times during the past two years or so. Once again, I was on my way to band rehearsal, and again I was running a bit late, as was the case more often than not. To be honest, I really didn't care that much. A few months ago, things had been different.

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The bar was quite noisy with groups of people meeting after work to relay the day's events. There was a football game on the TV screens which was attracting loud groups of men, all with their opinion on how their team was performing. Jan sat in a booth towards the back of the bar on her own. She was contemplating life – it had not been a good day. She had been late for work, had lost a big contract and had been given a hard time by her boss.

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