Your erotic stories

I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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Now, right from the start, let’s get the details over and done with. My name is Jan, well, Janet actually, but let’s stick with Jan as everybody else does. I’m fifty-two at the time of writing, but was fifty when the events I shall relate took place. I am five feet six inches tall. Buxom, in fact very buxom, but its all firm. Nothing flops about, including my bosom – 40 C if you want to know, but then, I don’t often wear a bra because I like to show off my nipples.

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A pretty young woman is jilted by her intended lover and ends up drunk and in the arms of a man old enough to be her father. A long sensuous and erotic story that teases and unfolds sexily. It was 2am she was more drunk than she had been since she was a teenager and the friendly goodnight kiss had escalated to a long passionate embrace. Rachel wondered how her evening had brought her here. She had planned to have sex tonight, but not with this man and certainly not here in the car outside her apartment.

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When Jack and Lisa, friends from my college days, asked me to be the photographer for their wedding I was more than happy to oblige. I had been doing wedding photography on the side for about five years and was getting more and more comfortable with my results. Little did I know that this assignment would be quite different from all the rest.

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"Holy shit." I said it out loud, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, mid-step, staring at the picture on my phone. "He's...hot." I scrolled the picture on the screen, increasing the size to get a closer look, noting it was a scan from the back of a book. "Oh, that's right," I thought, "He's a writer." He was definitely hot, for a guy the age of my parents. He had a thin nose and high forehead, dark eyes with fine lines at the corners, and dark hair that fell around his face in waves.

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Vanessa McCall threw her purse on the couch and then checked her self on the mirror. She smiled looking at her pristine face and glanced approvingly at her voluptuous, firm breasts, which despite having an 18-year-old step-son, were delightfully full and firm. Vanessa knew that she was still a very attractive woman and she took pleasure in the flattering glances and stares of men even as young as her own son. After having admired her body for a couple of minutes Vanessa made her way to her bedroom.

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I've always felt attracted to younger men. Some time ago, there was family living next to me in our small neighborhood. This was several years after my husband had died. I'd finally begun to feel somewhat whole again and yet the loneliness was getting me down. I had sexual cravings I hadn't felt in a long time and thought I'd go crazy if they weren't satisfied by someone, and soon.

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The day I slept late that July was unforgettable. I had just graduated high school and was gently preparing to go off to college, but mainly that summer I was relaxing – sleeping late and not having many plans. My sister was travelling somewhere in Europe and my parents were both working long days, probably thinking about my college expenses. We also had a house guest for a few weeks that summer. Leigh Chandler was an old friend of my mother's from her college days. Leigh had recently started a new job in town and was staying with us while she looked for an apartment.

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It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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I originally thought my idea to get the girls to go camping with us, probably for the last time as a family, was a good one. I guess it was an attempt on my part to reminiscence of days past when the kids were little and we all had such a great time enjoying nature and just being together as a family. But the girls were both in college and things had changed. Amy would graduate the next spring and Emily was a sophomore.

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