Your erotic stories

It was a cold morning, so instead of heading into DC to walk the Mall, I decided to take the Metro out to Bethesda and check out a book store there. It was one of several book stores in the area that featured half price or less used books or, in other words, it was my kind of store. The ride on Metro was uneventful, if fairly long.

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I was a war baby. My father had volunteered for the army as soon as he was 17 and my mother had sent her boyfriend off to war with a smile on his face. I think it was one of his greatest regrets that he never got his chance at Herr Hitler as the war ended while he was in training. It was while he was in training camp that my mother wrote and told him she was pregnant with me.

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I walk into the apartment without knocking. I am expected and you are about to fulfill one of my deepest darkest fantasies. You are waiting for me in the living room wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt in a shade of dusty blue. I scan the room but I don't see Jordan anywhere. You smile and lead me into the bedroom where Jordan is waiting, one narrow hip leaned against the bedpost.

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I remember the feel of the cool wall as it warmed against my naked skin. The wall was so important, my center and my focus. My breasts were pressed hard to the unyielding surface and I could feel you behind me. With my hands at the small of my back, bound at the wrist with the silk belt of my robe, I ached to turn, to move. This is the first thing I recall from my dream, with your fingertips grazing down my bare back.

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I've spent every Friday and Saturday evening over the last three months sitting at a small table near the corner of the stage at the Magic Dancer Club. I have a few drinks and enjoy the show as the various ladies strut their stuff on the big stage. It's a very nice club if you happen to be into exotic dancing. It's an upscale club with an affluent white-collar clientele. The floor is covered with expensive deep-pile carpeting, except in the lobby, which has fancy marble flooring.

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I had sat there at Joey's beachside bar for more than an hour, watching the young man playing in the surf. When I'd first arrived at the bar, both bored and out of sorts, I'd seen him on his surfboard, riding the waves and doing quite well at it. At length, however, I saw him tire of that and come up on the beach and bury the tip of the board into the wet sand, with a strong force that, in itself, would have arrested my attention.

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When I was younger my dad got me a summer job working on Saturdays for Mrs Jones. She was a woman who had a property out by the river and my job was to help her do landscaping, cut back trees, lay pavings etc. The property was a bit run down and it was hard work. Mrs Jones was a bit of a hippie. She lived alone and I guess she must have been divorced because she never wore a wedding ring, even though everyone called her Mrs Jones.

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This true story was written for mature women by a mature woman. I am willing to bet that there are many women out there just like me who are over 60 years old, divorced, widowed or single by choice that just don't think that they are sexually desirable any longer. I am here to tell you that is a lot of hooey. I know this because until my 62nd birthday I felt the same way.

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Part 1 "You WHAT?!" "Honey," he said, his eyes wide and pleading. He put his hands out in front of him, palms down, as if urging me to take it easy, to slow down. But I felt the world suddenly spinning out of control. He tried to grasp my shoulders. "Please... you don't..."

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Tina and Doug looked like the ideal couple. A petite, cute, good looking woman and a tall muscular man, they have been married for four years and each was twenty-nine. As attractive as they were, their sex seemed to fizzle out. There were no extramarital affairs or anything. They loved each other very much. It was just that sex had become rote, almost programmed, boring.

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