Your erotic stories

I live in a nice little development. We only have fifteen units which means we get to know all the other occupants of the units quite quickly. There are two central units facing the main street with an U shaped drive around them and the other thirteen units spread around the outer side of the U.

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The sun was just peeking over the horizon when I slid back the hatch cover and climbed up the short stairs to the deck of the Jenny Green. I had new clients coming on board at ten, and wanted to make sure everything was in order. Brandy had already cleaned the cabins, changed the sheets on the beds, and stocked up the galley. All that remained was to check the sails, rigging, and engine. After that, I'd make the short trip over to Fred's to top off her water and fuel tanks, and get a couple extra quarts of oil.

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I am the world’s greatest gigolo. Well, at least I was the world’s greatest gigolo. My clientele were usually wealthy women with husbands who rarely spent two seconds at home, much less tended to the raging sexual desires of their wives.

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I'm sitting in the black leather chair as usual. The leather cool against my thighs. I'm dressed in a very short black skirt, a skintight low necked black top, black fishnet stockings and the main event: my six inch black shiny stiletto heeled shoes. I cross my legs and swing my foot impatiently, acutely conscious of the light reflecting off my shoe as it makes its arc through the air.

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I took another reading off the compass Velcroed on the thwart in front of me, and changed sides on the paddle. My arms were feeling a little tired. I’d been paddling for almost an hour and the shore was coming up slowly. I veered a little to the side to round a point and hit the cove I was paddling for. The canoe hissed softly in the wonderfully blue water of the White Partridge Lake. I was far up in the Canadian Province of Ontario in Algonquin Provincial Park

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I was 23 when I met Pat, who was 42 at the time. We were work colleagues and got on really well. Pat had dark hair hanging lustrously loose and a super pair of legs. She wore skirts every day and my gaze often followed her legs and ass around the room at work, or in the bar.

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I take my daughter to a dance class each week. Her teacher is Nicky and I have to admit I have always had a thing for her although as a married man I never intended on acting on my desires. What is more I always thought the fit and bubbly dance instructor was way out of my league. Standing about 5 foot 6 inches tall and weighing around 110 pounds, Nicky is 30-years-old.

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Abbey was on her way to the job of her dreams. Growing up, she had always wanted to work at an investment firm like her father, who was very successful at what he did. She worked hard all of her life, determined to make it on her own. She went to the best schools and did all the right things. After a few notable internships, she was finally able to land an entry level position at a major investment firm in the big city.

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I take the bus to and from work as a matter of choice, but even though one of the reasons I use public transportation is to avoid the aggravation of driving during the rush hours, there are times when the bus can be just as annoying. Like last Monday, for example. For whatever reason, the bus was much more crowded than usual, and I was forced to go toward the back and stand up while hanging on the pole in the center of the aisle.

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I love my life. I don't know if this happens to other people but I have a recurring theme in my life where past experiences come back, not to haunt me, but to enrich my life even further. My life is not without pain and tragedy, to be sure, but I think I am blessed with good fortune nonetheless. This story is an unexpected continuation of another tale of mine, "A Night at Karen's House," and I suggest you read the original first.

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