Your erotic stories

John felt the tires hit the tarmac as the plane landed with a bump. When the plane rolled to a stop and the 'fasten seatbelt' sign went out, he undid it and stood up to stretch his legs. As he reached up to take out his carry on bag from the compartment above his seat, he felt the heat of a body standing close behind him. He knew it was her; the flight attendant, the one that gave him special attention and bright smiles all during the flight. Her body bumped up to him so tightly that he felt her breasts through his shirt. A hand slipped from his pocket and she quickly moved away.

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A hired car takes me to the door of the hotel and the driver tells me I’m expected. Upon hearing my name, the desk clerk hands me a key card and an envelope. “Top floor, the door on the left.” He looks down for baggage, and seeing none begins to blush. I smile knowingly and make my way to the room.

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Bobby Garfield was taking a walk around the property he had inherited from his grandmother. It was an old farm with a large stone farmhouse, a large wooden barn with stables underneath. It had been almost completely restored, but as a computer consultant, he had little time for country living.

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It all started on Saturday night when my wife (Patricia) and myself ( Ray) went out for supper and a few drinks with her sister Silenia and her husband Joesph. We went to this new BBQ type restaurant located not far from our place. We arrived a few minutes early at the restaurant and decided to grab a quick drink in the lounge before Silenia and Joesph arrived. We sit down and ordered our drinks. I look at wife and admired what she's wearing, a v-neck type blouse that's open enough to show some cleavage.

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Midlife crisis in men is a myth. What happens is that the wife starts nearing her menopause and the change in her hormones drives him out. My wife is ten years my junior at forty-five and just getting started. What used to be just PMS is now a full-blown psychotic episode. About a week or so before her not so regular period it gets so bad that she actually throws me out. I love the woman dearly but she really pushes the old "in sickness and in health" clause.

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The late afternoon sun shines strongly, casting long shadows on the ground. I search through the crowd, looking for my friends amid the mass of people standing, staring towards the stage. Where I am is still some way from the band currently playing, with only the tallest able to get a decent view. So everyone is mostly stood like near-inanimate zombies, their only movements are the odd step to the side, or a tilting of their heads as they seek that perfect view of a few guys playing guitars and drums.

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Cliff took me for granted. For some reason he thought I was safe. Once I overheard him tell one of those guys he brought home that he wanted only straight roommates, guys who wouldn't hit on him, because he only wanted to fuck when he was in the mood. Well, he had been in the mood a lot these past several weeks.

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I live alone in my own apartment in the suburbs. Most of my time is spent working long hours so that doesn't give me much time keeping my place in order. I thought it might be a good idea to get myself a housekeeper or at the very least someone just to clean up and keep the place in somewhat of an orderly fashion.

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I don't really care much for politics. I'm neither a Democrat nor a Republican. I'm not liberal or conservative. I'm just -- well somewhere between Independent and "I don't give a shit." Therefore some might consider it very strange -- I know that my parents did -- that in early July, 2011, I took a sabbatical from college to work on Republican Colorado Senator June Jepson's presidential campaign. The reason -- I was fascinated by her.

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Kayla laid her arm across my chest and pressed her warm, sweaty body against mine, nuzzling her face into my neck. "That was great baby," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Thanks." "No need to thank me," I returned, wrapping my arm around her. "I think you did all the work this time." Kayla let out a giggle as she snuggled closer.

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