Your erotic stories

"I'm not ready to go back yet, but it's not like there's anything I can do about it, so I might as well just go with it," I said, half-staring down at my own feet. It was the day before I would begin the long four of years of the hell that was high school, and although I was intrigued by the idea of new people, a new building, and hopefully better food, my excitement and enthusiasm ended there. I had despised being a freshman in junior high, and I was just about to endure another year of the lowly freshman life, this time in a slightly bigger building.

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Late, late, late -- I am going to be late. I muttered this mantra to myself as I ran to my car. It was 7:32 and I was supposed to check in by 8:15 at the seminar. I was headed to a teacher's seminar at a hotel about forty-five minutes from my house. The day was already hot and humid. I needed to pick up a few extra classes so I would have a better chance at getting a substitute teaching job at one of the schools close by.

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"This little piggy went to market." "What are you doing?" Cosmo did not reply. Instead, he proceeded on to her second toe, taking it between his thumb and index finger, wiggling it back and forth. "This little piggy stayed home." "You are so weird!" "This little piggy had roast beef." He changed his inflexion to a low, pouting tone and continued, "and this little piggy, he had none."

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Back in college, I met this one girl and we started to get to know each other fairly well in classes and in passing. She had a live-in boyfriend named Bruce, a guy in the drama club. After we'd known each other a couple months, she finally asked to stop by their place on Friday night and we'd have some beers.

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Tim yawned hugely as he padded downstairs, an empty glass in his hand. He almost tripped over his feet at the bottom, and steadied himself with a muted curse. The morning was cool, the house enveloped in a pre-dawn glow. He walked into the kitchen, resting the glass in the sink. Butterball, the fat ginger queen of his home, wrapped herself around his legs. He smiled, and felt the cat's purr against his leg. He bent to retrieve the cat food from under the sink.

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"Tom, I'm happy you're home from college for the summer, but we just can't give you money anymore like we used to. We need every dollar we have, and if you have the chance to earn some on your own, even if it's just a day job, you have to take it." "Mom, this isn't a job. This is...labor." "It's $100, and all you have to do is spend a few hours boxing up some stuff and taking out trash.

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We were in the middle of a meeting of the Auditorium staff when someone, Bill I think, came up with the idea to have one or more of us show up during an event and actually ask the people watching the event. We had been brain storming to come up with an idea to get people to tell us how to improve the service we were providing for people. One person thought we should change the name from Auditorium to Event Center, and advertise more of the type of events happening there.

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There really isn't all that much to tell but once in a while something will happen to change that. Being a 59-year-old retired widower in a condominium full of widows, I am both well fed and well taken care of, sexually. (By the way, as you get older, there are a lot more single women than men and many of them are horny.)

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After fifteen years of marriage, I had noticed a sudden decline in the frequency of sex with my wife, Lyn. This had happened over the three weeks or so. Until then, although we were conventional, it was satisfying for both of us – or so I thought. Now, it had become the usual story of “I’m so tired, I just want to go to sleep.”

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I closed my lips over Sir Guy's cock and pushed his foreskin down with them, my tongue going to opening and flicking down into his piss slit as my mouth slowly took more and more of him inside the moist warmth of my mouth cavity. He sighed contentedly and ran his fingers through my hair. He reached up and pulled my cock down to his lips and started returning the compliment.

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