Your erotic stories

I'm the lawn man. Or boy as some people put it. I don't make lots of money...the work is hard and very physical and most of my clients are old retired people who don't know how to tip or say thanks or even acknowledge me. Most of them do things like leave the money in the mailbox or write me post dated cheques so they don't have to be bothered by me. Some of them are great. They'll leave out some juice or a sandwich.

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"Did you feel me lover? Did you feel my arms around you at night as my lips melted into yours, my tongue searching? Did you feel me kiss your tears away or hear me whisper against your ear my words of a love that would keep you safe and always be with you? Did you ever hate me for who I was? That I was born one of them?

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It's a late summer night, not too hot. The fan and the crickets compete for sound dominance. I'm tired, but I can't sleep and I want to come. Dan is lying perfectly still next to me, hands folded neatly across his belly. I know he's not asleep. He never falls asleep before me. I glance at the clock--six hours and we have to be up. If we fuck, we'll be lucky to get five.

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If you've ever been to Eighth Street in Manhattan you must have noticed the shoe stores. Hundreds of people, tourists, NYU students, serious shoppers, surge into and out of them every day looking for bargains. Every language you can imagine is heard there: Japanese, Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, you get the idea.

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Jill had been over to the house a number of times in the weeks following the Christmas party, and I had to admit I had enjoyed every visit. She seemed to delight in wearing different sexy outfits for me, some provocative and some downright sexual, like the night she wore knee high black leather boots, a leather bustier and nothing else.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are the work of the author's imagination and any similarity to actual persons or places is coincidental or used fictitiously. This is a copyrighted work which may not be reproduced in part or in whole without the author's permission. All characters are 18 years of age or more.

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"Sheri, wake up, baby." Rebecca's soft voice wakes me out of my confusing dream-nightmare of spinning trees and giants waving their arms. I struggle to open my eyes, and my right eye partially opens to see the bright sun shining directly into my eye. I'm immediately blinded, and scream from the pain, then it fades as the throbbing agony in my head registers on my dulled senses.

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"Do you have a club card?" Suddenly I was snapped out of my trance. "Huh? Oh, umm yeah." I fumbled around in my wallet trying to find the card as she smiled at me. I could tell she was amused. I, on the other hand, was embarrassed beyond belief. How long had I been staring at her? "Here you go," I said passing the card to her.

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We'd met only a few hours before as we stood in the Sex Shop browsing over the assorted sex aids, magazines, videos and other interesting things. She was about 30 to 35, tall, blond and very, very attractive. Her breasts pushed attentively forward into her tight sweater and she obviously wasn't wearing a bra because her nipples were clearly visible. He was perhaps a few years older (about my age), slim, dark haired and, as blokes go, pretty good looking too.

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Liz Bradshaw prowled around her spacious apartment, a double shot of vodka in hand. Her angular face bare of any makeup, revealed a good-looking woman just shy of forty who was both lonely and depressed. Mr. Bradshaw had left with no warning some five months back. Liz later learned he'd run off with a twenty year old, leaving Liz with all the bills.

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