Your erotic stories

I had been teaching at the university for some 30 years, and I had never encountered such an intriguing vision as Soleil in all my days. She is a beauty, and an enigma. She was breathtakingly refreshing and very frustrating...beautiful, yet exasperating. I came to be rather obsessed with this 20 year old vixen from the first time I saw her in class, just something about her that caught my attention: she was half Thai, and half American.

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Kids! Don't try this at home! Unprotected sex leads to many bad things. A fantasy, based on a lovely lady who is not my photography student, nor any sort of partner, sexual or otherwise. Darkrooms are sexy places. Ever since my friend Peter used to feel up girls in the high school yearbook darkroom – with full compliance and complicity – I have known darkrooms to be wonderful places.

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Sabine was walking through the autumn sun. The leaves were swirling down from the trees in the afternoon breeze, occasionally one would tangle in her long red hair. She moved along, paying little attention to her surroundings, lost in her thoughts. Would he be here tonight? He promised he would be. Well, he promised he would try.

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I was so glad to be on the way home. It wasn't a particularly long or difficult date; I was just ready to be home – home to my loving wife of fifteen years. I know it's a cliché, but my wife really is my best friend. They say that a strong marriage is built on good communication. Well, we have a very strong marriage. We talked about everything – all the time. We would send each other short e-mails or text messages several times a day and usually when my wife came home from work we would often sit on the couch just talking for 30-45 minutes as we decompressed (I get home an hour before she does most days).

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There was a light drizzle covering his windshield and clouding his view of the new dance club that had just opened in the industrial park. When he first saw the signs, he thought that maybe they were adding yet another peeler parlour to a small city that was already over run with strip bars and exotic dance clubs. The rumour was though, that this place was definitely not one of those, but a place that was much different and new to this town.

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I love touching my pussy. I love the feeling of my most personal effect in my hand. I love bringing myself to orgasm by playing with my pussy. I love the feeling of being in charge of my own happiness. I love feeling my silken gift at my fingertips, and the feeling of intimacy that it provides for me. I've also had to learn to love all of those things. I've come to love them over the last several years, as masturbation is my only true sexual outlet right now.

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"You could have at least waited for him to come off the operating table." "I couldn't . . . (huff) . . . help it . . . (puff). I think we may have overimplanted the scent. Come over here and . . ." "My God, I think you're right. God, god, finish with it. I must . . . as well. And we can see how well he can take an enhanced size. You're no . . ."

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This is the story of the first and only man I've been with sexually. I had reached early middle age and found myself horny all the time and up late jacking off to internet porn. I especially found myself watching a lot of blow job scenes. I don't get enough or very good head from the wife, and I would occasionally cruise craigslist thinking jeez it would be easy to get a guy to give me an NSA blowjob.

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Dan was alone. After many years of a very happy marriage he lost his beloved wife Mary to cancer. He had taken early retirement in order to look after in the last few months and now he missed her dreadfully. Eighteen months had passed since the funeral and Dan had completed just about every bit of decorating and repair outstanding around the house, including the replacement of the shed and the building of a new summerhouse.

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"I'm sorry, what was that you just said, Mrs. Pettington?" What a tiresome woman. I had just now been distracted from listening to her by the way she snapped her fingers at Kisula and then gave him a distasteful look when he refilled her coffee cup. "I said, Mr. Woolston, that I hardly think we need worry about these rumblings from the tribal huts. England has held this protectorate in Tanzania since the war, and we will do so as long as the London cafés need their coffee."

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