Your erotic stories

Kayla had had a hard day. Her boss was giving her a hard time; her ex-boyfriend was doing the same. All she wanted to do was to have people just leave her alone. After she got home, all she wanted to do was to get drunk & forget about her day. She had a few too many beers & went to bed with a spinning head. Sometime during the night, she heard a sound that wasn't one of the usual nighttime sounds that she was familiar with.

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Like many Literotica contributors I get a number of personal feedback messages from readers -- a few are full of bile; but most are constructive and positive. Some have ended up in me in corresponding with readers and other authors fairly regularly. This is a story of how correspondence led to more than that - an afternoon and evening of debauched sex.

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Roger Calkins turned the red Corvette off the rural highway onto the gravel road leading to his grandparents' house, his wife Anita seated beside him. He was looking forward to spending the Christmas and New Year's holidays with his family, however Anita was not. Oh, everyone was pleasant enough and glad to see her, but she missed her own family in the Czech Republic. She had met Roger at a café in Paris where she was studying Art History at the Sorbonne and he was working at the United States Embassy in Paris.

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It was winter, about 9PM, and I was in my living room watching football and eating ice cream when I heard the telltale sound of keys jingling and footsteps in the hall. I leaped to my feet as my heart rate spiked -- my sexy neighbor was home! I ran to my door to shove my eye into the peep hole.

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When I awoke in the early morning I was feeling horny, still pleasantly excited from the previous evening and wasn't surprised to feel my erection pressing hard against the shorts I was wearing. The latter part of the previous evening had been spent drinking and talking to Bob and Tony about anything else that came to mind but mainly sex.

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It felt so very good to be really clean, squeaky clean as her Mom used to say when she was a little girl. Louise could have stayed in the hot biting shower for hours and let the wonderful water stream over her body. It had been more than a week since she had last showered and had the opportunity to wash her short brown hair. It was a wonderful public service that the church shelter offered to the homeless. She wished that she came in to take advantage of it every day as it made her feel so much better about herself.

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It was 4:30 p.m. and already dark one dreary, rainy late January day in Portland. As usual, I stopped by my local Fred Meyer store to buy some items for dinner. One trip to Montreal years ago and, ever since, I've liked buying just enough fresh items for dinner each night. I even shop with an old web sack that I got when I bought too many oranges. It is a ritual now. I see some familiar faces and get to talk to few people briefly before heading to my quiet house and the evening news.

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My wife Cynthia died on a Monday. She had been unconcerned when she started spotting between her periods and didn't bother me with the concerns of her gynoclogist until the diagnosis came back, uterine cancer. The cancer was stage IV and highly aggressive, the doctor didn't sugarcoat the results. Cynthia fought hard, surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, but in the end the diagnosis had come too late.

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You would think that a trip to Florence Italy for business would be the best of both worlds. A storied city full of some of the greatest art and architecture of the Western world, a myriad of options for dining, all while being paid to a job that should be easy. Notice the should, it hasn't been. Ever had one of those days when everything that can go wrong does and yet somehow you still think you might be making progress?

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Well over a year ago now, my parents decided to move into one of those assisted living places, or retirement homes if you will. I was a little surprised by that when they did, but after seeing the brochures and such where they'd be living, I could certainly understand why. My folks had done very well for themselves. Dad had owned his own business (which I was now running) and had tucked away a nice tidy amount of money to retire on.

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