Your erotic stories

"Well buddy, it's been a long time. Come on I'll buy lunch." Ralph said. "We have a lot to catch up on. How's Sally? Still as gorgeous as always? I sure would like to see her again." We went around the corner to a greasy spoon restaurant, sat and ordered burgers and fries. Having not seen each other for a couple years we had a lot to catch up on.

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"Nice day to wash a car isn't it?" Dean walked up the driveway seeing his friend's mother in cut-off jean shorts and a black bikini top washing the car. "Oh yeah! Nice and sunny out this morning!" She replied back with a smile while pulling the soapy sponge out of the bucket of water. "Hank home?" He tried his best keeping his eyes off her body if she just happened to look over his way while talking.

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Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

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Carl was a large young man, heavily built but in the manner of a fit sportsman rather than an overweight desk jockey. He looked slow and his smooth forehead seemed unlikely to ever be wrinkled by deep thoughts. A casual onlooker would assume him to be a dumb jock, unfit for anything other than manual labour when he wasn't playing sport.

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The early night air was warm and the skies clear enough to see the crescent moon shining brightly, the stars around acting like a thousand small fireflies as they danced gracefully, adding to the beauty. A tall, lone figure descended the Central Library steps on this particular New Zealand Spring night, late in the season, it was November. The figure paused to look up and admiring the beauty, took a photo with her IPhone 4, then continued walking towards the bus platform a few streets over.

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My day ends much the same as any other. I get home from work, stressed, but relieved another loan closed and funded. You are already home, having left your job a bit early. You are grinning wildly; so much I have to ask what is up. You simply state you have a surprise for me and ask if I am game. I can tell from your excited looks that it must be a really good one. I tell you I am up to almost anything, if I can shower first. You nod and state that a shower would be a good idea.

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I'd just showered and put on some make up when I got a text from you. "Just landed, at baggage claim, can I stop by for a bit?" It had been over a week since I'd seen you and I wasn't really expecting to for another day or two. You'd been stuck in California for days longer than you had expected. "Of course" I replied.

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As I walk to towards the water, I slowly shed the scraps of material covering my breasts and the short tight curls of my pubic region. I push my hair out of my eyes and dive into the warm deep water. I slowly rinse your pleasure from my face and decide to swim off my extra tension till you come down to join me.

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I met Lynne for a drink after work. She said she wanted to talk to me about something which means that she more than likely has a match for me. Lynne runs a lesbian match making service. As long as both parties pay the fee for the match it is not legally prostitution. I pay a very small fee and my matches almost always pay a very hefty fee which Lynne and I split 50—50. That comes really close to prostitution and when you factor in the tips that I get, well . . . .

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I would like to tell you of an extraordinary episode in my life. It was a time of growth and transformation, a sort of rite of passage if you will, that began when I met an amazing woman named Claire just a few days after my 24th birthday. She lived on the same floor as me in an apartment building that also housed a big indoor swimming pool. It was there that we first met. She was then, by the way, 68 years old.

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