Your erotic stories

Lisa closed her eyes and tried to remember every second of her dance with Craig last night. They had been at a small dinner party at the beach. She had gone with her mother and hadn't dressed to impress anyone. After all, everyone there knew everyone else. What she didn't know was that Craig's wife had passed away since she had seen him last, and this was supposed to be his first outing since the funeral.

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Privately, I call her ‘Little Miss Sulky’. Tara, my wife’s daughter from her first marriage is a mass of seething teenage hormones and temper tantrums wrapped up in a nicely curved-in-all-the-right-places, curly-blonde-headed package. She is an fairly ordinary, nice looking kid…no that’s not right, emerging young woman…or rather, she would be without the constant sulkily pouting lips and sullen frown. She really is very pretty when she smiles, which is all too seldom.

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It was hellishly hot, the wind made a halfhearted effort to blow the dust from around Sally's feet but the effort was too much and the dust scarcely lifted. Five kilometers down the road Sally had abandoned her car, water pump failure, shit, on this Godforsaken stretch of road of all places. No-one ever drove alone here, the only reason she had come this way was because the distance was shorter.

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Before I begin this tale I must tell you, this is not another one of those Cinderella stories, life, as I've learned, is hardly a fairy tale. Besides, I would look really bad in a dirty white, raggedy dress. I wasn't born to a step mother with two evil step sisters, I'm hardly prince charming and I sure ain't the fairy godmother. I'm just me; plain old me. I guess I should start at the beginning so things don't turn out backwards. Yes, life hasn't been a walk in the park for me, nor was I born with a golden spoon in my mouth, more like a pitiful request for a morsel of food.

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Like most hot blooded men, I have always fantasized about having sex with more than one woman but, being married to a conservative catholic, I was resigned to never realize this fantasy. So, when I ended up having sex with my wife and two of her best friends, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. It all started on Monday morning with a call from my wife. A friend of ours that owns a beach house located only a couple of hours drive from our home had called Karen.

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Toby confessed that he'd been a virgin when he'd met Valerie. He was red in the face and seemed on the point of tears when he told her that he'd sucked a few cocks when he was at uni. He said that he'd presumed it was just a phase because he fell in love with her, but that he still thought about men and his voice grew very quiet as he confessed to lusting after their gorgeous neighbour Patrick.

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The events that I now reminisce about occurred one winter, and spring, a few years back and they changed my life. My hometown is not a large one so it is common to see the same people who frequent the neighborhood regularly. A small group of my co-workers with would often meet at the town bars, and other local events, for some drinks and to unwind. Although I was a woman who was not attracted to men, in our group I was never harshly judged for my sexual preferences.

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At the nudist club I belong to, I had met Lynn and Jim on a number of occasions and we had become friends of sorts, often joining in the same games, or swimming together or simply talking. At about my own age, they were an attractive couple in their early forties. He was fairly tall, a bit over 6 feet, slim-waisted and well muscled, still with most of his hair, always with a ready smile and nothing seemed to faze him.

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“Watch out for the bat!” I ducked just in time as a flying toy buzzed through the plastic hair on my Frankenstein’s monster mask and crashed into the wall. Immediately, two girls rushed to retrieve it. First to get there was a sensuous Black Cat. With her buxom build and auburn hair flowing down her black velvet back, I guessed that it was Kitty Rourke, the head cheerleader at Hooterville High and a notorious cocktease.

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Jane Pretty looked at the watch on her wrist. Girard Perregaux : a Swiss watch, tasteful and elegant. Like her suit: Chanel ready to wear; prêt à porter, chic and professional. Single, thirty-seven, a high-priced therapist, she spent her money on fine things. It gave her satisfaction to surround herself with them. She crossed her legs, the friction of her pantyhose like a faint shimmer of sound, her black suede pumps stretching her ankle attractively, but not erotically, the toes not too pointed. She leaned over and sipped from her bottle of water.

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