Your erotic stories

This is a memory of my first time with a good friend. It happened in the 1980s in a small town in California. The first time I was with another girl was my senior year in high school, just after I'd turned 18. I was a bit of a late bloomer but by my senior year I'd finally started to fill out, get noticed by boys, and, I suppose, give myself permission to be interested in sex. My boobs were small, an A cup at best for most of my first three years but by my senior year they'd grown into a solid B and my hips started to expand and I felt more comfortable in my own skin. I stood about 5'5 with shoulder length, dark brown hair. I was an athlete and in good shape and as my body matured, it was nice to feel like I fit in a bit more and that made me less self-conscious.

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"I am not going to apologize." He was adamant. He refused to apologize. She was not going to convince him that he owed Patsy an apology, neither was he was going to tell her what really happened. She might explode. "Dad, just call her, alright? She wants you to call. You do not need to use the word, "apology," but you do need to call her. She said you left, just walked out." "Oh, alright, Mary Ann, I'll talk to her later, but I'm busy right now." He thought if he offered a good enough excuse to his daughter, she would hang up and leave him alone.

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I was leaving to go out for the night, my mother reminded me that Lucy's house was being fumigated for termites and that she would be spending the night. I felt my cock twinge with excitement the minute I heard those words come out of my mother's mouth. Lucy was my next-door neighbor. She was 45 and beautiful. About 5'3, 110 pounds, Latin with bronze skin. I had always fantasized fucking her from behind while she spoke in Spanish; telling me to "fuck her harder.”

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I swear, stories like the one I'm about to tell you only happen in two places: porno movies and college. I, like a lot of young American women, did things back in college that I would NEVER consider doing now. But, having said that, I sure am glad I got to do them then! These days I'm happily married and have two children and would never dream of doing anything to jeopardize losing my family.

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Steve Cooper had been separated from his wife for nine months now. The thirty-eight year old had been married for 12-years and was shocked to learn that his wife had been cheating on him with a co-worker. Now he lived alone and hadn’t dated anyone since his wife had left him. When Steve first saw Arcey he was instantly attracted to her. He knew that the Latino girl had no interest in him.

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Sweat dripped her brow. She smoothed her skirt over her nylon-clad thighs. Slender legs led to fuck me pumps underneath a cream-colored business suit tailored to show off her every curve. She looked one last time in the mirror, tugging her brown curls. She tucked one behind her ear before walking out of the bathroom and down the hall towards Bruce Callahan's office.

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Hi, I'm Steve. I'm 41 years old and generally consider myself a kinky, but normal guy. I had met Michelle in a hotel bar in Houston. I was there on business attending a conference when we struck up a conversation. Though I was from St. Louis, I visited Houston often for clients. She was from Houston, which proved lucky for me.

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Chapter 1 The normally pretty, teenaged face of Janet Kline was not very nice to look at as she tore open the door to her home. It was a mask of betrayal and hatred. She slammed the door, rattling the windows. She leaned against it catching her breath. Her breasts rising and falling in the frilly white blouse she wore.

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It was hot! Not the kind of heat one would feel in most areas of the country in July, but the humid, oppressive heat that was common in any part of South Florida except the beaches. That's what it was like when Josh stepped out the rear door of the nondescript concrete block house in the Northwest part of Fort Lauderdale. The house had been built in the forties by a family who had aspired towards farming without success and now existed as a lonely rental structure a good three miles from the center of town just a few hundred feet from the North branch of New River.

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The sun is setting on this Friday marking the end of a work day and work week. I watch the dynamically shifting color change while my car speeds along the two-lane highway. Although your email lacked specific details, I grabbed my backpack and jumped in the car anyway the sheer thrill of a weekend with you sets me in motion.

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