Your erotic stories

'Jade's calling round tomorrow.' Brenda Thorpe announced abruptly from the kitchen. 'Is she?' Caitlyn looked up from her magazine, surprised by her mother's sudden statement. 'I thought she'd been banned from seeing me?' 'You're both eighteen for God's sake. Even her high and mighty mother shouldn't be telling her what to do now.' 'True, but I didn't think she'd want to call anyway.'

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You'd think graduate students would be better behaved, right? I mean, we're adults, we've done the college partying thing. We're there to get our degrees, basically, and that's about it. At least, that's the theory. And while, for the most part, my experience doing graduate work was like that, there was one particular incident that veered so far off the path of "appropriate" it probably would have gotten all three of us kicked out if we'd been caught.

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I'm going to do what they say people of my age (the thick end of sixty plus) are best at; I'm going reminisce about my youth. For me this was towards the end of the nineteen-fifties, when rock-and-roll ruled over drainpipe trousers and drape jackets and everyone jived to Elvis, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, etc. In England it was the time of the 'ton-up boy' who rode motorbikes with British names and who wore leather jackets liberally sprinkled with metal studs.

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I've always felt attracted to younger men. Some time ago, there was family living next to me in our small neighborhood. This was several years after my husband had died. I'd finally begun to feel somewhat whole again and yet the loneliness was getting me down. I had sexual cravings I hadn't felt in a long time and thought I'd go crazy if they weren't satisfied by someone, and soon.

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It had all started innocently enough. We had just finished the gig when Bill came up and offered to buy us both a drink. To be honest I couldn't remember his name at first, but Julie my partner and vocalist, whispered it into my ear as Bill went to the bar. Julie's much better than me at remembering names, and has often got me out of embarrassing moments.

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Bobbie maneuvered carefully down the dirt road that was rapidly disappearing under the heavy snow fall. Old Ned Hoover had said he saw someone prowling around the bluffs at the back of her property. Sneaking back here at the beginning of what was forecast to be the worst snow storm of the year was not necessarily smart, but she was well prepared for weather and trouble.

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Coming home after four long months in hospital was indescribable. My wife, Robyn, fussed over me, ensuring my comfort. There was still a long road ahead with physiotherapy twice a week for at least the next six months would. The doctors assured me a return of 80% of what the drunk driver took from me when he hit me head-on. A good part of the 20% that would never be returned was my ability to achieve an erection due to damage done to that area.

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Three of us were sitting together in the company cafeteria having lunch. Because all three of us are married men the conversations usually were about sports, politics, money or occasionally, sex. If one of our offspring had done something noteworthy we allowed a little time for parental bragging. All three of us were in the age group where our offspring were either out-of-the-house at college or out-of-the-house married and gone.

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It was around Christmas that I had broken up with my boyfriend and wasn't really looking to date anyone. My best friend Toni gave me a gift certificate to a fancy new day spa as a way to lift my spirits. She talked me taking a day off to do something for myself as the New Year's Party was later that week.

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The first time I saw Ellen Rothko was when I walked into Boyle's Antiques on Clark Street, looking for old records. She was showing a woman some antique earrings, their heads bent over the display case, and when she heard me come in she looked up and caught my eye, shocked me with her beauty, and then lowered her face again, leaving me standing there gaping like an idiot.

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