Your erotic stories

Over the years lots of things had changed in my life. Marriages had begun and ended, kids grown up and left home, houses bought and sold, eyesight got worse, and my once fit body betrayed me. Here I was at 61 with only one vestige of my youth, my sex drive. And, because of medical problems, I couldn't get a hard on to save my life.

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"Oh, look," Carrie says "another adult bookstore. What is that? The 5th one we've seen on this highway? "Yeah, at least," I reply, "what is it about highways in rural Missouri? I guess truckers must be the horniest profession known to man." We watched the signs as we passed by the XXX Adult and Novelty Store. There were a couple cars in the parking lot, but probably not more than the folks who worked there.

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PART I. I was overwhelmed while doing my makeup. I had to concentrate on making sure my fingers didn't twitch, sending the blush in all directions. I was so turned on it wasn't even funny. When I finished, and then gave my hair a last look, I left the bathroom, and my very high heels clicked across my apartment floor and back into my bedroom.

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"I've seen the way you look at me," I whispered in her right ear, my body brushing against her back, my nose flirting with her straight hair, my mouth hanging an inch away from her skin, my own flesh surprised that I had the will to halt its road to her neck and achingly begging me to tilt forward just a little bit more.

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I was traveling with my workmate, Jim, to several of our company's field offices around the US. We were good pals, which made the 2-week work trip a lot more fun that it might've been otherwise. I'd recently broken up with a girl that I'd been going with for a few years and, to be honest, I was fucking horny. Jim was one of those perpetually single types - you know, a different girl every week. We'd both decided that we'd get as laid as often as we could on the trip.

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There must be something inherently lucky about February 29--leap day. That's the day I went to get my hair cut by the gal Carla who's been cutting my hair for over a year. She does an excellent job and has an interesting personality, so I always wait for her. To tell you the truth, I originally selected her because she's good looking.

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It was about a half hour after my husband left for work that my best friend, Karen arrived. I was expecting her to show up, Jack and I'd just had our new pool filled for the first time, and Karen had been almost more excited about us getting it than we had been.

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Next month I shall be sixty-seven years old. Before then there will be the fifth anniversary of the day my darling Dorothy was taken from me. A merciful release, said people who had known of her illness; and so it was. I still think of her, of course, and that is why I cannot help feeling just a little guilty about the turn my life has taken in the intervening years.

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My two best guy friends, Jake and Derek, came over that Saturday morning to cheer me up. I poured three cups of fresh coffee and set out a plate of danishes, a sinful treat in honor of my being dumped by Stephen, my boyfriend of three years. Neither Jake nor Derek had the decency to look like they felt bad for me. "What you need," Jake said, as he chewed on a cheese danish, "is to purge him from your system."

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I'd never had a massage in the UK. I'd never needed one or wanted the sort of pleasure I gained from attending spas in such places as Crete, Thailand and Spain. I had enjoyed those. They were part relaxing, part sheer pleasure and part, I knew, but they were not sold that way, part erotic. But now I needed one. I needed a proper massage. My back was so tight and had been for two weeks now. I had to do something.

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