Your erotic stories

I dashed for the phone, hoping to answer it before the voicemail picked up. "Hello," I said, breathing hard. "Ken, it's Sam Clemens." No, not that Sam Clemens. Sam is Samantha Clemens. She and her husband Dave live about two miles from me on Huckleberry Hill Road. We have the only houses for miles, so we've become pretty good neighbors. Dave is a realtor in town. He has done very well financially selling commercial real estate, and it shows.

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The idea is that you get home from work, take off your shoes, grab a beer from the fridge, turn on the TV, sit down, and relax for half an hour. What you do not want is to come home from work, walk in the door and find all your furniture has been tossed about. Neither do you want to hear swearing and clattering and banging coming from further in the apartment, apparently in the kitchen.

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Viv and Harv Robinson's anniversary fell on a Sunday. To celebrate the quarter-century of their legally coupling in the eyes of the state and God, Viv had the bright idea of spicing up their perfunctory conjugal interlude that she knew Harv would engage in only as a token courtesy to her (or else face the silent deep freeze for the next six months).

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It was Thursday night and Michele was in one of those moods. She wanted, no she needed some erotic sexual activity. She didn’t really care what kind as long as it was with someone exciting and warm blooded. Not that she wasn’t choosy, she definitely was choosy. She was just use to getting what she wanted and when she wanted it and she wanted some tonight.

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Two friends play out a ritual during the summer of 1973. . Chapter One: Anticipation. The shower turned off, causing my heart to start beating even faster. The bathroom door was about 6 feet away from the bed where I was pretending to sleep, and I saw the shadows of movement break the light at the bottom of that door. On the other side of that door, my best friend Kenny was probably drying off, and as the steam came out from under the space at the bottom of the door I visualized what Kenny was doing.

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It was a Saturday night, during the Christmas Break and Sarah and I had nothing to do. I actually had a bit of work to get done at my apartment for my business, but, I had been putting it off to spend more time with her. When she got home that afternoon, she suggested we go out, grab something for dinner and run down to my apartment to get my project done, which she volunteered to help with. I really didn't feel like working, but, if it was an excuse to spend time together, I was in!

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You might have seen me once or twice if you happen to visit any of the lonelier cycle paths around Great Britain. I've cycled them all. Mile after mile of empty countryside – away from the cars, away from the people, and away from every other distraction of modern day life. Boring? You've got to be kidding! This is where it all happens – in the natural world, that is; and as a passionate wildlife photographer, this is all that matters to me.

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There is a large house overlooking the ocean. It stands alone on a high dune covered with sea grass. There are many balconies and windows mounted in the dark wood of the outside walls. There is a large picture window in the front of the house, and through the glass, one can see a single figure, standing still and alone. It is a woman. Her name is Passion.

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As long as I can remember, older women fascinated me. At first it was the idea of experience and knowledge that drew me to them, but as I got older I simply realized that it was more than that; it was the idea of forbidden. That's what made it for me. The story I'm about to tell happened few months ago, and not only changed my life but also the lives of many people around me. You have heard the same words over and over again in other tales, but unlike all those others, this one is actually a true one.

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It had been 15 years since her Harold had passed away, and Marge had gotten used to being alone. Of course, she had lady friends, and some male acquaintances, but at 66 years old, she had removed sex from her life, except the occasional fantasy about Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. Harold had been the only man, except for a brief fling with his Best Man right after he passed. She chalked that up to grieving, and they had found comfort in each other, although he felt so guilty afterwards that they stopped it after 2 dates.

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