Your erotic stories

"Thin" isn't a word anyone has ever used to describe me. "Beautiful" isn't either. But "sexy"? Well, that's another story. It's funny how long it takes us to come to a realization of who we really are. For me, it took just over 40 years. My whole life I'd struggled with the weight of my own expectations—always wanting to be fifteen or twenty pounds lighter, to have better cheekbones, to have my hair be a better color or my complexion a little better.

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Jan didn't know Carol very well. Of course she had seen Carol around the neighborhood some, and they ran into each other at the grocery sometimes. But they really weren't friends, just acquaintances. Jan had heard things about Carol and her husband Rob. One of the neighborhood rumors was that the couple went to some pretty wild parties, but Jan wasn't sure she believed it. As far as she knew they were just another middle-aged couple.

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For the life of her, Fiona Barrymore could not imagine why she kept attending these things. She had been with Spicer Industries for longer than she cared to remember, working her way up from receptionist to senior vice-president, and yet she could not remember a single Christmas party that was anything more than a wonderful cure for insomnia.

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"Do you want to stop at Subway for lunch?" "Yeah, I'm really hungry." Stacy and I were driving back toward the office after a meeting on the other side of town. We were in different divisions but had worked together on a few projects. Stacy was a 24-year-old strawberry blond who had a cute face behind her somewhat nerdy glasses. She usually wore conservative business attire that made it hard to tell much about her figure;

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