Your erotic stories

Thanks for reading this story! It's my first one so feel free to leave criticism in the comments. I've wanted to write erotica for a long time and I finally put a story together. This is a shorter story. I've got plans to continue it so stay tuned!

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Divorce didn't figure to be a matter of any particular concern to Josie. Both she and her husband had done well in their careers. If need be she could live well on her own salary plus royalties, but she didn't need to. Rod had been so anxious to shed his middle-aged wife in order to marry the girl barely older than their daughter he agreed to give Josie whatever her lawyer asked.

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There had been quite a group of them there together when they first hit the beach. It had been a hot day and it seemed that everyone they knew had decided to spend it on the beach. With the cool change most people had packed up and gone. Even the surf had died down. There was still a little group of friends there. There was only a few of them now and they were the last. Once they were gone the beach would be deserted.

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My wife and I had been together for several years. Among our friends were the obligatory one or two exes. In particular was my ex fiancé. One week, she was feeling especially down so we decided to invite her out with us to the comedy club for some laughs and a few drinks.

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Liz sighed, watching an especially amorous young couple who had obviously forgotten they were on a public beach. He was gorgeous, and as much as Liz would have liked to live vicariously through the redhead he was pawing for a few minutes, she blew her whistle anyway. The pair looked more than a little embarrassed when they finally realized after the second tweet that the whistle was meant for them.

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I had sat there at Joey's beachside bar for more than an hour, watching the young man playing in the surf. When I'd first arrived at the bar, both bored and out of sorts, I'd seen him on his surfboard, riding the waves and doing quite well at it. At length, however, I saw him tire of that and come up on the beach and bury the tip of the board into the wet sand, with a strong force that, in itself, would have arrested my attention.

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I can describe beauty. It stands tall and slender at the rails of the boardwalk, allowing the sea breeze to dance with white hair glowing in the moonlight. It is elegance wrapped in a cream-colored mock turtleneck sweater and matching cashmere slacks. Beauty is a countenance of serenity, absorbing the power and wonder of creation knowing all share a common source.

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All the time I was standing out on the balcony of Colleen Addison's house fourteen miles south of Athens, in Voula, overlooking Greece's Miroon Sea, and engaging in chit chat with her and the man who was introduced to me merely as Sam from the Economic Section, I kept thinking that I knew him from someplace but couldn't place him.

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It was supposed to be wonderful. Patricia's son -- her pride and joy -- was only weeks away from attending college. The freshman semester would be starting soon and they were both overjoyed. So it came as a complete shock when she saw Tyler coming home that Saturday morning with a frown on his face. He had just returned from a fraternity meeting in which eligibility for new membership was explained.

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The roses are blooming in the rather plain jar on my desk. It's a canning jar, it once held pickles I think, like the jars that used to line the shelves in your kitchen. The florist thinks I'm ridiculous for my regular purchase of three roses, one pale pink, two darker pink, but they remind me so much of you.

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