Your erotic stories

Laura and I had arrived in Jamaica only four hours before. We hadn’t been ballsy enough to bring our own pot and decided that we needed to look for some. As everyone knows, the island is swimming in the stuff and we didn’t think there would be any problem.

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Saturday night, and you are goin' out! Mothers of Boston hide your sons. Your husband, Steve, is out of town for another conference - this is ten weeks in a row - and your best friend Joanne wants to take you to a local club. She says it's where she goes when she wants to let loose, play a little pool, maybe flirt a bit. (and we KNOW how you like to flirt!) You're wearing your new red short wraparound skit and a white silk blouse, and you look at yourself in the mirror.

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We'd only lived in the neighbourhood a few weeks, so when I first saw him mowing the lawn as I pulled into the driveway, I thought it might have been my own mistake. But no, I checked the house number, and I saw my wife's car in the other parking spot, so I knew I was in the right place. I shrugged and got out of the car. I reached back in for my briefcase, and then watched the young man mowing our lawn as I walked to the front door.

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I am one lucky son of a bitch. There. I said it. I have a life any other guy would kill to have. And I have no idea why, except when genes play a role. It certainly isn't because I'm a genius, because I'm not. I'm not the biggest, the fastest, the strongest, or the best athlete. I'm sure as hell not rich. Just lucky. Now, I did mention genes helped out, and I wasn't lying. I mean, I'm pretty average-looking: brown hair, green eyes, thin, six feet tall even, straight teeth.

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Maxine stepped into the new black tube dress she'd bought and pulled it up over her body. It clung to every curve and she immediately regretted buying it. Her usual style was simple and classic, cut to her knee with a sensible neckline. The saleswoman told her that she wasn't to wear a bra or panties, as it would ruin the 'line'. At the time Maxine had dismissed her advice but now, looking in the mirror, she could understand.

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My friend Jason had come a long way to visit me in Annapolis. The drive from northern Maine took him well over 14 hours and he had been exhausted. He said the trip had done him good. The driving had given him a lot of time to think about the events of the last few weeks when his wife left him for another man.

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