Your erotic stories

I had to chuckle when I heard the door open behind me seconds after I had sidled up to the trough-like urinal that ran along the wall of the men's room of the bar I had been killing time in. Maybe it comes with age, but for some reason I knew that I was going to have company, and I really didn't need to look to see who my bathroom companion was.

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I'd not long returned from my morning 8k run and still had an adrenaline buzz so, after checking my e-mails I decided to have a scroll through a couple of my favourite porn sites and have a nice leisurely wank, when there was a knock on my flat door. As I approached the door I rearranged my stiff cock to avoid any embarrassment. When I opened the door halfway to see who the caller was my jaw nearly hit the floor like a Tom & Jerry cartoon.

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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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Martin sat in the dark of his bedroom and stared out the window into the night. His modest home where he and his wife June had raised their 3 children was quiet now. He could hear June breathing softly in her sleep. The dog rustled and snorted in his sleep but Martin was still awake. He was nearing retirement and the accounting of his retirement capital wasn't looking too good. Though he had worked consistently and hard through his 40+ years of employment, the money just did not seem to stick to his savings account.

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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 was still getting used to being on my own. My wife and I had divorced almost a year ago and when she packed up and moved out, it was the first time in many years that I had no one else to think of as I planned whatever it is that I would be doing. I had been in a funk recently but could feel that time had begun to work its healing magic and I was getting ready to renter life amongst the living. I had bought my wife out as part of the settlement and managed to keep the house but unfortunately since the divorce, I had lost interest in the yard and it showed.

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On the surface the two couples seemed to be too different to have much in common; but, as they say, looks can be deceiving. Darren and Jane on one hand were the quintessential urban family couple. Expressive, vocal, involved, engaged -- the best way to describe them both was "Larger than Life". They coached, managed and volunteered countless hours over the years with the kids' sports. They were tireless fundraisers for charities and good-causes all over the place. Always busy, always doing, always larger than life.

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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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