Your erotic stories

Jan's thoughts drifted as she reined her horse to the right at the intersection. She did not know where this road led, but exploring her new "neighborhood" was on the goals of her long Saturday evening rides. She had just been transferred to this small West Texas town from Boston, and she had resigned herself to make the most of it. She had enjoyed riding in her early teen years, and since she now found herself living in a part of the country where everyone seemed to own at least one horse.

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Ramona got out of the shower and dried herself off, wrapping the towel securely around her curves... just yesterday she'd run into her father's friend Victor after her shower and she'd been so startled that she'd jumped and the towel had fallen to the floor. Although it now gave her a rush of excitement when she saw Victor - even though he was almost twenty-five years older than her 20 years and was very attractive - she didn't want to repeat the experiment. Especially because today her dad was home since it was the weekend.

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He sat in his favorite chair, on the back deck, enjoying the afternoon sun. He was feeling sorry for himself remembering old times with his ex-wife. Their union had not been the most exciting life experience. He, was however, looking forward to his ritual afternoon pleasure. He was on his fourth or maybe fifth beer when she finally made her appearance, his next-door neighbor who on any bright sunny afternoon made her ablutions to the sun god wearing nothing but a skimpy two-piece bathing suit. She was too young for him to guess her age, but he took a stab at it noting the maturity of her curves the width of her gorgeous hips and guessed between twenty-eight and thirty-five.

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I spent most nights of my senior year in high school babysitting. It was my parent's fault, really. Apparently having a real job would affect my grades too much, so I was stuck earning my money by spending my nights in various houses, feeding Kraft Dinner and hot dogs to hyper-active kids while their parents took a night off.

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When she crossed over I-80, Nancy snuggled her lean frame into the soft leather that was wrapped around the driver's seat and kicked off her heels. The countryside and farms blurred beside her and she day-dreamed as the car continued its course, almost on autopilot, down I-57 towards Champaign, Illinois. She enjoyed these drives. They represented the only time during the week when she could shut down, block out the irritations of her life.

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My parents started teaching my brothers and me at a very young age the importance of helping others, though they stressed that helping wasn't necessarily limited to the less fortunate or the poor or the needy. Basically what they taught was that if someone was lacking an ability or resource that you possessed, the right thing to do was to offer it to them. We were also taught to do this out of the goodness of our hearts rather than for personal gain, but we learned that the people we were helping usually did not want to be considered charity cases, so they'd often overcompensate by paying us extremely well for our help.

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"I'm worried about my boys, Marge," Gina Smith confessed to her best friend after church one day. "Why?" Marge replied. "You're a great mother, and your boys seem happy and they do ok in school, right?" "I know... maybe I'm over thinking, but I feel like they need more of a male influence in their lives. Clancy never was around that much right after the divorce, and he rarely calls now than he and Kimmy have moved to California," Gina said, practically spitting out the name of her ex-husband's new, younger wife.

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CHAPTER 1 Half an hour before dawn the unmelodic noise of raucous Kookaburras awoke Greta and she used a corner of a sheet to dab the light patches of perspiration between her breasts and under her chin before she dropped back to sleep in the cloying warmth of subtropical paradise. Paradise?

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This move was a big step for me. After being married for thirty years I finally had my kids raised and was left without a life, neither; personal, professional nor sexual as we'd been living apart in the same house for two years. I finally made the decision to leave and make my own way again. Needless to say, much was my own fault as I tolerated the neglect and did so from personal fears and the loathing to be on my own with two kids, but none the less, as I approached my thirty year anniversary I kept asking myself, "Do you want another thirty years like this?" and the answer came back every time as "fuck no!".

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At my age, 56, sex with a young girl means someone who's 40 or maybe even 36. Anyone younger than that you start to feel as if you are committing some sort of crime and will be busted by the police and end up in prison as some guy's bitch. Maybe that's what keeps some of us "in line." I've been single for ten years now and have dated numerous women although that special one has been quite elusive.

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