Your erotic stories

On a very hot and unreasonably humid summer day around the middle of August, I found myself on the receiving end of Mrs. Nadine Broome's affections. I was mowing her lawn that day because their regular groundsman was off sick and word was getting about that my services were excellent and highly recommended. The lawn covered approximately 6 acres alongside the River Thames. In some ways it looked more like a bowling green than anything else, Rob always mowed and groomed it to perfection.

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Any time of change in one's life can be scary as well as exciting. Ron Matthews thought of this has he sat in his assigned chair on the football field, preparing to walk across the stage and receive his high school diploma. His father had always told him not to be afraid of the future but to embrace it. Still, it was going to be difficult going from an eighteen year old high school senior and all-star basketball player at Northville High School to an unknown freshman at Mid-State University.

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The first best word to describe me by is ordinary. The second best word to use is horny as it is possible for a 25 year old young man to be. Add in slender, heavy glasses, insecure, and an almost complete lack of any line of rap? Well, you get the picture. The problem with that combination is that to hook up with a female, I have to work harder at it than some of my buds.

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It was just past closing time as I looked through the shop window with great interest in the quiet side street I found myself on. I had the night to kill being away with business and had gone for a walk around the town's small streets before I went for something to eat. It was filled with corsets, girdles, suspenders and bras, all for the more middle aged but discerning lady. A couple of torso dummies at either end of the window display showed some lacy attire that really had me thinking.

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It had been 15 years since her Harold had passed away, and Marge had gotten used to being alone. Of course, she had lady friends, and some male acquaintances, but at 66 years old, she had removed sex from her life, except the occasional fantasy about Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise. Harold had been the only man, except for a brief fling with his Best Man right after he passed. She chalked that up to grieving, and they had found comfort in each other, although he felt so guilty afterwards that they stopped it after 2 dates.

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A new family had moved into our area this year and their son Danny Watkins and mine Alan had befriended each other, I didn't particularly like him, I couldn't quite put my finger on it but there was this feeling about him I didn't like. He seemed to be one of those bad boys to me, but he had never done anything to make the really unreasonable assumption I had of him.

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Damian paused at the edge of their territory and took a quick survey of the area. The conditions were right for the kind of prey he was after. The lighting was dim; the music gave a feeling of class. There were drinks being sold but nobody was uncultured enough to be drinking beer. A slower detailed look revealed that while there was a group of four sitting around a table lightly chattering most of the crowd was sitting alone or in pairs and all of the singles had roving eyes. It was time to throw out a little bait and see what happened.

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Ellie Carson was a fifty six year old woman who owned the neighborhood flower shop, or as she was fond of saying, the shop owned her. It was all she had to show for a lifetime devoted to a husband who had left her years ago, and she kept opening the door everyday out of habit pretty much because she had no place else to go.

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Recap: At 49, and widowed, I had been seeing a lady called Pat for some time, and was on the verge of sleeping with her for the first time. She had discussed my 'size' with both her daughters, one of whom I work with, and they had each decided (separately) to "Test Drive" me so their mother wouldn't be hurt. Or so they said. The night after these events was my first with Pat, and it went extremely well until......

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My name is – well, what difference does it make what my name is? I mean, you don't care about me. You're probably more interested in my little adventure and, if that's the case, you're one sick son of a bitch. But, okay, here goes. Oh, hell, I don't care if you want to know or not. I'm going to give you a little background about me anyway. If you don't like, go screw yourself.

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