Your erotic stories

"Tomorrow's the big day, right Mom?" "Absolutely, Megan. We need to get these two guys on our side regarding the Bankhead drilling project. They're the last two pieces of the puzzle as far as I'm concerned. You know what to do?" "Anything they say. Or want," Megan replied. Amanda smiled. She was the thirty nine year old CEO of GIC Corporation, an energy supplier throughout the northern United States. Their scientists recently discovered an oil and natural gas supply that would keep them in business for decades.

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Single again and with more time on my hands than commitments, I had decided to hit the open road for a while. I didn't pack an itinerary and only packed the clothes I thought I couldn't do without. After all, this trip would be atop my old Harley and there wasn't but so much room for stuff. In the past few years I'd come to live doing the things I want to do and like doing, which meant odd jobs, some consulting now and then, and lots more time to shoot outdoor images, something I'd not done in earnest since the film days of the 80's.

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"How long has it been Carol?" He asked her. "Thirty years?" She pondered, trying to think back all those years. He held her at arms length and looked at his long lost friend, as they danced slowly around the dance floor. She was still very attractive, with her now gray short hair, but as ever with that inviting smile, and those wonderful breasts. Ah! Her wonderful breasts, now a little heavier, but they were as he remembered them, always her crowning glory. "You look wonderful." He told her with relish, meaning every word.

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Lisa was 18 years old, blonde and perfectly filled out for a young woman. She drove over to her old neighbour's house, Mr Wilson. Mr Wilson was getting on in years and had called the house asking if she could come by and help him out a bit. Lisa and her family had known Mr Wilson for years. He had been their neighbour and had helped her and her family on more than one occasion when they needed it.

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Next month I shall be sixty-seven years old. Before then there will be the fifth anniversary of the day my darling Dorothy was taken from me. A merciful release, said people who had known of her illness; and so it was. I still think of her, of course, and that is why I cannot help feeling just a little guilty about the turn my life has taken in the intervening years.

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Over the years lots of things had changed in my life. Marriages had begun and ended, kids grown up and left home, houses bought and sold, eyesight got worse, and my once fit body betrayed me. Here I was at 61 with only one vestige of my youth, my sex drive. And, because of medical problems, I couldn't get a hard on to save my life.

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I have never really adjusted to the intense thrill of rotating my practically naked hips in front of a woman staring avidly at my hard eight inch cock, damp in the piss hole by now, her eyes riveted on it as it swayed there, an inch or so from her lips. The heavy beat of Ravel made me surge slowly but lewdly, the moment capturing me as much as her, and I knew she would give me the grand finish to my act when her tongue flicked out toward it.

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I have always had a yen for mature and older women. This was particularly true during my younger high testosterone years. As I have grown older, the age gap of interest has narrowed if only because women older than myself at this time of my life, are often no longer interested in arousal. I don't know what triggers my erotic interest in any particular woman. Physical appearance is not necessarily significant although beauty can be a catalyst.

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Being thirty and already developing a beer gut, I began working out at the local gym. And since I worked nights, the equipment was readily available, which was cool. No crowds. After a month or so, I got to know some of the regulars, mostly retired guys, some into their eighties, God bless them! Mostly it was just to say hi, but a few became as regular as clockwork, so I sort of bonded with a guy named Abe.

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Everybody has their first times. For most of my peers, it was with a girlfriend, or just some chick at a party. But for boys like me -- awkward, gawky, cute and complete buffoons -- first times are perhaps even better than a fumble in the back seat of a beat-up car past 11 on a school night. I was a late bloomer. But by the summer of 1990, I had come into my own physically. Much of my chubbiness had disappeared into a taut physique. And for the first time in my life, I looked good in form fitting pants.

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