Your erotic stories

Cal Benton turned his Honda CL350 off Interstate 70 at the exit that said "Sawtooth Mountain, 10 miles," and stopped the bike on the overpass looking back toward Denver. Only 50 miles to the west, he was already well into the front range of the majestic Rocky Mountains. He sat silently staring back toward the plains, reveling in the snow-capped peaks and vast valleys that spread behind him.

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Jasmine couldn't remember the last time she had felt so desirable. It had been at least 6 or 7 years since her husband had shown any sort of affection, and both of the short-lived affairs she had engaged in, had done nothing to quell the longing within her. She was a 44 year old woman who had started to believe that by accepting the twin positions of wife and mother, she no longer had the right to be looked upon as a sexual being.

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I first met her in High School and like most High School friends we lost touch over the years, about 40 of them to be exact. We got back in touch on one of the Class Reunion sites and started talking again. Reliving old memories as we laughed at the silly way we dressed and hairstyles and such. It was a great pleasure to become new friends with her once again.

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Nikki loved her job at the diner, although the pay was light and the hours heavy. She knew most of her customers by name, and counted most of them as friends. She also knew that their off-color comments, while generally sexual in nature, were delivered with no offense intended. Her breasts were a modest b-cup, and she often wished they were larger, but her ass made up the difference. It was an ass that men's dreams were made of.

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For those of you who haven't yet run across it, there is a web page whose name shall remain anonymous which advertises itself with this logo (which I've paraphrased to maintain the anonymity): "Where Models meet Photographers". So, basically, the web site is patronized by gorgeous models, the lucky bastards that photograph them, and lurkers. I haven't modeled since baby pictures at Sears, I don't own a camera that's not a disposable, so that puts me squarely in the 'lurker' category. Hey, it's a hobby.

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Monday Harold stood at the door and looked around. On the flipchart at the front of the room someone had written 'Management Skills for the IT Environment,' so he was in the right place. There were probably twenty other people milling about the room or already seated at one of the tables, some were talking and others just staring into space. Everybody looked so young. Harold felt out of place. He took an empty seat at a table near the back and joined those staring into space.

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I had just parked my truck, which sometimes can be not exactly an easy thing to do. It took me at least a half dozen trips around the parking lot looking for a space large enough. That is because it is a huge Dodge crew cab, oversize duallies on the back that sort of stick out. Yep, she needs a bit of room. I opened the door and had just put my foot on the running board to step down, being careful to not let the door scrape the top of the little thing parked in the next lane.

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My name is Tom Green. I'm 49 years old, an even six feet tall, weigh just over 14 stones (or about 200 pounds) which is mostly still muscle I'm pleased to say! I also have greying dark hair and dark brown, almost black eyes which, I've been told, twinkle quite nicely when I'm in a good mood -- which is most of the time these days.

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My best friend Nick had gotten me a job with him working at a local, Mom and Pop Grocery store. It was small, but then again, so was the town. One of those places with a population that hadn't as yet reached a thousand, though there was hope of that happening sometime during the year. I had just turned 18, and didn't as yet own my own car. Which was one of the reasons I had taken on a near full-time job while still attending school.

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It was quiet time at the hospice. The old man was sitting all by himself, wondering if he would still be alive tomorrow. He wasn't worried, just wondering. He presumed he was alone because he couldn't see. His eyesight had completely given out a couple days earlier. Only one ear still worked. He might have been able to walk, but he couldn't see where he was going and didn't care. Doctors could have patched him enough to keep him breathing, but he refused to return to the hospital again, and left orders he was not to be given any extraordinary treatment to extend his life, not even resuscitated.

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