Your erotic stories

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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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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I was watching a movie the other day, with academy award level acting by the way, where a housewife fucks the plumber when he came by to "fix" the pipes. It reminded me of a role playing situation, I found myself in quite unexpectedly one night. It involves me, a certain man of whom I had a very active sex life with (two guesses for my fans), and

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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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I knew the coming discussion would change my life, yet I debated with myself whether it was for the better or worse. My wife decided that we could not live together anymore and filed for divorce. The court served papers on me today. I spent most of the day packing my clothes and personal belongings into a small U-Haul. The discussion we began was how to split joint property. I knew she wanted the property in town with higher real estate value.

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"Going anywhere nice this month Mr. Tunny?" the nurse asked as she watched Harold get his coat on and head for the door "Oh just for a stroll and maybe to the shops nurse" the old man smiled back as he put his hat on and went to kiss his wife goodbye before he went out. Harold Tunny was 73 years old and lived with his 78 year old wife Angela in a cosy little retirement home, over the course of their lives they had made some good money and could have stayed in their house which was rather spacious,

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I was on my way over to Karen's little home studio, Bob Segar was wailing away on my stereo, I was feeling fine. Karen always made me feel fine, if you saw her you would know just what I mean. Maybe 30 at the most, she is a Licensed Massage Therapist. ALL massage therapists should look like her, long dark hair, a set of boobs to die for. Just a trace of a pouty Bardot type tummy and sway back, blending down to an ass that gave me a reason more than once to reach for my dick.

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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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Her passing had been very sudden. We had been sat together watching nothing in particular on the TV and she had slipped into a sleep that I realised, eventually, was death. The family had been caring, the funeral sensitive and then followed the lowliness -- that awful sense that something was missing in my life. Our children had all left home, but living close, they had kept in touch, not oppressively, but supportively.

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