Your erotic stories

Sarah looked around her suite at the island resort. It was luxurious, with marble in the bathroom and a balcony looking out to the ocean. She unpacked quickly then she lay on the double bed and stared at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. This was the bed she had been going to share with Roger, her fiancée until two months ago when he had called off their marriage.

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"Your Mom's pretty hot," I whispered with a smile, nudging my girlfriend with my shoulder. I didn't see her roll her eyes, but I could just feel that look burrowing into my back, aimed right at my heart. My eyes were busy drinking in the aging vixen before me: 45 year old Deb Mason, 5'4", short gray hair, nice tight little farm-wife body. I could only hope that Meg would stay that good looking for the next 25 years, and my twitching cock was not in disagreement.

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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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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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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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I had been "in love" with Caroline for as long as I could remember. Well, to be more precise, I began my crush on her during my adolescence. While hormones were raging and I was becoming aware of my sexuality it was She that became the focus of my desire. Caroline was my best friend - Peter Foster's mother. Pete and I had decided we would be best friends on our very first day at primary school, when we sat opposite each other and shared crayons. We have maintained that friendship right the way up to this very day.

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I was 18 and we had been fucking like rabbits. I had been home only 3 days since my return from MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego). (AKA "Boot Camp.) My little girlfriend, the also 18-year-old "Katie," had been more than accommodating. I was definitely enjoying my first gays of freedom after the hardest 13 weeks of my life. Plus, she didn't mind at all my new body. I was now a 5'11" 165 lbs. Body of steel. Definitely worked off my baby fat.

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I've had my share of lovers, but there's always something special about the first. Here name was Eve, and this is my ode to her. This story takes some time to develop, so if stories like that aren't your cup of tea you might want to skip it. I'm not sure where to begin, so I guess good place to start would be to describe the principle people involved and a bit of their backgrounds. First, a little bit about myself at the time. I was eighteen, and still a virgin.

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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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I was thrilled when I answered the phone. "Hi, Bruce, it's Sandy!" Sandy! Sandy had been a photography student for several years, starting when she was a freshman in high school, and all the way through. The summer before college, however, we had parted ways. I had thrown her out of my darkroom for acting irresponsibly, making appointments to print in my darkroom for a show she'd gotten at a local restaurant, and then not showing up. She left angry. I was heartbroken. She was now almost out of college, 22 and grown up. I hadn't seen her in four years.

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