Your erotic stories

Lynn and I have been married for forty-one years and even though we're in our sixties, I'm sixty-five, she's sixty-two, we sure haven't given up on sex. For her fortieth birthday, I gave Lynn a new pair of boobs and she did it just right, had them brought back up to spec without blowing them up like a porn star. So, naked, she looks good, really good.

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Chapter 1 Okay, guys, you're not gonna believe this but it happened, it sure did, right here in Meridian, Mississippi, another of the many towns and cities nicknamed, 'Queen City.' Well, I've dated a few of the queens here in Meridian and, like in the other like-named cities, some put out and some didn't, some were good at it, some weren't.

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Chapter 1 Okay, okay, let's get the laughs over with right now. "Short" career? Just how short is it? Ha, ha. Okay, ready for the real story now? My name is Marty Green, I work for an advertising agency as an account representative so I'm basically a prostitute. I knew you'd say it if I didn't.

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Approximately 99.99% of the male Lit readers have no doubt fantasized over the opportunity to have the infamous Lucia's (a/k/a the aptly named Gimmie_your_load) luscious mouth wrapped around their cock. As if her self-description as a "cock-obsessed fellatrix" weren't incentive enough, Lucia is a splendidly vivid and eloquent author, who also happens to be quite beautiful and amply endowed in the, uh, chest region.

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We had known each other for a couple of years, and I had admired her taut little body from across the room on many occasions. She was the wife of a college friend, and therefore off-limits. But she was still a hottie, and the subject of much fantasy and the topic of much lewd banter between males. She had always been friendly, even flirty on occasion. I knew of her husband's wayward ventures with other women, wondering why he would do such a thing with Dana at home.

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Christ, I can't believe it was that long ago, already...seems like yesterday. OK, let me elaborate. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got a phone call from an acquaintance, asking if I wanted to check out a concert that night, in a city a couple of hours away from here. I was up for it; I was just finishing off the last of my dissertation, and could use a break. I told her I'd meet her at a coffee shop near the venue.

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I am nervous as I walk up the stairwell. The sound of my shoes scuffing each stair reflects off the dingy once-white walls of the narrow hallway like an insistent warning, telling me to turn around and walk away with every step. Yet I continue, pursuing my chosen course with the same timid determination that has carried me through this day. Ever since I came out to my car and found the note tucked underneath my wiper blade.

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Saturday afternoon on a brisk November day in Calgary. I was into my second month of a six month stay, having come up from Houston for a consulting job in the oil fields. So far, Calgary had been nonstop hard work, and this day was the first break I'd taken. Keith, a foreman with the company I was contracted to, had invited me to watch a hockey game with his girlfriend Danielle and his crew of tough, muscled roustabouts and roughnecks.

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She was somebody else's date. I'd met her when they arrived. She was his arm candy for the evening. Of the fifteen or so people in my home, she was the one that caught my interest. It was obvious from the moment I opened the door she knew who I was and she was interested. Others may have thought I was a curiosity or maybe interesting, but she was interested.

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