Your erotic stories

Hannah finished packing her things. The divorce was nearly finalized. The split was mutual, with no hard feelings. The 36 year old corporate executive closed the last box and stood in the bedroom she had shared with her soon-to-be ex husband. It was a sad ending to her fairytale life. One by one she carried the boxes away to her car. It wasn't as painful as she expected. She just didn't find the right person.

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I was trying my best to just flow with it, not think too much. I always think too much. Feel, just feel. Breathe, that's the key thing. Be sure to keep breathing. In and out. Nice and easy and smooth. I could get through this. And don't look! I couldn't look. I will soon, I promised myself. But not yet. Breathe.

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Several years ago, my wife and I vacationed in Europe for two weeks. I knew that Europeans tend to be more casual about nudity and sex than Americans are, but I was still unprepared (as was my wife) when we decided to visit a spa (called "bad") in Germany. We took a tram up the side of a steep hill to the top and looked down over a beautiful view and a large pool with an even larger deck. "Oh my God," my wife exclaimed as she saw that almost all of the women were lying topless on the deck or soaking that way in the pool.

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I met Jesse at a mutual friend's summer garden party. Moira was by some margin the poshest person I knew. As rich as god from family inheritances, she was married to a successful lawyer and was by some margin the social queen of the area where I lived.

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Peter Grandon sat moodily in his dorm room staring at his literature textbook and studying for finals. He had read the same passage four times and he still couldn't tell what the paragraph meant. His mind was elsewhere.

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Gerri killed the engine on her bass boat and glided into a cove sighing with contentment. Looking around at the morning mist rising from the lake she couldn't think of anywhere she would rather be or anything else she would rather be doing. As the boat slowed to a near stop she rose from the helm and slid into her bass seat taking up her rod and engaging the foot controlled trolling motor.

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Such a simple and well known phrase. But how can anyone derive pleasure by giving something? - it defies all logic. The excitement of receiving something new, indulging in the joy of a gift, a compliment or whatever it may be that has been received. That's surely got to be where the real pleasure lies. Not by sitting back and watching someone else enjoy that experience, thinking all the while that it's really you that wanted to receive something. It just makes no sense.

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Brandy's generous bosoms rose and fell rapidly. She stared at the small screen of her e-reader. This latest in the series of erotic novels by one of her favourite authors held her rapt attention. It was much more risqué than the timid 'fade to black after the first kiss' romances that she had been reading since the age of twelve.

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What the...? What the hell is going on over there? There is a dick sticking through a hole in the wall! Here I am in an adult video booth, my own dick in my hand, watching a blonde give a guy a very loving blowjob, and now this.

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I always knew of the man who lived in the house at the end of the dead end street as the Creeper. His real name was Mr. Manson, and I thought that his first name was Barry or Barney or something like that. The word around the school was that he liked boys, and from the time I was in elementary school, to the time I was a senior in high school, I was warned by other kids to stay away from his house.

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