Your erotic stories

Saturday night, and you are goin' out! Mothers of Boston hide your sons. Your husband, Steve, is out of town for another conference - this is ten weeks in a row - and your best friend Joanne wants to take you to a local club. She says it's where she goes when she wants to let loose, play a little pool, maybe flirt a bit. (and we KNOW how you like to flirt!) You're wearing your new red short wraparound skit and a white silk blouse, and you look at yourself in the mirror.

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Claudia was enjoying her champagne. Her friends, Marianne and Mark, always knew how to host a party. Their house was perfect for it, as well. There were three cabanas around the pool, each with a king sized pad and gauzy curtains for at least a modicum of privacy. A high fence around the property kept away prying eyes in the very upscale subdivision in Boca Raton.

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She knew what they were up to. She'd seen them watching her from across the room. They were in the booth furthest away from where she was seated at the bar. She had noticed the girl first, a young woman with short blond curls, very attractive. Next to the girl was a guy, somewhere in his mid twenties or so, with brown hair nearly shaved to his scalp.

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After we made love, I laid in bed feeling warm and satisfied and pleasantly sleepy, my bare back against his lean, naked body. My head was cradled against his chest, our legs cozily tangled and his arm resting on my side while his hand gently caressed my hip. He reached down and pulled the covers up to our shoulders and adjusted so our bodies were even closer together.

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Martin sat in the dark of his bedroom and stared out the window into the night. His modest home where he and his wife June had raised their 3 children was quiet now. He could hear June breathing softly in her sleep. The dog rustled and snorted in his sleep but Martin was still awake. He was nearing retirement and the accounting of his retirement capital wasn't looking too good. Though he had worked consistently and hard through his 40+ years of employment, the money just did not seem to stick to his savings account.

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My 19 year-old girlfriend, Kerry, and I had developed the wonderful habit of getting au naturel in the high dunes of a local public beach during a summer home from college. Whilst we were working at our town's holiday camp – a central complex of bars and restaurants surrounded by rental caravans, chalets and mobile homes – we had an encounter in the dunes with two of a girls' netball team who were staying at our camp and playing in a nearby tournament. I wrote of our first encounter last month – see 'The Netball Girls' (Exhibitionist&voy)

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The day was beautiful, the sun taking shelter behind the randomly passing clouds, a slight breeze whispering through the leaves of the trees, and the onset of summer providing a sweet afternoon for a country picnic. There, on blankets, sat the five close friends. College was out for the summer, this was a day to enjoy.

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A young man in jeans and a TransFlyte golf shirt watched the last piece of luggage get picked up from the baggage claim carousel by a middle-aged businessman. He saw the single remaining girl's exasperated expression, even from a distance. When the carousel stopped, she stared at it as if trying to make it move again.

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I came home early; it had been one of those days from hell. Murphy's Law at work--if it can go wrong it will. Well, it could, and it did. Meagan Murphy, the current number one box office sex symbol, who is scheduled to star in Ben Affleck's new movie, shows up on the set five months pregnant. The film has a four-month shooting schedule, and there's no way she can do it.

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It was Thursday night, ladies' night at the local Sheraton's hotel bar. This was always the happening place in town because the DJ was the best and everyone in the whole city would go there to hang out, drink, and dance. Well, I called several friends and tried to get them to go out with me, but no one wanted to go for various reasons.

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