Your erotic stories

Part 1 "You WHAT?!" "Honey," he said, his eyes wide and pleading. He put his hands out in front of him, palms down, as if urging me to take it easy, to slow down. But I felt the world suddenly spinning out of control. He tried to grasp my shoulders. "Please... you don't..."

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My name is Emma. I was born and grew up just outside of Buffalo New York. My father worked very hard in a plant thirteen hours a day that smelted iron ore that was brought in off of the great lakes. My mother had her hands full with my seven siblings and me. I was the eldest and had just turned eighteen in 1877 when the widowed butcher of our town that was in his late thirties asked for my hand in marriage.

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Karen sat quietly on the edge of the bed waiting. They would be here in just a few moments and she wanted to calm her beating heart. She was about to meet her best friend's latest lover. After weeks of hearing about him and being amazed by all the talk of raw sex and positions and role playing, she was excited and a bit afraid.

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Art had completed his training as a masseuse and he was now working part time at a salon near the college. He was in his junior year at the university and he was doing very well in school with a cumulative 3.6 GPA. Art would graduate in a year with a degree in business and he hoped to be accepted to graduate school. Art was an impressive young man of 21 years and he had dated many girls in college.

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For those who follow my stories know that I was not involved in sexual play until after I became a widow at the sweet age of fifty-six. I am now sixty-seven and during the intervening eleven years I have made up for lost time so to speak.

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This was my wife's idea, and I'm not really sure where it's going. I'm standing awkwardly next to a guy I know kinda casually, but just recently learned a lot more about. I already knew he was a few inches taller than me, but I just learned that he's a few inches longer, too. Were both naked, and our wives are rubbing mineral oil on our backs.

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"You mean," Dakota asked, "you just parade in front of those guys, and then you pick one, and then you ... you FUCK him? And you've never met him before?" "I can't help it," Mary Jane replied, shrugging her shoulders and looking a little bit embarrassed at her friend's reaction.

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