Your erotic stories

Sitting opposite me was an old lady loaded up with shopping bags. Other than her there were only two others on the train. As it neared my station I rose to go to the doors and the old lady rose also, struggling with the bags and packages. "Let me help you," I volunteered. "Thank you I seem to have overloaded myself slightly and appreciate your help," she said in a very soft voice, she smiled at me as she said this.

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We've always liked to use food to enhance our sex ever since we read "Like Water for Chocolate" and that book by Marquez where the wacky dictator puts asparagus into the vaginas of the local towns women. I think that is actually where we got the idea from, sophomore year of college literature class. We passed notes back and forth to each other describing what we were going to eat off of one another and how we would become human sundaes. Jesus we ruined a lot of bed sheets back then. Now we just rip the shower curtain off the rod when we feel like human sundaes.

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I’ve been married to you for about two years. You are my dream man. I came to you a virgin, you showed me the ways of love. Sadly though our life together has been reduced to quick snatches of time spent together at dinner and in bed. Sometimes we’re both too tired to make love. I hate that. I want to be close to you, closer than your skin.

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We've all seem them; an object of nostalgia and whimsy. It is a jewelry box, a place to keep secret and personal things, sitting on the vanity table of a particular kind of woman. There is the lingering hint of some perfume, a subtle reminder of the elegance of it's owner. It is the color of ivory, picked out in silver or perhaps gold, the edges frilled or otherwise decorated to soften the lines.

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I have never met a man or woman as confident as the young woman who took my anal virginity. She was not dominating, or arrogant, just very confident in herself and her judgments of people. How she knew a guy like me would give her what she wanted, and what I learned to want, I still do not know. We met when I was doing a work survey of a local university to add some decorative pieces to the administration areas and the student union's offices.

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You enter the room, and there she is, standing by the desk, her back to you. She is wearing a simple white top and a silky black skirt that barely reaches mid thigh. You approach silently, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. You reach out, pressing her down with one hand at the small of her back. Without a sound, she complies, bending forward, placing her hands on the desk. The position forces her short skirt even higher.

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Carolyn was a slut. I don’t like to use the word, but it fit her perfectly. She had a reputation in high school for giving it up to any guy who wanted it, but as far as I could tell not many guys claimed to have taken her up on it. She had an older sister who had graduated the year before, and the stories about her were even more widespread (pardon the pun) so I suspected that some of it was hand-me-down reputation.

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It was the last summer before I graduated in the fall from college and I found a job with one of the larger apartment complexes near the campus. In exchange for rent and a small wage I did minor maintenance on the units. I did a lot of filter replacements, minor plumbing and other type things that were a constant headache for the manager.

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"I'm having stupid thoughts." "Like what?" "Like that Tom's seeing someone else." "What? Surely not." Amy nodded, stepping away from the coffee machine. "But, he's not like that." Kay said, inserting her coins for a cup of her own. "You've got your paws on one of the decent ones."

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"Of course I will come." you tell me. "That's where you will be, so that's where I want to be." You close the discussion with a soft, gentle kiss, before disappearing to the bedroom to choose your clothes for the outing, leaving me smiling as I try and picture just what you will be wearing.

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