Your erotic stories

More than a year on from his wife's premature death, Julian found himself increasingly thinking about sex. Adventurous though they had once been, during the later stages of their marriage, and especially during the last months of Joyce's illness, sexual activity had dwindled virtually to nothing. Julian had learned to go without, to put the idea out of his mind. But now, given his freedom, the old urges were resurfacing ever more frequently.

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This is a continuation of my story "Owen becomes a Man", and it would be as well for the reader to go to that story first, although this one will stand on its own. * Last week there was an opportunity for the parents of future students to go to Owen's college to put our minds at rest over their accommodation.

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I have to admit that when I looked round the congregation at the Memorial Service I had to wonder. How many were there simply to pay tribute to a remarkable woman they had admired? How many were there with more intimate memories? The eulogy sketched in the public details of what had been a very public life.

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I really felt ashamed of myself. I knew I was slipping back into my old fantasy habits. A supposedly respectable married woman 39 years of age with this ridiculous fetish for dressing up in school uniform. It had been more than a fantasy during my early thirties with the two old priests and Sister Mary. I think my fantasy thoughts started in my mid twenties after I had married Derek.

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"Harder, if you like." "I don't want to hurt you." "It's all right now. Please do it." She was astride him, her eyes drawn momentarily to a small bead of perspiration running from his forehead to the grey flecks at his temple, then looking down on the finger tips tightening their grip on her nipples. At the start this would have hurt but now, with her juices flowing, she liked the added stimulation, supplementing the hardness of him inside her.

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I've recently begun to nurture an interest in bondage in my girlfriend Tina. Nothing too outrageous you understand; a little light restraint with silk scarves tied to the bed, that sort of thing. I've always gained quite a kick out of seeing a woman restrained and vulnerable. I'm not sure what Freud would make of that.

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I suppose it started with my thirty-ninth Birthday. But firstly I had better give some background information. My husband and I separated some seven years ago, and as he now works overseas I have rarely even been in contact with him since. Owen, my son, and his twin sister, Chloe, have recently turned eighteen and will both be going to Teacher Training College in September, so they are still at school at present, as is Owen's girl-friend, although there seems nothing serious there as yet

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This an absolutely true story, although the names have been altered, and obviously I cannot vouch for the actual words used in the conversations – but the gist of them is more or less true, and certainly the events are as I remember them to this day. Apart, that is, from the scene in the restaurant with Zena where I exaggerated her mode of dress, but not too much. She really did buy a new mini-dress for the occasion.

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Terry takes Alice's smalls off the line. Just a short story to create a giggle or two. The rain was coming on and I ran out on my zimmer to get my clothes in. I was putting the peg basket away when I noticed that Alice the widow woman next door to me had some out too, so I went across and took hers off the line too. She came out with her washing basket just as I was finished.

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Most women have a secret indulgence: chocolate, maybe, or shoes; jewellery for some, soap operas or magazines for others. Penny's indulgence was lingerie, and where lingerie was concerned she had firm principles, which didn't include thrift. Her underwear wardrobe was extensive, varied and expensive.

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