Your erotic stories

Now that I am in my early thirties ...I find that I am saying things I don't believe come out of my mouth. Like the phrase, "when I was your age ...." can come out before I have a chance to stop it if I am talking to someone from toddler on up to young adult. It is at those times I almost think I sound like my grandmother. But last Saturday afternoon, I started a conversation with Kate, 18 year old girl who is wonderfully beautiful both inside and out.

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It was raining outside - a typical Amsterdam spring day with heavy grey cloud casting a chill gloom upon the city. A Little natural light was managing to find its way through the dirty, rain spattered windows as they rattled in their frames, carrying with it the luminous presence from the spring leaves on the trees outside that lined the canal.

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Ironically, it was my husband who noticed you first. As you climbed out of the pool in one of those frighteningly brief bikinis that the young of today wear and which put the fear of Christ up older women like me, he said. "God I thought that was Emma," referring to our niece. I looked up and saw this lithe, beautiful, impossibly slim, but femininely rounded young woman walking alongside the pool.

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My jaw was hanging wide open in disbelief as I set the phone down. "Oh my." I thought to myself. "I've got to share this with someone. My mind was racing through an internal address book trying to figure out who would be the safest person to share the juiciest gossip I had ever heard from the actual horse's mouth in my life.

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My name is Gabriela. No, it's not, but I'm not telling you my real name. I'm 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I'm a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends' wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips.

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I don't know how long I had slept, when I was pleasantly awakened. Jennifer was softly running her hand up and down my thigh. As I awoke, I saw Jennifer's beautiful blue eyes gazing down into mine. They were sparkling with excitement. Her eyes drifted down as she drank in the sight of my nude body. Her gentle caresses continued as a look of passion and wanting started to fill her eyes. I had seen that look from many men, but never from a woman.

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"You need something, Maryann?" "Could I have something for pain?" Her voice was small and hesitant. "I'll check. If you can, I'll bring it and then let it take effect and then," Sharon Caswell, R.N., paused with a whimsical smile of her face, "we'll do your bath." Maryann Hollander sort of laughed and then groaned, "Sharon don't make me laugh, it hurts."

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The text message from my dad read, simply, "Mom home early." I knew what it meant. Even with the butterflies in my stomach, I'd have to pull myself together and act normal and natural once I got home.

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Vic stood alone in the bedroom, staring at the reflection in the full-length mirror as though taking notes. Dark hair, cropped close. Dark eyes, both by nature and by the distant look of loss in them. Full Mediterranean lips in an olive face. Torso covered by a black t-shirt. The leather jacket that went with it was thrown over a chair. Hips and legs clad in tight faded jeans that covered the tops of lace-up boots.

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I walked into the pub through the side door. It was just how I remembered it. The sun shone through the front glass doors, to splay rays across the dusty wooden floorboards. My friends were already waiting for me at a table. They'd chosen a great spot, right next to the window, we could feel the warm winter sun through the window panes, yet still all fit comfortably around one table. I hugged most of my friends tight – I had not seen some of them for 8 months!

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