Your erotic stories

Being a virgin at 20 didn't make Chelsea a prude, but she was definitely in the minority amongst her peers. She was sitting in her room, musing on why "it" hadn't happened yet and could definitely come up with a few reasons, none of which were the traditional ones. No, she wasn't saving herself for marriage - god that could be years from now -- or never! Neither was she waiting for just the right guy -- at 20 she was pretty sure he didn't exist.

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This wasn't the first time he'd seen her here at the supermarket. It was a few of weeks ago, on a Wednesday, that he first cast his eyes upon her mature, full figure and her fine head topped by billows of natural red hair. She was about 45, and her large hips and breasts where accented by a slim waist. She was a West Texas earth mother type, but with a hint of sadness. Since then, he'd made Wednesdays his regular shopping day in the faint hope that he might run into her again. And now, here she was in front of him.

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The man standing in the doorway gazed across the room to the woman lounging comfortably before him on the bed. Dressed in an ankle-length skirt and long-sleeved blouse, the woman tilted her head to the side and gave him a seductive smile. "I didn't think you would come, Darien," she commented with a smirk. "After all, it has been quite some time since you've seen me." The woman shifted on the bed, adjusting the skirt slightly to reveal more of her leg.

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Carrie licked her lips nervously, straightened her top and knocked lightly on the door. She waited for a response, but she couldn't hear anything – had she knocked hard enough or was he just busy? If she knocked again and he had heard her the first time but ignored it then wouldn't he get really annoyed? She paused for a few seconds more, then took her courage in both hands and rapped sharply on the door.

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I slammed the door behind me as I walked in the house, getting home from work. My boyfriend, Jason, had called me while I was driving to tell me that he wasn't coming over tonight. I was incredibly angry at him -- my parents hardly ever left me home alone, and I had been looking forward to having him over for most of the weekend. I had planned everything out, and had spent most of the day thinking about taking him into the hot tub, where we would fool around, ending the night with a long session of sex in my room.

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I pulled up outside her house and Maria climbed off the pillion. Her racquet was slung across her back and she reached behind and pulled it over her head. She was smiling; in fact she never stopped smiling except of course when I tried to put my hand up her dress. Then it was, "Please stop; I don't want you to. Why do you always have to spoil everything by being dirty?"

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I want to tell you my story about something wonderful that once happened to me before I came to live in this place; call it what it is, an old folks home. I will do my best to stay on course but if I skip around some just be patient with me. After the phone call I had to sit down. My legs trembled. I felt perspiration on my upper lip. My armpits became wet and I felt a drop slip down my side. Oh my, I thought, Kenneth, after all these years that I should react as I did. I felt myself flush as memories returned.

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Mrs Potter has wild sexual fantasies in Church and then confesses her sins Mrs Potter had a problem with alcohol. Ever since she was about 20 whenever she touched alcohol she would get overwhelming sexual urges that made her very very promiscuous and would do absolutely anything that would result in her having an orgasm.

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This move was a big step for me. After being married for thirty years I finally had my kids raised and was left without a life, neither; personal, professional nor sexual as we'd been living apart in the same house for two years. I finally made the decision to leave and make my own way again. Needless to say, much was my own fault as I tolerated the neglect and did so from personal fears and the loathing to be on my own with two kids, but none the less, as I approached my thirty year anniversary I kept asking myself, "Do you want another thirty years like this?" and the answer came back every time as "fuck no!".

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I got home from playing basketball, and my mom and her friends were in the middle of ladies bridge night. Two tables with four women each all looked over at me when I came through the door, and I turned a little red. I must have been a picture of loveliness, my sweat stained t-shirt clinging to my chest and back, my damp hair hanging in my face, basketball in the crook of my arm. I waved to my mom and headed upstairs. "Charlie!" she called after me.

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