Your erotic stories

I put the phone down and dropped my head in my hands. Looking round the Office I could see the quiet faces looking at me as I brushed my hair back and sat up straight. Jess was poised by one of the Admin Team, looking expectantly at me. "Wilson, has found out we're on to him. He's spent the last half hour shredding any evidence that might incriminate him. "

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It was a feeling more than something I saw. But I paused and took a slow look around. No one was looking at me and the only other customer was a lady about my age pushing a cart through the Produce department. There was that young man with the tool belt sitting on the floor working on one of the display cases. On the back of his jacket it was printed "Jakes Air-condition and Heat." However he seemed to be engrossed in his work.

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My wife and I and our best friends had reached that stage in life where the kids were on there own and we had some extra money to enjoy ourselves. Sheila and her husband Sam and my wife Jan and I had been close friends since our kids were babies, and had spent family summer vacations with them for years. Now that the kids were gone we decided to take a 7 day Caribbean cruise the first week of January. Sam and I also are very big pro football fans and cheer for the same team.

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"Harry; I really do love you but no I don't want to get married." Harry looked at me with big sad eyes and I only smiled. Harry and I had been dating for a few days when I let him bed me. He's near my age and was very good at doing what we were doing at the time. I am quick to climax and I am some what vocal when I do. Harry had never had a women show how much she enjoyed his charms before this and he thought I was the one for him.

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The party had been going well until Sarah put her hand on her husband's leg under the dinner table at their friend's house. She was surprised when moments later he gently pushed her hand off. She brushed off the encounter and continued talking and laughing with their friends. There were four couples at the dinner party; a group of old friends that got together a few times a year for good food and a late night of drinks.

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It was 4:30 p.m. and already dark one dreary, rainy late January day in Portland. As usual, I stopped by my local Fred Meyer store to buy some items for dinner. One trip to Montreal years ago and, ever since, I've liked buying just enough fresh items for dinner each night. I even shop with an old web sack that I got when I bought too many oranges. It is a ritual now. I see some familiar faces and get to talk to few people briefly before heading to my quiet house and the evening news.

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My wife Cynthia died on a Monday. She had been unconcerned when she started spotting between her periods and didn't bother me with the concerns of her gynoclogist until the diagnosis came back, uterine cancer. The cancer was stage IV and highly aggressive, the doctor didn't sugarcoat the results. Cynthia fought hard, surgery, radiation and chemotherapy, but in the end the diagnosis had come too late.

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SUNDAY It was my third time in England and the big British Airways jet came in over London and touched down at Heathrow thirty minutes early. As usual, it seemed to take almost as long to taxi and disembark as it had to cross the Atlantic, but finally I made my way with the other passengers along a carpeted corridor with a one way mirror at the end and came out into the baggage area. I had my laptop, as usual, and a bottle of Scotch I'd bought at O'Hare.

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Annie Daniels sighed softly and paused at the large steel-and-stone gate, then accelerated to glide up the hill. Tall statues of cement cast spooky shadows on the ground, and she shivered as she killed the engine and stepped out into the slightly chilly air of early evening. She made her way hesitantly to the fat gravestone a few yards away, a sunflower clutched in her hands, which she lovingly placed at the base of the marker. "I miss you, Matthew."

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So finally we meet. God, you are even more radiant and exuding that perfume that I only have heard about so far. Your Irish eyes crinkle and sparkle with mischief as you smile at me, taking in my gauche nervousness. "Nervous, boy?" you ask me teasingly. I try and laugh it off, blushing furiously.

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