Your erotic stories

I had just turned 65 and received my Medicare card. My wife was bugging me to get a complete physical (and a prescription for Viagra). Now I have been to many Doctors over my lifetime but if anyone is going to stick their finger up my ass and hold my balls while I cough, I prefer a woman Doctor. I saw Dr. Mia Kim who gave me a complete going over including the usual digital probe and ball cupping. I detected a slight smile cross her face when I began to get hard as she held my balls.

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We all have dark secrets locked away in the deep recesses of our imaginations, those of you who have read my earlier work will already know that I possess some deep dark fantasies. I have been lucky in the past that some of my wildest fantasies have actually come true, including this little story that has fulfilled my ultimate fantasy and, as they say, fact can sometimes be stranger than fiction. Well you’ll have to decide for yourself.

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The first time I met Mr. Steinberg, I was totally impressed with the way he carried himself. He looked pretty old to me, maybe in his 70's, maybe even older, but I could tell from the way he dressed and spoke and especially with his young physique, that he exuded confidence and self assurance. I don't think he was a body builder by any means, but dressed in casual attire, he stood straight and proud and when he moved around, his agility belied his age, however old he really was. 

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It was a crisp, late November evening in Eastern Canada and we had just driven for an hour through back roads to our remote hunting site. My father-in-law, Edward, parked the truck in a tightly overgrown drive way of sorts, under cover of some trees. The rest of the way to the little cabin had to be by foot, and not just because the driveway was impassible, but because, "Deer don't like the smell of a warm, old pickup," at least that's what Edward would say. Ed was short and stocky and "rough and tough" - a label he'd give himself with a twinkle in his eye.

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This story has been buried deep inside of me for a long time. I remember all of it very well, almost like it was last week. I've reminisced and re-lived it all many times over the years. Much of it is quite fun to remember. Some of it is bittersweet. Some of it is painful still. When I was out of college and in my early twenties I got a job selling radio advertising in a suburban/rural area, and although new to the region, I became successful in a fairly short time.

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Mrs. Khanna ran into Mrs. Sorabji as the latter was stepping out of an exclusive shoe store at Nariman Point in Mumbai. "Hi Yasmin," exclaimed Mrs. Khanna," haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" "Very well, thank you. And you?" "Oh, vadhiya ji vadhiya," said Preeti Khanna jovially, then her eyebrows knitted into a frown, "you are a clinical psychologist, right?"

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Being thirty and already developing a beer gut, I began working out at the local gym. And since I worked nights, the equipment was readily available, which was cool. No crowds. After a month or so, I got to know some of the regulars, mostly retired guys, some into their eighties, God bless them! Mostly it was just to say hi, but a few became as regular as clockwork, so I sort of bonded with a guy named Abe.

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I first saw her as she walked from her car towards the supermarket. She was hard to miss, especially in broad daylight. I was parked two rows away and she walked into the Harris Teeter store about twenty steps ahead of me, her tight ass swaying back and forth in her tiny, designer-label jean miniskirt.

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The living room windows in my house are best described as odd. In the first place, they are huge, there are four of them, each one is four feet by four feet. Nothing so unique about that except each one angles outward at the top at 45 degrees. When I leave the doors and windows open in the warm Summer months, that makes a perfect fly trap, they move up to the top and can't figure out how to get out.

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Everybody has their first times. For most of my peers, it was with a girlfriend, or just some chick at a party. But for boys like me -- awkward, gawky, cute and complete buffoons -- first times are perhaps even better than a fumble in the back seat of a beat-up car past 11 on a school night. I was a late bloomer. But by the summer of 1990, I had come into my own physically. Much of my chubbiness had disappeared into a taut physique. And for the first time in my life, I looked good in form fitting pants.

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