Your erotic stories

I suppose you need a bit of background on me first, to set the scene as it were. My name is Sarah Matthews having married (can you believe it) Matthew Matthews some 10 years ago. To this day I can't believe anyone could give their son a name like that, but his parents - who are perfectly nice and sensible - didn't seem to think it was odd.

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I had not been a widow long when I met my first lover and love instructor. However as good as Don was he was not a complete lover because he was sometimes limited in the erection department. He was ill and this ailment some times kept him from becoming fully erect. But he was still very good and he brought me a long way up the sexual latter. When this happened; this story I am about to tell you I was ready for it because I was being taught that sex and lust were simply fun and love could come later.

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I was feeling good because I had gotten off early from work. I was the assistant manager of a shoe store in a mall and I worked a very irregular schedule. I had worked four hours today, and at one o'clock I was off for the day. I was driving home, and on the seat beside me was a small paper bag with a gift in it for my wife, Linda. Light blue nylon stockings. They were really a present for both of us because I liked stockings and my wife liked wearing them for me. A perfect match.

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"Excuse me, sir. Could you spare a dollar or two? I haven't eaten in two days," Carey pleaded. The tall good looking and well dressed man about to enter the Starbuck's stopped to check out the much smaller woman speaking to him. She was petite, maybe five-four to his six-six stature. She was dirty but otherwise looked cute with brunette hair and blue eyes. "You look too young to be on your own," Tory Rider stated.

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I received a certified letter requesting my presence at the law offices of Wiggins & Sloan in Albuquerque, New Mexico for the following Monday. I had no idea why a lawyer would want to meet with me, but I cleared my schedule for the day to attend. The day of the meeting I arrived and was asked to wait until Andrew Sloan was available. The pretty receptionist offered me coffee, but I declined, butterflies flitting around my stomach at the idea of this type of meeting.

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Five years ago my wife Sue and I left behind the dark, dank climate and the economic and political doom and gloom of England in search of a new life in the beautiful, peaceful and sunny Languedoc region of the South of France. Both of us are keenly interested in good food, cooking, and enjoying the odd glass or three of wine.

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There are fifteen candles strategically placed throughout the room, one for every year they have been together. They lie on the bed, side by side. Their fingers are laced together and are wedged between their two steaming bodies. Beads of perspiration glisten upon his chest hair.

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"What the hell was that," Jake Armstrong said to himself, as he walked passed the closed office door on his way to the copy machine room. The long corridor was empty, as most of the staff was out to lunch, and Jake wondered who could possibly be using the vacant office at this hour. Well whoever it was, they sure as hell were making quite a racket in there. Jake put his ear to the door, listened for a few moments, and then slowly turned the handle and pushed into the supposedly empty office.

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Life certainly has its ups and downs as everyone can attest to. It just feels like my life has had more downs than ups over the past few years. For instance, my parents had been killed in an auto accident three years ago when I was twenty-three. A semi-truck had veered into their lane when the overworked driver fell asleep at the wheel hitting my parent's car head-on. The doctors assured me that they had died instantly, which was a blessing I guess.

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I couldn't keep my eyes off of the elegant older woman sitting in the top row of the bleachers at the matinee of the ritzy horse fair. I also couldn't help but notice that she was making a less than subtle production out of lowering her designer sunglasses and looking me up and down, smiling in a cat-that-wants-to-swallow-the-canary way. Younger women, or at least women who were my age, didn't begin to know how to smile like that.

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