Your erotic stories

It was four months until the end of my senior year, and I had struggled all year to keep my moderate grade average up. I really loved all my teachers, but one made me furious. Mr. Davis was always writing comments on my exams about how I should know this, correcting all my spelling errors with bright red ink on my essays, and he would make comments to me while handing back my test like, "You need to study Miss McCall." No matter how hard I tried, I could never be good enough. I needed to pull this grade up if I had any chance of getting into the college of my choice.

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Chapter One David Parker moved in next door a little over a year ago and quickly became friends with my parents. David is forty-two-years old, making him three years their junior, and the three of them spend a few nights each week playing cards or sitting on the patio talking and watching the sun go down. Since he 's been divorced for ten years mom is always trying to set him up with one of her friends, but it never works out.

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I felt warm, relaxed, and incredibly self-satisfied sitting in the hot tub, completely content to watch my beautiful bride's breasts swimming in the turbulent blue-lighted water. Sitting next to her was the fascinating twenty-four-year-old creature who had recently become a part of our lives. The words my wife had just articulated hung in the air for a moment and snapped me out of my blissful stupor.

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Kimberly stood peeking through the curtains into her back yard, feeling deliciously naughty. Her children were away with her ex-husband for the summer, so there was really nothing standing in the way of a little fun. Outside, Chase pulled off his shirt, and she got chills from the sight of his muscular torso. Her eyes dropped to his waist, and she let out a quiet moan as she drank in the V formed by his abdominal muscles vanishing into his shorts.

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A flip of a switch filled the yard with colored lights. Regina smiled while watching the spruce trees lining the sidewalk appear to spin. She didn't care that chasing lights were out of style — she liked them. Curtain lights, icicle lights, LEDs... The trend changed every year anyway. Turning around, she sighed. It was hard to get into the spirit in an empty house. The loss of her dad five years earlier had started it, followed by her mother the following year, and then the divorce.

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You know the saying—and I'm sure I date myself by saying this—"I want to marry a girl like the one that married Dad?" Well, that holds true for me. I come from a big, traditional Italian family—Dad worked and was head of the house, Mom was at home in the kitchen (and pregnant for the most part). We didn't have much money, but we were never hungry, and because there were seven kids, we had a lot of fun. I always assumed that when I got married, I would have the same kind of family. I loved kids, and secretly, I looked forward to having an ever pregnant wife.

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I have just finished two long days of wheeling and dealing in Wilmington, Delaware. Before driving home to Philly, I decide to unwind, enjoy a little repast as I wait for the rush hour traffic on 95 to ease. So at 5:45 I enter the Green Room of the Hotel du Pont and am seated in the plush dinning room at a table for two quickly transpose to a table for one.

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Danielle and I were making out on the couch. I had just unbuttoned her blouse and was about to lower my mouth to her braless breasts. She has tits to die for, and I never get tired of looking at them. Just as I got my lips on one of her nipples....the phone rang. "Shit!" "Let the machine get it." I sucked it into my mouth, just as the answering machine spewed out this very familiar voice. Danni jumped up and grabbed for the phone. I had drool on my chin.

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Shortly after I turned thirty-nine my mother died suddenly of a coronary thrombosis. Dad had died seven years earlier. So since my brother Kenny, a journalist and my only sibling, was living in London at the time, and my daughter was in her second year of college, I was left alone with the task of going through my mother's things and deciding what should be kept and what should be thrown away.

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At 28 years old I hadn't been with a man for three years. The first two years after my husband died, I couldn't bare the thought of another man touching me. I felt like it was cheating. Jake wasn't supposed to die in that car accident. He was supposed to grow old and gray with me. Jake was gone and I knew I had to move on, but acknowledging this didn't make things any easier. Still, at twenty-eight I wasn't willing to spend the rest of my life alone.

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