Your erotic stories

My fortieth birthday had just gone by the previous week, with quite a fanfare of celebration. The years just seemed to have flown by. I sat back at my desk in the basement and reminisced the last twenty years. Moreover, perhaps puzzling what changes I should have made, if any at all. Or would all that had gone on this last month be an indication of the next decade. My teenage life was uneventful, I had a few girlfriends but nothing much happened until I was nineteen, then Jane appeared on the scene.

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I was at university at the time, and like all students I was finding money very hard to come by, not having rich parents, and not getting along with my mother. She had wanted me to marry this nice lad, but he wasn't for me. I was doing media studies, public relations, and arts. I thought I had the looks to get on in those fields. I had done some modelling when I was a bit younger, so I thought I might be able to get into that.

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At only a couple of months short of nineteen Kerry was no virgin, but she was only too aware that she couldn't yet really class herself as sexually experienced either. Her occasional contact with porn had told her that she still had a lot to learn and a lot to experience, and although some of the things she had come across she doubted that she would ever want to try, there were also things that just thinking about doing gave her a thrill.

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Ok, so here's the deal. My name is Marissa Adams, I'm 18 years old and I am a maid at a hotel/casino in Las Vegas. I'm not complaining, pay's good, my co-workers are great and I meet very interesting people and a few stars. Just last week Shaq was staying in the NBA Suite. But that's no where near the best part of my perfect job.

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What a lucky kid. I thought as my son bustled through the door of our entryway. He was laden with bags of luggage, grumbling about how he had married an overpacker. His wife followed him carrying two suitcases, her blonde hair falling in her face. The pair bustled up the stairs into the spare bedroom. I walked out to their Lexus and saw they had gotten most of the bags in. There were just two left. A brown suitcase in one hand and a black gym bag over one arm and I was in.

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"You probably think I'm too old for you." I paused to consider. The fact was: he was too old for me. He was more than twice my age. I had dated men a little older than me, but I usually stuck with men under thirty. There was also the fact that Aaron was the Santa Claus at the mall where I manage a department store, and while he looked decidedly different, and more attractive, when he was out of his costume, I still couldn't bring myself to go on a date with Santa.

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DING DING DONG. "Oh damn," Lauren sits up in bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, suddenly remembering the air conditioning man is supposed to arrive at 8:00 o'clock. She stayed up late, chatting online with some college classmates while watching an old movie and forgot to set her alarm. Grabbing her red silk robe from the foot of the bed, she pulls it over her dad's old undershirt and little boy boxer shorts.

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N.Y.C. 1971. .......... Chapter One: Stranded in the Big Apple. Everything had gone so well up to the point when I took out my wallet to get my bus ticket. It was a small grey stub that was going to get me on the bus for my return home to Plattsburgh, New York, and when I didn't find it right away, I didn't panic but merely stepped out of the line to allow the more organized travelers to get on the bus.

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Something changed in my life when I looked up and saw him. A beautiful young man in vest and jeans, sun shining and lighting his body as it hip-jerked with laughter. Tanned shiny muscles, soft but strong. Tight flat stomach, He knew he looked good. He pushed his body forward, he displayed his muscles, he turned easy and relaxed. His jeans were deliciously tight, bewitching. But I could see something else.

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I've done something appalling, something that I have tried to stop doing but can't. No matter how severely I berate myself with a vow never to repeat my actions in moments of remorse, I can't resist such an overwhelming power. It's not lust; lust is such a puny word when I compare it to the wash of sheer, irresistible craving that I feel.

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