Your erotic stories

Except for the red glow from the digital alarm clock, which read 4:53, the room was still dark. My eyes had adjusted to the lack of light but I could still barely make out the features of Hokuto's sleeping face. I propped myself up on an elbow and leaned close. It had been almost four months since the last time I'd seen him but it had seemed much longer. I'd expected him to look older, but all the lines and creases my eyes had traced and memorized in the past two years were the same.

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I wiped the counter clean for the fourth time; making sure to eliminate any crumbs or marks that might have evaded my first three passes. I sighed and looked at the clock - again. Only two minutes had gone by since my last glance. I looked at my watch and, of course, it said the same thing as the kitchen clock. Quarter of one. Aurelie would be arriving in fifteen minutes, and she was never late.

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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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I'm in my late fifties. Pretty good-looking, I'm told and still in pretty good shape, thank you very much. I live in Bridgehampton, New York, right in the center of the 'Fabulous Hamptons' resort area. I live here year 'round and unlike the eclectic billionaires that comprise my neighborhood, I don't go to the fancy parties and fundraisers, horse shows or designer shops. Don't get me wrong, I love the style and artistic nature of the place, bumping into the super-famous on the street and dining on the best food.

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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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