Your erotic stories

There are many moments in life that one can see as stunning; I am witnessing such a moment. My home is in the mountains of Pennsylvania, when the snow falls across the landscape, especially around the holidays it reminds me that God,in his infinite wisdom, allows us the time to reflect and remember the beauty in our lives. It has been some time since I've written of my deliciously decadent liaisons. As you know, I am a lover of older men.

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The summer of 1970 was the time, and the place was Holland Patent in rural central New York State. Arthur Connors was a recently retired man of 65 with a lot of time on his hands, and after his wife of 36 years had passed away a couple of years ago, that time seemed to pass more slowly. Deciding to take up gardening, Art cleared out the area near the fence out back that divided his property from the Miller's spread next door, and began planting tomatoes.

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I don't want to open my eyes. It feels so peaceful and warm lying in my bed listening to the rain falling on my roof. The little drops create a rhythmic pattern, a song if you will as they plummet and splash one by one. You may be hard pressed to appreciate the rain. Maybe you don't see the beauty in a sky painted in shades of gray, may consider it bleak or dreary, not me. Rain is the element necessary to sustain all life, how could that be dreary?

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Tuesday morning I took special care in getting ready for work; knowing it was Jacks usual day to frequent the library. I'd spent the night (like most others that week) dreaming of Jack's sweet seduction and our "date" last week. Scanning the conservative work clothes in my closet I finally settled on the form-fitting black skirt and the soft red sweater. I was so nervous; it took me several tries just to get the seams straight on the backs of my stockings. The morning seemed to take forever to pass and after lunch I'd stood at my office window, lost in fantasies of Jack.

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Or so Annabelle thought as she sat in front of the computer, a pile of paperwork at her left, another of unanswered mail at her right. Because while all her friends were at the beach or by a pool enjoying their summer before going away to college, Annabelle was stuck in a law firm, working nine to five and missing on all the fun. Sure, the money was good and the job wasn't too bad, but still, she would love to be out there having fun with all the other people her age.

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If I close my eyes, I can still relive that night this past winter when I broke a wonderful man's heart. It was not intentional. Chris Morgan is one of the kindest, most genuine men I know. I tell myself I'm just a human-- far from perfect. We're teachers, you see. My entire purpose is to educate and show love and kindness to all individuals. Chris and I had been showing lots of kindness and making lots of love to each other for about eight months at the time. Chris is the sexiest forty nine year old I have ever seen, and by far the best lover I'd ever had.

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Something happened to my ability to choose "friends" during my stint in the military. Through grade school, high school and college I chose my friends well and had normal things happen in my life. My relations with women were good and my best male friends were always there for me, as I was for them. After my service years, I was everyone's dependable, caring patsy. A great long time friend borrowed my truck and never returned it; a live-in girlfriend stole things from my house and tried to get even more;

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"They are real!" Harry said emphatically, glaring at the drunken brothers sitting across the bar from him. Billy had fallen off his stool, assisted by the wildly flailing arms of his larger brother; but Billy usually did anyway; and Bob, trying to keep from falling was holding tightly to the bar, tears in his eyes, howling with laughter.

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Boone, Mississippi. 1976. September In the middle of the night Ginny woke with her bare feet burning and itching something fierce. When she swung her coltish legs out from under the sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest, she found her ankles littered with sore, red welts. Ginny rubbed at her big eyes in the hot darkness, trying to rouse herself.

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I had been enamored of Danielle, or Dani as everyone called her, since she had been in high school. She was a young beauty –I will describe her in detail in a minute – who had always run with my son's crowd. I, obviously, was old enough to be her father. She dated my son for a brief time, but seemed to play the field through her high school years as the young seem to do these days. She interned her junior year in my graphic design firm and seemed to have an affinity and flare for design.

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