Your erotic stories

"Hi Brian, what are you wearing right how?" The voice on the telephone was low and rough as if she wasn't quite awake. "Not much." He answered her, but couldn't figure out who she was. The voice sounded faintly familiar, but he was not sure he knew who it belonged to. Brian wasn't doing much. In fact, he was standing in the bedroom, wearing only a towel around his neck, trying to decide if he wanted to go to bed early, or pull on some sweats, fix a late supper, and then open his briefcase and read for a couple of hours.

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After a signature and a handshake, I escorted my newest client to the door. It was easily the biggest account I'd ever landed. My team and I had a lot of work ahead of us to make sure they were happy. It was our first state-wide campaign, and a steal from a competitor. If we pulled it off, it could mean big things for the company.

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"Grace arrived late last night. Poor thing was tired after the red eye flight from Toronto," Mia said taking a seat at the breakfast table. At those words, James dropped the muffin he was about to eat into his coffee mug. The resulting splash sprinkled not only on the pale blue damask table cloth, but his shirt as well. Trying to cover up his flub, he responded to his sister's comment.

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Given the choice between a young, hot, ravenous stud and an older gentleman, simmering in passionate wisdom and experience, my preference will always be without a single doubt the old man. I often wonder if men realize that while a woman is walking down a street being appreciated for her eye catching silhouette, offering them a break in the usual nothing to get excited about scenery, that she may be doing a little appreciating of her own.

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It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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One of the things I enjoy about my job as a marketing representative is that it allows me to get out of the office and travel. I've never liked being stuck behind a desk, though when my two kids were young, travel was a bit of a problem. Their mother left us when they were four and seven, so I had to be both father and mother from that point on. That made out of town travel very difficult, but I needed my job to make a good living for us.

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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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"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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When Trevor came in to the Environmental Awareness Center at ten a.m. for his Wednesday volunteer shift a new receptionist was on duty. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with long auburn hair, sparkling green eyes, a rosy blemish-free complexion and a buxom chest. "Hi, I'm Trevor Bridges," he said extending his hand, "are you a new volunteer here?"

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