Your erotic stories

I had to chuckle when I heard the door open behind me seconds after I had sidled up to the trough-like urinal that ran along the wall of the men's room of the bar I had been killing time in. Maybe it comes with age, but for some reason I knew that I was going to have company, and I really didn't need to look to see who my bathroom companion was.

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Monday was cool and sunny, with a slight breeze that carried the scent and promise of early autumn. Jack Williams eased his 73-year-old body down on his accustomed bench in the small park downtown and opened his book. He liked this spot under a big oak tree whose leaves had just begun to show signs of changing color. The fresh air was nice and it was shady and cool during the summer. In the spring and autumn the sun angle was just right to give a little warmth.

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This is my first submission. It is a chapter from a much longer story I'm working on. It is essentially a true story, with names and events modified to ensure the privacy of those involved. It is very detailed, a story of unrequited love and missed opportunity, romantic and tender but also intense it its anal themes. It's the story of my brief time with Catherine, a woman I fell in love with and think of often.

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I am Frank Stokes, 64 years old, retired from an executive position in a large corporation. My wife of 35 years passed away 3 years ago. I live in Brentwood, a golfing community, in the Atlanta area. There are three 18 hole golf courses. One easy course, one a little more difficult and the third, for experts, more difficult. Lots of sand traps, water and longer. I play the middle course.

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When Jenny and Allen moved in next door I thought they were the ideal couple. They at 32 were about 25 years younger than I, he tall, about 6ft 2in, blonde good looking, she around 5ft 5in slim, a tumble of soft brown curly hair, a face that lit up when she smiled and an effervescent personality; a typical Australian couple.

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Not for the first time Ralph cursed his rotten luck as he cleaned up the mess other people had left behind in their offices. A scant six months ago he had been one of these office types but that was before he had lost his job and, to add insult to injury, his wife had left him for his boss. Somehow his life had spiraled out of control after that.

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Edwin was definitely not the sort of guy I fell for. Not even close. I fell for wild boys who partied hard. Boys in black leather jackets with lots of tattoos and rings in their noses. The bad boys, the loud boys, the boys who knew where to find the best parties on Friday and Saturday nights. I knew they were trashy and rude, but I liked it. I couldn't help myself.

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We had arrived in my husband's home town. It was really a small village with a main street that looks like it came right out of a painting. The town was decorated for Christmas; all the lamp poles had colored lights running up and down them. A fresh carpet of snow blanketed the town; this place could really get you in the Christmas mood.

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It was a beautiful warm sunny day -- well, hot actually -- though the stiff on-shore breeze blowing up from the south made the heat tolerable. Otherwise, it was a perfect day for sailing. I sat at the wheel of my sailboat, named Felicity, which my wife, Karen, always insisted on calling a "yacht" because it was just over thirty feet in length. Karen wasn't on board with me. At the last minute on Friday, her boss had asked Karen to fly to Boston for a crucial project and he needed Karen to meet with the proposal team early Sunday -- today -- so she'd flown out last evening.

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ONE AN ILL-DEFINED QUALITY, something in her expression unsettled him. Despite the differences in their ages the girl was disturbing, made him feel distinctly uneasy. A hint of a smirk lifted the corner of her mouth while her pale-green, penetrating eyes bored into his and gave the impression of being able to recognise every dirty, sordid thought that had ever crossed his mind. He didn't know her well; they'd never been close while she was growing up. She was his brother's daughter.

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