After my wife died the house was so empty.
Most of the time it was okay. I went to work and didn't think about it. I ate dinner out, came home and watched TV until late. But there was no one to share my bed at night, and the weekends were long and lonely.
In a way it was good, because I started being more friendly to people, just to have someone to talk to. My next door neighbor George, for instance.
It was accident that Phil had caught the earlier flight home and came home in the middle of the day he told himself. Still he had stood transfixed for half an hour peering through a small crack in the door of his lounge room looking at the scene before him. The hard on in his pants betrayed the excitement he felt. He had come into the house and hearing a giggle and a sweet squeal of a woman's voice half expected the television to be left on in the lounge room and his son watching daytime television rather than studying for his exams.
As the first pot of Monday morning coffee brewed, its rich fragrance floated heavily through the stale air of the office. Juliana, an experienced twenty-eight year old customer service rep enjoyed coming into work nearly a half hour earlier than anyone else. This was her private time -- her chance to catch up on emails, reports, and any actual work before her day started and her mind drifted to topics other than work.
Like most young girls, my fancy has always been that of older men.
I am unsure whether its the experience or just the maturity that makes them more appealing than most guys my age, but I have found that most older men tend to flirt more with the younger girls as well. Out of all I have met though, there has only been one to make me weak with just a simple wink.
I've always wondered why older guys gravitate toward younger women, whenever they have the chance. Until I met Holly, I didn't realize that I, and the women that I've been with for the past 25 years, have changed, a lot.
When you're 18, and you're dating other 18 year olds, you never really realize that bodies change as they age. Heck, the woman that you date and eventually marry, then spend the next few decades with is aging at the same pace that you are. The changes are subtle, but they occur.
[This story is mostly fiction, but it's based on a real event in my life. It was such a hot experience that I thought ya'll would like it—and let me tell you, if I could, I'd hook up with these guys again! Be sure to comment/vote]
When I was twenty and still in college, I spent a summer house-sitting for a professor. It was a cheap way to stay in town while I took a class and worked at a summer job while generally goofing around.
My name is Rebecca, and I am an eighteen-year-old senior in high school. I am quite fit, having been on baseball and track teams all four years of high school. I am about five feet, six inches tall. I weigh around one hundred and twenty pounds and I have long brown hair and hazel eyes.
I am, and have always been a very easygoing person. I get along with just about everyone, and rarely ever argue with anyone.