Your erotic stories

Hello my name is Charlize Waters. Everyone calls me Charlie. I'm quickly approaching 30 years of age and dreading it. The big 3 0. I've been pulling gray hairs out of my hair brush for the last year. I'm also noticing lines on my forehead whenever I look in the mirror. Some might say that 30 isn't old at all, but you have a tendency to feel old when the majority of your co-workers don't know who the Fraggles were and can't legally buy alcohol. I work in a college town in a store that sells textbooks and apparel for the college.

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It was a brisk Saturday afternoon in Newport, Rhode Island. The wind blew slightly as the strong sun beamed down on the many shoppers frequenting the stores in this quaint New England town. Being August, tourists were everywhere to be seen. While most were there just for the weekend, some had owned or rented summer homes. In a slightly more secluded area, away from much of the hustle and bustle of the streets, two women sat at a patio table outside a small Italian café.

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Jimmy was disappointed to find his fantasy woman from the previous trip to his grandparents wasn't on the train this time, but amused himself by remembering his mother's cries as all those cocks filled her slutty body. He'd been tormented in her presence since the revelation in Dan's cellar and had tried to avoid her as much as possible; a trip to his gran's would be just the thing to help him work his mind straight, he thought, and he was right - though not in the way he expected.

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Chapter 1 I was laying on a chaise poolside one warm sunny afternoon, thinking about how much my life had changed in the last year. The changes had started with my coming home and finding Harry fucking his partner's wife in our bed. Well, you can imagine. It all hit the fan and I kicked his sorry ass out. The divorce was handled by lawyers, I had a real shark, sorry, guys, but the bastard deserved it and he has a hell of a lucrative business, so I ended up with a very nice settlement and ongoing alimony that lets me not work if I choose to do so. And, right now, that's what I'm choosing.

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I had come home for Christmas break during my second year of college and decided to get together with a longtime buddy, a guy I'd known since I was ten. He'd elected to go to a local college and was still living at home so we decided to meet up at his place, about five blocks from where I grew up.

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It was a very late night for Dana and Gina and both slept late into the morning. When they finally rose from bed Dana slipped into one of the long shirts she usually wore to bed and didn't bother to put anything on underneath. Gina pulled on another of Dana's large sleep shirts and she too didn't bother to put on anything else.

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Let me start by saying that I am always willing to step up and admit when I've made a mistake. I also hate being wrong so I have a tendency to avoid situations where those words "I was wrong" would have to escape my mouth. That said, the phrase "This is stupid," kind of became my mantra as my minivan sped along the nearly deserted roads to the lake. It was too late to turn back so I let those cursed words roll around in the back of my mouth.

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PART 1 I have a good job that pays very well and has wonderful benefits so I didn't need another job or the extra money. I'm also young, early thirties and I keep myself in good shape so I can party and keep going for most of the night. However, lately I've run into a dry spell so for the most part I'm left to my own devices. And that's okay, I enjoy my own company and an entertain myself for hours at a time, and I do. One night while walking home from a movie downtown I passed an adult theater.

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My wife Sally and I have been married now for twenty two years and I am still discovering new things about her. The true story that I am about to tell you is how my dear Sally first brought Lynda into our lives and what happened the first time that she visited our house. If you find lesbian sex and cream pies offensive then please do not waste your time by reading on. We live in a medium sized village somewhere in the south of England. I am manager of the local bank, and for the last ten years Sally has been the headmistress of the small village junior school.

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How humiliating. Here I am, a once-successful thirty-something, happily married, or so I thought, two kids, great house, great life, blah, blah, blah. And now...I'm looking up at the façade of my old childhood home, watching the moving men carting in the few boxes I have, the remnants of that successful life that's now wrecked to hell and back. Ye gods, does anything spell "loserville" like moving back home with your mommy???

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