Your erotic stories

The chain link fence that had served as the border between his and Jean's yard seemed a lot shorter than it used to. Since he had been 12 he had taken care of her children, well a lot of the neighborhood kids after school till their parent got home. And maybe Jean knew of the affect which she had on him. Well granted not to the degree of perversion. For example she was probably was not aware how he had arranged the growth of vegetation on the fence so that a line of sight was clear from his window to her garden.

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"I don't think I'll be able to attend tonight's committee meeting. My damn husband is out of town again and I can't find a babysitter." I was standing behind two attractive women in the grocery store's express check-out. "Amy, you have to come. You've done all the work to date and we need the project to remain on track." "I know . . . I know. I'll make a few more calls and see if I can find a sitter."

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I've often asked myself how it is that I came to be so addicted to the worship of women's legs. I've never adequately been able to explain it even to myself. I will say that ever since I was a young boy, the sight of a firm pair of legs, preferably in a skirt, is enough to get my juices flowing, my cock hard, and my mind racing.

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The opportunity that I hadn't really been looking for happened totally by accident, and certainly not by design. I had the hots for my best mates mother, and had had them for as long as I can remember, I had known him and her for 12 years. I had always been in love with her, it was her ways, her movements, the way she was. I was utterly besotted with her all my life, I hung on every word.

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"You get a line, and I'll get a pole, and we'll go fishing in the crawdad hole..." The chorus of young voices finally faded out as Nicole, her two sisters, and their seven kids made it back to camp from their fishing spot on the lake. Despite the still early hour, the heat was already oppressive. Fortunately, there was an easy cure for that.

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I was sitting on the back porch of my wife's uncle's house in western Nebraska, enjoying the sun and unseasonably warm temperature along with a cold beer and a cigar. It was Saturday afternoon and we'd been out hunting pheasant since early that morning but, after lunch, my father-in-law and his brothers had decided a power nap was in order. I decided instead to take advantage of perhaps my last opportunity for a few months to sit outside in just cargo pants and a t-shirt.

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Adam hadn't seen Mrs. Ford in a couple of weeks although the memory of the late evening they had spent in her back yard was still vivid in his mind. He had agonized over whether or not he should get in touch with her. He thought of calling her and asking if she needed someone to clean her pool, but then he would cringe at the sexual overtones that were so obvious in such an offer. Ultimately he decided that it was unlikely that his mother's best friend would want him calling her up like some moon struck teenager which was, in fact, pretty much what he was.

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ONE Sean Lambert and his wife, Amy, were excited about their upcoming trip to a desert resort in Arizona. Over the course of their twenty year marriage, they had always tried to celebrate their milestone anniversaries in a big way. Sean's orthopedic surgery practice was well established so money was never an option.

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"You're joking," I said. "Hear me out. He likes you, trusts you. Maybe he'll tell you what's wrong." The desperation in my long-time friend's voice was apparent. "There's nothing wrong. Danny's just a late-bloomer! Hell, the kid's only eighteen!" "That's what I had convinced myself, too. But, eighteen? Fine at fifteen and sixteen, but he graduates High School in three months. He's never had a girl friend, not even one date!" she shrieked.

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Rebecca watched the last of the trick-or-treaters head down the street and checked the clock. With the official hours over, she turned out the porch light and put down the bowl, resisting the urge to indulge with one of the few remaining pieces of candy. She took off her witch hat and shook out a wealth of dark hair, trying not to think about the few strands of gray that she refused to dye — yet.

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