Your erotic stories

CHAPTER 1 Marie smiled. Today was the first day warm enough to go swimming h in her new swimming pool and she was trying on her old bathing suit, She hadn't had time yet to go look for anew one. She was smiling because her diet had worked-- the bathing suit which and once fitted her tightly was now loose all over. The black one-piece was definitely destined for the trash. Maybe she'd even get a two-piece now.

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My dear sisters: I have been asked to give a history of my experience with Priapus, and my part in the revival of his ceremony. I trust that this account will not leave the walls of this sorority house. Here, as best I can recall and recount it, is the story. When I was in college in the early seventies, it was a very different environment than it is today. We were all so much more innocent than girls are now.

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Linda Jones was in the grocery store picking up a few things when she saw her friend Lisa Miller and her son Tommy. Lisa was supposed to come over later in the afternoon with a few friends for bridge club. "Hi Linda," Lisa called out, waving at her in the produce aisle. "Tommy, you remember Mrs. Jones don't you? Be a good boy and say hello."

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Paula Reardon, hot and bothered, placed the box into the open boot of her Honda hatchback. Most of the furniture was on its way, the rest tomorrow, and the house was half empty, and rather ghostly, now. Tomorrow she'd be away from here. Away from the abrasive memories Brian the Bastard had left her. Set up and living with his French floozie, wasn't he?

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Tracy, my new found and rather older lover was, I discovered rapidly, not simply a tease but one who enjoyed it. Each morning as Tracy said, "good morning" she slipped me a sealed envelope before walking down the platform to chat with her friend. I tore the first on open immediately. It read, Dearest Sweetest David. I am so looking forwards to you driving your hot rod in and out of my garage once more. You've missed a treat today, silly me I forgot to put any panties on.

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Kayla sat at the kitchen table fuming. She had intended to ask her husband about it last night, and then this morning, but she couldn't bring herself to go there. Part of it was that she was terrified of the answer. What would she do if her husband was fucking his secretary? She remembered her father telling her mother that he had fallen in love with his secretary, and she didn't want to be her mother. The words still pissed her off. She wasn't about to give her husband, Marty, the chance to tell her he had "fallen in love" with that cow of a secretary. He might be fucking her, but it wasn't love.

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Kevin & Lisa had met in college and fallen madly in love with each other when they were just 18. They had married on Lisa's 20th birthday, only 6 months after Kevin's 20th and now it was only a matter of days before Kevin's 40th. Both were successful professionals, Kevin was a photographer and Lisa a writer and they had decided very early on in their relationship that children would not be in their plan -- just a desire to experience as much as life could offer and they had managed just that.

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It was called "The French Cafe" which would normally be the kind of place I would avoid but one of my co workers got me hooked on the french vanilla mocha latte. I now went there every Sunday like clockwork placing my order before sitting at my favorite table near the back. I would read my Sunday paper and watch the happenings in the small town I called my home. I didn't interact much with the people, that was my wife's job throughout our marriage, as she never met a stranger.

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Perhaps one of the most sensual and erotic experiences I ever had occurred nearly twenty years ago now. But the memory of it remains with me to this day. Back then I worked with a woman named Lucille. I was in my early thirty's at that time, and Lucille was some twenty or so years older than I was. But the age difference hardly mattered between us, we got along famously, and I looked forward to seeing and working with her on a daily basis. At first there was nothing at all sexual even mentioned between us, she had a very 'rigid' upbringing, and things of that nature weren't easily discussed amongst coworkers anyway, especially between us.

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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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