Your erotic stories

Jennifer McDougall slumped in the hard-back chair on the other side of my large wooden desk. The wind knocked out of her sails, I knew she was beaten. Tears ran down her face, and I handed her my handkerchief to wipe them away. It was a losing battle though, for each time she dried those blue eyes the tears continued to flow. "Mr. Roberts, I'm so sorry, I..." she quietly said.

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"Wahay!" A course Geordie voice shouted as I heard someone wolf-whistle me, "Careful you don't show us your stocking tops; sweetheart!" I had arrived home half an hour earlier after finishing a night shift at the hospital and as I was hanging some washing on the spinner in the garden my nurses' uniform had risen to mid thigh. I turned to scowl at the builders who were working on the new conservatory.

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I'd not long returned from my morning 8k run and still had an adrenaline buzz so, after checking my e-mails I decided to have a scroll through a couple of my favourite porn sites and have a nice leisurely wank, when there was a knock on my flat door. As I approached the door I rearranged my stiff cock to avoid any embarrassment. When I opened the door halfway to see who the caller was my jaw nearly hit the floor like a Tom & Jerry cartoon.

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One of my father's crudest friends had a saying that he reserved for men he thought were losers with the women. He would say, "That guy couldn't get laid in a whore house with a pocket full of hundred dollar bills." I never thought about that much; I figured I was doing alright with the ladies until I turned forty. Then it dawned on me, I had never had one that truly cared about me. Through my blue collar hard-working, long-hour days, I had a long string who abused my trust, used me and made me pay too much for the attention I got from them.

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In April 2004 my husband announced that his 25 year old secretary was 6 months pregnant and he was leaving me and our two daughters to be with her. Apparently I'd become boring and had put on weight – no longer the slim nymphomaniac that he had married 21 years previously. To say that I was devastated would be somewhat of an understatement. I thought that I'd been as good a mother and wife as I could be while also holding down a career as an accountant with a pretty large clothing company.

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"Truth or dare?" asks Cristina. "Truth," Sammy answers. There'd be plenty of time for wild antics later. The slumber party was just getting started. "Okay..." Cristina looks around the room at her friends mischievously grinning, feigning serious consideration with a finger to her chin. She pauses extra long to build suspense and takes a swig of her wine cooler before posing her brilliant question: "Spit or swallow?"

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I met Amanda and Brooke at Ignacio and Rachael's beach house during one of their big, swanky parties. It started when I was talking to Ann over by the big salt water fish tank; the one with the octopus. We were talking about the hosts' odd relationship when she nudged me and nodded her head in the direction of the ocean. "Hey Craig, there're two hotties checking you out," she said around her cigarette.

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The soft patter of rain that began to pelt against the roof grabbed my attention, and I paused, setting my fiery-red lipstick back on the wooden vanity below me. "Shit." I muttered to myself, disgruntled. The weather forecast hadn't called for rain earlier in the morning, so I'd decided on a costume with more involved makeup. I'd planned on arriving at the annual Crowley Halloween ball dressed as a sexy version of Harley Quinn, my favorite character.

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It was 1959 and I was 19 years old. I had left London and had accepted a position as a junior clerk in a large company in the north of England. I found a small, cheap bed-and-breakfast hotel run by Mrs. Johnson, a friendly motherly type, who made me feel instantly at home. I decided to stay there for a couple of weeks until I found a flat to rent. It was Friday and my first night in the city.

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I made it through the week, not an inconsequential accomplishment in that strange year so long ago. 

I made it through Saturday, too. I wrote a little and did laundry and got some physical activity to try to take the edge off the tension I felt rising within me. I was horny and on a whim, I called up the web site of the Washington Blade, the local gay paper. I scanned the ads, and thought back to how things had been when i was just entering middle age.

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