Your erotic stories

The summer of 1976 was especially hot. It was late August and I was studying in the library at college but found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I looked out of the window I could see carefree people in the quad, laughing, enjoying life, making the most of the wonderful, warm weather. I felt left behind, stuck in this mausoleum reading but not taking anything in. I was feeling restless and thoughts of sexual activities were assaulting my brain.

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I imagine you coming home tonight, surprised how all your snow chores are done. You walk into the house and it's warm, there's a light in the kitchen, and you enter, curious about what you'll find. As you enter I turn around and smile. I've been hard at work at the stove, cooking our diner. You can tell that a soup is bubbling away, perfect for this cold winter night.

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There must be something inherently lucky about February 29--leap day. That's the day I went to get my hair cut by the gal Carla who's been cutting my hair for over a year. She does an excellent job and has an interesting personality, so I always wait for her. To tell you the truth, I originally selected her because she's good looking.

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When you’ve been around the block enough times, you know that anything is possible when it comes to people’s sex lives. I knew there were men who liked to watch as their wives had sex with another man. And I’m no prude. Anything is OK with me as long as no one gets forced or hurt --- more than they want to be, that is.

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It was the late 70s. I was in college and not old enough to drink legally, but looked old enough so that my ID was rarely checked. I worked as a cook in a steak house and my asshole manager, Newman, stalked into the kitchen after closing time and barked "There is some cunt asking about you in the bar. The only reason I didn't throw her out is because she is spending money. Go get rid of her and get your ass back here to clean up."

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I had been dating Doug, a big, blonde, football player, for about a month. Though he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, he was handsome and popular, and fun in bed. One evening, close to the end of term, I swung by his apartment to see if he wanted to go and grab something to eat. I was surprised when Doug's roommate, Warren, answered the door. He was hardly ever home.

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"Hey honey... Have you seen this?" My husband asked, showing me an email he had received. I barely glanced at it before answering. "Nope!" "It's from our group. They're having a Halloween party... swinger style!" My hubby informed me. "Really?" I asked with interest. "Hang on, let me see if I got an email from them too." Sure enough, a quick look at my inbox proved that I had gotten an email invite. Hmm... it's been some time since the last group party...

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My wife Liz and I were enjoying our new found freedom. The worries and problems of child rearing, mortgages and financial concerns, were largely in our past. We were living a life more centered on each other. Our vacations were now of our choice, we enjoyed walks together after dinner, we dined at nice restaurants instead of fast food outlets, and our sex life had blossomed.

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I sat down with a heavy sigh of relief as my brother and I dropped the last, huge, brown box in front of our new couch. He heaved out a long winded breath of his own as his wiped his forehead with the back of hand. "Shit, I'm glad we're finally finished moving all of this useless junk..," He irritated mumbled as he smacked a pack of Newports against his palm and pulled one out of the pack, along with a plastic lighter.

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It was the stupidest thing I've done in my entire life; let's be honest, I knew that at the time but I still did it, silly cow! It was just before Christmas, and I'd gone with a few of my fellow teachers to the pub to celebrate the end of term – my first in my new profession. I'm Cathy Hull by the way, 23, pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way with a pale face, regular features, shoulder length brown hair (mousey, if I'm, being honest), and quite petite, five-foot-four with a slim figure. I'm from just outside London, and the school I teach at is about fifty miles north of my home town.

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