Your erotic stories

A number of years ago, I placed an ad in the local paper as a free-lance writer offering to write heirloom biographies for a reasonable fee. The idea came to mind after my mother passed away, and I realized how little I really knew of her life. I simply knew her as 'Mom,' and my kids only knew what I passed along to them. My intent was to help families capture the essence of their lives to share with the generations to follow.

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I'm out cycling; I generally cycle most weekends, usually with a friend, but today I'm on my own. I'm going fairly fast along a winding country road; I see a few parked cars on my side of the road ahead of me. I look around to see if it's safe to pull out and avoid the cars. As I look forward again, I see a car door, sweeping open in front of me, thinking - what the hell - where the hell did that come from. I try to swerve around it, but 'nop', I catch the edge of the door and this throws me off my bike, bike one way, me another, rolling a few times until I end up in a small pond.

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No sooner had the key turned off in the ignition than I saw disaster about to strike. Snatching open the car door, I raced across the street. "Wait!" I yelled as I Olympic-hurdled a lawn sprinkler. Three feet up a ladder, Mrs. Kemp turned to look at me. She smiled and stepped back down. "Hey, Jimmy. When did you get home?" Panting to catch my breath, I gave her a grin. "Came in... late last night." I pointed over my shoulder at my car. "Mom had me to go grab a few things at Wally World for her."

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The day I slept late that July was unforgettable. I had just graduated high school and was gently preparing to go off to college, but mainly that summer I was relaxing – sleeping late and not having many plans. My sister was travelling somewhere in Europe and my parents were both working long days, probably thinking about my college expenses. We also had a house guest for a few weeks that summer. Leigh Chandler was an old friend of my mother's from her college days. Leigh had recently started a new job in town and was staying with us while she looked for an apartment.

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I couldn't believe I was doing this. No matter what I said to reassure myself, nothing would make me believe that I was ACTUALLY doing this. I had always been the good girl, the one who went without, the one who put others first at her own expense. I had spent so many years bottling up my deepest desires that I almost couldn't remember them. But not anymore. Not this girl. No way, no sir. Technically, I was cheating. The papers weren't even drawn up yet, and here I was, fully contemplating a lusty afternoon chock full of sin.

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I use hook-up apps as a way to travel I suppose. I don't have the luxury to flit about the globe taking selfies with landmarks, so more often than not, when I get to chat up a guy, I'm dipping my toe into a completely different life. To a degree, if and when we hook up, I become a different, more adventurous guy. And perhaps, ashamedly - when I'll leave town, there's no looking back.

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I had sold a run-down house to Cory Tomas a few years ago. He is about forty-five, is a local truck driver, has a big beer belly, is a good poker player and seems to be a good father to his pre-teen kids when they stay with him every other weekend. Of course I also know his financial situation, but other than those things, I only know that he always seems to have a reasonably pretty, shy woman with him. Each one would stay a few months and then there would be a new one. One day he told me about the free Texas Hold'em tournaments at one of our local bars.

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"You're being silly. I'm old enough to be your mother." Says Willow with a sad smile. Stepping over to her I look down into her dark eyes. I pause for a second as I see those beautiful pools of hazel looking back at me. "And I'm old enough to know that's not old." I lean down to kiss her. For a half a second I think she might let me then her head turns and my lips brush her cheek.

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It was a beautiful little lake in Lower Michigan, not far from the Indiana border. It was settled in amongst a few rolling hills roughly twenty minutes from anywhere. Fifteen houses occupied two-thirds of its shoreline, with the other third being little more than marsh land. Of the houses, five were occupied by year round residents; with the remainder being vacation homes and cottages of various shapes and sizes.

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Not many people would view being a parking attendant as a glamorous job. Certainly Nate didn't expect it to be the kind of job where he'd get much pussy. He expected, and got, long, lonely hours, a stupid shirt with a logo on it, a tiny booth, and no heater. So far the September nights had been kind to him, but God only knew what it would be like when the really bad weather hit.

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