Your erotic stories

The start of her first real affair After dropping Tom off at the airport, she spent the rest of the morning sorting out what she was going to wear. She realised she hadn't been so excited about going out for years. She had the butterflies in her tummy which she had got as a teenager when she was going out on a first date with someone she had really fancied.

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If I close my eyes, I can still relive that night this past winter when I broke a wonderful man's heart. It was not intentional. Chris Morgan is one of the kindest, most genuine men I know. I tell myself I'm just a human-- far from perfect. We're teachers, you see. My entire purpose is to educate and show love and kindness to all individuals. Chris and I had been showing lots of kindness and making lots of love to each other for about eight months at the time. Chris is the sexiest forty nine year old I have ever seen, and by far the best lover I'd ever had.

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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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Gail Davis watched the young man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, climb out of his sports car and walk towards the office of her small real estate business in rural New Jersey. As she did so, Gail began to feel an immediate moistness between her legs. Not much older than my oldest daughter, she thought, eyeing him through the tinted window, feeling her nipples stiffen through the confines of her half-bra and cotton blouse. Other than her frequent masturbation sessions, her nipples hadn't been this hard in far too long.

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It's going to be a surprise. I just hope it's a pleasant one. I really shouldn't be going. But I'm at my wits end and can't stop myself. It's been over two months of denial -- not that there haven't been others, I've let a few virile studs demonstrate their might on several one-nighters, but he's the one I'm really interested in. I'm mindless to the chill as I stride along. It's already dark, drizzle permeating the air in a fine spray, a damp Christmas Eve with no chance of it snowing, no way to pretty things up.

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One of the best amenities to my last apartment was my next door neighbors. They consisted of a mother and her two daughters. Veronica, the mother, was a teacher, around my age and, like me, was divorced. About my height, she was on the taller side for a woman, and very attractive. You could tell that she had been very beautiful when she was younger, but had gone through a lot in life, and it had all taken it's toll on her.

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Regina was in a fine mood. Her son, William, and her daughter in law, Jennifer were coming to pick her up. She was returning to her old home for 2 weeks to help look after her grand-daughter, Kaileigh, while William and Jennifer went to Jamaica. Jennifer's brother, Dustin, was living there and would be watching the baby when he was home, so Regina would be watching the child whne he wasn't. He worked rotating shifts so their schedule would be a little erratic.

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Michael Powell was exhausted now. He lay very still, taking small, shallow, quick breaths. On his lumpy single bed, staring at the cracked, white ceiling of his room, Michael recounted the events of earlier that night, in his own private mind movie. He took one deeper breath, closed his eyes and smiled. He opened them again and reached over to pick up the toilet roll from the floor at the side of his bed.

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I am a product of thinking patterns and values that were probably always wrong and early training to cherish women. Love and respect was without question the basis of male and female relationships. Until just a year ago, I struggled to find dates my own age or denied my age in an attempt to attract healthier, younger, more active females. Stupidly, I competed with the young broad shouldered, narrow waisted, handsome, deep voiced twenty and thirty year olds. If that is what the women wanted, I could not compete.

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"Passion rules us all," someone once said. "And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments." And I know, in my time with Alexandra, these are some of those finest moments. Also, the most terrifying. Summer. New Orleans. She and I are facing each other, lying on a bed in our second-story room at a small European-like pension.

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