Your erotic stories

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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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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This is a retelling of an experience a very good friend of mine (I'll call her Judith) had 2 years ago before she met the fella that she recently married. I have her permission to retell the story so long as I did not use her name or the names of anyone else connected to this. Her experience was so good that I don't need to embellish it in any way. So here goes ....

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Andrea and I have been friends for almost ten years. We met when she started dating a friend of mine. Andrea was fresh out of high school then and the first thing I noticed were her flawless sized seven and a half feet. Being that we live in Florida, Andrea was always wearing flip flops and showing off her amazing feet. Andrea is a beautiful girl besides just her feet.

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My affair with Stevie; if that's what you want to call it is still going on today. It's not an affair in the conventional sense as there is absolutely no chance that he would ever buy me flowers or take me to a French Restaurant. Nor would I want him to. We are as he quaintly calls it – 'fuck-buddies'. We still occasionally go to the derelict factory on a Friday afternoon and the odd evening after work.

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We met as Ali requested, in the secluded and quiet restaurant close to her apartment. She looked stunning and I knew as soon as I saw her that my decision to agree to her rules for the night was a good one. I shivered, the anticipation building and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end already. In our planning we had agreed the boundaries, the rules if you like. I was dressed as I was asked, Ali had made a few requests that in reality were not choices for me, but expectations.

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Julieanne slowly pushed her shopping cart down the isle, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. She was excited about the prospects of the evening to come. Charles had promised to take her to theater, something they had not done in a long time. He had also arranged for the kids to be out of the house, at a friends place, so they would be alone.

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I've always felt attracted to younger men. Some time ago, there was family living next to me in our small neighborhood. This was several years after my husband had died. I'd finally begun to feel somewhat whole again and yet the loneliness was getting me down. I had sexual cravings I hadn't felt in a long time and thought I'd go crazy if they weren't satisfied by someone, and soon.

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I chose a table in the food court of the Mall and sat down to eat my salad during an unsuccessful hour of shopping for some new outfits. I ate absent-mindedly and people-watched as I picked through the salad greens and sliced tomatoes on my plate. The food court began to fill as if everyone suddenly came over all hungry and I was soon surrounded by noisy teens, tired seniors simply wanting to get off their feet, and some families with restless kids.

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When Jack and Lisa, friends from my college days, asked me to be the photographer for their wedding I was more than happy to oblige. I had been doing wedding photography on the side for about five years and was getting more and more comfortable with my results. Little did I know that this assignment would be quite different from all the rest.

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