Your erotic stories

It was a Friday evening and everyone had left the office for the start of a long weekend. So many people with exciting plans and here I am sat working late, no one to share my time with. All the family had plans which should have meant a quiet weekend at home with a good book and a bit of pampering. So why am I feeling miserable, no noise, no kids, no hassle and no being the taxi service for 3 whole days.

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There was a chill in the air as we got into the car, but the sun was already burning off the early morning dew, and the low lying mist seemed to give the impression that even the clouds were still sleeping in the fields. 'It's going to be a hot day,' I said. 'In more ways than one,' he laughed, setting a whole host of butterflies into flight in my stomach.

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As Jenny rolled lazily onto her back she could still, with each breath, sense the sweet saltiness of Mike's semen and the tang of his after-shave that lingered about the satin sheets and pillows of her rumpled bed. It had been a wonderful weekend that had seemed to last forever and it had all begun with a chance encounter in the super-market.

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Will paced back and forth in his dressing room as he recited the lines over and over to himself. Tomorrow was the first day of shooting; the first day he had to make a whole audience of people believe he was gay. It's not that he had anything against gays, or that he felt like he was above them, but he had a sort of disconnect, and wondered if this role was beyond his talents. He sat down at his table, in front of the mirror, and stared at his very blond hair. It was quite a different look for him, and he wasn't entirely sure it suited him.

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The steaming water hit my skin, rinsing away the sweat and the stress from the work-week. I'd started my Friday night workouts a year ago after breaking up with my girlfriend, and they've become a tradition. The gym's quiet in the evenings, letting me take my time as I work myself to exhaustion, leaving me feeling light-headed and refreshed - and more than a little horny, too. Working my muscles always leaves me feeling like that, and I enjoy stretching it out before I head home to jerk off.

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As my wife Molly and I got into our fifties, things sort of settled down between us. Things of a sexual nature I mean. Neither of us were as slim and trim as we'd been when we'd met forty years before, and though I still considered her my best friend and sexually desirable, she, I believe, began to think she was no longer attractive. I tried to convince her otherwise (I mean, hey, I'm paunchy too!), and though she said she believed me, I knew that deep down inside, she felt somewhat ugly and unwanted.

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It started on a mate's stag night/bachelor party, - whatever you know a bloke's traditional booze-up before his wedding as. A crowd of us hit the town, crawled the bars and eventually ended up at a lapdancing club, ahem, as you do. . . A good time was had by all, plenty of dances were bought, and the general agreement was what goes on the stag, stays on the stag.

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Peaches, peaches everywhere but not a bite to eat. I was pondering upon my existence and lack of life while downing my second glass of whisky. A hunger deep inside me resided for many months with no opportunity for quenching. Suddenly a gorgeous peach appeared before me begging to be eaten. Mind oblivious to my body's actions, I was madly devouring the fruit with out any thought involved.

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"I've been cheating on you." My body froze as the simple sentence left her lips. I tried to speak but my mind remained completely blank as I struggled to find the words to respond to my girlfriend's confession. Anger. Sadness. Disappointment. A variety of emotions teemed forth, battling one another for supremacy within the maelstrom of my thoughts.

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I'd know Cathy since College where she had dated my best friend at the time for a couple of years. For some reason we'd never gotten on very well, I think possibly because she caught me starring at her once or twice when we'd all been hanging out at the beach. To be honest I didn't really care if we got on, I was never quite sure why Simon liked her so much as she was a bit full of herself.

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