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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"Wahay!" A course Geordie voice shouted as I heard someone wolf-whistle me, "Careful you don't show us your stocking tops; sweetheart!" I had arrived home half an hour earlier after finishing a night shift at the hospital and as I was hanging some washing on the spinner in the garden my nurses' uniform had risen to mid thigh. I turned to scowl at the builders who were working on the new conservatory.

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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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Hot morning sun blistering one side of my cheek, along with the sound of a shrieking bird outside my window as I lay on my bed woke me up. I scrambled to the floor, forgetting for the moment, in my sleepy state, that it was Sunday and I didn't have to go to work. Looking at the clock on the bedside table I saw that it was eight thirty. I felt like going back to bed but habit got the better of me. Growing up, I had heard my late dad on numerous occasions speak on the virtues of early rising, claiming that persons who liked to sleep late got nowhere in life. I usually got up at around 5:45 to 6:00 am to start preparing for work.

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Granted, it was the middle of the afternoon, but I was still irritated at being awakened from my much needed sleep by a loud racket from the neighbors' yard. I had dragged in pretty late the night before (technically, it had actually just been earlier that same day) and I wasn't quite ready to abandon my bed or my near-comatose state. I didn't remember my parents telling me that the new neighbors had little kids, but it sounded like a whole herd of them making a ruckus in their swimming pool.

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This true story was written for mature women by a mature woman. I am willing to bet that there are many women out there just like me who are over 60 years old, divorced, widowed or single by choice that just don't think that they are sexually desirable any longer. I am here to tell you that is a lot of hooey. I know this because until my 62nd birthday I felt the same way.

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Joan, my wife, had taken a summer semester course of golf back in college and for some time now I've urged her to come out with me. I figured we would be able to spend more time together that way. Recently she surprised me by taking golf lessons. She started with our local course's female golf pro, but after only a couple of lessons she came home and told me the woman had left and she was switched to one of the male pros.

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