Your erotic stories

I'd love to say that it started out innocently enough, but there really wasn't anything innocent about it. I had been working as a software trainer for a small computer consulting company in Georgia, and my job was to train the clients on the computer systems that we sold them. One of those clients was a group of people from an industrial machinery company. Among the people in this group was a secretary who was undeniably cute.

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Thomas Powell shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hoping his wife Lorraine would not notice his restlessness. No matter how hard he tried to avert his gaze, his eyes were continually drawn to the image in the backyard. But it was not the slight tilt of his head that was required to capture the desired sightline that was the cause of his stirring - it was the effect that the vision before him was having on him.

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I had just arrived home on break from college and was in Chip’s neighborhood, so I figured I’d just drop in and see if he’d gotten home yet. No one answered when I rang the doorbell and I was about to head back down the driveway when I heard a splash, indicating that someone was using the pool. I walked around the side of the house thinking it might be Chip but stopped before I opened the gate to the backyard. I could see the diving board still vibrating and a figure just surfacing at the shallow end of the pool.

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I was fucking tired of Blair's teasing. That young woman had enjoyed tormenting me since I moved in next door. She would wear the tightest, skimpiest outfits that she could squeeze her body into. After a night of partying, she would come home and start undressing by the window, "accidentally" forgetting it was open and facing mine.

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Can a woman be a flirt and still be a loving wife? I say, yes, because I'm married to one! Barb and I have been married for many years. We were high school sweethearts and married young. My Barb is tall, slender, attractive, and very vivacious. She meets people easily and has seldom known a stranger. Part of what drew me to her was her flirtatious manner.

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It was summer. I was visiting with Sinéad (no, not that Sinéad), my aunt, in her very nice apartment in Chicago. Sinéad was 28 then, single, working, and not at home much. We would spend most of our together time on weekends, but I was pretty much left to my own devices during the week. I'd visited before from Ireland, but never alone or to stay for the whole summer.

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Out of all the social functions I attended each year my favorite by far was Caroline Carson's annual summer kickoff party, held every June at her twelve room plantation home on the river. Caroline's parties were legendary in savannah's social circles; she picked the guests personally for each party.

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I'm writing this as I watch a copy of a video we made last Saturday afternoon. I should probably erase it, but I just can't seem to do it. We had a softball game, and afterwards I invited the guys over for a swim. Some of the guys just took a quick dip and left, but Andre, Carlo and Tony are single, with a reputation as the party animals on our team, and they stuck around for the rest of the afternoon.

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I arrived at the Jefferson's Lake Campsite entrance and upset some of those waiting - families in station wagons, seniors in their recreational vehicles, young couples in their cars pulling small trailers -- when I rode my bicycle right past them. I smiled as I approached the ranger station and saw a familiar face exit. I got off my bike and walked up to him.

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When I saw Mrs. Crowley at the supermarket I had to smile. The woman who worked down the hall from me looked as good in her recreation clothing as she did in her business attire. That was quite a compliment, because she was always impeccable with her work clothing. Prim and proper, nothing out of place, everything put together quite nicely.

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