Your erotic stories

Valerie Templeton was a beautiful woman. Every time Tommy went to his friend Mike's house he loved to watch her. The way she moved, the open way she talked, and of course, the wonderful way she smelled as she walked passed him. Mike and Tommy were on the front porch just making plans for the weekend when Mrs. T pulled in the driveway. Mike kept talking about where they would go and who they would meet, but Tommy was no longer listening.

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Last fall, when I was starting my graduate studies at NYU film school, I found myself sexually frustrated and unhappy with the guys I was meeting. The sex was OK, but nothing really special. I think that's kind of understandable because, after all, we were mostly all in our early 20s and not very experienced. Plus, if I was to be really honest, the guys I met (and I include myself here) were kind of immature and unworldly. We barely knew who we were, let alone capable of thoughtful, meaningful and satisfying sexual relationships.

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Ryan rolled over and stretched. His cock hung limp against his thigh as Marisa lay pressed against him. He felt her fingers glide seductively over his chest, down his rib cage and across his abdomen. In his head he was silently begging for a break. He'd already come several times as had she, but she was still hungry for more. He hated to admit defeat, but he knew his cock was finished and admitting that to any woman was a hard thing for a man to do.

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My parents leased an old farm house belonging to a small estate as a summer house. I had spent all my summers there since being a kid. It was very nice although sometimes a bit lonely for a young boy. But the summer when I had turned 18 Thomas had moved to the estate with his parents. Although he was a year older we quickly made friends. We talked for hours of girls and sex and getting laid. He also had some porn magazines that we studied until they tore apart.

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It was going to be a long day, as Saturdays usually were. The weather was beautiful outside, which made me all the more bitter for being stuck at work. Library patrons always seemed more demanding on Saturday afternoons and doubly so on nice ones. They'd simply wave and beckon on me to attend to their needs. A dude has a to have a pretty strong stomach to deal with some of these people. The homeless people and the whores are always hooking up in this place.

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I dashed for the phone, hoping to answer it before the voicemail picked up. "Hello," I said, breathing hard. "Ken, it's Sam Clemens." No, not that Sam Clemens. Sam is Samantha Clemens. She and her husband Dave live about two miles from me on Huckleberry Hill Road. We have the only houses for miles, so we've become pretty good neighbors. Dave is a realtor in town. He has done very well financially selling commercial real estate, and it shows.

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Saturday: I arrived at the address to collect the key for my holiday house in Spain. I knocked on the door and a young man answered. A very handsome young man! He was about twenty or twenty-one and had beautiful dark brown eyes, black hair and a deep suntan. "I'm Kay and I've come to collect the key for the holiday home I'm renting for the week." "Right," he said, looking me up and down, "I'll get my mother."

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I haven't always been like this. There was a time, as a younger woman, when I moved through the day without noticing everyone I encountered with the same eye for elements as I do now. Back then, a face was not a porthole to the inside world of men and women. The posture and carriage of a body did not reveal the food consumed, emotional baggage lugged, and the psycho/sexual energy of a personality. However, somewhere along the way, I developed these insights into people that left me feeling somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophet.

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