Your erotic stories

Tyler let out a sigh of relief as he set down the last fully painted model of his Dark Angels' army. He stood up and made his way across the room tiredly. He stopped abruptly in front of his full length mirror, taking a good look at himself. For an 18 year-old freshman in college he looked pretty damn good, he thought. Short brown hair, fairly tall, and very well toned.

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Her plane landed right on time. She had taken a connecting flight from Charles Du Galle to land here in Nice, in the gorgeous sunshine of a summer Thursday in Province. Most of the passengers had disembarked by the time she appeared at the top of the jetway.

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Donna, Amanda and I have been good friends since we were kids in grade school. We grew next door to each other, Donna on one side and Amanda on the other, and played together after school through our whole grade school years. I caught a lot of flak from some of my other friends, teasing that I was going to get girl cooties if I hung around them, but that didn't stop me. We had fun together and the difference in gender at that age really didn't bother me that much, both of them were pretty tomboyish and we had plenty of fun climbing trees and building snow forts and the like.

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Not for the first time Ralph cursed his rotten luck as he cleaned up the mess other people had left behind in their offices. A scant six months ago he had been one of these office types but that was before he had lost his job and, to add insult to injury, his wife had left him for his boss. Somehow his life had spiraled out of control after that.

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I was very happy for my mother when I found out that Cindy was coming to visit. It was late June. I had finished school for the year and had not found a summer job yet -- although I was in no hurry to accomplish that. Mom was still getting over her divorce from my father almost a year ago and she desperately needed to have some fun. I had tried my best to bring her out of the doldrums that she was in, but I guess there's only so much an eighteen year-old son can do. I was hoping that a week with Cindy was what she needed to rejuvenate herself.

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Chase wiped the sweat from his brow. Damn, but it was hot in this attic! He had promised to help his neighbor, Mrs. Gumshot, clean out her attic in exchange for her late husband's jazz albums. Mr. Gumshot had been a bandleader and had a massive collection of old jazz hits.

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Memory triggers. They come rushing at you when you least suspect them. You can walk into a house and take in the heady aroma of a cake being baked and you'll be transported back to your grandmother's kitchen. You can smell an empty beer bottle and suddenly there you are playing hide and seek behind a pile of your uncle's empties. Smell is our most powerful sense and we all have a repertoire of aromatic triggers nicely tucked away in that gluggy grey mass we call a brain.

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"What are you staring at?" said Julie as she came up silent on slippered feet beside her friend Elaine, who was gazing out of the picture window. Elaine turned with a smile. "Nothing much. My future, I suppose." "Future, huh? And what do you see?" "Loneliness." "Why? You're still young." "Forty next birthday, divorced for the second time, and haven't been laid in almost three years."

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Grandpa thought he was in heaven! The 55 and older community was actually about 65 and older, and most of them were women, so when I visited him, he'd light up and was proud to show me off. He was still a spry 82, went out for a few beers every afternoon at the local bar, which was really a package store with a bar in the back room, complete with old time bar maids, songs from the Forties, and a million old war stories.

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I had been watching my mother's friend, Mrs. Ashlock, for many years. She was about forty-five with a face pretty enough for a movie star and a slender but voluptuous body that was the envy of her friends. I was what they call "sexually precocious," I guess. Women's bodies became an object of vague, unfocused but intense desire at about the age of seven. Photos in popular magazines such as hosiery and swimsuit ads drew my interest and caused an unidentified but pleasurable stirring in my chest. Janet Ashlock, however was real flesh and blood and was often in our home or we in hers.

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