Your erotic stories

The summer he turned 19, Reed traveled to visit friends on the coast. He had planned to crash with his buddies for the three weeks. However, his mother offered to help fund the trip if he stayed with her friend from school, Susie. She hoped the adult influence would moderate his behavior and curb his crazier teenage impulses.

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The events in this story happened a few years ago when I was 26 years old and living in Washington DC where I had moved to take up a new job. It was my first time living by myself. I had always had room-mates since finishing grad school a few years earlier. But now, partly because I felt I was ready to be my own man, and partly because I didn't want to go looking for room-mates in a new city, I decided to get a place for myself, a nice little apartment in a high-rise not too far from downtown.

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I could have sworn she was about my age. I'm 21 now, making me a dedicated observer of girl's asses and legs for the last eight years or so. I can detect the slightly-too-slender look of a hot little piece of jailbait, or the subtle signs of impending cellulite that brand most older women. So as I walked along the beach perhaps 30 feet behind the bikini-clad brunette, I never would have guessed she was old enough to be my mom.

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Naresh got on to the bus that was going to the small town that he had been posted to. Lakhanpur, a place he had never heard of, was eons away from the urban environment inhabited by him prior to his present course in life. Naresh was going away for the first time from his parents who were in Delhi, a place he had spent a good part of his life in. They had provided him with a reasonable amount of money in order that he never felt any immediate need for it till his first salary.

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It has been about a year since my husband, Art, passed away. Often, I think of his generous nature that brought much happiness in to my life and my friend Rose's life. Specifically, he encouraged us to share our lives with younger men. I dare say that few men are as magnanimous as Art. I'm Myrna, 53 years old, 5 ft 10 in, 130 lb, blue eyes, and brown hair; I was named after my granny's favorite actress, Myrna Loy. I am an elementary school teacher.

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Chapter 1 I was laying on a chaise poolside one warm sunny afternoon, thinking about how much my life had changed in the last year. The changes had started with my coming home and finding Harry fucking his partner's wife in our bed. Well, you can imagine. It all hit the fan and I kicked his sorry ass out. The divorce was handled by lawyers, I had a real shark, sorry, guys, but the bastard deserved it and he has a hell of a lucrative business, so I ended up with a very nice settlement and ongoing alimony that lets me not work if I choose to do so. And, right now, that's what I'm choosing.

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The freight elevator seemed to be taking forever. Not that Alex was really in that much of a hurry. After all, he wasn't going anywhere for Thanksgiving. Home was too far away and he just couldn't to go home for Christmas and Thanksgiving. No, after work, all Alex had to look forward to was an empty dorm. His roommates and most of his friends that lived in the dorm had already left for their respective homes earlier in the day. But he didn't mind. Alex was actually looking forward to having the room all to himself. He liked his roommate quite a bit, but having a roommate meant having to be considerate of the other person.

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"I'm worried about my boys, Marge," Gina Smith confessed to her best friend after church one day. "Why?" Marge replied. "You're a great mother, and your boys seem happy and they do ok in school, right?" "I know... maybe I'm over thinking, but I feel like they need more of a male influence in their lives. Clancy never was around that much right after the divorce, and he rarely calls now than he and Kimmy have moved to California," Gina said, practically spitting out the name of her ex-husband's new, younger wife.

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Standing at the mirror, Sandy brushed back the stray hair from her face. Then she stepped closer and frowned at the reflection looking back at her. When did the wrinkles appear? Had they always been so deep? Her friends told her she could pass for 40, but she knew they were just being nice. The mirror didn't lie, and it was telling her she looked every one of her fifty-one years.

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I first noticed her on a grey November's day at the supermarket. As she loaded shopping into her car a huge bag of green apples fell from one of the carriers, hit the ground, split and fruit rolled everywhere; she must have been very fond of apples. Much of it tumbled, erratically in my direction, I scurried about gathering up the tumbling orbs and restored them to their somewhat flustered owner. I would never have looked at her twice, she could have been my mum but then she smiled and her face lit-up, rolling back the years in a trice.

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