Your erotic stories

As I drove home, I couldn't believe how incredibly frustrated I was -- sexually, that is. I hadn't had sex for months -- with a man, at least. I'd had plenty with little vibrator, but that's just not the same. My husband and I were estranged, probably heading for divorce, and my prospects for the future (sexually) were uncertain. I'd had a dinner meeting that evening with clients that was a last minute thing and I'd been lucky enough to get my regular baby sitter, Kara, on such short notice.

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"They are real!" Harry said emphatically, glaring at the drunken brothers sitting across the bar from him. Billy had fallen off his stool, assisted by the wildly flailing arms of his larger brother; but Billy usually did anyway; and Bob, trying to keep from falling was holding tightly to the bar, tears in his eyes, howling with laughter.

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When Trevor came in to the Environmental Awareness Center at ten a.m. for his Wednesday volunteer shift a new receptionist was on duty. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with long auburn hair, sparkling green eyes, a rosy blemish-free complexion and a buxom chest. "Hi, I'm Trevor Bridges," he said extending his hand, "are you a new volunteer here?"

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Carrie licked her lips nervously, straightened her top and knocked lightly on the door. She waited for a response, but she couldn't hear anything – had she knocked hard enough or was he just busy? If she knocked again and he had heard her the first time but ignored it then wouldn't he get really annoyed? She paused for a few seconds more, then took her courage in both hands and rapped sharply on the door.

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I had just finished a nice dinner and was walking back to the Bed and Breakfast where I was staying. It was still light and there was an orange glow in the west where the sun had set over the Pacific. I thought a glass of wine would be just the thing before turning in. Fortunately, the B&B had some available, honor system of course. That's what I like about them, so friendly, so trusting.

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I'm a sixty year old retired widower with completely gray hair, a little paunch and live in a very nice three bedroom house in Wichita, Kansas. I drive the obligatory, for guys of my age, late model Mercury Grand Marquis. Everyone tells me I am a good-looking guy who has aged well. If I were trying to describe my interests I would only have to mention two. Travel and reading. I got away from buying the Book of the Month selections and now get most of my reading material from the nearby public library.

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At my age, 56, sex with a young girl means someone who's 40 or maybe even 36. Anyone younger than that you start to feel as if you are committing some sort of crime and will be busted by the police and end up in prison as some guy's bitch. Maybe that's what keeps some of us "in line." I've been single for ten years now and have dated numerous women although that special one has been quite elusive.

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Well, here we go, Mark thought as he heard the bathroom door open. Tessa slowly made her way to the bed on feet sore from a long day at work. She gave her long blonde hair a shake, dislodging a few strands that were caught under the thin straps of her top. Five years married, the sight of her in pajamas still made his heart race. When he smiled at her, she responded with a weary grin of her own.

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I met Tracy my senior year at The University of Texas in Austin, what we all considered to be the 'real' U of T. She was a year behind me and was also a business major though she was headed to finance and I was aimed toward marketing and advertising. So, she was a numbers drone and I was a 'flack.'

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