mature stories & pics xxx

“Carl, when we go to the snow this winter, can I write my name in the snow?”

“What?”

“Well you watched me pee this morning. This winter, can I stand behind you, hold him, and when you pee, write my name in the snow?”

“Yes you can and then after that I’ll bend you over a jet ski, slip deep into you and we will ride it all over Lake Tahoe hitting every bump we can find.”
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Warning!!! The central male figure in this story gets cuckolded! Those of you, for whom this is a problem, should go on to something different. If you do decide to read on, please know that I have intended to portray him as an exceptionally strong character and anything but a wimp! However successful I have been doing that is, of course, in the eyes of the reader.

Although Part 2 would probably stand on its own, reading Part 1 first should add a great deal to the over all story.
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Four years ago, after a couple of affairs, my wife of twenty years moved out for good. All the way to the other coast. Even her only sister, JoAnn, hasn’t heard from her.

But I’ve heard from JoAnn. Last week, with her wayward eighteen-year-old daughter in tow, she showed up on the doorstep of my quiet two-story home. Our families had always been close. Over the years, it was sad to watch JoAnn get drunk and complicate her life. Her husband divorced her six years ago and moved away. This time she had really messed up. In just a few days, she had to start serving a two-year sentence for her third DUI. In tears she was asking me to let her daughter live with me.
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Warning!!! The central male figure in this story gets cuckolded! Those of you, for whom this is a problem, should go on to something different. If you do decide to read on, please know that I have intended to portray him as an exceptionally strong character and anything but a wimp! However successful I have been doing that is, of course, in the eyes of the reader.

Emily:

Be careful what you wish for!

Now there’s a classic line.

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Charlotte Staff, sitting on her sofa in her living room reading a book when a knock on her door moves her to see who is there. She is surprised to see Tony, a childhood friend of her sons. Charlotte quickly lets him in and they began chatting about what’s new, how’s the family and so forth. Tony tells her that her is getting married soon and she hugs him and congratulates him.

They move to the kitchen and she makes tea. When the tea is ready Charlotte asks Tony to sit in the living room and talk. As they converse, Charlotte gets up to get a photo album of her sons wedding and hands it to Tony to view. Charlotte is leaning over the side of the sofa as Tony is sitting on the sofa looking through the album. Tony asks to use the bathroom and hurries upstairs. When he returns he sees Charlotte still in her position bent over the sofa and his cock perks up. Charlotte is looking through the album and remembering all the good times of that day. She looks at her late husband and gets a little sad.
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“I’ll be back in about two hours, honey.”

“Ok sweetheart, but please be careful.”

“I will, promise. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

As I walk out of our front door, heading towards the car, I couldn’t help a smile crossing my lips and licking them with all that is to come. The cold, winter air kisses the wetness of my soft, pink lips. Though, the cold didn’t phase my many thoughts. My husband’s face mixes with another, as I slide behind the wheel, carefully beginning my journey to the airport. The evening sky is fading with dark, clouds moving over the sun as it glistens over the white snow. My eyes keep to the road, as my smile grows deeper remembering His voice in my head. A shiver of excitement draws me from my deep thoughts.
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“Whoa, Whoa, who’s the new kid?” Betty said turning to the three other ladies seated at the picnic table.

“Billy, he’s here to fix whatever goes wrong in this place,” said Wendy looking up from her sandwich.

The four ladies ate lunch every day at the picnic table outside the daycare where they all worked. They were all great friends and enjoyed their daily girl-talk even through there wasn’t a one of them under the age of forty.

“Well, we’ve finally got someone to take care of all the little stuff huh? And my, my I couldn’t have selected a more qualified candidate, that boy is one fine piece of ass” said Betty, watching him walk into the front door.
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Ting and I sat back in the luxury of an air conditioned cab and enjoyed the sights, sounds and smell of Cairo. Many people don’t realize that every city has a sound and smell of its own. Cairo’s was unique and mysterious, beckoning us on to explore it and its people. There was so much to see in this capitol city of Egypt, and both of us had wanted to see it for many years.

At the moment, we were on our way back to our hotel where we hoped to meet a couple with whom we had corresponded many times. Jawad and Jamila were very close to our own age. Their twin daughters, Maryam and Maha, were very close to closing out their teen age years as young ladies certain to attract the eye of the handsome young men we saw as we passed through the streets. But that wasn’t what was on our minds at the moment. It had been far too long since Ting and I had enjoyed a vacation although we traveled together often on business matters, but this was purely a pleasure trip.
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Bev, the mature teacher and widow.

Part 5

Next day morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee, scrambled eggs, and fried bacon. I brushed my teeth and went into the kitchen. Bev was in a red tank top and silk panties. My cock stirred. I said, “Good morning, love.” I grabbed her from behind and nuzzled her neck. She did not wear a bra! She smelled of fresh perfume and her natural pheromones.

Bev saw my stiff cock. She greeted me, “Good morning. You’re horny again? Didn’t you get enough last night?”
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Mixed marriages don’t work. That was the anthem drummed into me growing up in 60’s suburbia. It did happen of course, even in the leafy avenues of the middle class. Several white girls married black men - a few of my friends in fact - but, probably due to the pressures of the times, not many of these unions lasted and those that did the couples usually ended up moving away to more hospitable or understanding areas.

It was tough too; there weren’t many black girls of my age to choose from and those that there were didn’t seem very interested. And so, as I reached adolescence, I started dating white girls. I think I always knew that I would never marry against my parents’ wishes or against what seemed to be the accepted norm, but dating was a different thing as far as I was concerned. I adored the way that my dark skin contrasted with their soft feminine white skin and, probably because of the largely inaccurate rumours concerning the size of a black male’s endowment; I was rarely short of casual girlfriends. I guess I thought it was probably little more than a rite of passage.
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