My kitchen was being refurbished and after a stream of old, sweaty and pervy workmen trampling over my carpet the joiner arrived wearing dirty shorts,rigger boots and one of those tool belts around his waist.I knew straight away from his cheeky smile and the sneaky peek he gave my breasts that I was going to get more than a new breakfast bar...

They had chatted on the internet, but never met. At 23, Donna had several lovers her age, but she knew she was missing out exploring her fantasies of making love to a mature couple. They had a couple of drinks together where they met and all three knew this was what they had expected.

Sarah and I had been fuck-buddies for a while, but for the last few months she’d been out of action – fallen in love, she said. Much as I fancied her, I also liked her, so I was pleased that she’d found someone, even if I did miss her exquisite mouth around my cock. Still, we’d had a lot of encounters and there’s no law against wanking over memories now, is there…

Jane had spent most of the evening watching banal TV programmes and slowly finishing off a bottle of cheap white wine. She was a friendly girl, but her social life had hit a bit of a minor rut recently. All her friends seemed to be attached or off on holiday in some sunny location. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded being alone, but this was a Saturday night and the loneliness on the most socially active night of the week had hit her harder than she expected.

We had arranged to meet at the Zetter Hotel in Clerkenwell. It was boutique style, not too big and had a well reviewed Italian restaurant on the ground floor. We both loved Italian food. It wasn’t cheap, about £200 for the room and £120 ish for dinner. It was to be our first night together. As using credit cards was out of the question I had salted away the money for the room over a period of a few weeks and Carolyn had withdrawn £150 from her personal bank account and had offered to pay for the meal.

Imagine you’re on holiday with your girlfriends in the Caribbean. Its mid-afternoon and you are laying on the beach in the shade of a coconut tree reading your favourite book... again! You sense someone crossing the sand towards you and as you start to look up a figure is already standing over you, back to the sun. He’s a muscular local guy with wide shoulders, very large black and capable-looking hands and tight red trunks. He smiles at you and says
"you need to be careful in this sun baby, can I rub some lotion into your back?"
You look him up and down, and then down again, and you think mmmm, tempting - but no, too dangerous. You say "no thanks" and turn over and carry on reading your book. Your hear him walking away towards the bar area.

I made sure that I was ten minutes early for my date with Suzie. I used the extra moments to buy a long-stemmed red rose from the flower stall in the station forecourt and to compose myself before meeting her. I was nervous. It was my first date since the first time I went out with Helen nearly 25 years ago.

We've never met, but when I hear your voice I get hard straight away. Today I've been teasing you, calling you and telling you what I'm going to do to you later...

My name is Rosie and I'm in my third and final year at university. I'm one of only two girls in a flat with three boys. We're are all attractive people but we are all at this point in time single and enjoying it immensly. This is a story about what happened last night after a bit too much to drink...

I felt her before I saw her. You know that sensation that you’re being looked at? The prickle at the back of your neck that makes you feel uncomfortable for a reason you can’t quite place, until you make eye contact and see it wasn’t your imagination. When I realised what was happening, I smiled at her in a ‘do I know you?’ way. I didn’t recognise her – she was tall, slim and dressed in a slinky black frock that emphasised her hourglass figure. I was certain I’d have remembered her. I felt a rush of blood to my cock as she shifted her weight from one stiletto-clad foot to the other and I noticed her dress was slashed to the thigh on both sides, revealing a hint of stocking. She didn’t smile back, making me worry that she hadn’t been looking at me at all, and it was my own lust leading my imagination.

I woke on Friday; sleep slowly dissipating from me as my slumber ebbed away with the spring sunshine breaking in through the gap in the curtains. At once I thought ‘shit I’ve overslept’ as John wasn’t there. His side of the bed an outline imprint of his body, the white sheets bare and wrinkled from his presence. But there on the pillow lay a crisp white piece of paper.

As I tapped quietly on his door, twenty minutes after he left the bar, I straightened my skirt, and ruffled my hair. I’d re-applied my lipstick in the toilets downstairs and made sure I had that extra spray of perfume in just the right places. He took his time to answer, but when he did I could see he’d been waiting nervously. The room looked like no-one had been in it that day. Every cushion on the sofa was in place, the pillows were still plumped and the bottle of wine from the bar remained unopened and the glasses untouched.

My bike's broken so I'm getting the tube into central London instead. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt. What the hell, I'm going commando.

She told me what she wanted in no uncertain terms.
“Cock. Hard cock buried right up to the hilt. I want you to make me so wet that I can take a pounding from you with no holding back. I want you to make me come by taking your own pleasure from me. And when I do come, it’s going to be so hard that I’ll milk your cock dryer than it’s ever been milked before. I want a fuck that leaves me feeling fucked for a week afterwards and sticks in my memory for the rest of my life, making my pussy gush and G-spot pulse whenever I think about it.”

They say that winter in the city can be a miserable affair. Expressions change. Faces become grim, stuffed down into the collars of their overcoats. No one celebrates their body in winter. They celebrate resistance, if grim survival can be made celebratory. But that’s why I’ve come now and not then. Even in the city the air smells like flowers. Chestnut blossoms dust the pavement and the girls who walk over them move like willows, their short, loose skirts whispering over their buttocks and fluttering about their soft, strong thighs. In the afternoon heat, from my shaded seat outside the café, I notice the girls are not annoyed when I look.

I guess it would be fair to say that my girlfriend, Christina, is an experimental kind of girl. I’d never have guessed it when we first met – she seemed so shy – and it took me a month to get her into bed at all. By that time I was hooked – not just from the thrill of the chase but also because she was interesting, quirky and could make me laugh like no-one else ever had before. And once we finally did get into bed, my God was it worth the wait. It seemed like there was nothing that we didn’t do that night: she sucked me for hours, pulling away so I could come on her face; then, unsated, she rode me until she came hard around me, before turning over and proffering her arse in my direction. “Fuck my arse,” she’d begged. Well, of course, I obliged, and when I came it was one of the most intense experiences of my life. She’d giggled as I yelled “Fuck” at the point of orgasm, and said “greedy boy – perhaps later.”

We are in a bar somewhere. It's busy and there are a lot of people around, some of whom know us. I notice a woman at her own by the bar. She looks familiar but I'm not sure. I walk up and realise it's Jane. I know her but not very well. Mostly drunken chance encounters at parties. Jane is totally different to me. She's calm and laid back with an easy voluptuous sexual vibe to her. Voluptuous is the word for her body too. Beautiful heavy breasts and a gorgeous rounded arse, with a face like a Botticelli angel framed by cascading ringlets. She smiles in surprise as she recognises me.

I have been married to my husband Peter for 9 years now and we were childhood sweet hearts.