My phone bleeps as a text message arrives from you:
"Hi love, what time will you be back? x"
My mind is filled with the memory of looking at you this morning, sleeping soundly as I dressed for work. A semi-smile graces your beautiful face as a dream plays inside your head. It is time, I say to myself.
Our love and unity is unquestioned yet I sense that deep urge inside you. We've never talked of it yet I know you want this as much as me.
It begins.

It had been almost five years since I had last seen or spoken to Lisa . She was often in my thoughts when I was lying in bed alone. Just the thought of her would stir my sleeping member into life that would invariably end in me having a wank. The smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the curve of her bottom, the hardness of her nipples, the way she kissed me, the taste of her pussy, the way she moaned when I sucked her nipples and thrust my hard cock into her wet pussy, the time we went to Stringfellows Club and had great fun looking at those naked dancers before getting back to the hotel for some serious fucking! All those memories would make me want to cum. She was one hell of a sexy woman!

A promise of tenderness, the link between ideas and realities. Looking at it from all sides, I get all sorts of ideas.

I glanced and glanced again at this summit I would never conquer. The ascension seemed easy. More of a stroll on a smooth terrain. I am tempted to linger here. But I am pushed by instincts. The climb soon became steeper, the ground rockier.

With a sigh I open my eyes for the tenth time this night. Somehow I can’t get to sleep. As I turn my head I start to smile as I see you next to me fast asleep. I lay there wide awake for a few minutes watching you in the dark, listening to your breathing before I slide from under the sheets. It’s only 2am - damn… As I walk out of the bedroom the damp air clings to my naked body as I walk down to smoke a cigarette. In the distance I can hear the rumbling of a more than welcome summer storm, some refreshing rain would be perfect right now…

Helen sat down at the breakfast bar,she had just returned from her shopping with her lover.Helen twirled the diamond bracelet on her wrist.She wanted to talk.

Helen sat at her dressing table finishing her make-up,the red lipstick the final act as she readied herself for her work do. I had watched her put on a tiny bra, g-string and black hold ups, followed by a little black halterneck dress, finished off with black knee length boots.

It had been a while before the urge to meet anyone else had arrived. The divorce was taking what seemed like a lifetime and it still hurt, even though I knew it was right. Living in London suburbia was not conducive to meeting anyone though. People in this area had a habit of keeping themselves to themselves, not like where I grew up in the South West.

It is just an ordinary street with rows of identical houses punctuated with the occasional alley or driveway. I first noticed that the house across the alley was vacant again as I arrived home one afternoon some months back. A 'To Let' sign had been put up earlier in the day.

We stood still for a moment, drinking in the silence, and then I suggested that we watch the sunset from the top of the dune. Scrabbling up the slope we took two steps forward and one back in the loose, dry sand, and when we reached the crest I flattened out a small area for us to sit down on. As I casually put my arm round Estelle's shoulders she moved in to sit close up to me and hooked her own arm over my thigh, both of us pretending we weren't fully aware of her elbow, resting right up between my legs.

I am only writing this story as it seems to be constantly on my mind ever since it happened. I feel that writing about it may in some way help me to forget it. My wife who was at the time my girlfriend knows nothing of this and I could not possibly tell her as it would cause so much trouble and certainly split us up for good.

The glare of the desert sun outside the windows was dazzling to the eyes even from within the hotel, and the three of us sitting in the reception area were glad of the relief offered by the hard-working air conditioning. Dave, an American executive in his early forties, was waiting for a Land Rover to pick him up and take him on a two-day inspection tour of his company's locations, further south into the deep desert. His wife Estelle, mid-thirties (like me), friendly and quite delightful, had come along on the trip hoping to see something of the great sand sea that, having been brought up on Hollywood epics, she believed covered the whole of North Africa. And me? I was the English pilot of the small, fast Beechcraft Twin Bonanza that Dave's Tripoli office had chartered to fly the two of them the 400 miles south to the small desert town of Sebha.

Her years as a corporate analyst and suburban housewife were hardly good experience for her new career, but money was tight and jobs were few ... an open mind was needed. Leigh had kept the advertisement over a week before making an enquiry. She had even thrown it in the garbage a couple of times, only to retrieve it on both occasions.

Lorna often told Steve that many of her best ideas came to her during her orgasm.She had supported leukaemia research ever since one of her best friends at ballet school, Cheryl Greenwood, had died of the disease when she was only seventeen. Every year since then she had done some kind of fund raising activity. She had run marathons, done sponsored aerobathons, swum many hundreds of lengths and the previous year had made her first parachute jump, although she had not been naked when she jumped as her friend Julia had once been.

Kathy had made a mess of the booking for the conference. The main hotel was full and about 20 of us were moved a mile away to a hotel that had been closed for the season, no food and only two members of staff who were nonplussed to see us. To be fair Kath was normally very efficient and did talk them into opening the bar, and then proceeded to drink its entire contents.

Robert MacAllister studied the catalogue with meticulous interest, every now and then taking a sip from his glass of finest ruby port. It was to be the biggest sale of erotic art for years and he had his eye on several items. He had been an avid collector of erotica for many years. His wife, Amanda, now often joked that it was to compensate for the fact that he could no longer manage the real thing. But ribald humour was one of the things that had cemented their marriage for nearly 40 years and he would simply blow a large smoke ring from his huge cigar. His self-satisfied smile making it clear to everyone that, as far as he was concerned, nothing more needed to be said.

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 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.

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.