Like many university graduates, I found it difficult to get a job once I finished my degree. I spent weeks trying to obtain a job even remotely related to my area of study, but without success. Finally, a company in Norwich rang and asked me to come for an interview.
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I have been reading dirty swinging mags for quite a few years. I’ve collected almost one hundred issues thus far. I am a 26-year-old, single divorced male. I have custody of my two children and, although I do have a girlfriend and most people consider me reasonably attractive, I don’t have a very lively social life. Two weekends ago I moved from a small town to the city, and I’ve just had an experience that seems erotic enough to share with other readers.
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I had been in lectures all morning and I was fed up. My girlfriend had just split up with me. I was upset but I knew it had been coming. Ever since we had gone to universities in different towns, things had been different. I decided to go online and catch up with some of the other friends I’d had in the sixth form, and remind myself of happier times.
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My problem is that I always go for the same bloke. Usually about twenty, blond, buff and generally as thick as wallpaper paste. But the other night I discovered that a free bus pass wasn’t the only bonus of being a pensioner.
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I was having major surgery and part of the healing process involved relaxa¬tion. The doctor had recommended that I have a massage or acupuncture or some other type of therapy for six weeks after the operation. I decided I’d try massage, because I’d never had one before. I started to have weekly massages and my therapist happened to be male. I don’t know what it was, but the moment I saw him, I couldn’t relax. Instead, I got excited. I was definitely attracted to him.
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Several months ago, a young, pretty junior member of staff started at my company. Alexis is slender and petite, with a very nice figure. Her breasts are rather small but perky, with pert little nipples that often poke out from the front of her shirt. Her sandy brown hair is cut short and combed to one side, much like the bobbed style Victoria Beckham made famous recently.
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I was down a hole in the middle of the high street when I first saw her. It was a scorching hot day and I was stripped to the waist and sweating hard. We were supposed to be unearthing cables for an electricity company but very little work was being done. Our boss was away and we were taking full advantage of the situation by doing as little as possible and admiring views like the one which now confronted me. She was wearing denim shorts and a tiny crop top which hung loosely over her admirable breasts. From my vantage point I could clearly see her magnificent tits straining against the material that contained them. She glanced down at me, smiled brightly and walked briskly on down the street to a chorus of cat calls and wolf whistles from my workmates.
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I am a female in my thirties, and I must tell you about this man I’ve been seeing. He really knows how to treat me.

I arrived home one night to find the lights down low and him wearing a tight pair of jeans and no shirt with the sexcam running in the corner. His gorgeous chest and shoulders made me forget the stress¬ful day I’d just had. He kissed me deeply. His face felt rough, but his lips were soft and sensual. I felt him become instantly aroused. Although I wanted to touch his hard penis, rl estrained myself. He stood behind me, pressing his cock against my rear end as he reached round and slowly undressed me, taking time to caress every inch of my body. He whispered seductively in my ear, telling me how good it felt to touch me, while his hands on my breasts made me sigh with delight.
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I’d like to tell you what happened when my sexy next-door neighbour, who plays the guitar in a local band, invited me to see his them play. I took along my friend, Lauren, for moral support, as I’ve always had the feeling that Johnny fancied me and I thought this might be my chance to get down and dirty with the horniest man on the local rock circuit. But while I was squeezing my way down close to the stage of the packed sauna that passed for a venue, I saw Lauren disappearing behind the speaker stack with some Goth boy in skinny black jeans with an armful of bangles.
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I’m a divorced woman in my forties. My husband, Tony, ran off with his best friend’s wife, who it turns out he was shagging behind my back for months, and left me with two kids to raise on my own. I was devastated when he left me and didn’t know what to do. The problem is when Tony left me, I was in a really bad place and, due in part to our mutual loss, forged a friendship with his best friend, Clive. Clive and Dahlia were good friends of ours and we used to regularly attend swing parties together and do shows for my sex cam. (more…)