Your erotic stories

My first two years out of high school, I attended a community college, and worked as a delivery driver for a well-known pizza delivery chain we'll call "Checkers" to protect the innocent. It was a pretty good job. Most of the drivers were needed in the evening so it didn't interfere with classes. You got paid a salary, tips and commission (to pay for gas) which averaged more than $8.00 an hour when minimum wage was closer to $4.00.

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I vividly remember touching myself in the shower. I was making sure I washed well because I have always been a bit of a clean freak, and as I rubbed my hands through my pussy lips I got that feeling, that "oh my god what was that feeling." Needless to say, like most all girls I began constantly touching myself in the shower, using the hot water and the shower head to send me to climax after climax! Months later, again in the shower I ran my finger a little harder than normal across my tight little asshole.

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My yearly physical was due and I had set up an appointment at my local PPO. I never know who I'm going to get doing the physical. It's a group practice and my doctor retired a couple of years ago. Since then, I haven't bothered to get a new primary doctor; I just see whoever's available when I need to make an appointment. It makes it a lot easier to be flexible around my work schedule. I'm a freelancer so my schedule is never routine.

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Ironing! God, I HATE ironing, but the height of the pile of clothes awaiting my attentions had grown to such a level, that I needed to do something about it. So there I stood; unhappily, surrounded by slowly growing piles of neatly laundered pants, t-shirts, dress-shirts and sweaters.

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Cassandra, an attractive brunette with long straight hair, immensely enjoyed sex, although she was frequently disappointed. Her unhappiness did not stem from any deficiency on her part. Her lovers frequently complimented her. She had a sweet, delectable pussy, one that men craved to touch, to kiss, and, most of all, to be inside.

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I lay in the bathtub, watching steam rise from the warm water. I should have felt relaxed, but I did not. I waited apprehensively. Nothing could calm my nerves. Not the dozen candles that lit the bathroom. Not even the New Age CD that filled the room with the comforting sound of the ocean washing against the shore.

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Back in the 70's, in that decade of post-Pill and pre-HIV, I was a first year grad student at Berkeley when I met a new assistant prof in the history department. Jed was a few years older than I was, and he was a real product of the 60's: a bushy bearded and somewhat stocky teddybear kind of a guy who loved his dope and loved the sexual freedoms that emerged from those times.

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I sat at the kitchen table and stared into my coffee like it was an oracle that could tell me what to do next. I honestly had never even considered this possibility. Not that I felt bad about that. Who could possibly have expected this? When Cathy appeared in that doorway, I thought I was going to die. My first thought had been that she was catching me in the act of cheating on her.

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We first saw him at the beach, just down from the resort where we were spending two weeks. He was with a girl as stunning and as gorgeous as he was. While Steve and I first remarked on the absolute lusciousness of the girl, I made sure to comment on the "big bulge" in the crotch of the boy's Speedos, drawing Steve's attention to the ample package of hidden male genital goodies. We shared a knowing smile, both well aware of our common appreciation for such goodies.

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You walk straight through the hotel reception and head over to the elevators. Pushing the button you wait for it to arrive. You are wearing the tight blue jeans red hoodie that you know I like. Underneath is the black underwear from one of the pictures you sent me when we first started talking to each other.

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