Your erotic stories

September 2003 "Ya got ten bucks Mister?" she asked as she darted in front of me, one of a small group of black clad, pierced and tattooed punkers who'd mysteriously appeared in the neighborhood just days earlier. "Ten bucks? What happened to the fifty cents for squeegeeing my windshield?" I asked with a grin. "Fifty-cents! A rich, hip Miami guy like you," she teased, jiving me as she danced backward as I continued walking.

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It was a shitty way to spend Valentine's Day Jeff reflected as he tapped impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic lights to change. The meeting had gone as well as could be expected under the circumstances but still, it was about as much fun as having all his teeth pulled with a pair of rusty pliers. It kind of gave a whole new meaning to the idea of the 'Valentine's Day Massacre.'

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Regina was in a fine mood. Her son, William, and her daughter in law, Jennifer were coming to pick her up. She was returning to her old home for 2 weeks to help look after her grand-daughter, Kaileigh, while William and Jennifer went to Jamaica. Jennifer's brother, Dustin, was living there and would be watching the baby when he was home, so Regina would be watching the child whne he wasn't. He worked rotating shifts so their schedule would be a little erratic.

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'Shit, I'm late again,' I thought as I looked down at my watch. 9:56. I've got four minutes to park the car, run into the mall and punch in before the boss has another reason to yell at me. And like that, I ran as fast as my young legs could take me. With 7 seconds to spare. 'It's gonna be a good day,' I thought as I adjusted myself. As good of a day as one could have at the mall, that is. It was the summer before my sophomore year in college.

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Many years ago I was pretty active in taking outdoor photographs. I hated doing people, and especially didn't like doing weddings but they paid a lot better than the occasional sell of a scenic photo, so I shot weddings and family portraits as they came along. Like I said, that was quite a few years ago. When kids came along there wasn't time for my photo trips and the activity died out. Now, with the kids all on their own and me single again, there's a lot more time to do the things I want to do.

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I was already bored with my 'date' from the night before, the prototypical one-nighter with a nurse from Clifton Park who chain-smoked like a runaway locomotive. As Apollo Creed once told Rocky Balboa,"Ain't gonna be no rematch." Rocky, of course, grunted back, "Don't want one." So, in all fairness, I'm sure the feeling was mutual. We both got what we wanted, that's what makes a one-nighter a one-nighter, right?

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My wife of twelve years decided to end our marriage and move out with our two daughters with some guy she works with. Man. I was really fucking pissed, drinking every night to forget how sad and lonely I'm. One day while working I get a call from my ex and she needs me to go pick up our youngest from school due to the fact she was not feeling well. So I left work to go pick her up and page the school office to let me in. I walked straight to the nurses office, my daughter lying on a cot taking a little nap.

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When I was younger I used to go visit my sister-in-law at her home. Her name was Shaista. My parents would send me there often since she lived so close. Sometimes I would be all alone with her for the entire afternoon. I was a fairly good-looking kid so most of the women in my family loved me but most especially my sister-in-law Shaista. She was always happy to see me whenever I came over. She loved my boyish face a lot, and she would always say how cute I was.

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Gail King, a natural blonde with a figure sculptured perhaps by the sculptor's gardener employed to shape shrubs rather than by the sculptor himself was deposited on rickety jetty on Kismet Island where there was a small roof on four poles for shelter. "Don't worry love," said the deckhand with an unusually soft Aussie accent as she steered the inflatable away from the jetty ready to roar over the reef to return to the mother boat, a rusting tub that looked ready to sink.

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Gail Davis watched the young man, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, climb out of his sports car and walk towards the office of her small real estate business in rural New Jersey. As she did so, Gail began to feel an immediate moistness between her legs. Not much older than my oldest daughter, she thought, eyeing him through the tinted window, feeling her nipples stiffen through the confines of her half-bra and cotton blouse. Other than her frequent masturbation sessions, her nipples hadn't been this hard in far too long.

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