Your erotic stories

This story has been buried deep inside of me for a long time. I remember all of it very well, almost like it was last week. I've reminisced and re-lived it all many times over the years. Much of it is quite fun to remember. Some of it is bittersweet. Some of it is painful still. When I was out of college and in my early twenties I got a job selling radio advertising in a suburban/rural area, and although new to the region, I became successful in a fairly short time.

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One moment, one lapse in concentration, and it was all over. It was my fault. She had just stepped off the kerb and I called out "See this evening." She turned, smiled; there was a screech of tyres as a bus pulling in to stop hit her. The love of my life was dead. I met Clare when I was tutoring in English literature and she a student. I don't know if there is such a thing as love a first sight but it seemed like to me. Six months after first meeting her we were married; she was eighteen and I twenty four.

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"That's her. Check it out. Wow," whispered Billy Sherman's buddy. They were at the town bar that they had been going to since before they were legally allowed to drink. And there, at the end of the long bar, not far from the door, sat Sue Lockhart, the middle school gym teacher.

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"Wow, its starting to pour." Amy said looking out of the kitchen window. 'How appropriate' I thought to myself. It had been one of those dreary suffocating fall days that drowns your psyche. I was already a bit out of sorts. I had met Kate at the "Werks" earlier for our "Saturday" conversation, but she hadn't been her normal self. She was polite as we chatted but she seemed distracted and distant.

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Nina Collins tossed and turned in bed. She glanced at the clock: 2 a.m. Downstairs, clanged dishes and opening doors, which she knew was her 22-year-old grandson, Billy, and his drunken buds coming in from a night of carousing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nina wasn't happy about the sleep interruption, but was happy to have Billy with her for the summer after graduating college in her seaside home, giving him a rest and knowing he'd be setting out on his own soon enough, leaving his parents and them far behind as he found a new life.

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I hadn't thought about this in years. I've been married for 15 years and stories about ex-girlfriend's and their mothers are not the kind of thing you brag about at the dinner table. The thing that brought this memory back was meeting this particular mother in the mall parking lot. I was getting out of my car and I saw this old lady coming toward me. She seemed familiar. "Mrs taylor?" I said.

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"Bugger it," Colin muttered as he knocked a pile of notes on to the floor. He had been working at the computer on a tutorial paper for most of the morning and had stood up to have a stretch. He knelt down and started to reassemble the notes when he spotted a book among the tangle of wires at the back of computer that at some time must have fallen down the back of the desk. He picked it up, looked at it, and realised that it was a book he had borrowed from his friend Damien at least a couple of months ago and had been forgotten.

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Kara and I walked side-by-side down the long stone stairs away from the Court House. We and done the same thing for quite a few weekdays; she had been staying with me in my big five bedroom house for two months since David's bail was revoked for drugs and alcohol. His big, young, strong body did not swagger as much when the judge handed down seven and a half to twenty for Murder II. He had stolen my car, my deceased wife's wedding rings and killed a woman while driving under the influence.

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I was sitting backwards on one of the chairs in my tenant's kitchen, watching him cover an easel with bold strokes of varying shades of green. Sean had moved into the basement suite in late August, and we'd hit it off right away. He was a nice boy, 22 years old, a couple years older than my own son, who was also away at university.

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Average, that's pretty much how I saw myself. Brown hair, brown eyes, busty for sure, but could stand to either lose 20 pounds or grow 4 inches. Nothing particularly remarkable about me but what I lack in the supermodel, standard cutesy looks department, I probably make up for in personality. Great. Just how every woman wants to be described: "she's not really pretty, but she's got a great personality!" Whatever.

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