Your erotic stories

Chapter One "Evan, Mr. Franklin would like to see you if you're available." "I'm on my way, Francine." Evan hung up the phone, grabbed his notebook and ran up the back stairs to Francine's door. As he caught his breath he made sure his shirt was tucked in and his tie was straight and brushing his hair back with his left hand opened the door and went in.

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Lisa was 18 years old, blonde and perfectly filled out for a young woman. She drove over to her old neighbour's house, Mr Wilson. Mr Wilson was getting on in years and had called the house asking if she could come by and help him out a bit. Lisa and her family had known Mr Wilson for years. He had been their neighbour and had helped her and her family on more than one occasion when they needed it.

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Ryan lay on his bed, one arm slung across his eyes, his other hand, slowly stroking the bulge that twitched through the cloth of his skimpy running shorts as he thought of her. She was his latest obsession, and she was also proving to be his greatest challenge. He sighed, frustrated, and slung his legs off the bed to sit on its edge, his chin cupped thoughtfully in his young hands as he watched the dust motes dancing in the sunlight that streamed in through the open window.

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Carol was in one of her blue funks. Why I didn't know, but they had been coming fast and furiously as of late. One minute, she was her normal cheerful self and the next; she was either the bitch from hell or on the verge of tears. Now it was total silence and depression. I had asked her to accompany me on this business trip, hoping that it would help in some way. So far it hadn't helped a bit, it was actually worse.

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Moira was having a hell of a hard time trying to fight her way out of the trouble she was in. She had more or less brought in on herself by her own actions. She had seen the look in his eyes about a year ago, right around the time of his eighteenth birthday. She had actually looked twice to make sure she hadn't misunderstood that gleam.

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There were three generations of blondes occupying the table at the food court in the mall I had recently begun to manage. I had seen them before, perhaps each Saturday for about a month now. With each visit they captured more of my curiosity. It didn't hurt that they ranged, in order, from bubbly and precious, to perky and pretty, to downright seductively sexy. The youngest was no more than a few months old, I estimated, a jolly pink-faced infant being lovingly bounced on the knees of her mom.

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I'd never had a massage in the UK. I'd never needed one or wanted the sort of pleasure I gained from attending spas in such places as Crete, Thailand and Spain. I had enjoyed those. They were part relaxing, part sheer pleasure and part, I knew, but they were not sold that way, part erotic. But now I needed one. I needed a proper massage. My back was so tight and had been for two weeks now. I had to do something.

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Next month I shall be sixty-seven years old. Before then there will be the fifth anniversary of the day my darling Dorothy was taken from me. A merciful release, said people who had known of her illness; and so it was. I still think of her, of course, and that is why I cannot help feeling just a little guilty about the turn my life has taken in the intervening years.

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Another hot one, 3 in a row, it was an official summer heat wave, after just having had one last week and the week before. Judging by the extended weather forecast, next week didn't offer much relief from the 90 plus degree, high humidity weather. The kind of day that Frank could fry an egg on the sidewalk, he'd be too hot to eat it.

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There must be something inherently lucky about February 29--leap day. That's the day I went to get my hair cut by the gal Carla who's been cutting my hair for over a year. She does an excellent job and has an interesting personality, so I always wait for her. To tell you the truth, I originally selected her because she's good looking.

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