Your erotic stories

The day I slept late that July was unforgettable. I had just graduated high school and was gently preparing to go off to college, but mainly that summer I was relaxing – sleeping late and not having many plans. My sister was travelling somewhere in Europe and my parents were both working long days, probably thinking about my college expenses. We also had a house guest for a few weeks that summer. Leigh Chandler was an old friend of my mother's from her college days. Leigh had recently started a new job in town and was staying with us while she looked for an apartment.

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It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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I originally thought my idea to get the girls to go camping with us, probably for the last time as a family, was a good one. I guess it was an attempt on my part to reminiscence of days past when the kids were little and we all had such a great time enjoying nature and just being together as a family. But the girls were both in college and things had changed. Amy would graduate the next spring and Emily was a sophomore.

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“You have a two o’clock meeting with the regional developer’s association. There’s the briefing on the smart growth legislation they’re interested in,” Cathy informed me as I slowly flipped through the contents of my inbox, which always seemed overwhelmingly full on each of my visits back to my district. “I’m assuming they’re against it,” I sarcastically replied.

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Anne Evans looked across at her daughter Kathy, sitting at the other end of the couch. "Anything that you actually want to watch on TV?" she asked. Kathy raised her eyes from her magazine and shook her head. "Not for me, Mom. Switch it off if you want." Anne rummaged for the remote and switched off the TV, then picked up her photography magazine again. She sat for a while, aware that Kathy was getting increasingly fidgety. Eventually Kathy took a deep breath.

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"Please, come in." Candice smiled, she opened the door wide stepping back to let the men into her house. "How long do you think this is going to take?" she asked politely. "Maybe a few days, but it shouldn't really be more than two." One of them replied, smiling. She looked at his crisp, navy work shirt, it said 'Bud'. He was quite handsome, maybe in his late thirties.

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Three of us were sitting together in the company cafeteria having lunch. Because all three of us are married men the conversations usually were about sports, politics, money or occasionally, sex. If one of our offspring had done something noteworthy we allowed a little time for parental bragging. All three of us were in the age group where our offspring were either out-of-the-house at college or out-of-the-house married and gone.

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Harry stood outside of the shop shivering in the cold as he nonchalantly peeked in the windows building up the courage to enter the store. Acting as if her were waiting for someone he would wander away from the windows, glance at his watch and then wander back to the windows trying to decide exactly what he wanted to buy. Unfortunately, each time he saw a few interesting items, the window would begin to fog from his breath so he'd back out toward the street, look up and down the sidewalk and then glance at his watch.

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I live alone in my own apartment in the suburbs. Most of my time is spent working long hours so that doesn't give me much time keeping my place in order. I thought it might be a good idea to get myself a housekeeper or at the very least someone just to clean up and keep the place in somewhat of an orderly fashion.

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Several pictures of her were tucked into the sides of the mirror over his dresser. Most were school pictures, and one was of the two of them together, their arms wrapped around each other, both of them smiling at the camera. My hand, holding the brush that I had picked up from amidst the clutter on his dresser, stopped in mid-air as I peered at those pictures.

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