Your erotic stories

I peeked out the window of the door and saw the smiling face of little Julie Anderson, the neighbor girl who lived down the road a piece. She was wearing her scout uniform, and judging by the time of year and the things she was carrying, I knew what the visit was about. "Hi Julie!" I said as I opened the door. "Cookie time again I'll bet."

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I glanced down at my watch. Only 45 minutes until my shift was over and the airport would close. Things were usually slow at this hour, but vigilance was essential. The Air Traffic Control tower was always peaceful at night. There were only a few small overhead lights, just enough to see where all the panels and buttons were.

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When she came down to greet me at the lobby of her dorm building, nobody -- not the security guards nor the other students nor the people passing by on the streets -- could have guessed what was going on. I was in a suit, she in a sexy (but not slinky) red dress that made the red in her hair pop. They'd have thought we were prepared for a classy night on the town (as classy as college students could afford, I suppose). If they had been paying close enough attention to her knowing smirk and my short, fearful breaths, they would probably have known something else was going on.

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Author's Note -- This story is an original fiction, and not meant to display any actual events or persons. All characters within are depicted as being 18 years old or Older. *** *** *** "I don't even begin to believe you're telling the truth!" Kita -- short for Nikita -- had just finished telling her part of the latest round of Truth or Dare that she and I -- Sherry -- had been playing.

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I had come home from the gym, and surprisingly found you at home, slumped on the sofa, a cup of coffee standing neglected on the table, the newspaper scattered over the floor. Knowing you were working on an important project, I had not expected you until much, much later.

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Cheryl is my best friend. I love her dearly. I depend on her and trust her and would do anything for her. I share everything with her. My hopes and dreams. My Fears. My triumphs and tragedies. I even share my husband... We started our little "situation" a few years ago. It all started over dinner and a couple bottles of wine. Cheryl had been telling us how she was having a hard time finding any good men. "Everyone I meet is a creep!" she said. "Or immature and looking for a mommy!"

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It was a non-descript ordinary beige trenchcoat with green plaid flannel lining. My father had left it behind when he moved out, and my mother had given it to me, thinking it might ease my pain to have something of his around. I always thought of it as an odd symbol of abandonment, of unfulfilled dreams of what a father should be in a daughter's eyes.

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Charlie was 33. He wasn't an imposing figure, standing only 5'7", weighing just at bit over 170 pounds, but he had a cute look to him. His shoulder-length blonde hair framed his slight face nicely, setting off his blue eyes. Patti, his wife, was 27, and she sported a short blonde pixie cut, which accented her basic, although attractive, face.

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There's something about clothing-optional beaches that just appeal to any red-blooded hetero male. The chance to find the girls-next-door daring to bare all on vacation in search of that all-over tan is mindblowing.

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It was the first Wednesday of the month and I usually go to the properties I own to collect the rent. One of the tenants in one of the apartments is a single mother of Puerto Rican decent. She lives with her son who is 16 years old and has another daughter who lives and works across town. When I knocked on her door, an older man answered and said that Nora was out of town visiting some relatives up North. He said that she would be back next week. I said it was not a problem and that I would call again next Wednesday. If she gets back before that have her call me.

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