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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The first thing I know in consciousness is the tickling of your chest hairs on my nose as I breath in and out. Instinctively, I reach up to rub my nose, inadvertantly flicking your nipple as I do. "Hmmmm" you breath out, shifting slightly to wrap your arm around my shoulders. You are so warm that I snuggle closer, running my hand over your chest to find your other nipple, still soft in relaxation. A slight brush of my hand brings it to attention to match it's counterpart.

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Tiredly, I walked up the driveway from my car. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to a relaxed evening and a cold beer or two. I dumped my briefcase and suit jacket in the foyer and shouted, "Honey, I'm home. Where are you?" "In the bathroom," she answered. I walked down the passage and pushed the bathroom door open. Zoë was seated on the toilet, her flimsy g-string around her slim ankles and her sundress hiked up over her wide hips. She looked up at me with an annoyed look in her grey eyes.

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My father-in-law, Robert, is more than just my wife's father. We have much in common. We both like to read and watch sports. We both like working with our hands. He likes to fish more than I do, but it's another thing that we do together. We help each other with our yard work and home maintenance. We can talk to each other. He's my friend and a buddy.

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This is an edited version of the original. A comment mentioned that the ending of the original didn't really fit and after reading it a few times, I realized he/she was right and I changed it. I hope you enjoy. "Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything." - Katharine Hepburn, Me: Stories of My Life

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I hadn't seen Linda since she and my daughter, Shellie had graduated from high school over four years ago. They had been best friends but had gone to different colleges. They had kept track of each other through email and the phone. I kept track of Linda by accident through chance meetings with her mother. Linda's mother and I would talk and update each other as to our daughter's comings and goings over those four years. In my mind, I still pictured Linda as I last saw her at the High School graduation.

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The slip of imported paper shook in his hand as he stood waiting for the elevator. Shaking hands were something he had gotten used to on the drive to Bal Harbor, his mind cluttered with thoughts that she wouldn’t be there, that he wouldn’t be on time; or even worse, that she would be and he would be prompt.

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The parties that went on at 69 Brentwood Street were legendary. When Luke Prescott received the invitation email by Blackberry during his final year at NYU, he had high expectations. The house was a three-storey brownstone on the Upper East Side, and was being rented by three of the hottest girls in university. Kendra, Lacey and Chloe were commonly referred to around campus as 'The Babes on Brentwood.'

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'Honey, get up!' Leah repeated as she struggled to wake her lover. Hayley was an adorable little thing, much more so when she was cocooned in their bed covers. But this wasn't the time to be admiring little nymphs! Leah scrambled to the window yet again. Hayley's parents were getting out of their car. Shit!

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It was more than three years ago since he had seen Anne, Joss mused as he sat in the train to Rotterdam. Yesterday evening his phone had disturbed him during the first minutes of his sleep. It had been Anne who had invited him to come to her place and have a drink.

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