Your erotic stories

Mady, short for Madeline was riding high, she sat on the plane gazing out the window, here she was about to make one of the biggest deals her firm could capture, Mrs. Madeline Goddard could even get a department all to her self, the boss, she stifled a giggle. She contemplated her life, once Miss Madeline Stokes, then Mrs. Madeline Jensen, she pondered on that short failed marriage, was it her fault she lost the baby, was it her fault she couldn't have children now, was it her fault he wanted them and ended her happiness, was it?

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I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John's from university who'd recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I'd never needed their help. They knew I'd end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking. He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn't get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place.

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"Heaton? Paul Heaton?" My assistant addressed the class of sixth-form boys. "Here, Miss." The teenage boy nonchalantly raised his arm. "When this class is finished Mrs. Horner wants to see you in her office. I've already informed Mr. Rotheray that you'll miss his lesson." She handed him a slip of paper and left the classroom.

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I know you’re there before I even open my eyes. My senses are so attuned to you, I always know when you’re in the room. I can’t help but smile when I think of your reaction as you find me in bed, asleep, with Casey. Casey and I had been shopping and indulged in a fairly liquid lunch. A bottle and a half of wine later, I decided I wanted to buy something sexy..something that would really knock your socks off.

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The name's Piper. Peter Piper. But I don't pick pecks of pickled peppers. I solve cases. I'm a private dick. That's a detective for those of you who don't know the lingo. A private eye. It was a miserable Friday afternoon. Cold, damp, foggy. The weather was foul. And so was my mood. My bank account was dwindling at an alarming pace. I hadn't had a case in weeks. I was sitting behind my battered desk in my shabby office on the second floor of the Burke building, downtown. Way downtown. I was sitting there and I was worrying. If something didn't happen soon, I was in deep shit. I had bills to pay.

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I had one year to go in my studies, at university, for my degree in public relations, arts, and media studies. I was starting to get a bit desperate for money. All my university bills were due. I was working part time in a coffee shop, but that had more or less stopped, since I had refused to have sex with the owner, even though he offered to pay me 200 dollars. I just did not fancy his big fat sweaty body on mine, and I knew he would want more and more if I agreed.

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"Three thousand dollars for a transmission! that's ridiculous and besides it wasn't my fault that piece of junk broke when I was driving it" Keri exclaimed exasperatedly. I replied "piece of junk or not. it's my car, you weren't supposed to be driving it and from what the mechanic said you were not exactly babying it when it broke. You busted it and you're responsible for getting it fixed."

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"Would you want to sleep with Kim?" The question rang in Mark's brain as he stood in the doorway. The other question in his mind was: "What would you do if you came back and caught me and Kim having sex?" Mark's wife Carol had asked both just a week ago. At the time Mark had laughed and joked that he would join in.

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Moodily I stared out the train window. The day before Christmas Eve. On the platform of the Boston station, couples reunited, kissing and hugging. Mothers cried and clung to fresh boys in uniform as they headed off to basic training. The war had changed things; the place was somber and not decorated much for Christmas this year.

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This is a work of fiction, that does deal with certain depression issues. All people included in this story are figments of my imagination. Any mistakes are my fault, my editor did the best she could with what she had.

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