Your erotic stories

Jenni Adams parked her rusted pickup behind the Harper house and killed the engine, sat at the wheel as an east wind brought rain over the steep shingle roof and drove it hard against the windshield. The surf would be big today and she anticipated a fight getting through the waves. She wanted this moment to last, sitting perfectly still, letting the urge to swim build inside, the anticipation almost sexual. For Jenni, a lot of things were almost sexual.

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Lisa and I had been awakened by the sound of my alarm clock, which I wanted to fire through the window but had a second thought about it, when she realized it was Saturday and we weren't working. "Joe. Did you set that for any specific reason?'

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I was a varsity cheerleader in high school. In fact I was the captain of the cheer squad and my best friend at the time was also on the team. Lanie and I had been best buds since we met in junior high school and now here we were, both of us just turned 18 and in our senior year.

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I am one fine piece of work. Or so Eve thinks. On a drive to Atlanta, I picked up a beautiful young hitchhiker. She just happened to be a prostitute specializing in a female clientele. Of course, she charmed me right out of my expensive pants. The lady was a professional who adored her work.

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Early in the morning of August 21, 1863 William Clarke Quantrell and his band of Missouri ruffians sacked and burned the city of Lawrence, Kansas and changed my life forever. Amost all of the city was destroyed including the Lawrence Journal newspaper, where I worked, and the Eldridge House Hotel, where I lived. Fortunately I was in Topeka on that day, covering the newly-formed and very contentious Kansas Legislature.

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"Good luck on the sting Craig, we've all got things we need to do here," said Officer Mike Rutledge. "Thanks, we need to clean these streets up they're getting more decrepit each night," replied Officer Craig Stanford as he left the police station. He parked his car in his usual sentry position where he's been quite successful over the last few weeks busting drug runners and prostitutes.

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I moaned loudly as the phone's ringing refused to stop. I rolled twice toward the sound, tossing blankets to the side as I did, and reached up to grab the phone. "Hmmmm?" I voiced into the receiver. "Ms. Calista Holiday?" a deep voice asked. "Yes," I responded. "This is Aidan Conner. I must regretfully inform you of the death of your great-aunt, Faye Michaels." The man's vaguely familiar accent registered, but his words didn't.

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I was 18 and had a job as a paperboy for a while when I was growing up. Once a month I'd go around to all the customers and collect their payment. I had just about finished one day, but still had to collect from several new customers. I'd been dodging light showers for a while and was trying to hurry since I could see darker rain clouds coming in. In the process I'd gotten a bit wet but I didn't want to stop because I'd be getting paid as soon as I turned in these payments.

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I had only been out of work for a week, and already I was getting bored. And that's a bad thing for me . . . to be bored. It's how I always get into trouble. Okay, it's one of the ways I get into trouble. So here I am, back home in the mountains of Tennessee, and I need something to do. It's beautiful here, and very secluded.

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I have had a thing for older women since I was a small child, even when I was really young I remember getting extra dirty just so my babysitter would give me baths. Nothing was beyond my young imagination to get naked in front of them, or have them touch me. I never outgrew that stage, in fact I would think it had the opposite effect, I become even more

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