Your erotic stories

CHAPTER 1 Brown haired and green-eyed Guy Meadows was left confused when seeking to find is the optimum age to marry because the opinions varied widely. He settled on twenty-eight and planned accordingly. He studied hard at college and emerged with a masters in business administration and after settling into permanent employment upgraded that to an MBA. By the time he was twenty-seven Guy was director of operations for a company that manufactured, imported and distributed LP gas and electric grills and barbecues.

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Saturday night, and you are goin' out! Mothers of Boston hide your sons. Your husband, Steve, is out of town for another conference - this is ten weeks in a row - and your best friend Joanne wants to take you to a local club. She says it's where she goes when she wants to let loose, play a little pool, maybe flirt a bit. (and we KNOW how you like to flirt!) You're wearing your new red short wraparound skit and a white silk blouse, and you look at yourself in the mirror.

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Janie had never flown before. She sat in the waiting area and watched the huge 767 taxi towards them. She had turned eighteen only three days before and was now enjoying her promised reward for graduating valedictorian and earning a full academic scholarship to Princeton. Janie's mom and dad had been socking away money for their children's education for years. Well, from the day each of them was born, to be honest.

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Claudia was enjoying her champagne. Her friends, Marianne and Mark, always knew how to host a party. Their house was perfect for it, as well. There were three cabanas around the pool, each with a king sized pad and gauzy curtains for at least a modicum of privacy. A high fence around the property kept away prying eyes in the very upscale subdivision in Boca Raton.

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About two weeks after my sensuous and successful aptitude test with 'Manon', the company which provided discreet escorts for ladies. I was contacted by Ron Vincent, who told me to call at the office the following evening as he had my first client. I had already spent some time with Ron, getting a few pointers on what would be expected of me. He also had me fitted out with a couple of outfits, a smart dark blue suit and a more casual jacket and pants, with shirts to match.

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I suppose trouble follows me because I look for it, but sometimes (more often than not) I find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time (or as I would say, the right place at the right time). Such was the case on New Year's Eve.

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Laura thought her world had come to an end when Josh packed his bags and moved out to live with his new secretary, who was nearly thirty years his junior. When Josh returned to collect his property Laura was in a vindictive mood. She allowed him to collect his clothes, she had resisted the temptation to hack them into ribbons. She even let him have his collection of vinyl records of sixties and seventies Rock, and his prized Bang and Olfsen hi-fi system.

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The cleaning girl, Monica, had arrived early on Friday afternoon. "Good afternoon, Ms. Stephens." Monica said. "Please, call me Jennifer." Opening the door to her two thousand square foot home, the tall, statuesque woman smiled at her cleaning girl. The eldest daughter of a neighbor down the street, Monica had grown into an incredibly sexy young woman. Jennifer shut the door behind her and stared dreamily at the young woman, shaking her head slightly.

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The sound of steel clashing against steel shattered the quiet repose surrounding Doug Sanders while he read the contents on the label. He heard her before he saw her. Her voice was soft, caressing, apologetic, but clear as a bell. She was apologizing profusely for having run her shopping cart into his. He started his long drawn out gaze at her knees, upward towards her head.

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It was a steamy night in the ATL and there was a power outage. No light, no AC, all the entire city could do was sit and sweat and sit and sweat some more. Luckily, I live on the top floor of my condo so I could go outside naked as the day I was born and enjoy a little breeze without the fear of anyone peeking at me.

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