Your erotic stories

When I was 19, after my first year of bible college, I took a place on a crew going treeplanting in central British Columbia. I'd heard a lot about the good money, but, apparently, not every season is the same. We spent days and days crammed in a motel in Prince George — sometimes four and five of us to a room — paying whether we liked it or not.

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Now that I’m older—I’ll be twenty-five soon—I often wonder why I did some of the things I did in high school. Like going out for trick or treat when I was eighteen. I mean, why? Was it some attempt to regain my childhood? Actually, no. Because when I think back on it, I know exactly why I did it. I did it to drive Joe Bevins insane.

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The company I work at specializes in managing databases for real estate brokerages. Brokerages and their offices can manage their listings, photos, billing, etc by acquiring our system. My job is training our new clients how to use everything and managing the client once everything is up and running. We've been growing over the past couple of years, all across the country so I've been flying and doing lots of on-site work.

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I was nervous in the car as he drove to the club. Steven picked out my clothes – a very sheer yellow tank top with a short denim skirt. My hair, long, dark red, and curly, is framing my heavily made up face. He told me to put a 'sluttish' look to my face and smiled at the result. His fingers stroked my thighs the entire ride there and he talked about the fun we'd have.

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It had been an exhausting morning of running around. Early that afternoon it had turned cold and grey, so I decided to cut off work early and head home. I was looking forward to having some time alone. Pulling up the lane, I was pleasantly surprised to see my hubby's truck parked in front of the house. He is a contractor, building new homes, and must have decided the weather was too gloomy to work in too.

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To this day I cannot believe what happened to me. I have never told a soul and I never even went back to where I had worked, not even to get my stuff. In fact, it took me about a week to clean myself so that I could leave my apartment. My name is Sara. I’m a mix between Vietnamese/Cambodian and French. My mother, who was French, worked with a group of international peacekeepers and succumbed to what is frequently called ‘disaster sex’ after a flood disaster had killed about 3,500 people.

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To this day I can not believe what happened to me. I have never told a soul and I never even went back to where I had worked, not even to get my stuff. In fact, it took me about a week to clean myself so that I could leave my apartment. My name is Sara. I’m a mix between Vietnamese/Cambodian and French. My mother, who was french, worked with a group of international peacekeepers and succumbed to what is called ‘disaster sex’ after a flood disaster had killed about 3,500 people.

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You had left me in the early afternoon and instructed me to wear something nice for dinner. You wanted to have dinner at home tonight, and with a wink, said you would bring home dessert. Then with a loving kiss, you walked out. I stretched my body, relishing the ghost of your caress. I love you so. After a hot shower and nice powder, I dressed in my delicate white lace bra and panties, and over this, my green slip dress. It was warm, so I wore no stockings and slipped into strappy, low-heeled sandals.

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It was one of those casual mid week deals. Our new neighbors had gotten settled and invited us over for a glass of wine and conversation one Wednesday evening. We met them a month or so earlier at a house warming and ever since been exchanging what we call "The Neighborhood Benediction", those drive by waves and smiles we all exchange around here. Of course I had a few conversations with Andy – the male member of the household – as we took care of outdoor chores, and found him interesting and likeable.

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Here’s another story from the diary, I’m amazed when I read through things at some of the things I’ve done. I’ve forgotten about some and well others you just can’t forget. I’ve kept a diary since I was around thirteen. I kept them locked away for years. I was putting another one in the attic when I decided to page through some of the older ones. That’s when I got the idea of maybe writing some of them up to post here.

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