Your erotic stories

I wasn't planning on doing much of anything that evening. It was raining pretty hard out and I didn't have anything I really needed to get done anyway. Then the phone rang. "Michael, have you seen your sister?" It was my mother's voice on the other end, she sounded worried. "No, why?" "It's just, she ran off and we don't know where. We called some of her friends' houses but nobody's seen her. I hoped maybe... maybe you would know where she was." She was close to panic.

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Frankie had been doing the same thing every summer since he was 14; mowing the lawns for the local housewives of his neighborhood for some extra cash. Most paid him well, and he had a series of regular clients. Most people wouldn't think looking at him that such a friendly and dependable kid would also be successfully running his own lawn mowing business. Now, 18, this would be his last summer of mowing lawns as he was leaving for college in August. Frankie was a handsome young man, with light brown hair and blue eyes, and thanks to his lawn mowing job, had developed a nice firm shape to his 5'11" body.

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Mr. David was in his second year of teaching Band and things were not going well. The previous band teacher had been very old, and band in High School was never really the cool thing to do, so he was having a really hard time getting kids to be in his Marching Band. He had brought in outside help in the form of one of his friends from a marching band corps, but still things were not going well.

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It was my senior year of high school, and my 3rd and final year as a Varsity Cheerleader Team... Rah Rah and all that stuff. There are two things that really come back to me in the way of memories about those times... Jealousy and Competition amongst us... and Road Trips! I'm gonna skip the petty stuff and go for what you guys always ask me about. In this case, I'm gonna tell you about one of the basketball road trips we went on.

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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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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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All characters in the story are over the age of eighteen. * When I walked into my parents' house, I saw my mom on the phone. Shit, this can't be good. She was staring right at me. "Okay Rhonda, he'll do it. Six okay? It is? Great." I slung my back pack down on the couch. "What?" I asked. I was cautious of everything this woman did.

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NOTE: All characters in this story are 18 years or older. The term 'teenage' can still refer to somebody 18 or 19 years old! This story is pure fantasy. Enjoy!! Switch-On - Understanding Uncle --commercial begins-- Do you struggle with bad habits like smoking, drinking, or gambling? Does your spouse tell you he wants to clean, but constantly forgets? Do your kids constantly back-talk or struggle with their grades?

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Thanks to all those readers who have asked for more chapters in this series. I never thought of writing a series but because you have continuously asked for more from this story, I have done my best to comply. We all live multi-faceted lives (I don't have time to write but once or twice every other week) but I will try to write new chapters and follow-ups to my other stories too. Thanks again to all those readers who have emailed with kudos, I live and write for them. For those who write saying they don't like something, thanks too but only when it is constructive criticism. I'm learning to be a better writer. That being said, lets move on to Jenny and her pretty mouth.

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Andrew Weston was not a man to trifle with. Neither was Alison: his stepdaughter. It was as if they had been fashioned from the same cloth and they understood each other perfectly: often trying to outmaneuver each other in a game of one-upmanship. Both were self assured and attractive to look at.

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