Your erotic stories

The sound of crickets and cicadas sounded loud in the dark of the woods. An owl hooted and somewhere in the distance, a deer crashed through the bush. It was just past nightfall and Joshua Gardner was on his way home from his grandfather's farm after helping bale and put up hay. He was sweaty and itchy from the grass and hauling bales up into the old barn loft.

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I tore off one of the phone number slips from the bulletin board post and figured I would at least give it a try. Just the kind of job I was looking for, high pay (for a college kid at least), and didn't sound like a lot of work. I had never been an artist's model, or even really knew what that entailed. I was an engineering student.

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When I was little I used to sit outside with my Grandmother on her wide front porch and we would dream about what we would do to the gardens one day. It was one of my favorite things to do with her when I was visiting. My parents died when I was in my early twenties and my Grandmother was all I had left. Eventually I moved to New York City and made my life there, becoming a very successful writer. I had more money than I knew what to do with and I would send her checks, telling her to make her special garden.

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He had just turned sixty when his wife passed away. Along with her passed the dreams of a retirement of travel with her as his constant companion. They had planned to travel the world together, but it was not to be. Now he moped about their home with no ambition or desire to do anything, including keep the house clean. He sometimes straightened a little, knowing how disappointed she would have been to see her home in such disorder. He couldn't bring himself to show much interest in anything, until finally, his children told him he had to clean up his act.

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