Your erotic stories

There's a standard joke when the UK is hit with cold weather - that we're utterly unable to cope. Even a sprinkling of the white stuff brings the road and rail networks virtually crashing to a halt. Schools close, people can't get to work, supermarkets are swamped by panic buyers and tabloids declare 'SNOWMAGEDDON!'

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A meeting with the new boss, great. I hadn't met him yet so he called me away from my busy schedule just so I could meet with him. I hated meetings and was notorious for it, thinking they were usually a diversion from the task at hand. I walked down the hall toward his office, my face with an agitated grimace on it. Some of my co-workers caught on and began cracking jokes about it. "Mark Johnston," a sign on his office door proclaimed as I knocked.

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The knocking at the door persisted and eventually penetrated the layers of sleep. The rain had stopped and whoever was out there wasn't going away. A number of possibilities came to mind, none of them good. It had to be connected to the girl. Her father; her mother; a boyfriend ...? I've always been a glass half empty kind of bloke, a pessimist. My accommodation was a static caravan, the place I'd come to bash out the fourth in a series of novels, and escape out of a back door was impossible, simply because there was no back door.

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It felt odd, sitting in front of the screen, waiting to have a conversation with someone. But then it wasn't just a screen. A camera, too. I can see you. Big deal, I can see you too. I like the anonymity of the telephone, I can curl myself up, pull faces, read the news, hell, I can even play with myself, safe in the knowledge that no-one gets anything more than my voice. This felt a lot more dangerous.

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Owning a wine importation business I'm constantly surprised that people still believe in national stereotypes. Most of my suppliers seem to think that we all wear bowler hats and carry umbrellas, and that British society is like a Dickens novel. With Lord's of the manor living in castles and exploiting downtrodden servants, while the rest of us live in thatched cottages.

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Jenny Tidwell, president of Pi Phi, had one basic rule in life. Anything good that happened was her doing, and anything bad that happened was someone else's fault. Her plan in life was also simple: marry rich, make her own money and live life at the top. It was her senior year, and she was dating Chase Carlisle, the former president of Chi Sigma, now graduated from college and away at law school but close enough that they kept their relationship going.

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The first package was innocent enough when it arrived. She was a little surprised to see a courier at her door when she answered the doorbell at the early hour of 9 am. Since her first class wasn't until eleven she had actually just woken up. The courier collected her signature and then handed over an oblong box. When she opened it she saw a miniature rose bush with a dozen yellow roses inside with a note.

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The house was quiet for the first time in a long, long time. My wife had gone upstairs to get ready for bed and I took it upon myself to click the television off. I wanted to take advantage of the time and catch up on some reading. I was nose deep in War and Peace when I heard the shower shut off. For a second, I considered going up to our bedroom in an attempt to catch her naked. Then I considered the fact that I would be making an attempt to forego foreplay.

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Rather than be happy about her promotion as she'd expected, Andres seemed frustrated and offered only a casual grin and weak hug at the announcement. She didn't look into it at first, she was still overwhelmed with the news herself but by the end of the evening she could see why so many women that made it to partner had been single. Men don't take well to the competition. Threatens their fragile male ego, she supposed.

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I have this thought of meeting you in a cabin. Somewhere a little ways out so that it would be hard to spot from any road but easy enough to run to town if needed. I would have arrived around 6am, put some coffee on and then sat on the front veranda/porch to drink it under a blanket as the sun comes up. The air crisp and clean, with snow lightly dusting the ground the night before, had warmed up this morning.

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