Your erotic stories

"Wow, its starting to pour." Amy said looking out of the kitchen window. 'How appropriate' I thought to myself. It had been one of those dreary suffocating fall days that drowns your psyche. I was already a bit out of sorts. I had met Kate at the "Werks" earlier for our "Saturday" conversation, but she hadn't been her normal self. She was polite as we chatted but she seemed distracted and distant.

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It was my good friend, Kara's boyfriend's birthday and a big group of us were heading out for a night on the town. I didn't really know her boyfriend, Levi, very well but I was in dire need of a night out. Before running out the door for my taxi, I gave myself a once over. I'd gone for a short black skirt, with a black scoop neck top that showed off my ample cleavage. I also had black, silk stockings on as it was a bit cold with black ankle boots. I looked pretty, damned good if I didn't say so myself.

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I live in a group of units. Most of them are owned by the people living in them but a couple of them are rentals. We're like a small village, with all of us knowing each other. The unit next to mine has been a long term rental, but the guy renting it had finally scraped up a deposit and moved into a house of his own a few weeks back.

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I own a small automotive shop. We do general service and repair on all years and all makes. I enjoy the work and it makes me a living. I also like the idea of being my own boss. No one to answer to except my customers. I guess you could look at it as having more than one boss to answer to, but I like the work. The best part of the job is that we do a lot of 30's, 40's, 50's and 60's cars. Routine maintenance and service, motor swaps, disc brake conversions, suspension modifications; all kinds of restoration and hot rod work. Love this part of what we do a lot.

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This is a true story. All of the events are written down here to the best of my knowledge and recollection. My name is Will and I work on the Butcher's counter at Sainsbury's. I'm about 5'11, have got a brown crew cut and green eyes. My build was more skinny than athletic, but I'd still call myself athletic, you know how it is. These events took place in the summer of 2002. I was 19 years old.

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The rap of her boot heels echoing off the concrete walls was the only sound as she walked down the long line of cars, looking for where she'd parked. She'd been sure this was the row—13-D—but where was her car? She shifted her bags to her left hand where the black leather glove would keep the handles from biting into her and looked back over her shoulder through her blonde hair. Perhaps she'd walked past it? But there was no red Peugeot.

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Sam Stafford is a grouchy old man who lives up the road from us. Well when I say old, he's probably in his early thirties, but from the arrogant young age of eighteen, thirty is old. Especially the way he acts at times. He does, I will admit, have a green thumb, and his garden has the best roses for miles around. Come spring he had an amazing display. That's partly what led to the trouble.

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This story takes place in the summer of my 19th year. I had returned to my hometown after an accident which had left me hospitalized for two months. Upon returning I needed to determine a direction for my life. I had enlisted in the army and was awaiting my active duty date in late 1969 when the accident happened. The damage to my body was sufficient to cancel my enlistment and give me a get home free pass from Uncle Sam’s party in Viet Nam. While many of my friends had suffered as a result of that war, I was not sorry that I did not have to go.

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I couldn't unfasten her safety belt. Have you ever heard those lyrics? They're part of a song that Chuck Berry put out in the sixties. Basically, the song gives the story of a young lad who took his girlfriend for a drive. He tells of how, when they parked and wanted to go for a walk so he could pitch a little wooing, they couldn't undo her seat belt. She was stuck in the car and he had to home, wooing being deferred to another day.

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Here I was, driving in the middle of the night from one city to another. A friend was getting married in the capitol city where we went to college, but I had since moved away. I drove back for the wedding and was supposed to crash at an old buddy's place. The buddy flaked out on me, so I had no where to stay. I really didn't want to get a hotel room because I'm always on a budget. So, I just decided to pop a red bull and drive back home that night.

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