Your erotic stories

It's Dayna's fault again. It's Dayna's fault that I'm up at 3:30 in the morning on a Thursday, struggling to keep my eyes open, nursing a bourbon, sitting in my office. That girl is nothing but trouble. I've raised three kids now and two of them turned out fine. Julie is in med school, dating a handsome venture capitalist who knows exactly how much to kiss up to me. Tommy is a little bit of an introvert, but studying computer programming at MIT is an achievement that makes me proud of him.

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The Gold Lounge was about half-full. It was a Thursday night, the first night of the convention that brought her to Vegas. Her co-worker, who was also a good friend, had taken a taxi to the Barry Manilow show, and Joy had opted out. On account of her being Manilow-Intolerant, although she had simply feigned a deep desire to relax and explore their hotel.

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A good friend of mine referred me to this great Italian restaurant in a city about 3 hours from where I lived. I asked him, "What the hell makes this place so special that I would be willing to drive 3 hours?" He told me the service was worth the trip alone, and the food was even better. I took some time to think it over and a few days later I called to make a reservation. The person on the phone asked my age, and if I preferred smoking, non-smoking, or the cigar lounge.

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