Your erotic stories

At eighty-two years old, I thought all I had left to do was wait to die. When I got real sick, the agency sent over a girl to take care of me for a few hours a day. Ginger was one of those real brainy girls who graduated from high school when she was fourteen, got a degree in pre-med by the time she turned eighteen. She was working for the agency to help pay her way through medical school. It was nice having someone to visit with and she wasn't hard to look at, either.

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"Paging Miss Summers. Miss Summers, please proceed to the General Office." The bleep of the PA system sent a spark of excitement – or was it relief? – through me. It was the third day of the open house for Junior Colleges, and this was the first time that I'd been beeped to meet with a student or parent.

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