Your erotic stories

Scott Griffin pulled his blue Ford Mustang into a parking space just to the left of the loading dock of Stonewall Hall. At least six cars were battling for spaces closer than his to the door in the loading area, but he didn't care. He was only a little farther away but he could walk his bags in the little extra distance. He wouldn't have to deal with the pushy parents and students in the area as well. College was something he looked forward to, but people in crowds drove him crazy.

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Standing at the mirror, Sandy brushed back the stray hair from her face. Then she stepped closer and frowned at the reflection looking back at her. When did the wrinkles appear? Had they always been so deep? Her friends told her she could pass for 40, but she knew they were just being nice. The mirror didn't lie, and it was telling her she looked every one of her fifty-one years.

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I picked at the edge of the cardboard beer mat in frustration. She said she'd be here at seven. I checked my wristwatch. Eight pm! "Take a goddamned hint, Valentine!" I pushed away from the bar, snatched my jacket off the stool and abruptly shrugged into it. Somehow, somewhere, my wires got badly crossed...my instincts let me down. It wasn't like me.

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Tony was nervous as he sat at the bar of the Toledo Holiday Inn. "I'll meet you at six," she wrote in her last e-mail to him just the night before. The drink in front of him remained untouched as he waited, although his fingers played with the intricate cuts of the glass from time to time. He glanced at his watch once more and was dismayed at the slow passage of time. It was only five forty-five. "It'll be so good to see you." Tony looked around and saw that the bar and the dining area were beginning to get more crowded.

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Josh got up and started down the road around noon on a Saturday afternoon. He had been anticipating this weekend for sometime. It had been months since he had seen Tricia. The two hour drive was pretty easy as he had made it a few times. Meanwhile Tricia was busy preparing for the more than satisfying sexual adventure that she knew would occur that night.

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"Fire in the hole!" WHOOOMPH! Lauren Thompson watched with satisfaction as the two tapered smokestacks suddenly curtsied and bowed like 18th Century dancing partners, collapsing into a billowing cloud of dust. She rose from her crouch behind the wall of sandbags, turned off the bullhorn and walked back to the operations trailer to review the remote camera videotapes.

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It was a lunch date for business. Considering whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. Just gullible I guess. Besides, not that many people are willing to try me. Chuck always did have more balls than brains. After the soup had been served an attractive woman in a conservative suit stopped by the table and greeted Chuck.

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I flicked a speck of dust from the gleaming bonnet of my pride and joy, a British racing green blower Bentley just like the one that James Bond drove in the early Bond novels and the same car that starred in Fleming's other book Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang. It stood amongst over a thousand other gleaming and beautifully restored Vintage and Veteran vehicles that were about to take part in the Bi-annual Bay to Birdwood rally from West Beach to the National Motor Museum at Birdwood in the Adelaide hills.

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I walked up the steps, glad to be out of the train station. A hot, humid train mixed with a large crowd is not exactly "the perfect atmosphere". I hate the subway. Men and even women took the opportunity to ogle you and even get a passing touch as they passed you to exit the train car.

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The time has come and finally we decide to meet. Anticipation runs high in the days leading up, culminating on Tuesday, when we've agreed to meet and have dinner. I arrive at your place, get out and walk to the door to meet you. As I reach to knock, you open the door; we both smile.

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