Your erotic stories

It was back in the forties, a more innocent time. It was the summer after I graduated from high school and I was eighteen. I was not as worldly and knowing as most young men are today. Mrs. Bronson hailed me from across the street. "I just made me a fresh squeezing of lemonade. Stop in and have a drop." When walking uptown, I always waved to Mrs. Bronson when I passed. I was planning to take in a Thursday night double feature.

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