Your erotic stories

I walked into my Civil War history class on the first day of the fall semester. I enrolled in this class as a crip credit. My Dad was a Civil War buff and I spent my entire life hearing about the various battles, participants, what should have been done, stupid mistakes that were made, and endless trivia.

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Peter was dozing on the London bound train. It was 8.30 on Friday evening. He had had a busy week's work, and as he had nothing planned for the weekend, he had decided at the last minute to head into London in search of some fun. Aged 25, tall, good-looking with shortish, dark hair, he had little problem in pulling girls when he had the mind for it, but had no interest at present in a long term relationship.

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I hadn't seen him in person for nearly three years, since shortly after he became Governor and I moved away to college. Mitch, to those close to him, had moved his family next door when I was sixteen. They were really nice people, and neighbors. He had one son, Robert, which was in my class in High School, though I didn't know him well because he had transferred from another school.

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The way a woman smells is more of a turn on than almost anything else. Of course I do love the way women look and have a preference for those with a fuller figure and a great smile but if that womanly scent is masked with strong perfume and layers of product it just turns me off.

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My fiancé said, "Kate, you have to promise me you won't look in this one box. Promise?" I laughed and held up my hand like taking an oath. "I promise, sir!" "Mr. Zankov, you keep her honest for me until I get home. In fact, here." Our new landlord helped carry some out belongings from the car to our 3rd floor apartment. He took the brown box from John while saying, "Da, Da! Your secret safe. Segei too promise."

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My name is Jacob. I am 21 and I work as a materials handling specialist for a Chicago construction company. It pays very well, and while not always the most exciting job in the world it does have it's moments, like the time we ordered 500 toilet seals and received 500 toilet seats. But I digress. This story is about my Senior Prom. I had just turned 18 at the time and was dating this beautiful young woman named Stella. Blonde, blue eyed, 46 DD with a nice big ass. She was the object of my teen angst.

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I was walking across campus, headed to a nearby pizza restaurant for a late lunch. Suddenly a body pressed into my back and a hand covered my eyes. Startled, I tried to get away but my unknown assailant held me tight, something cold pressed into the middle of my back. I started to struggle and then I heard his voice.

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All the time I was standing out on the balcony of Colleen Addison's house fourteen miles south of Athens, in Voula, overlooking Greece's Miroon Sea, and engaging in chit chat with her and the man who was introduced to me merely as Sam from the Economic Section, I kept thinking that I knew him from someplace but couldn't place him.

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The grill was hot and sending enticing aromas floating throughout the neighborhood. Everywhere there was laughter and conversation as the family caught up at the last blast of summer — the annual Labor Day cookout. Zach stole a glance at the cooler as his uncle fished out a beer. Daydreaming about how good an ice-cold beer would go down, he sighed.

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Rebecca watched the last of the trick-or-treaters head down the street and checked the clock. With the official hours over, she turned out the porch light and put down the bowl, resisting the urge to indulge with one of the few remaining pieces of candy. She took off her witch hat and shook out a wealth of dark hair, trying not to think about the few strands of gray that she refused to dye — yet.

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