Your erotic stories

My girlfriend is a cyclist and on the last Friday of each month she goes on a protest ride in the city. It's supposed to encourage people to stop driving to work and ride bikes instead but all it does is make people angry. She doesn't mind and enjoys shouting back at people who tell her to get off the road and out of their way.

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Chapter One: Connecting As soon as I saw her picture I was hooked. For many, or should I say most men, the plain looking woman staring back at them from the computer screen would have been passed by immediately in the search for a more classic beauty to be found elsewhere on the dating website I was skimming through.

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Our flatmate Abby was back. She moved in last winter and we got on well together straight away. I felt the chemistry between us but before anything happened her scholarship came through and she went overseas to study. Now it was summer and Abby was back. She came through Thailand on the way home and looked tanned and fit. I sat in a chair and she sat opposite me on the couch, wearing a long blue hippie skirt that went all the way to the floor and a baby blue singlet.

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In 1969... I was young, dumb and full of cum, like most other 18 year old boys. At that time, although I was old enough to smoke, drink and get drafted, I was still a boy in the most important sense, as I was a virgin. How did a guy stay a virgin back in that era, when "free love" was the catch phrase and it seemed like everybody was having sex on a daily basis?

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When I was younger my dad got me a summer job working on Saturdays for Mrs Jones. She was a woman who had a property out by the river and my job was to help her do landscaping, cut back trees, lay pavings etc. The property was a bit run down and it was hard work. Mrs Jones was a bit of a hippie. She lived alone and I guess she must have been divorced because she never wore a wedding ring, even though everyone called her Mrs Jones.

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To be honest, I can’t really pinpoint where my fetish for hairy women began. As a kid, I can remember looking at old photos of Victorian woman in lingerie, and thinking they looked slightly strange with the thick patches of hair in their armpits, and when I did see the occasional woman with hairy pits in real life, I thought it unusual rather than exciting.

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I grew up in a very small farming community. It was understood that when kids were old enough to get jobs, we would go to work. At age 14, I started working summer vacations in a grain elevator, a warehouse where area farmers bring their harvested grain to be stored. The harvest lasted from late July until early September, and the daily temperatures were consistently hovering around one hundred degrees.

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