Your erotic stories

I couldn't help notice my neighbor when we were setting up our stalls. For one thing, hers was right next to mine. For another, her compact, curvy frame moved with efficient grace as she set her paintings out for display. The big thing, though, was her cropped hair - an elegant cap the color of burnished steel. That, plus a face full of laugh lines (and a few others) really set her apart from the generally younger crowd of artists setting up for the fair. Having someone my own age right there made me feel a bit less ancient.

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The neighborhood seemed neat, quiet, and well-established, a lot like Bette herself. The little apartment building fit the surroundings comfortably. I checked my directions one more time, and found her door, number three. I noted the silly coincidence -- this was to be the third time we'd been together. As I raised my hand to knock on the door, I noticed that my mouth had gone to cotton, like a nervous teenager. I guess you never outgrow some things. (I hope not!)

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