Your erotic stories

You would think that a trip to Florence Italy for business would be the best of both worlds. A storied city full of some of the greatest art and architecture of the Western world, a myriad of options for dining, all while being paid to a job that should be easy. Notice the should, it hasn't been. Ever had one of those days when everything that can go wrong does and yet somehow you still think you might be making progress?

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"My name is Nario. You are Mr. Armstead?" "Yes. I was expecting my uncle." "He could not come. I am his boy." Yes, I'll just bet you are, I thought. But then he clarified, if not enough to make a difference to me. "I am his houseboy. Welcome to Naples, Mr. Armstead." "Call me Harry, Please. Is it far from here to Positano?"

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My name is Gabriela. No, it's not, but I'm not telling you my real name. I'm 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I'm a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends' wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips.

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