Your erotic stories

I remember one summer when I went out to the ranch of my friend Amanda's uncle. This was her father's youngest brother, making him around 40 at the time. We had just finished our third year of college and we were borderline ADD from the joy of completing our finals. We drove up on a hot, hot day in late April, and by the time we arrived at the ranch both of us were covered in sweat and dust.

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I sat at my desk and tried to figure out what I wanted to say in the add for the classified section of the paper. My primary need was for a driver, since my eyesight was giving me problems, I didn't feel safe on the road anymore. I looked at what I had written. Driver Wanted Clean license,sometyping or computer skills a plus. Age or sex no factor. $9.00 per hour to start. Call 352 566 3707.

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Now, it's not what you might think; I'm not talking about that annoying Microsoft Office pop-up. No, I'm talking about the London Clippy, more properly known as a bus conductress. This was long before the Oyster Card method of payment that you wand as you board a bus, through concertina folding doors. Back then there was no door, just an open platform at the back left hand side (e.g. the side facing the pavement). A driver would pull up almost one bus length beyond the painted sign that was attached to a post.

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I have seen so many misdirected and misused young women in my long active life, that I often just ignored them. I was building a house near the IHOP and both breakfast and evening meals were convenient there. The lovely young female, still searching for identity, had waited on me for a week now. We had talked and teased every day. I was getting a sense of her unfulfilled sexuality and the frustration she lived with. Tonight her body was tense and her hormones were surging. She needed to belong and serve. She was slow coming back to take my order.

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Sharon had Harry on her mind all the rest of the month after she had first had sex with him, she couldn't believe what it had felt like, the sheer size of his cock made it more intense then anything she'd had before. Just thinking about it made her wet, she could feel a tingle in her pussy as she went back to that day. It had been 3 weeks since Harry had first had her and even now she was playing it out in her mind.

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When I was fifteen, my parents enrolled me in an SAT prep course hoping in their usual Asian fashion that it would help me achieve the score necessary to give them bragging rights over their other Asian friends' kids. Personally, I thought this was going to be the biggest waste of time, but as with many things in my pre-college life, I did as my parents ordered, realizing it was useless to fight.

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I've been at this gig for about three years now in a Northeast city. It isn't what I expected to be doing, career-wise, at my age, but I can't gripe about the pay. This is for a private apartment complex (not a hotel, mind you), so it's rightly what Europeans define as being a Concierge (attending to high-end residents' needs). I'm in my mid-twenties, tall and reasonably fit, outfitted in a blazer, gray slacks and dress shoes, and I sport a genuine-enough smile that's kept fresh every day.

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A flip of a switch filled the yard with colored lights. Regina smiled while watching the spruce trees lining the sidewalk appear to spin. She didn't care that chasing lights were out of style — she liked them. Curtain lights, icicle lights, LEDs... The trend changed every year anyway. Turning around, she sighed. It was hard to get into the spirit in an empty house. The loss of her dad five years earlier had started it, followed by her mother the following year, and then the divorce.

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Beth sat at the bar waiting for her best friend to arrive. It had been months since they had seen each other and this had bothered Beth deeply. For years they had shared all the highs and lows of each others lives. It was a friendship that Beth felt would always be there. Over the past couple of years they had grown apart and Beth had searched deep within herself trying to figure out why this had happened.

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"Hey man, you got a light?" the old guy next to me asked with a hoarse voice. He looked to be about 5'5" tall, overweight, had a head full of roughed up black and gray greasy hair, and a shaggy beard. I guessed his age to be around 50. His jeans and flannel shirt were a little dirty looking. "Sorry, I don't smoke," I told him.

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