Your erotic stories

"Buenos dias, Hermosa" She whispered to me over the phone. I grin without trying and ask her when her flight leaves. She replies in a few hours. I reply, "Hurry..." Our call ends. Los Angeles will be clocking 90 degrees today, so my phone tells me. From my bed, the morning sun pours in and the sky is crystal clear. The makings of a perfect day. It will be perfect.

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It had been a long night. What started out as a welcome home get together had quickly turned into a full-blown party. Not that she minded spending time with his friends. They had all been deployed for quite a long time. But looking at Chris from across the room, she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to keep her composure. She had been celibate his entire deployment but now that he was home, her panties were feeling a bit like a chastity belt that's time had come to be removed.

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I had joined the Navy shortly after graduation. We were headed home to port after an extended cruise, my last as I was due for rotation to shore-duty and from there to an honorable discharge six month's later. Still several days away before we docked, I'd received a telegram from my mother. The fact she'd sent a telegram rather than a letter told me it was urgent. Worried, I quickly opened it the moment I'd received it, and laughed. Good old mom.

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Karl stared at the phone in his hand after flipping it closed. "Well this might be an interesting trip home after all," was the statement he made to the air in his empty living room. He had just finished up a three hour long, catch-up conversation with someone from his past. Someone he had shared more than just a dorm room and later a frat house double with at college. Much more. Much, much more.

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You are finally coming into town. You said for business, but I don't care what the reason, I am just glad to finally see you. I race to meet you at the restaurant. There are butterflies in my stomach. We have chatted and talked on the phone for so long now. So much flirting and longing to be with you. When I arrive at the restaurant, I see your truck is already there, and I start to feel a little better. When I get inside, I scan the room for you, and see you stand up and motion me over to your table. You've been keeping an eye out for me and you smile as I get close to the table.

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"Hello, Frank." I turned and smiled. I expected to see at least a couple of my old teachers when I decided to stop by my old high school, but I was still surprised to see Mrs. Ross standing there. What was even more amazing was that she looked just as hot as I remembered.

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It had been two months since I moved back, and I still didn't feel any more at home. I had lived on the estate several years ago, but that was when my grandfather and uncle were still alive, when we still had live-in servants, when I was still a teenager. It was different now, with the reality of adulthood coming a little too quickly, the mansion and grounds now a lonely responsibility.

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My stomach was churning and a headache was starting to form just above my eyes. Nearly 20 years later, that building still gave me fits of trepidation: Bradford James High School; home of the Fighting Navajos. Of course, here's a tip for the people that name schools and figure out the mascot names: think like a high school kid. Going to school at Bradford James and being called the Navajos is a problem when you're always referred to as the "B J Hoes" by the other schools and kids.

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Lori was my very first girlfriend. I loved her. It began in Grade Six. Lori's mum was Thai, so she had inherited an exotic skin tone and face. She wasn't ultra petite, like her mum, so guess she got that from her dad. Lori was by far the prettiest girl in school. I tried several times to ask her out, to a movie or whatever qualified as a date at that young age, but she wasn't interested. We were good friends, and she wanted to stay that way. Like I said, she was a girl, and she was my friend. In my mind we were together, but somehow, she never got that memo.

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Let me start by saying that I am always willing to step up and admit when I've made a mistake. I also hate being wrong so I have a tendency to avoid situations where those words "I was wrong" would have to escape my mouth. That said, the phrase "This is stupid," kind of became my mantra as my minivan sped along the nearly deserted roads to the lake. It was too late to turn back so I let those cursed words roll around in the back of my mouth.

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