Your erotic stories

When, Sally, who had worked for my employers ever since she had left school but, having been redeployed, was to me, the new receptionist, I really took notice. She was an extraordinarily pretty, slim lass, with long blond locks, sparkly blue eyes, a pert nose with a cutely bulbous tip, slightly younger than I and, unfortunately, possessed of an engagement ring that she displayed with, considerable, pride.

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Why was my best friend telling me this? God, why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? I sat back against the hood of his car and sipped on a beer. On Javier's front lawn was a grill and flames were shooting up from the charcoal we'd just lit. We were both nineteen. I don't remember how the topic got started, but the sentence I've committed to memory was:

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My name is Lisa. Stupid way to start out a story, isn't it? Oh well, this is hard for me. So bear with me. I come from a typical family, I have a typical job, I have had typical boyfriends, and whatever other uses of the word typical there are, they apply to me. Your average girl.

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