Your erotic stories

1. The scheme. The sudden gust of frigid wind practically tore the storm door out of Ed's hand as he went out into the wicked early March evening. An unexpected storm was moving in and a couple of inches of snow had already fallen as Ed helped his wife into their car which had been idling in the driveway. Ed ran around and slid behind the wheel, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together in an effort to restore some circulation.

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Emma Thrower. The name seemed familiar to me but I couldn't put my finger on the reason why. I was certain I didn't know anybody by that name and I was equally sure that it wasn't the moniker of anybody famous, so why did it seem so familiar? All of the other names on the list of interviewee's that lay on the desk in front of me were typewritten and accompanied by C.V.'s, but this one had been hand written, an obvious last minute addition and I could find no accompanying notes.

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Chapter One: Never heard of such a thing. Some people have more money than brains, I figured, after listening to the explanation my pain-in-the-ass neighbor Bob Brennan gave me regarding his upcoming cruise. We were talking over the fence, as was our custom, and since he had handed me a frosty Sam Adams, it made the conversation more tolerable. I still thought the idea was goofy though.

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"Told you I'd come visit you tonight," Arthur Preston whispered as he slid under the sheet and slid next to his granddaughter Lisa, and although the single bed made for cramped quarters, as Lisa's grandfather moved against the skinny teen the snug fit suited the frisky senior citizen just fine. "What if Mom or Dad come in?" Lisa asked as he felt her grandfather's hand on her shoulder. "They won't," he assured his granddaughter, who made no move to stop his hand as it came off of her shoulder and moved toward her breast.

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When the drizzle we had been standing in began to turn to something more substantial, the trees that had been sheltering us began to let in some of the rain, and that was just as good a reason to end this "party" I had been having with my best friend Jeff. We had been celebrating a couple of things, the most important as far as I was concerned being my 18th birthday. The other, more sobering event was my friend getting ready to go off to college.

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"So how many guys have you fucked?" Dee asked Connie. I was a little surprised at the question, but not very much. When teenage girls get together they are bound to talk about boys. And when the girls are the three of us, it's likely to get personal.

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"Jenny," I heard Mrs Draycott call, "I don't want to be a nuisance, but do you think you could spare me a moment?" I walked across the large hallway and entered the lounge where my employer was laying on the couch. "I've slipped down a little." she said in her soft husky voice "Do you think you could help me up." I walked over to her and smiled "Of course Mrs Draycott, lift your arms." I leaned over her and she put her arms around my neck and I placed my own under hers and linked my hands behind her back.

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Around two o'clock on the afternoon of her nineteenth birthday, Katie was bored. She perched on the arm of her Dad's favourite chair and gazed out of the window at the quiet street where she had grown up. The house was on a T junction so Katie could look straight down a stretch of road for about a hundred yards, past the neat front gardens, to where the street curved out of sight. Nothing moved in the sunshine. The whole street seemed to be taking a summer afternoon nap.

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It was my last evening in England and I had been invited to spend it at the coffee lounge just around the corner from my hotel. I had spent many happy evenings there with the owners Bob and Vicky. I had spent the last five months working at the English office of the company that I worked for trying to salvage something after a manager had run off with a large amount of the assets. I had recovered most of what was missing and felt that I was leaving after a job well done.

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Ellie Carson was a fifty six year old woman who owned the neighborhood flower shop, or as she was fond of saying, the shop owned her. It was all she had to show for a lifetime devoted to a husband who had left her years ago, and she kept opening the door everyday out of habit pretty much because she had no place else to go.

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