Your erotic stories

Chapter One: Summer in the city. It was going to be a scorcher today, that much I knew and I didn't need a weatherman to tell me that the heat and humidity was only only to get worse as the day went on. I opened the door of the VW bug that I would be spending much of the day in, and was greeted by a blast of heat that reminded me of opening the oven door at the pizzeria I worked at last summer.

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"Hi ya Bro," Philips sister Lauren shouted as she opened the front door to their house. Philip smiled on hearing her words. "Hi back," he said. She hung her black cardigan by the door and dropped her bag on the floor underneath it. "Mom and Dad not home?" She asked to which he nodded. "Both working late, again." He told her. She nodded used to coming home and finding her parents still at work. "Won't be back till about nine." He added something else she was used to. She wandered into the kitchen, where he was leaning against the table.

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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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