Your erotic stories

1. The love of my life. The first moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to marry her. She was a tall slender woman with flaming red hair who looked like a movie star to me. I watched every move she made all day, every day, and her beauty was unmatched by any woman I had ever seen. She had perfect white teeth that sparkled when she smiled, and that face would light up the room at those times. Her face, neck and arms were covered with freckles, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life counting them.

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The time was 1995 and the place was a sleepy suburb of Albany, New York. He was a bored man in his mid-40s whose wife had taken off with another guy, leaving him with a house he didn't want and a lot of time on his hands - until he started paying attention to the sights around him.

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Chapter One: Bored and alone. It was Saturday night and it was getting late. I had watched COPS for an hour, having gotten my weekly dose of schadenfreude from watching people with lives even more miserable than my own have theirs go down the tube in front of the whole country, and now I was sitting in front of the computer finishing my final beer of the evening. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but was just skipping around from site to site, hoping to make my eyes tired enough so that sleep would come easier for me.

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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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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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