Your erotic stories

My roommate, Rob, used to work for a small engineering company. When I say small, I mean his boss was the engineer, he was the draftsman and the only other employee was the receptionist. Since the boss was usually out getting the work, that left Rob in the office doing the work. Consequently, he spent a lot of time with the receptionist.

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When you're eighteen and having overly erotic dreams, to whom do you talk? Your girlfriends? They'd laugh and want all the salacious details. Your boyfriend? He'd want to act it out, and that wasn't going to happen. Your mother? Yes, Denise could just see herself going to her mother to discuss erotic dreams. Not in this lifetime. She sighed as she went to bed. Maybe she wouldn't have any tonight.

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Sunday evening Steve and I went out for a drink at our favourite bar, the one we had previously met Tracy in, its nice and quiet, sometimes deserted, with lots of dark secluded nooks, which allow us to play around if we get the chance for fun.

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Mia flicked her long, dark braid over her shoulder and took in her work with a critical eye. Her compressed lips softened into a slow smile as her gaze swept from one side of the wall to the other. She planted her hands on her hips and let out a relieved breath, pleased with her efforts. Even with the scaffolding still in the way it didn't detract from the overall effect.

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We were in the hotel bar having a post dinner drink when an older couple (we were mid 20s, they were late 40s I would say) approached us (I can't remember their names so I'll call them Jim and Pam). Anyway, they introduced themselves, said they'd noticed us by the pool and in the restaurant and had seen us out in the local town during the day.

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