Your erotic stories

Sarah sat and looked out the wide, fourth floor window of her Geography classroom and frowned at the gathering gloom. It really was getting dark now that it was mid way through October and she gave a little shiver as she turned back to her class. What a strange day it had been. The Headmaster was away on holiday, the deputy head had been forced to go home early with severe stomach cramps and the janitor was on his annual leave, so here she was with the keys to the school and when this after school detention period was over she would check the building out and lock it up for the night.

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I think it must have been some kind of temporary insanity. What other way is there to explain where I found myself that day? Driving in my car, naked from the waist down, not knowing exactly what was going to happen when I reached the address that was written on the paper lying on the seat between my bare legs.

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It was four months until the end of my senior year, and I had struggled all year to keep my moderate grade average up. I really loved all my teachers, but one made me furious. Mr. Davis was always writing comments on my exams about how I should know this, correcting all my spelling errors with bright red ink on my essays, and he would make comments to me while handing back my test like, "You need to study Miss McCall." No matter how hard I tried, I could never be good enough. I needed to pull this grade up if I had any chance of getting into the college of my choice.

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Meredith was excited. She had lived all of her life in a small town; only ever catching echoes of other cultures, with no direct experience. Now she had been given the opportunity to travel abroad and have firsthand experience of another culture. At least, as much as one could between lectures at a professional conference. It was intimidating and exhilarating at the same time.

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I don't know how I get myself into these situations. As a new teacher, I expected that I'd get the shitty jobs around the school. One of those shitty jobs turned out to be chaperoning a herd of seniors on the school's weekend ski trip. There were four teachers in all trying to keep 45 kids in line. Well, I guess they weren't exactly kids - most of them were 18, which is the legal drinking age here in Alberta.

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Kate double-checked her hair in the glass window of Professor Foster's front door. She wasn't sure why, but the 18-year-old wanted to look her best for her teacher. Probably because it was her first day on the job as his babysitter. "Normally, I'm reluctant to do this during the semester," he'd said at the end of his last lecture, "but my wife and I are really in a bind.

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My job is pretty boring. Most people say that, and most people truly believe it. None of them have to deal with what I do though. I give trumpet lessons at a place called Up the Scale. All day I deal with zit-covered, teenage brats that are taking trumpet lessons at Mommy and Daddy's expense. The worse they play the trumpet, the more they come back. It's like their parents are deaf or something.

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It's snowing out and you're in the computer lab locking up at the end of your office hours. Your last student just left. It's dark outside and you're worried about driving your new car in the snow. You're also distracted because your favorite student blew off his study session. You wait until like 8:30, and say "Fuck it, I'm going home." Just then the door swings open and he walks in, covered in snow.

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I felt warm, relaxed, and incredibly self-satisfied sitting in the hot tub, completely content to watch my beautiful bride's breasts swimming in the turbulent blue-lighted water. Sitting next to her was the fascinating twenty-four-year-old creature who had recently become a part of our lives. The words my wife had just articulated hung in the air for a moment and snapped me out of my blissful stupor.

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It was called "The French Cafe" which would normally be the kind of place I would avoid but one of my co workers got me hooked on the french vanilla mocha latte. I now went there every Sunday like clockwork placing my order before sitting at my favorite table near the back. I would read my Sunday paper and watch the happenings in the small town I called my home. I didn't interact much with the people, that was my wife's job throughout our marriage, as she never met a stranger.

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