Your erotic stories

I love summer. Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.

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It was summer. I was visiting with Sinéad (no, not that Sinéad), my aunt, in her very nice apartment in Chicago. Sinéad was 28 then, single, working, and not at home much. We would spend most of our together time on weekends, but I was pretty much left to my own devices during the week. I'd visited before from Ireland, but never alone or to stay for the whole summer.

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Out of all the social functions I attended each year my favorite by far was Caroline Carson's annual summer kickoff party, held every June at her twelve room plantation home on the river. Caroline's parties were legendary in savannah's social circles; she picked the guests personally for each party.

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I'm writing this as I watch a copy of a video we made last Saturday afternoon. I should probably erase it, but I just can't seem to do it. We had a softball game, and afterwards I invited the guys over for a swim. Some of the guys just took a quick dip and left, but Andre, Carlo and Tony are single, with a reputation as the party animals on our team, and they stuck around for the rest of the afternoon.

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I arrived at the Jefferson's Lake Campsite entrance and upset some of those waiting - families in station wagons, seniors in their recreational vehicles, young couples in their cars pulling small trailers -- when I rode my bicycle right past them. I smiled as I approached the ranger station and saw a familiar face exit. I got off my bike and walked up to him.

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When I saw Mrs. Crowley at the supermarket I had to smile. The woman who worked down the hall from me looked as good in her recreation clothing as she did in her business attire. That was quite a compliment, because she was always impeccable with her work clothing. Prim and proper, nothing out of place, everything put together quite nicely.

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The tissue box is empty and my heart is in a million pieces. I sound like a cliché, don't I? At least there aren't pints of ice cream in my system. Oh great, that's the only thing I have going for me – I didn't binge on ice cream. Way to go, Ashley. The relationship I thought was the one and only of my life is over and it ended messy.

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Way back when, when I was young, dumb, and one summer very lucky. I was in my second year at the local Community College, and working a summer job at a local condo resort. It could have been worse; I was doing room service, and at least the tips were pretty good. Or so I thought until this one particular day, when pretty good became absolutely mind-blowing! Earlier that day I'd taken a late breakfast down to one of the units with its own pool and private patio.

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It was a reasonable summer's day for England, the sun was out and it was quite warm. Not warm enough to sunbath by any stretch of the imagination, but it made my 300 mile trip back from University a bit less grim. I am always in a better mood when it is a nice day. I had the radio on singing away. I was wearing a white skirt and a white vest top.. The skirt was well above my knees, not super short, but not massively long either. The vest top stopped just above my navel showing off my belly button piercing which I had had done on my 18th birthday just because I was never allowed one before that.

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I took a big gulp of water from the wet plastic bottle, and set it back down in the cup holder of my lawn chair. The hot sun was beating down, slowly cooking my legs and bare chest, and the sound of quiet voices passing by was lulling me to sleep. "You look awfully cute in that straw hat Bobby," a familiar female voice said.

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