Your erotic stories

The beach was clean that morning, as it was every morning. Throughout the night, the caress of the surf had swept away all the sandcastles and pock marks left by the sunbathers and scampering children of yesterday. The broad expanse of sand was as smooth as a woman's inner thigh. At the edge of the wave's reach, a dark line of detritus had been deposited by those same waves.

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I was on business in the Fire Island area of New York. Checking into a small motel I was surprised to see the small, old, Jewish-looking man behind the counter, in effect, checking me out. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or get annoyed by his eyeing me and smiling at me in what could only be described as a leering way.

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