Your erotic stories

The hum from the washing machines was a chorus of white noise drowning out the street sounds, the wail of sirens in the distance, the crazy-looking homeless man shouting profanities two doors up the sidewalk and the god-awful street rapper free-styling just outside the door of the 50 Cent Washeteria.

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"You're doing laundry tonight?" my roommate Steve asked, staring at me in disbelief. "Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "It's Friday night, dude. You should go out and get pissed with the rest of us. That's what you're supposed to do when you live in a college residence! You go out and get tanked, meet a nice girl, go back to her place, and fuck her."

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