Your erotic stories

"M...m....Melons..." My stammered exclamation hung there in the laundry room as the young woman and I stared at each other. I could not for the life of me recall her real name. She was, after all, not my son's girlfriend. If anything, she was a hanger-on, an occasional presence drinking beer or occupying a lawn chair while the boys worked on trucks. All the guys just called her "Melons" because of the balloon like breasts she so proudly paraded in front of her.

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When you meet the right person, you can allow yourself to fall knowing that they will catch you... Emerging from the Taiwanese drink shop holding a purple taro shake in one hand while grabbing her sunglasses from her shirt collar with the other, CJ quickly shields her green eyes from the bright sun as her cell phone buzzes to life inside her pocket.

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