Your erotic stories

Darcy stared at herself in the mirror with disgust. Despite the one-piece, well-fitting bathing suit she wore, she was still critical of herself. She was still a very attractive woman in her mid-forties, but a little curvier then her petite frame suggested. She stood 5' 3" and had what some would say a little extra baggage around her hips and thighs.

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Guy was a twenty-five year old washing machine service engineer who was mentally and physically marred by the scarring of adolescent acne. He was also thin, shy, and sexually frustrated, and was altogether the exact opposite of all that service engineers are supposed to be. His was not the life of continual housewife conquests and extended house calls no matter how much he wanted it to be, and on the only two occasions that he had made half-hearted advances to the ladies he had called on he had been rebuffed instantly, and threatened with being reported to head office.

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"Would you help me over in Reference, please?" Richard looked up from his filing. He swiveled his head, looking for the source of the clear, but tiny voice. "I'm rearranging and I need someone to help move the shelves and lift the boxes of books." He spied Sylvia, standing a little to the side and behind him. Richard nodded "ok" and filed the last two cards. He closed the card file drawer and followed her to the reference room, for which she had already started.

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Spots of dappled sunlight streamed through the trees and danced and twirled on the pavement as I waited for her outside the building. She was always late, frantically trying to keep up with her life. Not that I would ever want her life, I snorted to myself. Immediately regretting the thought, I focussed on the distant rush of traffic echoing softly through what had to be the last quiet street in Brisbane's central business district.

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I am an eighteen year-old, just. My parents are divorced and I live with my dad. We get along well, going to football games together etc. but every now and then his work will mean he's away for a few days, which causes him to feel guilty. "Are you sure you'll be alright Jack?" he'd said looking very concerned. "I'll be fine dad", I assured him.

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I remember it as being one of 'those' weeks. Sunday was my twenty-second birthday and my mother took me to lunch at The Connaught. On such occasions, my mother likes to take charge. I think that the elderly couple at the next table thought that I was her Toy Boy. Oh well, if it brightened up their outing.

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I had driven 25 of the 50 kilometres of my way home from the Christmas Eve celebrations I had at my girlfriend's home. I decided to call in on old Miss Tomlinson, my old retired schoolteacher, she and I finished school the same year; I at 16 and she at 60. That was 12 years ago. Why I decided to call in on her I have no idea still. Sure I saw her in her garden and waved as I passed her house on many occasions, but never once stopped.

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I thought at the time I had the worst luck in the world. There I was, standing on the shoulder of an interstate somewhere in Western Pennsylvania, eighteen wheelers rumbling by as I stared at my 1982 Toyota Celica. I'd opened the hood to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but had no clue. A few minutes earlier it started making a worrisome thumping sound and then stalled out. I was barely able to maneuver my way onto the shoulder safely.

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The mid-term grades had just been posted and most of the class crowded around the board trying to see. I was near the back of the crowd and just waited. "Wow Bob, an 'A'! You must be a genius." I looked behind me to see Jean, one of the nicer looking women in the class. "What did you get?"

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My Aunt Jessie had been threatening for several weeks to call me over to her house for me to give her another massage after I'd massaged both her and Mom with baby oil in our back yard one afternoon and she finally did it. I got home from work and was showering in the mud room when, as usual, I heard Mom call out, "That you, Hut?"

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