Your erotic stories

During his senior year of high school Jeremy Richards decided he was going to work on changing his life, he had always gotten good grades in school and was always considered to be well behaved. He never tried playing sports and he was always thirty pounds overweight so this year he decided he was going to play sports along with his academics. In the fall he played soccer and he did make the team but sat the bench most of the year getting to play in the last game for a few minutes.

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Chapter One: My best friend's mother. "I swear Robbie, if you tell anybody about what I'm going to show you, I'll fucking kill you," Ted warned me, and judging my the veins bulging in his neck and the crimson color of his face, he probably meant it. The madman look was something that Ted had inherited from his father, a hothead who had abandoned ship many years ago, leaving Ted and his mother to fend for themselves while he went to make other people's lives miserable, I assumed.

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"It's time, Annie," I told her. "We can't wait a second longer, because this baby won't." "But Dom," she answered. "The hospital is so far away, if the contractions slow down again, we'll be up there for nothing, and that snowstorm is coming. We could be stuck up there." "Yes!" I snapped. "This is a nasty storm, suppose we stay put, it hits, and then the baby comes. We'll be stuck here, 80 miles from help. It's time!"

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The chain link fence that had served as the border between his and Jean's yard seemed a lot shorter than it used to. Since he had been 12 he had taken care of her children, well a lot of the neighborhood kids after school till their parent got home. And maybe Jean knew of the affect which she had on him. Well granted not to the degree of perversion. For example she was probably was not aware how he had arranged the growth of vegetation on the fence so that a line of sight was clear from his window to her garden.

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This account of some of the events in my life was written as requested by the love of my life, my soul mate, my sister Abby. Here it is 1972 and I am living in Mobile, Alabama. Not sure how I ended up here but it seemed like a nice place to settle after drifting for a few months. I am enrolled in college and have made a few friends. With my injuries and scars from Viet Nam I am a little shy around people. I lost an eye and I wear a black patch over it.

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Megan glanced at the clock as her friend on the phone laughed about the latest bit of gossip that they'd just shared. "I'm going to have to go, Angie. I have somebody coming to look at the basement in a few minutes." "I can't believe you're taking in a boarder. I don't think I could have a stranger living in my house."

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I grew up in a very small farming community. It was understood that when kids were old enough to get jobs, we would go to work. At age 14, I started working summer vacations in a grain elevator, a warehouse where area farmers bring their harvested grain to be stored. The harvest lasted from late July until early September, and the daily temperatures were consistently hovering around one hundred degrees.

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Sally Perkins pulled her car into the driveway. She sat there for a few moments wondering what she was going to do for the week. Will, her 19 year old son was visiting with his father who moved away after separating from her two years ago. "Well these groceries aren't going to put themselves away." Sally said to herself aloud. She opened the door and stepped out of the car. The hot late morning sun felt good on her face and heated her body though the light sundress.

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There is a framed, color photograph resting on one of the built-in shelves in the living room of my 5th floor apartment. Everyone who visits me here in downtown Baltimore pauses to pick it up and look. There are nine bare-chested guys in the photo, all in their late teens or early 20s, standing beside each other, outstretched arms over arms, on a bright sunny beach, their backs to the Atlantic surf. They are all thick, hard-muscled and deeply tanned. And all wearing identical fire-engine red swim trunks with the words "Kill Devil Hills Lifeguard Service" emblazoned on the right leg.

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It was Cathy, my girlfriend, who found me the flat. When my old landlord died, and his son served notice on the tenants, I needed somewhere cheap, and available quickly. Of course, the ideal thing would have been to move in with Cathy. But she shared her parents' old house in Bedford with her sister, and anyway, I'd tried commuting from there into London for a couple of weeks. The 'BedPan line' -- Bedford to St Pancras -- was legendary at the time as not so much a rail route, more a fiendish torture cunningly designed by the operator to drive unwary commuters insane.

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