Your erotic stories

Even in my mid-20's some of my friends were a little rounder than they should be. I tried to get to the gym regularly to avoid that. Having a routine and going on the same days each week you see some of the same faces each time at various points during your workout. There were always nice sights to see at the gym and many times on the treadmill I would see the same blond working up a sweat. She had a few years on me and was doing what she could to hold off time.

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The bar was quite noisy with groups of people meeting after work to relay the day's events. There was a football game on the TV screens which was attracting loud groups of men, all with their opinion on how their team was performing. Jan sat in a booth towards the back of the bar on her own. She was contemplating life – it had not been a good day. She had been late for work, had lost a big contract and had been given a hard time by her boss.

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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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