Your erotic stories

Boone, Mississippi. 1976. September In the middle of the night Ginny woke with her bare feet burning and itching something fierce. When she swung her coltish legs out from under the sheets and pulled her knees up tight to her chest, she found her ankles littered with sore, red welts. Ginny rubbed at her big eyes in the hot darkness, trying to rouse herself.

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My name is Dr. Matthew Dorhring. Samantha's father and I met almost 25 years ago while working as teaching assistants at the same institution where I am now a tenured professor. A few years ago, I took a sabbatical from the university during which I traveled and lived in different parts of the world and had missed seeing Samantha develop from child to adolescent. It wasn't until just before Samantha's high school graduation that I moved back to the states, and for the first time saw how beautifully she had grown and transitioned from a gangly adolescent into a nubile, sexy young woman, eager for life and new experiences.

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Jack Hammond was forty years of age, a successful businessman who'd made it big on the internet, and in doing so, had gone into business for himself, working out of his own home which saved him a lot on overhead. He was still considered attractive too, kept himself in reasonably good shape, working out during the day on his treadmill while on the phone doing business. With dark hair, just a touch of grey beginning at the temples, almost emerald green eyes, he'd had more than enough women take an interest in him.

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Some people say "no good deed goes unpunished." I never subscribed to that armchair philosophy even though I had and saw many good deeds backfire. I must admit, though, that the "unpunished" saying did make me a little apprehensive that my most elaborate good deed might boomerang; but it didn't stop me. I'm a 52 year old guy with keen business acumen but poor social skills with women. I did get married when in my twenties to a bohemian woman that my friends considered a poor match.

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Saturday I peered into the rearview mirror and saw the familiar VW logo of Jenna's Jetta. Not that I was worried about her finding her way. We'd been driving this route to the beach for over 15 of her 20 years, so she certainly knew the route. It was pretty much a straight shot from Columbia to Charleston on I-26 and then a short jog over to Isle of Palms. Nothing to it.

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It's going to be a surprise. I just hope it's a pleasant one. I really shouldn't be going. But I'm at my wits end and can't stop myself. It's been over two months of denial -- not that there haven't been others, I've let a few virile studs demonstrate their might on several one-nighters, but he's the one I'm really interested in. I'm mindless to the chill as I stride along. It's already dark, drizzle permeating the air in a fine spray, a damp Christmas Eve with no chance of it snowing, no way to pretty things up.

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About a half hour later Ann came out all dressed, purse and keys in hand ready to leave. I was surprised that she was leaving because normally she would just hang out till Chris came home and asked her hey what's up? She was a bit shaky which IS NOT normal. I'm going run some errands and will be back later.

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MaryAnn was completely engrossed in her notes from that morning's seminar. A glass of wine sat on the table, but that was mostly an excuse to occupy a table. Her reverie was broken by the waitress who sat another glass of Chablis in front of her and announced, "From the gentleman over there." "Damn it," she thought. "Why can't I sit here in peace? Just because I'm a woman all by myself in a hotel bar doesn't mean I'm a hooker or an out of town housewife on the prowl."

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Joanna was a dedicated career woman. All her life she lived by a set of values taught by her parents; work hard, be successful, and be an independent woman. It was no surprise to anyone that she graduated at the top of her law school. She worked diligently at whatever she did and she became successful in her adult life.

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I don't want to open my eyes. It feels so peaceful and warm lying in my bed listening to the rain falling on my roof. The little drops create a rhythmic pattern, a song if you will as they plummet and splash one by one. You may be hard pressed to appreciate the rain. Maybe you don't see the beauty in a sky painted in shades of gray, may consider it bleak or dreary, not me. Rain is the element necessary to sustain all life, how could that be dreary?

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