Your erotic stories

I hadn't seen Linda since she and my daughter, Shellie had graduated from high school over four years ago. They had been best friends but had gone to different colleges. They had kept track of each other through email and the phone. I kept track of Linda by accident through chance meetings with her mother. Linda's mother and I would talk and update each other as to our daughter's comings and goings over those four years. In my mind, I still pictured Linda as I last saw her at the High School graduation.

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Michael Richter sighed as he looked at his watch and realised he was home late, again. Alison would already be out at her fundraising thing, and the babysitter would be dressing their son Jonah, after his bath. He should have left work an hour earlier but the account manager had called him into her office just as he was leaving. Penelope was the best manager he'd ever had, and though she had a reputation for having high expectations, he figured she had every right to: she had built a strong team and worked hard to keep her people happy, knowing how important morale was to a business.

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They'd been our neighbors for over 9 years. We'd both moved into the community when it was first built, and watched as it filled out and grew, as did our children, moving up from elementary school through middle school and into high school. We were as close as most neighbors could be, easily at home with each other, free to come and go in each other's yards and garages, and even into the house. Our only child and their youngest, Cory, were only a year apart.

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I have just finished two long days of wheeling and dealing in Wilmington, Delaware. Before driving home to Philly, I decide to unwind, enjoy a little repast as I wait for the rush hour traffic on 95 to ease. So at 5:45 I enter the Green Room of the Hotel du Pont and am seated in the plush dinning room at a table for two quickly transpose to a table for one.

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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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Chapter One It had started so innocently. I had been in my favourite chat room, just fooling around in my own virtual way when my private message box flashed up. "You are funny" it said. I looked at the senders' nickname and it was one I didn't recognise. Wary at first I replied "Thanks. You have caught me on a good day." About thirty seconds later came the reply "Lucky me. Wanna chat?"

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Pulling into the drive way Michael noticed nearly every light in the house was on, which was quite a feat, considering the amount of rooms. He braked outside the garage, staring at the house, wondering what was going on before he remembered Anna's Christmas party. He wasn't supposed to be home for it, but had flown back a day early from Berlin. It had been a disastrous romantic getaway, and one he was happy to cut short. Anna was sure to be disappointed that her dad was back to ruin the party and he briefly considered checking into a hotel for the night.

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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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"What the hell was that," Jake Armstrong said to himself, as he walked passed the closed office door on his way to the copy machine room. The long corridor was empty, as most of the staff was out to lunch, and Jake wondered who could possibly be using the vacant office at this hour. Well whoever it was, they sure as hell were making quite a racket in there. Jake put his ear to the door, listened for a few moments, and then slowly turned the handle and pushed into the supposedly empty office.

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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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