Privatesexstories.net

  My morning had been crazy, four new cases and I was the only one available to take them.  I was beginning to think that the day was never going to end.  I listened to an endless amount of griping and bickering, and that was from my colleagues.  Some how I thought pro bono work would be more gratifying.  I love my work on most levels, but the people I have to deal with, namely the other lawyers, are enough to make you reconsider your career path. I guess the reason why that morning felt like it was dragging was because I had scheduled my afternoon off.  My best friend from high school was going to be in town and we were going to get together for lunch.  She and I had talked on the phone for the past six years, but never actually got to see each other since graduation. We were both afraid we wouldn’t click like back in the day. (more…)

All right, let me give you a little background.  It all started when my girlfriend of three years left me for my best friend.  A week later I lost my job.  That part really wouldn’t have bothered me if Jenny hadn’t left.  But it was really the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.  I went from listening to hard rock to the blues.  My buds told me my life had the making for a country music song, but hell, no matter how desperate I was, depressed, alone, whatever there was no way I was going to listen to that.  Same cords over and over again.  Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hold anything against they folks that do listen to it.  To each his own I guess.  But I found the blues and immediately fell in love with it.  The feel of it completely described the slump I was in.  The music made it easy to forget your our problems and move into someone else’s.  Like living in someone else’s shoes for the six or so minutes of the song. (more…)

 Curt drove the 36″ wide mower up the ramp on onto the trailer attached to the back of his pickup truck.  He cut the engine and wiped the sweat from his face with a clean rag.  He couldn’t remember when it was so damned hot.  He tipped his hat back on his head and took the pruning sheers and weed wacker out of the back.  He still had at least another hour of work before he was done here, and he was out of water.  Fifteen minutes later, he’d had it.  He went to the back door of the main house and rang the bell.  He’d seen servants around the house before and only hoped that someone was home today.
 The door opened; he felt the cool rush of air conditioning blast his face, chest, and legs.  The breeze was soothing and he hoped that he would be invited in while someone got him a glass of water.  It was the young Filipino woman with mocha skin who answered the door that made him hot again.  She was slender, but filled out her fitted uniform in all the right places.  She had deep brown almond-shaped eyes and wore the slighted bit of makeup. Her shoes were sensible and black; her skirt was much shorter than was practical. Her smile was bright and wide and inviting. 
 ”May I help you?” she asked. (more…)

It was spring. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming and the dogs were crapping in the bushes. I was sitting on a park bench with my Fantastic Four graphic novel. I really liked Wieringo’s artwork. I guess some people thought I was a bit old for comics. I’d been to college for a few years, until I blew out my knee playing offensive line.

I guess you figured out by now that I’m a big guy. At six foot five and probably somewhere around 350, I catch a few second looks. But at twenty-six years old and I was still a virgin. That was about to change, big time.

Living in New York you get used to people screaming in all kinds of languages. At first I didn’t even look up from my book. When I heard the running footsteps I turned in their direction. A skinny little guy was running toward my bench. Right on his heels was a large young oriental woman. The guy was carrying a purse. He didn’t look like the purse carrying kind. I jumped off the bench and hit him with a pancake block. He dropped like wet cement. Then he glared up at me and reached inside his baggy pants. The gun had almost cleared his waistband when the big girl landed full force on top of him. All the air rushed out of his lungs. She was pounding his head into the grass when the cops showed up to take him away. (more…)

We pulled out of Union Station at about 8PM. In the song, the train pulls out in the morning and arrives in the evening. Guess things had changed since Steve Goodman rode the train and wrote the song. I could live with that. Ever since I’d first heard Arlo Guthrie singing about “The City of New Orleans”, I’d wanted to take this trip. Oftentimes, at work or in the shower, I’d find myself humming the tune. Now, I was actually on the legendary train, riding from Chicago to New Orleans. We’d be “changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee” at about 6:30 in the morning, “half way home and we’d be there” by about 3:30 in the afternoon. OK, I’ll admit it didn’t have quite the same lyrical impact as the songwriter’s ride. As I was to learn, however, there are still some wonderful sights to be seen “nighttime on The City of New Orleans”. I was lucky enough to witness one that still burns in my sexual memory. (more…)