We’d been working late on a big project deadline, the office emptying out floor by floor until it was just the two of us left in the open-plan space on the 14th floor. I’m 28, and Tolga is 31 tall, broad-shouldered, always in fitted shirts that show off his gym-built arms and chest, with that quiet intensity that made everyone a little nervous around him. We’d flirted harmlessly for months: lingering eye contact during meetings, “accidental” touches when reaching for the same coffee mug, late-night messages about work that felt too personal.
It was a rainy autumn weekend, and my best friend Lara had come over to spend the night because her parents were out of town. We’re both 23, been inseparable since high school, always sharing everything clothes, secrets, late-night talks. She’s petite with short blonde hair, perky small breasts, and that playful smile that always gets her what she wants. I’m curvier, long brunette waves, fuller hips and tits that she’s teased me about forever.
I’d been watching Emir grow up for years—he’s the son of the family next door, just turned 20, home from university for the summer. Tall, athletic from playing basketball, sun-tanned skin, messy black hair, and that cocky grin that made my stomach flip every time he waved over the fence. I’m 34, divorced two years ago, curvy with full tits and a round ass I keep tight with yoga. I’d caught him staring at me countless times while I sunbathed in my bikini by the pool, pretending not to notice how his eyes traced my body.
A concierge in the past, and now just a homeless person, who lived in the basement of a house, since it was winter, and he was hiding from the cold there. He was relatively clean, as for a homeless person. He washed himself constantly and tried to take care of himself. And the tenants were more or less benevolent towards him
Andrey and I had been dating for a year when he decided to propose to me. But I wasn’t going to agree: I was only 19, I wanted to see the world, life. Building a nest wasn’t part of my plans. Andrey was already 26. As he said, “at that age, men start thinking about family.” My parents insisted on marriage
I want to share my story, which actually happened about a year ago. I'm 23, my name is Anya. I have a boyfriend who is 3 years older.This story happened on his birthday. We've been together for 3 years already, everything is going well, I think he will propose to me soon. This is the first time I'm writing a story, so don't criticize me too much.
My name is Vishal. I live alone in Delhi, in a flat, where my office and gym routine is my life. It was last year, when my old servant left the job. I needed a new maid. Then my neighbor suggested the name of Radhika. He said, “Vishal, this girl is good at work, and looks very special too.” I said laughing, “Just do your work well, the rest will be seen.”
My name is Sandeep. I live in a small town near Delhi. I am 27 years old and roam around all day looking for a job. My house is at the end of the lane where it is quiet in the afternoon. It was summer and the sun was blazing. When I returned home that day, I was drenched in sweat. My shirt was sticking to my body and I was thinking of taking a bath. But then my eyes fell on the corner of the lane. A beggar woman was sitting there.
Today she shifted to the house opposite mine. Her name is Riya—my new neighbor. I was standing in the balcony watching her as she was unloading the goods from the truck. Oh! What a charm she had. Her breasts were bulging in the tight kurti as if someone had filled them with air.
Lois Helmers was lonely. It had been such a long time since she had been with a man, she could hardly remember when.