Your erotic stories

If you have never been to Copenhagen, I swear you should go. It is a truly wonderful city by the sea. The inhabitants are hospitable, fun loving and to a surprisingly abundant degree, exceptionally good looking. The legend says that centuries ago, Vikings kidnapped the most beautiful women during their conquering visits to Europe, and deposited them back in Scandinavia to raise their offspring, resulting in the tendency for tall, blonde, healthy and attractive generations to follow.

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I was enjoying my final year in high school when Marco and her family moved into the house across the street from me. They had emigrated from France. It was just Marco, her Mom & Dad and her tall, beautiful sister Angela. Marco and I became instant friends. She went to the same high school as me and she was in my toughest class, Algebra. At least, it was tough for me...easy for her.

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Part 1 - Wakeup call The blonde in the chair frantically blinking at me is the client. We'll call her Wife or Wifey. She's blinking because, like most clients on their first experience, she's panicking early. The blink is her safe "word".

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Chapter 1 My eyes tracked her as she warmed up at the head of the jogging trail. My body stayed still and silent, only my eyes moved. From this vantage point I would be able to see her for the first quarter mile before the trail curved out of sight. Then I'd creep back into the brush and navigate to my next observation post.

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Sue and I have been friends and lovers for several years. One of the best things about our relationship is the fact that we're not afraid to share our fantasies with one another. One night while we were talking, Sue told me about a dream she had. In her dream, she and I were in the back of an SUV having sex while our friend, Phil, was driving us around. Although I didn't ask, I couldn't help but wonder if it was really a dream or if she was hinting around that she wanted to do that.

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The day I slept late that July was unforgettable. I had just graduated high school and was gently preparing to go off to college, but mainly that summer I was relaxing – sleeping late and not having many plans. My sister was travelling somewhere in Europe and my parents were both working long days, probably thinking about my college expenses. We also had a house guest for a few weeks that summer. Leigh Chandler was an old friend of my mother's from her college days. Leigh had recently started a new job in town and was staying with us while she looked for an apartment.

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He's leaving after graduation, next week. Leaving for another city so far away. He's my best friend. He's been the only best friend I've ever had. John. A simple name does not do judge to the complexities you've shown. He's leaving after graduation, forcing me to attend university all alone, with no support, no back up. I'm supposed to step into the tumultuous sea of books, rhetoric and profs, haranguing me with papers, exams and the answer to whether or not Leopold Bloom liked to eat feces. Who knows? Who dares? Who fucking cares?

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It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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You're downstairs reading when I call to you from the bedroom. "Honey, could you come up here for a second? I need your help with something." You put down your book, mildly annoyed at being interrupted, and walk up the stairs. "What's up, Doll?" you ask as you come around the corner into the room and stop dead in your tracks, mouth open slack jawed at the site in front of you.

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I stared at the flags that hung on the back wall of the dojang, my eyes seemingly focusing on them in a deep entranced stare. Yet it wasn't the flags that had garnered my attention, rather it was the invisible opponent I was about to face off with. I had been participating in martial arts, specifically taekwondo, for over seven years. All my hard work had earned me a second dan black belt, an achievement I was ever proud of.

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