Your erotic stories

I always play it to him as though I don't really like anal sex... that it's only something I do for him. It couldn't be further from the truth, even though I'm still a nice girl. We were going away for the weekend. Peter needed to represent a client at a conference in Chicago, and though he only had to attend daytime meetings on Saturday, we booked the overnight in order to get reasonable fares on flights. We were making a mini-holiday out of it.

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"Hi Hank, whatcha doing?" Parker the little boy who lived next door, asked me that question at least ten times a day if I happened to be outside working. He had just turned six a couple of months ago, but the pattern had been the same ever since he and his parents had moved in three summers prior.

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I chose my route home from work with some care, because I like to look at the hookers by the airport. I usually count the obvious ones, the ones that are dressed to sell themselves and are looking for a score. I just like to look... the thought of tempting fate by hiring one is a little bit much for me. You never know when you're picking up a cop on a sting operation, or the carrier of some horrible disease. But seeing the girls out selling sex was always a turn on for me.

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Sometimes you need to search far and wide to find those things that inspire you. Finding two wildly passionate minds that love to mix the creative process with erotic adventures is priceless. I happen to travel quite frequently due to my work. I always enjoy visiting new towns and cities that are sprinkled across the landscape.

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I walk into the apartment without knocking. I am expected and you are about to fulfill one of my deepest darkest fantasies. You are waiting for me in the living room wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt in a shade of dusty blue. I scan the room but I don't see Jordan anywhere. You smile and lead me into the bedroom where Jordan is waiting, one narrow hip leaned against the bedpost.

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"Debby Knut with the big old butt." The sound of that chant rings in my ears to this day. In kindergarten I realized that my butt was bigger than most other girls my age. Rather than I noticed, it was actually pointed out to me routinely by other children. "Debby Knut with the big old butt" was sung as I jumped rope while other girls just herd rhymes such as "My Mother told me." I hated having a big butt. Some of the African American girls had butts that resembled mine, and I began hanging out with many of them, in hopes of not feeling different.

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I glanced around cautiously as I made my way up the narrow cobblestone path towards the imposing residence before me. Through the darkness of the night I could see the front door ajar, as a shaft of light spilled out over the front step accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of music and laughter coming from within. I began to wonder if I was making a mistake, but quickly dismissed the notion, silently scolding myself for such unfounded doubt.

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I imagine you coming home tonight, surprised how all your snow chores are done. You walk into the house and it's warm, there's a light in the kitchen, and you enter, curious about what you'll find. As you enter I turn around and smile. I've been hard at work at the stove, cooking our diner. You can tell that a soup is bubbling away, perfect for this cold winter night.

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Sometimes me and Mike just love to go out, pick up a slut or a stud, or a couple of them, and have ourselves nasty threesomes or foursomes. Lately we've really been getting off on picking up guys, especially since about a year ago I got my husband to start messing around with bi guys, even a few gay guys, bringing out Mike's 'bi' side, which I soon discovered was a big part of him.

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He sat in front of her in fifth grade, heckled the teacher and got into trouble a lot, but that just made him more attractive in her ten year old eyes. He sometimes walked her home and showed her his action figures. She had very little interest in action figures, but she paid attention because of her interest in him.

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