Your erotic stories

I was a late bloomer when I was a kid, a total nerd. I didn't start masturbating until I was nearly 18 and was afraid to ask a girl out for fear of rejection. I had been on one "blind date" of sorts and it had been a total disaster.

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Christ, I can't believe it was that long ago, already...seems like yesterday. OK, let me elaborate. It was a Friday afternoon, and I got a phone call from an acquaintance, asking if I wanted to check out a concert that night, in a city a couple of hours away from here. I was up for it; I was just finishing off the last of my dissertation, and could use a break. I told her I'd meet her at a coffee shop near the venue.

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I strolled through the local park, one warm April evening. It was just getting dark, and the path was clear in front of me. There was enough light for me to finish my circle and head for home. I usually jogged for exercise, or took a trip to the gym, and it showed. But I enjoyed a pleasant walk as well.

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About a month after my first encounter with a man I decided to try my luck again. This was way back in 1966 when the gay movement was unheard of and in fact I never knew another guy in my entire school time that admitted to being with a man. Being called a cock sucker was about the worst thing you could be called. In spite of this when I had become aware of the notes written on the stalls and walls of the local city hall bathroom offering or wanting blowjobs it had intrigued me and turned me on.

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This happened when I was in college and shared a duplex with a friend and fellow student at the beach. It was summertime and we both worked at a hot-spot bar at the beach. It was a great summer. We spent our days at the beach and nights working at a place where it didn't even seem like working sometimes. It was the 70s when disco was hot, and the place was crawling with girls down for the week from Ohio and New Jersey. They just wanted to drink and get laid and we were happy to accommodate.

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"What do you think of him," I asked, pointing to an older man with a combover. "He looks like he won't spit on our food." "Ugh, I hope not. He looks like the kind to talk about his grandkids to us for twenty minutes and then forget to take our order."

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I had an experience when I was nineteen and in college that I’ll never forget. My college was not a “commuter college”. Most of us lived on or near campus and there weren’t any restrictions on overnight guests so hooking up with coeds was my favorite pastime. I had more than my share of luck my first semester because word quickly got out that I sported a solid ten inches.

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I've always been a pretty big horn dog when it comes to women. Since high school, I've tried every trick in the book to meet, bed, and enjoy the ladies. I got married in my mid twenties, screwed around mercilessly on my wife, and divorced in my early thirties, after my wife caught me fucking my secretary, bent over my desk at work. Problem was it was the third time my wife caught me cheating, and strike three was the last straw.

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It was tradition among our friends to camp out in Jake's backyard at least once every summer. Jake had a giant tent, with three rooms and two closets. The first time we ever set it up it took us two hours. Working under the hot summer sun, joking and sweating, we were confident and untouchable. We were seniors this year, nearing maturity, working out every chance we had. Needless to say, we were very in shape.

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Thanks for all of the positive feedback on the first chapter of this story! Hopefully this chapter will give you a new perspective on these characters. The next chapter should be up as soon as possible. * Continued from Chapter One... Kellin: I buried my face in my hands, leaning my elbows on the small café table in the coffee shop by my house. This was where I ended up. After I stormed out of the house, my mom screaming at me from the kitchen, I drove in circles until I ended up here, hungry, upset, and out of gas.

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