Your erotic stories

All characters in this story are above the age of consent (18). The story and its characters are all fictional (even though I wish they were not). I love hearing your comments so please leave one. I love to get messages from my readers. * Behind schedule, over budget, and never good enough for the client, status quo for a creative director; that was my situation when Sandra popped unexpected and uninvited into my office. "Somebody has a crush on you." She chirped.

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For those who read my first story, "Giving it Up," this is the lead in. These events were my first excursion into the dark side of my sexuality. If you have read the previous story you will know that I was a virgin when it happened just a couple of years ago. What happens in this current story, over 20 years ago, is all true until the end. There is one point where fantasy takes over when reality ends.

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I had just got back from work on a Friday. Brandon was already back at our apartment. He hugged me once I walked in. Since we're just room mates, I wasn't comfortable with it at first, but over time I got used to it. It's not much of a big deal for me anymore. It's sort of the kind of guy he is. We got along pretty well and had been living together for about five months now.

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It started out as just another Saturday night – me, Terry, Jezza and a few other lads going out into Luton for a few beers and a bit of fun. Then Terry mentioned some gay celebrity he'd seen mincing about on TV before he came out, and we were into the usual shared rant about how queers were taking over, and soon it'd be compulsory to take it up the arse.

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It was Friday night and the phone rang. I picked it up and was surprised to hear that it was my wife's therapist. I knew about him, of course, but had never met or even spoken to him. He knew Sue was out of town for the week, so I was really caught off guard, and immediately worried by his call.

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As a psychology major, it never ceases to surprise me how deep human loathing can go. Often times the most screwed up ones are ourselves. For every ten people that you meet, eight hate everyone, six hate themselves, but blame everyone else, three loathe themselves with depths unfathomable, and one or two out of those ten will never let you know just how disturbed they really are.

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It's been a long, difficult day. The world has been uncooperative, as per usual. One of those days where nothing goes as planned. People specifically. People are the worst, once again, as per usual. Although now, finally, you're standing on the front step. A little sigh of relief escapes your lips, being able to let your guard from the world down a little bit.

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Karl stared at the phone in his hand after flipping it closed. "Well this might be an interesting trip home after all," was the statement he made to the air in his empty living room. He had just finished up a three hour long, catch-up conversation with someone from his past. Someone he had shared more than just a dorm room and later a frat house double with at college. Much more. Much, much more.

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Several years ago I was a COP, a policeman in a city of about 250,000 in North Carolina. The DWI Checkpoints and enforcement had just started to gain popularity. One part of that program was to assign officers to work the streets on DWI Patrol, rather than checkpoints. We were assigned to different sections of the city or to watch a particular bar or nightclub.

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Like many gay men I know, I questioned my sexuality in silence for a very long time. On countless occasions I had sat in my room and fantasized about what it would be like to be with another man, but I had never had the courage to do anything about it or even try and find others who felt the same way I did. After all, where would I look? I was too timid to venture into the bars, and was too afraid that someone would discover my dark secret.

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