Your erotic stories

I had just turned 30, had left one job and was about to start working for a new company, but wanting a break from the routine of the daily grind, decided to take a road trip through the deserts of Rajasthan before starting the new job. The old Jeep was cleaned up and packed with all the necessary gear, spare parts and tools to keep it running, my tent, and of course provisions, as I was headed into a rather sparsely populated area where the villages and towns were few and far between.

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Once upon a time, there was a magical shower head. The thing was super adjustable, the water pressure just right, and I was able to dial in a concentrated, pulsing stream; one which, when I faced away on hands and knees and arched my back just so, perfectly targeted my tight, tawny, nineteen-year-old bullseye, pummeling me into steamy, protracted spasms of anal bliss.

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What a neat idea, Ted thought. He'd been down Lexington a couple of times a week all semester from his room to his classes at the university and he hadn't even noticed the Chance Café, down on the lower level under a hippy New Age gear store.

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Carl is the type of black man that white women fantasize about having sex with. He's tall, muscular, very dark skinned, 36 years old with a shaved head and strong African features. I am a tall, slim 48 year old white guy who looks much younger than his age. I met Carl while playing on a local softball team. We quickly became friends and fell into the habit of spending Saturday nights together when neither of us had dates. He would come to my house and we would order pizza and drink beer.

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I watched as Dee slipped a short bright red dress over her head and pulled it down her body. She sat down next to me and pulled on her matching high heel shoes. She turned to me and lightly kissed me with her full lips. "I'm ready to go." she said and stood up.

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My prolonged good-bye began on the first day of summer. That wasn't the day of the accident. That had happened two days before. But it wasn't until the first day of summer that the doctors came into my hospital room to tell me that Jamal would recover but might be paralyzed for life from the waist down because of the injury to his back.

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It was the last summer before I graduated in the fall from college and I found a job with one of the larger apartment complexes near the campus. In exchange for rent and a small wage I did minor maintenance on the units. I did a lot of filter replacements, minor plumbing and other type things that were a constant headache for the manager.

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Today's technology can make one a little paranoid. I'm well known in my rather conservative community and the last thing I would need would be for people to find out about my fantasies. Like many people, I have a phone, a tablet, a laptop, etc. and I connect to my work network from home frequently. Lately, I'd become somewhat obsessed about my internet trail and fearing my browsing history being discovered inadvertently through some virus, cookies or some other thing of which I was unaware.

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[This story can be read on its own, but it continues the story of Jonathan and David into the next generation. All institutions and characters in the story are purely imaginary.] * Chapter 1 Early years One of my earliest memories is when I was about six years old being taken for a walk by Uncle Arthur Rockwell in the wood that he and my cofather had planted at Ixton some eight or so years before.

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This is a true story, as told to me by a friend. I'm a New York cab driver. Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's a living. Yeah, I've been held up. Twice. But life goes on, right? Boring. Or at least until that fare opened the door and climbed into my cab. Brown skin, black hair. Hispanic, right? In New York, probably Puerto Rican. But his eyes. God! Blue, astonishing blue. Made me think of a raging river. Deep blue. Dark. Dangerous blue. His mama must have fooled around with a Norwegian tourist.

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