Your erotic stories

I was spending the day at my friend Roger’s house, and was planning on staying the night. We spent much of the rainy day in Roger’s back yard, which bordered a rushing swollen drainage stream. Needless to say, we were soaked by late afternoon when Roger’s mom called us in for dinner. His mom made us strip off our wet, muddy clothes in the mud room just off the garage before she let us in the house. She had supplied two large Turkish towels in which to wrap ourselves.

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"Tomorrow. Bring your hands around my sides as I lay enveloped in your lap. Hold me in your hands until tomorrow, one hand cupping my balls, making me vulnerable to your touch, and the other hand possessing my cock closely—and stroke, stroke, stroke. Ahhhhhhh. Still cupping my balls with one hand, move the fingers of the other to my hole and invade and stretch, preparing me for you. Then at the stroke of tomorrow, turn me onto my belly, encase my thighs with your knees, and plunge into me with your firm cock, your palms pushing down on my shoulder blades, and ride me, ride me, r i d e m e . . . Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

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What the...? What the hell is going on over there? There is a dick sticking through a hole in the wall! Here I am in an adult video booth, my own dick in my hand, watching a blonde give a guy a very loving blowjob, and now this.

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Miles stared intently at the Sharpie pen clenched so tightly in his grip that his knuckles were blanched white, at the lined notebook opened to a fresh, new page. It was college ruled, perforated, with exactly thirty-three blue lines running horizontally across each page. He'd studied it with such intensity, such scrutiny, noting every detail about it that his vision was beginning to blur.

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"Touch it piggy," my wife Julie said sternly when she saw the indecision on my face. We had been swinging for more than a year but we were a soft swap couple. I had no desire to watch my sexy wife with another man and she did not want to watch me fuck another woman.

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Last winter I decided to get back into snowboarding on a more regular basis. It was something I did a lot when I was younger and thought it would be better that sitting on my ass all winter. I got a season pass to the small resort that was close to my home and started riding a couple of time a week, that is, if you can call it a "resort", it's really just a small group of hills.

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Damien I was already in love with Elijah by the time I saved him from a rapist thug, but I hadn't really admitted it to myself. I first noticed him when I was manning a merchandise stall at No Way Out -- the big venue hired for hardcore punk gigs where both straight-edgers and skins can come, kids from either side of the bridge and the two different scenes.

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I always knew of the man who lived in the house at the end of the dead end street as the Creeper. His real name was Mr. Manson, and I thought that his first name was Barry or Barney or something like that. The word around the school was that he liked boys, and from the time I was in elementary school, to the time I was a senior in high school, I was warned by other kids to stay away from his house.

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The day of The Dance finally came. Actually, come to think of it, it was not a dance at all! It was just a huge party that was held annually at one of the mansions in the neighborhood and everyone was invited to it. Nobody knows when the exact date of The Dance was. Hell, none of us knew who the organizers were because the mansion where The Dance was held had no records of any owners, dead or alive.

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"Why don't you and Clancy go fishing," my dad said. The five of us, Uncle Ted, Aunt Bessie, Clancy, dad and me were finishing our afternoon tea in the farmhouse kitchen after unloading the fourth load of hay for the day. The new corrugated iron shed was a quarter full of hay and that was all there was room for. The rest was taken up with the farm machinery. The few horses dad still kept were in the old split log barn, which had seen better days.

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