Your erotic stories

Chapter One: Summer 1972 Leo Cassaro was a middle aged man who lived with his 19 year old son Alan in their suburban home. His wife - Alan's mother - had left Leo four years earlier when she had discovered that her husband wasn't faithful to her.

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During the next few days Rich and I worked at the landscaping company together, but he was distant. We hardly talked and when we did, even at home, it was in short, cordial sentences. It was totally unlike Rich to behave this way, so by the middle of the week I wanted to have a talk with him. After work we got home, and our parents were traveling for a few days so we had the house to ourselves. I made some dinner and at the table I decided it was time to talk.

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My name is Bob. I have never considered myself to be gay at all. However, I would occasionally glance at other guys and wonder. Well, one day I found out what it was like to be gay. I am about 5'9" brown hair, green eyes and 31 years old. My dick is about 8" long, 3 inches wide and I have a strong sex drive. I had been eyeing my boss for a while, his name was Jay.

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Some say that rain is a sign of peace when a loved one passes on, but on this day it simply steeped the sadness that comes with an untimely death. The dark clouds loomed above like a spiritual ceiling and occasional claps of thunder jostled the mourning family. Because it was late summer, many people were on vacation. Many close friends and even a fair amount of the family were not there.

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I was a nude life drawing model when I was in my 20s. I was regarded as an excellent model since I was completely comfortable being nude in a group of clothed people and I could hold poses very well. I also was very creative in my poses. I worked very regularly, and worked around five times a week for ten years. It is now over 25 years since I last posed, and I am looking back upon my most interesting experiences. The following experience took place after I had been posing for eight years, so I considered myself very experienced.

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It all started with a thought. One thought. Three weeks ago. When my girlfriend, who, let's face it, was never very good at blow jobs, was actually giving me one. It started with me looking down at her and thinking, 'you know, I bet someone with a dick would probably know how to totally rock at this'.

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We had been friends for some time, we had met at the restaurant where I was working, and had become drinking buddies. At the time of this story, I was 22, and he was 45. Paul and I would often go out together pubbing. At some point (I really don't remember when) he told me what he wanted to have sex. The thought didn't offend me, but made me very nervous; my only male experience had been a public washroom masturbation encounter, so I told him I wasn't interested.

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I was a very straight 23 year old guy always looking for some hot pussy. It was my last day at a job I had for 3 1/2 years. I had been a dog and fucked several short term co-workers and very unsuccessfully kept trying to get Karma to let me have some of her super fine black pussy. Over the last year or so it seamed like we were friends but she made it very clear that I was a horn dog and she had no interest.

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Part true, part fantasy--all erotic. Fun to have lived through, fun to have composed--lots of fun to read! T’was the summer of 1963! Now, that is a long time ago—long before most of you were even born. Things were different then. Sex was around—yes even back then—but it was a lot different. The sexual revolution hadn’t hit the streets yet. People were still talking in hushed voices about the Kinsey Report; Playboy was still considered scandalous pornography by the oldsters; and gay sex wasn’t even known as “gay”.

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We had been having cybersex for about six months and sending photos of our organs from every angle with each message. We both loved the same kinds of sex and got into vivid and very arousing descriptions of what we were doing to each other so it reached the point where I got a hardon whenever I saw that there was a message from him in my box.

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