Your erotic stories

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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First, let me start by laying down a little bit of my background. My name is Joe. I am 6’3”, 220 lbs, brown hair and blue eyes. I am married and consider myself straight. I have had a few homosexual experiences in the past, but they were with my best friend who is a long distance truck driver. My previous gay experiences were monogamous with my friend and are still completely secret.

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I was walking around the pond by my house. The sun was shining and it was a very hot day. As I came over the bridge I noticed my school's soccer team was practicing at the soccer fields. There were about 25 of them , all hot and sweaty. But I only cared about one of them. Jason Little was running across the field to get a drink of water as I sat down on one of the metal bleachers. I pretended to text one of my friends but I was really eyeing his perfectly rounded ass.

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Bill and I went bar-hopping last Friday night and had a good time with a couple of girls, although nothing sexual took place except a little bit of feeling each other up at an isolated table. Realizing that the bars were starting to thin out and we weren't doing so well in getting some late-night female action, we decided to call it a night.

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I sipped my beer as I sat at a table in the bar, casually looking out over Loch Lomond. I had some documents in front of me, on the table, but I was rapidly getting bored. I knew what I was going to talk about when I met my clients in the morning. I had my power point presentation ready and I was confident I could deliver it. I put a paper down and looked out the window again.

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It's difficult to meet gay men in the burbs, so when I discovered a gay social club on the internet I decided to check it out. The group meets in a church basement in a nearby town. Only a few men were in the room when I arrived at seven. A good-looking older guy approached me. "Hi. I'm Steve. Welcome to the group," he said.

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I had just graduated from high school, and I was expecting a lavish graduation present from my grandpa. I definitely would’ve taken my sister’s gift, an all-expenses paid trip to Europe. Instead, my grandpa announced that he was sending me on a tour of South America. He said that I needed to see other part of the world and experience new cultures. It consisted of a hike through the rainforests of Ecuador, then the Galapagos, then a long stay in Rio de Janeiro. Unfortunately for my well-being, Grandpa didn’t do enough research into the vacation package. The rainforest adventure was a little too close to the border with Colombia to be safe.

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My first memory is of my father yelling, "Get out of my way you worthless piece of shit!" and backhanding me so hard I bounced off of the refrigerator door. I was three years old at the time. That's actually better than my second memory which is when my mother heard this and came running to deflect his attention away from me and ended up with a split lip and multiple bruises for her trouble.

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