Your erotic stories

He was rude to me when I first saw him, which is one of the reasons I remembered him. The other was that he was drop-dead gorgeous. This was in the souk (Arab market) in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City, one dull Saturday morning, and I was shopping for a Quran. Not some paperback English translation, but something really nice, an ornate Arabic copy I could display in my office at home.

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I hadn't brushed my teeth for four long days, a fact that I only know because it was the same amount of days that I had called off work. Here I was, 27, successful, handsome, climbing the corporate ladder, becoming wealthier by the minute, and I was falling apart because my boyfriend dumped me.

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Jude had gotten through the second set at The Spot in Chelsea the same way he had gotten through all of Logjam's concerts in the last two decades—riding a high on the music, the roar of the crowd, beer, and poppers. If the proportion of beer and poppers had been relentlessly creeping up over the last fifteen years, it had been too gradual for Jude to notice it, or too scary for him to acknowledge it.

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So here I was, in the lobby of an apartment building in the gay area of town, about to meet my Internet lover for the first time. I had wondered what m2m sex was like and when I stumbled across the website for older men and younger guys wanting to meet, I ended up chatting to Graham. It had taken a while for us to get to meet, but here I was, ready to meet him. I knew nothing really about him, except that he was 58 and liked younger guys.

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John Fisher was sitting at one of the many outdoor bars that covered the beach area of Phuket, Thailand watching the hundreds of sailors walking around. He had just gotten off the ship with a four day pass of not having to be back at the ship until the morning it got underway. The sun had just gone down with an evening tropical breeze blowing off of the ocean cooling off the heat of the day.

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Throughout supper, and in fact for the entire evening, I couldn't help but sneak glances at Kalin. Once or twice, I think I caught him watching me too. But with dad in the room, I didn't dare to do or say anything more. Anyway, by the time I went to bed, I figured that would be it. Like I said last time, I was a bit naïve.

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A muggy heat descended on the small town of Soulcrest, creating a thick, hazy fog in the air. No one dared leave the air-conditioned safety of his home lest his skin become covered in slick, sticky sweat. Even the animals of the neighborhood had found a cool space to spend the evening. The light of the full moon peaked out occasionally from the dark, thick clouds that covered the night sky.

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Derek leaned against the metal railing as his grey eyes passed over the crowded cafeteria. With the entire population wearing the same uniform he had to focus on faces in order to differentiate each inmate.

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Dracul finds the kid high up on the fire ladder, outside the familiar window. On the regular spot where the boy can be found almost every night, gazing longingly in through the glass with tired eyes, hidden by the darkness when the lights are on on the inside. He sits there, silently observing the motions of the everyday life.

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I always hated stereotypes. At least, that was my excuse for resenting anyone who assumed I was gay. A guy can be fabulous and into clothes and still be attracted to the opposite sex. And I have been attracted to girls as far back as I can remember--that's no bullshit. Girls love a guy they can go shopping with. "Metrosexual" was what they called me, and I was fine with that mantle. It meant they recognized my good taste, refined appearance, superior grooming, and upscale tastes. It was when people called me "gay" that I got frustrated. I'm not gay. Properly, I'm bi.

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