Your erotic stories

"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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"Now, let me get this straight so it doesn't happen again..." I pressed the back of my hand across my roommate's forehead, frowning a little. His face, though a pale eggshell color only a few seconds ago, quickly came ablaze in a scarlet blush. "You fainted during class because you had a bad night's sleep and missed breakfast," I assessed with an incredulous grimace, "yet you still want to become a paramedic too?"

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The year was 1984. South Africa wasn't a happy place. I was in the army for my two years of national service. My name is Ben, and I was gay and out, unusually, as my lover and I were activists. Well, I was an activist-wannabe, since I should really have conscientiously objected to National Service, as others had, and endured the prison sentence, but I guess that I didn't have quite enough of a problem with the white "regime" to risk that extreme form of conscience.

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As most the guys stood around looking at the screen Errol stood beside Dre with a looks of dismay. He said sipping on his drink as Dre watched the enjoyment the others seem to be getting out of the video. Errol went back to tending to the bar as he patted Dre on the back and smiled at him. “Incoming.” He said with a smile as Dre looked at him oddly before turning to look back.

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Friday night, the end of another strenuous work week. Every night, it’s the same: be there at 10, get off at 3. I liked my hours at the shipping factory. It was late, not a lot a noise and I worked by myself. I wasn’t a hateful person, I just preferred working alone. I certainly wasn’t one to turn heads, either, being of average height and a slight weight of 135. I had long since overcome most of my adolescent insecurities and focused my attention on school and work.

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I took a cold Coke out of the plastic cooler. It was Friday afternoon in the southwestern desert, and I was alone in the company training area finishing up the paperwork. The younger sergeants had left long ago, heading for cold beer, air conditioning, and the NCO club if not some bar downtown.

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Neal wasn't the sort of guy people noticed much. He could walk through a room of people talking—even a room full of people he knew—and get to the other side without being greeted or noticed. He could have conversations with strangers and then the stranger wouldn't recognize him if they met again. He was a guy of no standout talents, no distinctive looks other than being smaller of stature than his age. He wasn't ugly; he was just plain and forgettable—and a little scrawny.

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So there I was with a knot in the pit of my stomach. My heart was racing and my hands felt shaky and weak. I was so nervous and scared I wanted to run away, but I didn't. I told myself no, I'd waited too long for this and chickened out too many times. I'd fantasized about this for years, now I was determined to make the fantasy become reality... 

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I was twenty that summer, and working at a restaurant in a resort community to earn money for the next year of college. It wasn't much of a job, washing dishes in the kitchen of the restaurant, but the pay wasn't terrible. I was feeling kind of lonely since my girlfriend, Jane, was back in our college town doing her own summer job. I was lonely, but to be honest I suppose I was also just horny. I was used to getting it very regularly from my cute little blonde girl, so I was really noticing the difference.

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