Your erotic stories

Guy comes into a bar and orders a beer. Bartender gives him a draft beer and says, "Hey Buddy, you don't look so good, you OK?" Guy says, "I have the world's worst hangover. I tried Alka-seltzer; I tried a Bromo, aspirin. Nothing works." Bartender says, "Let me give you a tip. Whenever I have a real bad hangover, I have my wife give me a blow-job. Cures the hangover every time."

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He was just posed there, his feet on the ground, half sitting in the seat swing in the overgrown abandoned playground at the back of the elementary school. I had walked over here on a whim to cool down from the sharp retort I had unexpectedly made to my mother at the lunch table. This after her third badly cloaked jab on why I hadn't married yet and given her grandchildren.

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My wife and I are both professionals and have been married for over six years. Unlike her, my job requires me to travel during the week. I'm a computer consultant and the nature of my business keeps me on the road from one project to the next and I'm always meeting new people to work with.

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I love cock. Can't deny it. Can't escape it. Not guys, as such, but COCK. I am married, love my wife and family, and will do nothing to endanger them or my marriage. But I love cock. Am I repeating myself? With local University connections, I am able to make use of the 5 different gyms and work-out centers on campus, in addition to the 3 pools they have. I admit, that at the pools I spend way more time looking at the co-eds, than anything or anyone else.

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Kelly and I were having a night out on the town, just good friends hanging out for each other's company, and for fun. I think it was her who made the suggestion initially, but I was also game, that we should go to a strip club. Now normally I wouldn't go to such a place with a woman, but she told me that she had been before and that this particular place had both male and female strippers, performing seperately.

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I didn't know if it was the unseasonal heat or the heavy work we'd done that day or Jake's scary stories or Miguel's empty bed that kept me awake in the dormitory that night, but I had nervous energy to spare. I would doze, but I'd wake up with a start and look over at Miguel's bed, the emptiness of it now explained, and then I'd check all of the other beds to see in guys were there. And sometimes they weren't, and then I'd speculate.

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Ian was on a roll. With the second draft of lyrics well under way and the melody writing itself, he knew he'd finally gotten it. He'd finally written a love song to rival all love songs. Honest, pure, impossible to ignore: exactly what he was going for. Becca had to listen to this. She'd have no choice but to love him and allow herself to be loved in return. He's just started mapping chord progressions when someone knocked on his door.

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I see Sean four mornings a week at the gym. He runs the treadmill and I swim, but our schedules are close enough that we arrive at nearly the same time and finish our workouts a few minutes apart. I thought this a coincidence, at first. But I knew better when I got to know him, and learned to appreciate him in unimaginable ways.

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I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John's from university who'd recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I'd never needed their help. They knew I'd end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking. He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn't get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place.

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The name's Piper. Peter Piper. But I don't pick pecks of pickled peppers. I solve cases. I'm a private dick. That's a detective for those of you who don't know the lingo. A private eye. It was a miserable Friday afternoon. Cold, damp, foggy. The weather was foul. And so was my mood. My bank account was dwindling at an alarming pace. I hadn't had a case in weeks. I was sitting behind my battered desk in my shabby office on the second floor of the Burke building, downtown. Way downtown. I was sitting there and I was worrying. If something didn't happen soon, I was in deep shit. I had bills to pay.

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