Your erotic stories

Corey Cooper wrote this journal on his laptop in two places, the first part sitting on the throne of the bathroom in the motel room he was brought to, and the rest at home after his battery gave out. *** It was somewhere around 4 in the morning when I finally gave in to the fact that I wasn't going to be getting any sleep, and while the man sleeping beside me wasn't helping with his occasional snoring, the truth is that I never could sleep well in any bed but my own.

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This is a true story of my first visit to an adult book stores movie theater and of my first blow job. I have been in adult book stores many times before, but never ventured behind the curtains. Up to this point I never had a reason or desire to go behind the curtain. That all changed after moving to North Carolina. 

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I'd never seen a real one. Certainly not up close. I'd thought about it but not in 15 years. My sophomore year in college I got stuck with a new roommate when my friend Ed dropped out of school unexpectedly over the summer. Terry was an okay guy. He was nice, well manners and extremely neat but we literally had nothing in common.

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The follwing story is a work of fiction, based on facts from my life. The names of all parties have been changed to protect their "innocence". "Hey Jim, you need anything from Supply while I'm down there?" "Naw, I'm good Marv, thanks anyway." I headed down the hall to the elevators so I could get to Supply. It was Thursday, and I was winding up some details so my weekend wouldn't be interrupted by any calls from the office.

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As Ted Biondi looked at the young man through the peephole of the motel room he was staying in, the 57 year old salesman enjoyed the gawky kid's fidgeting as he seemed to be trying to summon up enough courage to knock on the door. He certainly looked like a geek, which was what Ted had him figured for when they spoke on the phone after Ted had read his ad on Craigslist, in which he claimed he was a 19 year old bisexual male looking for fun with an older man.

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"Hey, Danny, come here!" I drop my book, a ragged old paperback I've read a million times, and head towards my little brother's room. He's several years younger than me, 18 to my 23, and he really looks up to me. It's pretty cute. I've only been home for fall break two days and James has found about every excuse he can to bug me. I head down to his room, which is at the end of the hall from mine, and poke my head in. No James- only some posters (the one of the busty singer in rainbow panties makes me chuckle) and a scattered game system. "James?"

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"You first encountered the defendant where, Mr. Philips?" "At my gym. We were members of the same gym." I did not want to be here, in this courtroom. But the DA had intimidated me. He had said that they might delve deeper into why I was in Baltimore—why I had left San Diego. I really didn't want them to do that. I had just fallen into it in San Diego.

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This all started because I decided, against all advice, to major in religious studies in college. I know, it sounds like a dumb choice, but it's what I was interested in and I decided to follow my grandmother's advice to pursue my passion rather than the practical choices everyone else thought I should make.

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Before starting my tour of duty in Okinawa, I thought my primary talent was playing the piano. I was soon to learn otherwise, though, and my late coming to "the" life gripped me like a disease or an unshakable habit. I had known since not long after puberty that I had an unusual attraction. I had formed friendships quickly from my days in high school—and not just with my school chums but with their parents as well.

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I had sat there at Joey's beachside bar for more than an hour, watching the young man playing in the surf. When I'd first arrived at the bar, both bored and out of sorts, I'd seen him on his surfboard, riding the waves and doing quite well at it. At length, however, I saw him tire of that and come up on the beach and bury the tip of the board into the wet sand, with a strong force that, in itself, would have arrested my attention.

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