Your erotic stories

Jeff and I had been hanging out for about six months. We didn't live together but we might as well have. We spent a lot of time together when we were able. I am a photographer and I frequently am on the road doing shoots. Jeff is an engineer and has to travel once or twice a month. When we found ourselves at home, we usually were together.

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I had been going to the local YMCA after work for about a week now, I was trying to bulk up a little bit to impress my girlfriend. I'm a pretty slim guy at 6 feet, and 150 lbs. I certainly wasn't in bad shape at all, I just wanted to get a little bigger and tone up a bit. I had always known I was an attractive guy, and many people had also said as much, but despite that I had very little luck with women.

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It's Saturday mid-morning and I am watching music TV channels waiting for what fate has to throw at me. I'll elaborate on that in a moment but first I'll give you some history. I am thirty years old, married for six years (to Kelly) and have a three year old daughter. I am six feet tall, good build, dark hair, shy but friendly and like, on the whole, to keep to myself. I have got a good job, well paying and lead an everyday, normal life.

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"You could have at least waited for him to come off the operating table." "I couldn't . . . (huff) . . . help it . . . (puff). I think we may have overimplanted the scent. Come over here and . . ." "My God, I think you're right. God, god, finish with it. I must . . . as well. And we can see how well he can take an enhanced size. You're no . . ."

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This is the story of the first and only man I've been with sexually. I had reached early middle age and found myself horny all the time and up late jacking off to internet porn. I especially found myself watching a lot of blow job scenes. I don't get enough or very good head from the wife, and I would occasionally cruise craigslist thinking jeez it would be easy to get a guy to give me an NSA blowjob.

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"I'm sorry, what was that you just said, Mrs. Pettington?" What a tiresome woman. I had just now been distracted from listening to her by the way she snapped her fingers at Kisula and then gave him a distasteful look when he refilled her coffee cup. "I said, Mr. Woolston, that I hardly think we need worry about these rumblings from the tribal huts. England has held this protectorate in Tanzania since the war, and we will do so as long as the London cafés need their coffee."

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It had become a regular occurrence. Roy would visit on Saturday morning, if his sister did not spend the night, and get his cock sucked and fuck my ass. At times it was still very exciting but all to often it seemed that we just went through the motions, meeting out of habit more than anything.

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On the hottest, steamiest night of the summer in the big city, I almost met my Maker. I was an undercover cop working for the vice squad, about to observe and take part in a drug transaction outside the Frisky Bar, a gay strip joint in a seedy part of town.

Moving down the alley closer to the drug buy, I moved out of sight of my partner (a mistake), and passing behind a dumpster, I saw the perp and his customer.

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So it was New Years eve, the time to party, to celebrate, and with any bit of luck, get laid. And in the past I've had absolutely no problems getting laid on New Years Eve. Sometimes it was because I was lucky, others it was because I lowered my standards, or alcohol lowered them and I got laid. In either case my main goal of having sex has been accomplished on NYE since I turned 18, and I'm now 29. So I guess I am at least guaranteed to get laid once a year.

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I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed. 

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