Your erotic stories

I stared at the flags that hung on the back wall of the dojang, my eyes seemingly focusing on them in a deep entranced stare. Yet it wasn't the flags that had garnered my attention, rather it was the invisible opponent I was about to face off with. I had been participating in martial arts, specifically taekwondo, for over seven years. All my hard work had earned me a second dan black belt, an achievement I was ever proud of.

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Hi, it's Julia. You may remember me ... Sheri, Julia? Me, the Cougar taken and turned. Ah, I see you nodding. Good. It's been four glorious years for us. I still blink when I look at her. She's just a wonder ... and she's doing very, very well at work too. (Me: winking) Yeah, the jokes are still lame and the sex is still fabulous.

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Martine looks down the row of women, each one standing perfectly still with their hands behind their head and their elbows just touching the girl next to them on either side. She sees blondes, brunettes, redheads, women of every race and color, a celebration of female beauty. They are all naked, oiled lightly, and each one has the exact same expression of perfect joy on their face.

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I recall a trip I took to Chicago, it was 1977, almost 15 years ago, and my first unaccompanied business trip. I was 29 then, and my career was just taking off. My schedule called for three days of meetings and seminars. But, I had my own room, with my own king size bed, and I was looking forward to two evenings of uninterrupted privacy.

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The continuing tale of two women in love. "It's a red satin cincher with black stockings and hells. Red cami and tap pants. A nice English cincher with six garters as opposed to the American style with just four." Your voice was low, breathy, husky, enticing. You knew full well the effect your words were having on me.

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Thoughts of her kept returning to me, time and again. Here I was, married with three children and lusting after another woman. She wasn't just any woman, mind you. She was an absolute beauty. She was perfect in every way. Her face was that of a porcelain doll, delicate and soft; her hair was dark and flowing, like shimmering silk;

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Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

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Courtney had always been intrigued by thoughts of being with another woman. In her small town though, it was a taboo never to be acted upon. She dated plenty of guys in High School, even allowing one to take her virginity, yet, none of those relationships were fulfilling for her. She felt something was missing, a void that would be filled by time spent with her close female friends, yet even then, she knew there was something more, something unattainable at the time.

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My dear sisters: I have been asked to give a history of my experience with Priapus, and my part in the revival of his ceremony. I trust that this account will not leave the walls of this sorority house. Here, as best I can recall and recount it, is the story. When I was in college in the early seventies, it was a very different environment than it is today. We were all so much more innocent than girls are now.

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I awoke sometime in the early morning. It was still dark; the blue screen on the TV cast a surreal glow about the living room. We had fallen asleep during the movie and hadn’t stirred since. Still cradled in her arms on the couch, I stared into the blue darkness and briefly relived the events of the night before.

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