Your erotic stories

It was the closest I've ever been to hell, and heaven, on this earth. My name is Christine Wonderle. I'm a divorced, 32 year old small transport plane pilot in Alaska, one of the hundreds of "bush pilots" that earn their living in Alaska, ferrying people and goods from small town to encampment, and back again. Alaska is pretty much as wild as people picture it, with many areas only accessible by plane or boat. I'm good looking, and don't lack for dates, but I'd been working hard on my business, so I didn't get out much socially.

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My friend Melanie has the hottest ass in the world. I don't know what it is about it, but it's perfect, and just thinking about it gets me wet. She used to send dirty pictures of herself to guys online but get me to give my opinions on them first. I think she was half showing off, half genuinely wanting me to look at her naked. So that was how I first saw her ass anyway. We used to hang out from when we were about eighteen to about twenty three, and all the time I knew her she was obsessed with sex. We'd spend hours watching 'hilarious' porn, or talking about sex and guys.

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Dawn awakened from sleep as shadows created by the setting sun etched their shapes on the walls, furniture, and floor of their bedroom, giving the shadows lives of their own. She felt the warm afterglow of pure sensuality that lingered after the very erotic and exciting afternoon of making love with Meghan. Dawn felt totally relaxed from having expended so much physical and emotional energy after being completely intimate with her soul-mate Megan who returned in kind.

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Dear Jenny: You asked for my story of way back then: how did I survive, how did I find strength and acceptance? How did I find love? Yes, I'll tell you, Jenny. You've a right to know, and from what you've written to me about your life now, you need to know.

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My best friend Dee belongs to a sorority. They were having a party tonight and she invited my new boyfriend Brian and I. Not that anybody really needed invitations to a sorority beer bash. Brian picked me up dressed in jeans and a green shirt, looking almost exactly like he did when I first bumped into him. I would have to do something about his wardrobe.

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I was living in a small university town, doing graduate study on my degree. The university was very good, but it was in the Bible Belt, and the town was Dullsville personified. An aunt had died leaving me a sizable inheritance, and I could concentrate on my studies, most of the time. I'm female, and single.

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Vic stood alone in the bedroom, staring at the reflection in the full-length mirror as though taking notes. Dark hair, cropped close. Dark eyes, both by nature and by the distant look of loss in them. Full Mediterranean lips in an olive face. Torso covered by a black t-shirt. The leather jacket that went with it was thrown over a chair. Hips and legs clad in tight faded jeans that covered the tops of lace-up boots.

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I walked into the pub through the side door. It was just how I remembered it. The sun shone through the front glass doors, to splay rays across the dusty wooden floorboards. My friends were already waiting for me at a table. They'd chosen a great spot, right next to the window, we could feel the warm winter sun through the window panes, yet still all fit comfortably around one table. I hugged most of my friends tight – I had not seen some of them for 8 months!

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The roses are blooming in the rather plain jar on my desk. It's a canning jar, it once held pickles I think, like the jars that used to line the shelves in your kitchen. The florist thinks I'm ridiculous for my regular purchase of three roses, one pale pink, two darker pink, but they remind me so much of you.

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Hi, my name is Laura, and my husbands name is Don, he is forty and I'm thirty-eight. We were living fairly comfortably until I was laid off from a dot.com company and then Don's company was bought up by another company, and if he wanted to keep his job, he had to take a demotion, which meant a cut in pay.

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