Your erotic stories

The store wasn't opened yet as I walked through my department, women's clothes, to put my purse away in the back. Mary hollered out "Hey Jenny! How's it hanging?" When I said 'hollered', I was being literal. There was nothing subtle about her. Mary is one of those chubby, and I'm trying to be kind, women who can no longer see between their legs because their gut hangs over everything down there. Never have been to her house, or double wide trailer, whatever it is, but I envision it is full of stray cats and dogs, and surely no man or husband or partner of any kind to be found or even a trace of a past one.

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I stood at the altar of Holy Cross Cathedral, slowly suffocating. The church was filled with candles and despite the snow falling outside, I felt as if I were melting. I wore my mother's wedding dress and while photographs proved it to be was beautiful and elegant on her, I was crushed beneath its weight.

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It was 3 AM and my bed sheets were a messy lump under my back. I was tired. It had been a tiring day -- get up early in the morning, make breakfast, work eight hours, go to movies with boyfriend, have a screaming fight with boyfriend outside of movie theatre, throw drink at boyfriend, cry after being dumped, rip up photos of us as a couple... all very tiring work.

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My name is Gabriela. No, it's not, but I'm not telling you my real name. I'm 29 years old. I was 29 last year too. I'm a professional girlfriend. My boyfriends' wives would call me a whore. My boyfriends buy me jewelry, clothing, pay my rent, my credit card bills, sometimes even give me shares in their companies or illegal stock tips.

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"You need something, Maryann?" "Could I have something for pain?" Her voice was small and hesitant. "I'll check. If you can, I'll bring it and then let it take effect and then," Sharon Caswell, R.N., paused with a whimsical smile of her face, "we'll do your bath." Maryann Hollander sort of laughed and then groaned, "Sharon don't make me laugh, it hurts."

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It was Danielle's 18th birthday. Her parents were going away for the weekend, but gave her permission to have some friends over for a birthday party, with one rule: No boys allowed. After some thinking, she decided on who she wanted to have over: Becky, Sarah, Amber, Candace, and Holly. She called each one in turn, and got them all to agree. All Danielle had to do now was wait.

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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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