Your erotic stories

How could he? That bastard of a boyfriend of mine? Yes, despite living together we both had our freedom. He'd never been unfaithful to me before. Not that I knew of. Neither had I with him. Not with another man, anyway. A woman was different, of course. My boyfriend had no idea I was bisexual. That was, and is, a side I keep to myself. I love men. Love cock. But I love women, too.

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I remembered seeing her for the first time. So beautiful in her unique charm. Blue eyes and Dark hair that seemed to almost float along the wind. I could feel a warmth between my legs as soon as she looked my way. I had to taste her. I myself was not what you call beautiful. 5’5, long dirty blonde hair, more curves then I wanted.

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The large house was silent except for the sound of Jennifer and Nicole's footsteps on the tile floor. Everywhere they looked, elegant Christmas decorations adorned the walls. They turned into a lavish living room and saw a single occupant—a fellow teacher named Cheryl—sitting next to an eight foot Christmas tree.

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The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of the water. Seeing Mandy next to me, I figured it must be Katie enjoying an early morning hot shower. I could not believe how happy our experience the night before made me. I began to gaze at Mandy's sleeping face, so sweet and young, and so peaceful now.

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You are indeed my favorite fantasy, you are the vision I have when my skin becomes electric and my fires within churn and swell. You make my chest heavy and my mouth water. The way you look when your in your element that occasional glance and grin in my direction. The things I want to do to you, the desires I have.

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I had just turned 35 – and not at all unhappy about that. I didn't have a lover, and that was fine too – I've never been desperate that way; I can be happy all by myself. So when my gay and lesbian health clinic was having one of its almost chronic fund raisers, and I was asked to volunteer for the date auction, I smiled brightly said sure, I'd be glad to.

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Living with Paige was pure hell for Ally. Every moment she was around was like slow, agonizing torture which Ally often likened to having dull screws driven deep into her skull while having her heart ripped violently and awkwardly from her chest by hateful vultures. Well, maybe not that bad, but it definitely sucked in the worst possible way.

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I was told that the drive into Camp Larry Horton would relieve me of all my fears. I was skeptical, of course. This was my first full-time position as a young adult camp coordinator and nothing seemed capable of alleviating the butterflies in my stomach. But soon after turning off the main road onto the dirt and gravel path leading to the camp, I began to believe. Dense woods on either side of the car quickly blocked out civilization's existence.

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I was 22 when my daughter Hayley was born. She's in her first year at university now and, being my only child, she and I have always been very close. That's why, when her dad went away for a weekend fishing competition recently, I was really pleased that Hayley invited me to go and stay the weekend with her. I never went to university - it wasn't as common in those days as it is now, and I suppose I've led a bit of a sheltered life generally really.

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Ironing! God, I HATE ironing, but the height of the pile of clothes awaiting my attentions had grown to such a level, that I needed to do something about it. So there I stood; unhappily, surrounded by slowly growing piles of neatly laundered pants, t-shirts, dress-shirts and sweaters.

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