Your erotic stories

She comes in. There's something about her. About the song in her walk and the smile in her chest. About the aroma of her being. About the puff of her ego. About her nipple. Small, so incredibly tiny, hiding away in the darkness, lurching, waiting, conspiring, plotting. Patient. Living life in the shadows, hidden, on the edge, touching the edge, that small piece of fabric, a prisoner with threads of clothing as jail bars.

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When I was little I used to sit outside with my Grandmother on her wide front porch and we would dream about what we would do to the gardens one day. It was one of my favorite things to do with her when I was visiting. My parents died when I was in my early twenties and my Grandmother was all I had left. Eventually I moved to New York City and made my life there, becoming a very successful writer. I had more money than I knew what to do with and I would send her checks, telling her to make her special garden.

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Kari Bates is an attractive 36-year-old mother of two. She's no supermodel, but she has the look of that good looking school teacher that most boys had a crush on during their school years. She stands 5'6" with a slender 34-B-24-24 body. Brown hair, parted in the middle and hanging almost to her shoulders. Bright blue eyes hidden behind her thin rectangular framed glasses and an ever-present smile.

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I didn't know if it was the unseasonal heat or the heavy work we'd done that day or Jake's scary stories or Miguel's empty bed that kept me awake in the dormitory that night, but I had nervous energy to spare. I would doze, but I'd wake up with a start and look over at Miguel's bed, the emptiness of it now explained, and then I'd check all of the other beds to see in guys were there. And sometimes they weren't, and then I'd speculate.

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Ruby sat in the livingroom of their backwoods home listening to her father and 5 uncles talk. They were all White Supremacist and hearing them talk was strange at best. Ruby had been educated in the public schools and knew that these relatives of hers were full of crap but she was also raised to respect them if not fear them and therefore said nothing against their philosophies.

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"There," she thought, admiring herself in the mirror. A cross stood out proudly on her chest, executed in black, cloth tape, the arms of the adhesive crucifix covering much of her breasts, the rest extending down her sternum to her belly. She adjusted her Catholic-school skirt, and reached for the makeshift headpiece with which she completed her revealing nun's habit.

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My first time happened back in 1969. My wife, Cheryl, and I were living in Ndola, in Zambia, where I worked on a copper mine. There was no TV out there, and very little in the way of a social life, aside from the local recreational club, which nearly all the expatriate community belonged to.

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My name is Emma. I was born and grew up just outside of Buffalo New York. My father worked very hard in a plant thirteen hours a day that smelted iron ore that was brought in off of the great lakes. My mother had her hands full with my seven siblings and me. I was the eldest and had just turned eighteen in 1877 when the widowed butcher of our town that was in his late thirties asked for my hand in marriage.

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I was just out of the shower, recuperating and basking in the glow after a night of incredible sex with my 23 year old girlfriend, Sasha. She had already left unhappily for work, complaining about her boss. What this beautiful, sexy young woman with a killer athletic body sees in a 41 year old divorcee is beyond me, but I'm not one to complain.

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I was meeting close friends John and Ryan at the club. They were bringing Mark, a friend of John's from university who'd recently moved to the city. That might sound like they were trying to hook us up but I'd never needed their help. They knew I'd end the evening with him anyway, as long as he was reasonably good-looking. He was better, but much too controlled for my tastes. The green-hazel eyes were calm and probing, all at the same time, the mouth with its thin upper lip and full lower lip didn't get a lot of exercise as if he thought through every thing before he spoke, not a single blond strand out of place.

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