Your erotic stories

This is my first submission. It is a chapter from a much longer story I'm working on. It is essentially a true story, with names and events modified to ensure the privacy of those involved. It is very detailed, a story of unrequited love and missed opportunity, romantic and tender but also intense it its anal themes. It's the story of my brief time with Catherine, a woman I fell in love with and think of often.

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Jill barely knocked before she entered Jake's room, "Have you been into my underwear?" Jake was curled on his bed, reading a magazine. He didn't look up, "Of course, I'm a man." "A boy." Jake laughed, "When it comes to women's underwear, it's the same thing." "Why?"

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I met Nick five months ago when he became my personal trainer. I joined the gym in the summer to finally work my body towards my personal goals. I had been skinny all my life and knew that if I wanted to change it I would have to get serious. Five months of 3-5 workouts a week and heavy carb/protein loading I was pushing towards my goal. I was up 20 pounds of muscle and my progress pics were really showing obvious changes. I of course had taken photos every step of the way, but hadn't really shared them with anyone until recently.

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Pain scorched the young man's esophagus. Pain burned the inside of his mouth. Good old pain. The young man welcomed the awful smell that accompanied the pain. "Pain is weakness leaving your body," several of his coaches had quoted to him. This time, pain was empty calories and disfiguring fat leaving his body. The pain and the scent were signals. He was fighting to maintain what mattered.

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Must Love Dogs -- that's what the ad had said, and I do love dogs. But I had no idea that those three words would unlock the door to the strangest sexual adventure of my life. At the time, the sentence that had really caught my eye was the next one: "Only women need apply." I was no equal rights lawyer, but I was pretty sure employers couldn't discriminate based on sex.

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Darla practically hammered on the door to the hotel room, her body shaking with anger. Jane was in there, Darla just knew it, so why didn't she just open the door and take her 'angry goth girl' medicine? She was hiding, that's what it was.

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I have to admit that when I looked round the congregation at the Memorial Service I had to wonder. How many were there simply to pay tribute to a remarkable woman they had admired? How many were there with more intimate memories? The eulogy sketched in the public details of what had been a very public life.

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Part 1 I got home after another long day at work and retrieved the mail. I sifted through it...junk, bill, junk, bill.... "What this?" I wondered, looking over an envelope with no return address. "Hmmm?" I took it upstairs to my kitchen and opened it. Carefully. It contained three handwritten pages of pink paper. I read the first one, a brief cover letter, as it turned out.

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I was at my professional peak, but single and unattached. My profession is a jealous mistress, demanding constant attention, but paying rich dividends to her ardent worshippers. I had very volatile sexual urges but remained celibate through adolescence with the help of pornography and later on with the net. I was wary of women and my sexual preferences became more defined. As a professional I was aggressive and was clothed in the aura of aggressiveness.

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For years, while we made love, we had shared the joint fantasy of having a lot of guys with us while we fucked. I admit it had, at least initially, been mostly my idea. But, as time rolled on, it seems to me it was you who generally brought it up. I'd always joked and said that six was my absolute minimum; one for my mouth, one for each breast, one for my cunt, one for my ass and the extra for whatever particular whim I may desire.

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