Your erotic stories

To satisfy my bisexual needs my wife suggested that I become a member, no pun intended, of an upmarket gay sauna. Understandably, I was rather nervous about this partly because I'd never been to one before and was unsure of the protocols and appropriate behaviour. But mainly I was nervous about my wife's reaction and the possible effects on our relationship. Fantasies are by nature and name fantastic but the reality can of course be totally different.

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A warm Saturday morning in the crowded shopping mall and Anne Metcalfe wandered disconsolately among the busy shoppers. She felt as if her life had arrived at crisis point. Forty two years of age, her two children, son David and daughter Maureen, had left home during the past year to take up their own lives, and a fortnight ago her husband Phil had announced that he was leaving her for Mavis.

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Hey.... when did -" he started, "did you just - umm.." He held the drinks lower, much like his defenses, when he saw them, almost losing his grip on both Redhooks. He caught himself, hands trembling. "Trace, this is..." he started again, with spurious amnesia. The girl, 22, pretty, shot him the most _don't even_ of looks.

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Jackie could not believe that she was doing this; kneeling on the floor beside the bed in her motel room, performing oral sex on a twenty-one-year-old total stranger. She had met Eric in the bar across the street from the motel that she was staying at, with her eighteen-year-old daughter, Karen.

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When I was seven I wrote a story about a space ship landing in our back yard. The aliens were friendly and, at some point, they ate purple ice cream. As mothers do, mine told me it was brilliant. A year later, I thought it was dumb. A year after that, I wished I could write like that again. The next year, I burned it. My mom spanked me for playing with matches. The next day I wrote a story about a mean old mother and her reign of terror. As mothers do, she said it was cruel. The next day, I burned it.

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I’ve always had a secret fascination with barber shops. I guess it’s because that’s where men are most themselves. When I was in high school, my dad would take me and my brothers along when he got his hair cut. Like clockwork, he would go to this seedy shop in Little Italy and get a trim and a shave from the owner, Tony.

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Chapter I: Fall 2010 Smooth. Her skin was so smooth. It felt like silk and smelled like the earthy cologne she wore and underneath it was her; the scent of her skin, clean and warm. It meant whatever fragrance she sprayed on would never smell the same on someone else. Something in me reacted to her aroma; it made my body wake up and stand at attention.

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The dry warm spring day began to cool and I finally emerged from the reverie of fishing. All day I had fly fished on this desert river. The spring runoff from the surrounding mountains swelled the stream and kept me from feeling the heat of midday, but as the sun set the cold water began to chill me. I realized that I must pack my gear and try to find the road out of this wild place. Finding such an ideal spot, that was completely deserted, had been my goal and by using maps and conjecture I had successfully found the place I desired.

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"Come on. Tell me!" "Nooo," April whined as she walked past me, leafing through the plastic wrapped costumes hanging from the wall. "And stop asking me." "Fine," I conceded, turning back and selecting a skimpy school girl outfit from a nearby rack. "How about this one?" "Ummm," she said, eyeing my chosen costume with sceptical reluctance. "That's a little too slutty."

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The phone's catcall squirmed its way under the covers. The ringing passed over the hills and valleys of Aurelio's fluffy black comforter and worn green sheets. The sound found the soft corners of his skull and nestled in there, curled around itself like a small dog and settled down for the wait.

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