Your erotic stories

Man spilling blood in honourable, woman spilling blood is unclean, what logic is that? I am Rohan. I am nineteen. I am in the second year of my bachelor degree course in engineering in a college near the extreme southern tip of India. My family consists of my father, a retired accountant from the revenue department, my mother, a housewife, and my elder sister. Her name is Sarala, but as I am younger I cannot call her by name. I call her Akka, which in the Tamil language means elder sister. She is 23 years old. After graduation she is at home waiting for marriage.

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CHAPTER 1 It was Friday evening and to be expected the bar was crowded. Two blondes with the strained look that childless women appear to inherit from their divorce, eyed the unshaven guy in blue, noting a soft smile, curly dark hair and green oh so green eyes. They whispered, looking at him. Brent thought of winking at them but that could be misinterpreted. His firm rule was to never pick up a woman in a bar.

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"Fuck!" I swore aloud. I had just knelt to tie my shoe and my only clean pair of jeans ripped a hole right in the crotch. I stood up and examined them in the mirror. Front, then back; all clear. You can only tell there's a hole when my legs are spread. I laughed to myself and thought with sarcasm 'Today was the best day to wash all my jeans at once.' I grabbed my backpack and purse and headed for the door cursing school under my breath.

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"I've got something extraordinary planned for our anniversary," Laurie whispered to me. I grunted -- unable to think of anything but the next thirty seconds as her oiled hands slowly made another roundtrip up and down my cock. "I'm about to come," I said, hoping she would speed up. But instead Laurie pulled her hand away and said, "You will come in a week, on our anniversary. But I need your pump to be primed for our special night."

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In these days of Viagra, and for those of you who lived through the changes in the sixties that brought with it the notion of free love, the research done by the professors of The Institute of Human Social Behaviour at Spalding in the late 1930s must look pretty tame. We did not discover a wonder drug that cured impotency, or proposed theories that encouraged vast changes in the social structure of the western world.

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I was busy with my usual Monday morning office routine, sipping coffee, browsing a large stack of phone messages and sorting through my email. Five messages were from Cal Ryder, sleazebag journalist for the local news. What the hell could he want that's so important, I thought. As the mayor of a large midwest city, I was used to calls from the local paper, but it wasn't often that I would get a call from Cal.

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Mike read the terse text message from his wife Sunny. She was working late, yet again, and had texted not to ask how his day went, but to demand he take care of dinner plans. Again. A second text amended the list: feed the dog, take all the trash out and start washing her work clothes. Sunny had been a real bitch lately, and he was getting tired of dealing with it. He knew part of it was hormonal.

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I was standing over my father's grave at Sunnycrest Cemetery as the cleric spouted empty words and prayers, and as my mother wept crocodile tears into her lace hankie. "Be strong, Lucinda," said my Great Aunt Martha, patting my mother's shoulder. Aunt Martha was my father's mother's sister.

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When Jill was born the medical staff looked at the baby's genitals and told the parents "You have a baby boy." The baby was named Jack, after his uncle and spent the next several years as a boy. Jack never got involved in sports with other boys, partly because of his small stature and partly because he felt more at home playing with girls.

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Although she was not technically a mother, Mother's Day was still one of Jillian's favorite days. Her husband always made sure that he and his boys did something special for her to show their appreciation for everything she did for them. She loved the men in her life and was happy to have them all. She thought of her stepsons as her own and knew they saw her as their mom just as much as their real one.

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