Your erotic stories

Becky bends over, leans into Paul's ear. "It's stuffy in here," she says. "Let's go for a walk." Paul looks up and watches her retreat around the coffee table. He pardons himself to his two bookend sofa-mates – the gregarious Auntie Lou and the diametric Grandma Claire, a stick with permanently down-turned lips and hardened scowl. Paul is relieved to escape her still life painting.

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Who knows what I was thinking. It was a Saturday night and Valentine’s day at that. My current lover was out of town and I was bored. So I went down to my fave little restaurant to chat with the bartender I knew, see some old acquaintances and just relax.

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Too damn slow, that was my problem. There was a group of them. College students from Japan, Korea, somewhere like that. We were in the waiting room, in Innsbruck, waiting for the overnight bus to Geneva in Switzerland. They had a couple of older women with them. Lecturers or something. A couple of parents perhaps. Some of the students looked mouth-wateringly cute. Lovely sloe eyes, long silky hair that some of them had in pony tails. Parkas, of course. In some cases almost enveloping them entirely. Some had their hoods up, as it was cold.

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Nikki loved her job at the diner, although the pay was light and the hours heavy. She knew most of her customers by name, and counted most of them as friends. She also knew that their off-color comments, while generally sexual in nature, were delivered with no offense intended. Her breasts were a modest b-cup, and she often wished they were larger, but her ass made up the difference. It was an ass that men's dreams were made of.

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My boyfriend, Gray, and I have a very open, very honest, very trusting relationship. There's nothing we're afraid to talk about...hopes, fears, dreams, passions, and of course, our sexual fantasies. Gray and I have known each other now for over three years, and in that time we've made it a point to live out several of those fantasies.

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Have you ever wondered what your own cum tasted like? If you're like me, you have. Since I was a young man, I've been fascinated by it and wonder how it tasted. I would jerk off and tell myself that I was going to taste it. I couldn't wait to try it. The problem was that as soon as I came, I changed my mind.

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Januaries are always cold in the upper Midwest. This year, though, has been the coldest we've seen in a long time. But, despite high natural gas prices and low temperatures, our house had been comfortably warm throughout the cold spell until the day my husband, Michael, an airline pilot, left for his monthly four day trip to Europe. Suddenly our almost new, high efficiency, just out of warranty gas furnace, Michael's proudest home improvement, stopped - you'll excuse the expression - cold.

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Summer vacation was winding down fast, taking with it the last vestiges of freedom that my sisters and I had been so thoroughly enjoying. All too soon, I would be starting my senior year in high school and it would be back to dull grind of boring routine. "Samuel T. Young, you need a haircut, young man!"

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She lay there, trembling. The vibe, small and purple, single battery operated had seemed harmless enough when he’d pulled it out of the drawer. He was expecting company, though didn’t want her to feel like he wasn’t thinking about her and caring for her needs.

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For those of you who haven't yet run across it, there is a web page whose name shall remain anonymous which advertises itself with this logo (which I've paraphrased to maintain the anonymity): "Where Models meet Photographers". So, basically, the web site is patronized by gorgeous models, the lucky bastards that photograph them, and lurkers. I haven't modeled since baby pictures at Sears, I don't own a camera that's not a disposable, so that puts me squarely in the 'lurker' category. Hey, it's a hobby.

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