Your erotic stories

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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"I cannot stand Cynthia and her more virginal than you attitude," announced Amelia, looking over at where the offender was currently flirting with a couple of boys. "I know what you mean," grumbled Marie. "The way she acts we're all sluts because we're not virgins. Just because we're not virgins doesn't mean we're free and easy. Or that we had any choice in the matter, anyway."

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I'm hearing words I never wanted to hear again, ever, in my life. Biopsy. Malignant. Cancer. I can't for the life of me remember leaving the doctor's office, but I'm sitting in my car, key in the ignition, door open, one foot on the concrete, and I can't breathe. The wound on my breast is throbbing, as if it knows that what was hidden beneath the flesh had evil intentions.

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“Connoisseur of fine women and fine desserts seeks lady who shares my interest. I take a long time to prepare my desserts and a long time enjoying them. What is your favorite topping?” Larry Randolph kept rereading the ad he’d placed in the personals. He was nervous, and he was watching the clock, which made the second hand seem to run all the slower. He had not expected to get an answer with his first ad – he really didn’t expect to find a person that was so fascinating to talk to over the Internet.

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Linda looked around the classroom, filled with over 200 first-year students. My God, she thought to herself, how am I going to get any personal attention out of this class? I enrolled in this university because it sold itself as having an average class size of 25. I guess I'll have to remind myself what an average is.

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