Your erotic stories

I never had a problem attracting women, all women. Any shape, size, color, and nationality available. I'm attractive, I'll be honest about it. But that isn't what gets girls into my bed, although I'm sure it helps. My personality is what gets them. I know it's cliche but it's true. I'm confident sometimes to the point of arrogance. I know that about myself. I would by lying if I said I was the nicest person on earth. I'm a bitch, okay, I'm okay with it.

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I was fortunate when I was younger, and as a result, I never had to worry about money. When my uncle died, he left me and my siblings a sizeable sum, but nothing that was suddenly life changing, for example compared to winning multi millions in a lottery. I still have to work, but will never have to worry about money, either, as long I am sensible. I never brag that I have it. Sure, I have some nice clothes, and a new car every 3-4 years, but I've still developed a career in sales, a career in which I am pretty successful, earning a sensible salary.

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"Amputation IS sex, the stump is just the afterglow," Julie told her roommate and dear friend of nearly a year. She sat next to Sara, the left leg over the right, swinging idly back and forth without a foot. Sara was honest with herself. She enjoyed neither hand and a touch of her forearm on tender parts thrilled her greatly.

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I'm unsure how it transpired. Someone knows someone else, who has a friend who is aware of another. All I knew was that I had received a telephone call. A business like voice saying my presence was required by a Ms. Rebecca Noah, an address and time given. When I asked to what did this pertain I was simply told it was a personal matter and that I would be expected. The line going dead.

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Knowing glances across the room. A smile as your eyes meet. A quiet hello as you pass in the hall. A flirtatious wink of the eye as you catch him watching you walk away. Innocent flirtation is how it all begins. So it did for Jack & Sara.

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The school year started with Gina and Mike eagerly looking forward to their final year of school. Mike ended up having a particularly heavy load of classes the first semester. He was short a few credits and wanted to make sure the final semester of his senior year would be fairly light. From practically the first week of classes his schedule keep Mike very busy studying, working at the lab, or meeting kids from his classes to work on group projects. He and Dana managed to keep up their personal workouts in preparation for the coming swim season, but it wasn't hard to see that the heavy class schedule was wearing him out.

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My parents started teaching my brothers and me at a very young age the importance of helping others, though they stressed that helping wasn't necessarily limited to the less fortunate or the poor or the needy. Basically what they taught was that if someone was lacking an ability or resource that you possessed, the right thing to do was to offer it to them. We were also taught to do this out of the goodness of our hearts rather than for personal gain, but we learned that the people we were helping usually did not want to be considered charity cases, so they'd often overcompensate by paying us extremely well for our help.

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Part One With hot shower water still steaming off of him, he looks down at the clothes laid out on the bed -- the usual trousers, white shirt and tie, socks... "Honey?" he shouts into the next room. A few seconds later his wife appears, poking her pale, bright eyed face through the doorway. She has a mischievous grin on her face already.

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It had been a quiet day at my salon this Friday. I run a small salon in a midsized town in the western U.S. I do hair styling of course, manicures and pedicures and some massage. Some of my women clients like a relaxing massage, but since I’m gay, I assure you, it’s strictly professional.

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I opened my eyes. The night's sleep was leaving my body and I was returning to consciousness. With a contented sigh I pulled the covers up beneath my chin and turned on my side. A glance at the small clock on the nightstand told me it was 10 p.m. A good night's sleep without strange, incoherent dreams was a luxury I didn't get to enjoy very often. I hadn't felt so rested in weeks, maybe even months.

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