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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So, here's a story you perhaps don't hear every day. It's a true story, but it has a couple of layers, so allow me to explain some of the moving parts. I'll try not to ramble too much so we can get to the juicy stuff. My name is Max and this happened to me. Sometimes I still can't believe how it all played out. I work at a small business in the hospitality industry.

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Fridays at my office weren’t always easy, but this one was. We had just settled one of our biggest cases, a suit brought by a man who lost an arm as a result of another driver who had been undeniably drunk and run a stoplight. The insurance company refused to pay any more than the policy limit, which was simply unfathomable. Our client was a stone mason, and a well-respected one.

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The heavy cement building went from a speck on the horizon to a great looming hungry monster in seconds. Kelsey’s eyes took in the structure. The walls were cold and unwelcoming; the electric fence was topped with angry looking razor wire. The gray sky above matched the setting well. Kelsey saw the blood on her hands through the blur of tears. She had been convicted fairly by a jury. This would be her home for the next twenty-five years.

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Today was the beginning of another slow week at the office. I worked as Secretary to the Managing Director for small Advertising Agency here in Barbados. My boss, Mr. David, had left for vacation last week, a two-month vacation. I generally loved when he was absent, for I had little or no work to do as I was his Personal Secretary and not the Company Secretary. But that was only when he was absent for a day or two, not two months.

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Ah yes, she's here again - the girl. I've been watching her for several weeks now. She and her friends hang out at the pool where I live. Several of them must be sub-letting for the summer because there's no way a college student could afford to live here on a regular basis. Then again, who knows? Parents give their kids everything these days.

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Life in the detective bureau was anything but routine. Everyday there were new challenges. Crime never stops. My day began at 8:30 am. I usually stopped off on the way to work to pick up coffee and some form of breakfast for myself and for the rest of the detectives, as well as the Chief. One of my duties was a review of the crime reports filed by the uniform division during the previous 24 hours. Cops often were not skilled writers. It was my job to review their reports for accuracy and completeness.

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This is a true story from the Bournemouth gay sauna-bar at its old location, when it had a dedicated playroom. Locals will know what I mean. The sauna-bar was huge. Half of it consisted of showers, saunas, hot-tubs and the like. Separated by a bar in the middle, the other half was a dark labyrinth of rooms. Some were private, some had mirrored windows and some contained toys.

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This is a real life experience that has stayed with me for many years and I would like to thank the man for introducing me to such pleasures. It was a usual Midwest summer, hot, humid and boring. I had just turned 18 earlier in the year and was looking forward to attending college in the fall. I got up early as usual and packed the work coveralls and boots in a bag. I went into the kitchen and had some cereal for breakfast, which was the usual and starting to get old.

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My hand is firm on the back of your neck. The chilly fall rain licks against the panes, as your hard nipples press into the glass of the elevator wall. Your head turns to the side and your ear picks up the sounds of the party below. Your breath fogs the glass as you pant. You try to turn to look back, but I press you forward. This is my show, and the puppet dances only when her string is pulled.

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