Your erotic stories

The swinging scene has changed a lot in recent times but Anthony's contact group remains much the same. For 20 years it seems to have stood still in time. He organises regular get-togethers and he keeps it exclusive. An invitation requires a personal recommendation. Even then, Anthony may want to talk to you himself to decide if you are suitable. Discretion and security are the by-words. If it was any different, I wouldn't be there; it would be just too risky for me.

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I'd seen her around my apartment building several times and she stuck in my mind although I could never quite figure out why. She was an older woman – in her 50s I guessed – with long dark-hair, hints of gray here and there in her curls, and a little plump -- sexy plump, actually. You could see she was very nice looking at one time.

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I have never in my life ever had any kind of sexual feelings for other men. That is until this one time when a situation presented itself to me and I, without much hesitation, jumped right in. Neither of us was prepared for it. But it turned out to be one of the most intense sexual experiences I ever felt.

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"Taxi! Taxi!" Sabrina Kelley waved her hand furiously as the icy Manhattan wind whipped through and around her bones. The New York skyline was rapidly approaching dusk and the evening forecast predicted a heavy round of snowfall in just a matter of hours. Though there was no one there to greet her or make her feel at home, Sabrina desperately wanted to make it back to her hotel room before the bad weather began.

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My first two years out of high school, I attended a community college, and worked as a delivery driver for a well-known pizza delivery chain we'll call "Checkers" to protect the innocent. It was a pretty good job. Most of the drivers were needed in the evening so it didn't interfere with classes. You got paid a salary, tips and commission (to pay for gas) which averaged more than $8.00 an hour when minimum wage was closer to $4.00.

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On the outside I've never been weird in any way. I'm popular, with girls and guys. I have normal interests. I go to parties, get drunk, have fun, have normal relationships. I could have sex, normal sex, and enjoy it a normal amount. But it is only when I think about rape that I really start to feel that heat like nothing else. A hollow aching inside me, yearning to be filled.

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'Old Vinyl Classics – The station that brings you the greatest hits of the 60s, 70s and...' The old car stereo in my car crackled as I turned it off and parked my car alongside the curb. Once again I was in a familiar part of town; it was a place where I had parked my car many times during the past two years or so. Once again, I was on my way to band rehearsal, and again I was running a bit late, as was the case more often than not. To be honest, I really didn't care that much. A few months ago, things had been different.

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10. Sometime in late July, the first year. My hair splayed out around me as the trickling flow of the stream lifted and carried it. Soothed by the water, my body warmed in the desert sun. I held Tom's hand and squeezed with love. We had been lying in the creek for nearly half an hour, letting our tired bodies come back to themselves after fucking so so hard.

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Annabelle's cotton sheets have ducks on them. They're not made of as nice of a material as the satin I'm laying on now, but the ducks are so cute and so her. I can imagine Annabelle's face when she'd determined that I stood her up on New Year's Eve. I feel so horrible and so cold.

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“It’s a journal,” said Joanne, “It’s for your own personal entries; to write in there what you eat, when you exercise and your thoughts.” Joanne is beautiful; she has blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips and an unbelievable body. She is the epitome of an Aerobic Instructor. She is also the Nutritionist at the Oasis Health Club, which I have just recently joined. 'Are these people for real?' I think to myself. The last time I wrote in a diary, I was 12 years old. I stand there looking from her to the “journal”;

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