Your erotic stories

The theater was dark. I walked in shyly. Knowing what was about to happen excited as much as it scared me. But there was no going back. A dare is a dare. And I had secretly dreamt of this one for years. The only noise inside was that coming from the movie. Moaning and panting, enough to tell, even with closed eyes, that I was in a pornographic cinema.

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When my computer software company started a coed softball team I decided to sign up, figuring it would be a good way to socialize with other employees. As it turns out, not many people signed up, so one of the younger people filled out the team with a bunch of her friends. When I turned up at the first game, there were a bunch of 20 somethings, a few 30 somethings, and me, a mid 40s something. Since I am a fairly fit mid 40s, I didn't stand out too much.

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He saw her across the room and he felt his cock stand to immediate attention. She was wearing a minimal black dress with a cleavage so deep it threatened to spill her tits out the moment she leant forward. Her tongue licked her blood red lips as she smiled at him and he let his eyes take in the sight before him. She had shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes that were framed by long, dark eye lashes. Her dress clung to her every curve, showing off a flat stomach and deliciously feminine hips.

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Tony liked beach volleyball. Watching it, that is. Not playing it. He thought that whoever had the idea that players must wear bathing costumes was a genius. There's nothing better than watching pretty girls in small bikinis bouncing all over the place. There had been a friendly tournament running on the local beach for the past few weekends.

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He's leaving after graduation, next week. Leaving for another city so far away. He's my best friend. He's been the only best friend I've ever had. John. A simple name does not do judge to the complexities you've shown. He's leaving after graduation, forcing me to attend university all alone, with no support, no back up. I'm supposed to step into the tumultuous sea of books, rhetoric and profs, haranguing me with papers, exams and the answer to whether or not Leopold Bloom liked to eat feces. Who knows? Who dares? Who fucking cares?

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I first met James at a Christmas party my parents were throwing. He was the contractor they had hired to put together the new house they were building as an anniversary gift to each other. It would be a lot bigger than the two stories, three-bedroom house I had grown up in, which meant that there would be plenty of room for either me or my sister if we needed it, which wasn't something I was about to complain about, considering that at twenty four, I was about to run back home with my tail between my legs.

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He didn't move. He just sat on his girlfriend's bed and kept his eyes on her open closet. Eighteen-year-old Edward had only one thing on his mind. But his girlfriend would never accept it even if she was more open-minded than anyone else. The young black man tried to repress his temptation, but it always fought back and sought its victory. One look at Cheryl's beautiful red dress and he would do anything to wear it.

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"-Do you trust me?" Moira asked. The sun was setting over the southern Ireland countryside, sending long, soft shadows from to tree to hedgerow and slowly turning the sky red. They sat on Moira's couch in her quiet cottage. She had her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. Sinead's school books lay scattered on the coffee table.

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As I knocked on the door of Denise and John's apartment, I wondered what it was like inside. I had been out with them both many times, but this was the first time I had been invited over. They were two of my closest friends, especially since my divorce a year ago. Denise was beautiful black woman that worked with me at work, and she had sensed that I needed to get out more. So she invited me to happy hour with her and John, and it had become a regular thing with us.

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Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It seeks to explore lesbian masochism, which I know exists. * It was my husband's fault. Really. Mike was a horny bastard, and something of a voyeur. And that was how he lost me – simple as that. We used to go to a lot of parties, with other young married couples, many of us fancying each other's partners like mad. Nothing unusual in that, I suppose.

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