Your erotic stories

I was desperate for the money that was my only excuse for answering the ad in the newspaper. I felt like a fool approaching the seedy looking hotel, where the recording of the movie would be taking place. This was a stupid idea; I berated myself, even as I knocked hesitantly at the door of the room, as directed by the production office when I called. I had to fax them my headshots and clinical records, proving that I was descent looking and healthy.

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I was new to Miami, and unsure of my own sexuality. I had some experience with other women, but was not yet sure if I was bisexual or completely gay. I barely knew anyone in town, and was very grateful that I had met Sophie, a wonderful woman the same age as me, 22 years old. She had very light blonde hair, very large firm round breasts, and a tall stunning body. She could have been a model, but instead she was a lawyer, of all things.

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I wrote this as a love story, not a quick thrill. I have taken certain liberties with names and locations, because, it was told to me, by a very close friend. So read it if you enjoy a short story not necessarily one with sex and orgasms every five lines. Willy was a cop, daughter of a cop, a sister to cops and cousin to many cops. A few months before her thirty-sixth birthday, she was slim, standing five foot nine with the wide shoulders, flattish chest, and slim hips with the incredibly powerful thighs of a swimmer.

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Angela and Pei Ling - Naughty Girls are us. After exchanging e-mails with your friend in the US for a while, you become aware how curious and fascinated you are with the differences you discover between the East-West cultures. You are pleased for him when you receive an e-mail telling you his firm has just given him a performance award; a week for four at a Resort on an Island off the coast of Malaysia. Everything to be first class, all expenses paid.

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It wasn't easy being a young professor at a southern university in the US. When I say young, I mean young. I was always an overachiever, and got my Ph.D at 22 and began teaching immediately. This meant that I was barely older than my students at best. This had the potential for becoming an outright, unmitigated disaster, and everyone knew it. The Director of my program never came out and said anything to me directly, but it was clear he was keeping a close eye on me.

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Okay, so I was really really stoned the other night. You know, not just that "I just smoked a bowl and everything's cool now" stoned, but that "holy shit, I am so happy! Where did the leprechaun come from??" stoned that you get after smoking some good, fresh Montreal weed. Great weed, that stuff just sticks to your fingers, got these nice little buds and the smell is just... it's like pussy with that little tang of chlorophyll. Yeah, I was pretty stoned and at this point, in the kitchen, I was trying desparately to remember what I was supposed to be doing.

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I walked up the steps, glad to be out of the train station. A hot, humid train mixed with a large crowd is not exactly "the perfect atmosphere". I hate the subway. Men and even women took the opportunity to ogle you and even get a passing touch as they passed you to exit the train car.

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It's been more than a few days since my "Birthday Beach Bang", but I find myself replaying it over and over in my mind. More than once I have awakened perspiring, with my sheets in disarray. I've been reliving that grand adventure in my dreams almost every night. I suppose that my friend Cassie asking me about it almost every day at work might have something to do with it as well.

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The bar was its usual sticky hot, the ceiling fans inadequately trying to breathe fresh air on our warm bodies. The heat lent to more trips to the bar than usual, and tonight I was really feeling the rhythm, loading up on gin and tonics, downing them in my trip from the bar's edge to the middle of the dance floor. It had been weeks since we last spoke. I missed seeing you every night at the bar, shooting the shit, staring at each other, me catching whiffs of your cologne and perspiration.

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So many times as a child, then a young man, I walked the few short miles down to the small hill. There was a tall chain link fence at the bottom of the hill, I could have climbed that but I never did. On the hillside was soft grass, the type that never gets really tall, and it is always green, even in dry periods. I never did know what kind of grass that was, at that very young stage of my life I never even thought of it.

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