Your erotic stories

Robert had been invited to a party by a mutual friend of Anne Simpson. He was intrigued and went because the party didn't sound like the typical party for the people that he usually hung with. This one was a costume party for one thing. There was the opportunity to meet different people than the normal crowd for another. Robert had also been told that Anne herself was an attractive and available lady and he was always looking for his soul mate.

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Jean sits on the edge of the bed, a hand on the belt buckle ready to undress. She glances up at Paul, the man she just met at the smoky saloon. His jeans are far enough down to see the bulging erection staining at his boxers. "Listen, there's something I need to tell you."

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Lydia's lay on her stomach on the deck of the large yacht anchored alone, a mile from shore. The turquoise water lapped delicately against the hull. She flipped the page of the paperback book while her only foot floated in small circles above an upturned knee. Her slim attractive body betrayed her age. Most people thought her only in her early twenties though she was more than twice that age.

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I grab the headboard and roll onto my side. My complete lack of legs affords me little in the usual ability once done with ease. Pushing against the sheet until upright, I look around the room. "Morning Yae," Mark says matter of factly as returns from the bathroom. Pausing by the balcony door, he watches the surf crash against the white sands and the luscious bikini clad women strolling casually through the remains of the waves receding back where they came from.

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The store wasn't opened yet as I walked through my department, women's clothes, to put my purse away in the back. Mary hollered out "Hey Jenny! How's it hanging?" When I said 'hollered', I was being literal. There was nothing subtle about her. Mary is one of those chubby, and I'm trying to be kind, women who can no longer see between their legs because their gut hangs over everything down there. Never have been to her house, or double wide trailer, whatever it is, but I envision it is full of stray cats and dogs, and surely no man or husband or partner of any kind to be found or even a trace of a past one.

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Sam and Matt are regulars at Pete's - a seedy bar for drinking and not much else. Trains pass every half hour on the three sets of tracks behind the building. Occasionally a crew parks a locomotive near and have a drink, the rumbling engine shaking the building the whole time.

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It was a cold day. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalk as I walked huddled over to keep warm. My eyes focused on the ground so I wouldn't miss something that would hurdle me downward. Stuffed in my pockets for warmth, my hands remained cold. I was going to be late for work - again. I had left dirty dishes in the sink so I could stare at some new pictures of amputee men for a few minutes before leaving.

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Joan wears a white sleeveless tee shirt and faded jeans, her blue hair cropped short and her chest flat. From a distance, she gives the first impression of being a guy. The right arm is gone, less than a third of the upper arm remains. She walks with a swagger, nothing bothering her. "Hey, babe," Roger calls, seeing her walking across the parking lot to her car.

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I was awake and standing in a crouch beside my bed before I really knew why. My hand was on the electronic lock on top of the gun safe and I was already punching buttons when I heard the pounding on my front door. When you live in the woods, pounding on the door usually means a neighbor in trouble, but the hair on my arms was standing up, and over the years on battlefields both wild and urban, I'd learned to trust my body when it moved into that kind of a primal response.

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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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