Your erotic stories

PRELUDE Coleen entered my office and sat in one of the chairs at the small conference table. It was time to conduct her performance review and I had the prepared documents on the table. I closed and locked the office door and then I put the door brace in place to guarantee that we would not be interrupted. I turned toward Coleen and she smiled at me knowing what was to come. I spelled out the approach for the morning.

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My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

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On the surface the two couples seemed to be too different to have much in common; but, as they say, looks can be deceiving. Darren and Jane on one hand were the quintessential urban family couple. Expressive, vocal, involved, engaged -- the best way to describe them both was "Larger than Life". They coached, managed and volunteered countless hours over the years with the kids' sports. They were tireless fundraisers for charities and good-causes all over the place. Always busy, always doing, always larger than life.

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Billy was shit out of luck. His problem was that he was just an average Joe - but he was really, REALLY average! He was twenty-five years old, working as a delivery man, and not a bad person. But he just couldn't get laid. It wasn't that he was ugly or fat or anything else like that. He had ordinary looks with an ordinary body (bordering on the chubby side, though).

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It started out as just another Saturday night – me, Terry, Jezza and a few other lads going out into Luton for a few beers and a bit of fun. Then Terry mentioned some gay celebrity he'd seen mincing about on TV before he came out, and we were into the usual shared rant about how queers were taking over, and soon it'd be compulsory to take it up the arse.

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I am leaving work about fifteen minutes behind everyone else. I got stuck on the phone and missed the mass exodus to the parking garage. I hate walking though the structure in the dark by myself. Even though nothing has ever happened here, I still don't feel safe. The dim lighting and confusing echoes make me nervous. I walk quickly with my head up, clutching my keys tightly in my hand.

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It was accident that Phil had caught the earlier flight home and came home in the middle of the day he told himself. Still he had stood transfixed for half an hour peering through a small crack in the door of his lounge room looking at the scene before him. The hard on in his pants betrayed the excitement he felt. He had come into the house and hearing a giggle and a sweet squeal of a woman's voice half expected the television to be left on in the lounge room and his son watching daytime television rather than studying for his exams.

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About two years ago, while working for the space agency, I was sent to a one week training/workshop in Huntsville, Alabama. I stayed at a hotel within walking distance of the Marshall Space Flight Center, where the workshop was to be held. There were about 75 people there, composed primarily of engineers, technicians, research scientists, a few administrators, and some military personnel.

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Nikki loved her job at the diner, although the pay was light and the hours heavy. She knew most of her customers by name, and counted most of them as friends. She also knew that their off-color comments, while generally sexual in nature, were delivered with no offense intended. Her breasts were a modest b-cup, and she often wished they were larger, but her ass made up the difference. It was an ass that men's dreams were made of.

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My first time happened back in 1969. My wife, Cheryl, and I were living in Ndola, in Zambia, where I worked on a copper mine. There was no TV out there, and very little in the way of a social life, aside from the local recreational club, which nearly all the expatriate community belonged to.

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