Your erotic stories

It was a quiet afternoon at the office. My last appointment for the day had to cancel at the last minute, and the bosses were all at a convention out of town. Nothing was happening, and although it was a good time to catch up on paperwork, I was tired so I thought I'd get an early start on the weekend. I didn't expect my girlfriend, Paola, to be home when I got there, so I was surprised to hear the television when I walked through the door.

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I was on the bay front finishing the last of my 3 mile run. Feeling like I was getting older at my ripe age of 29, I tried to run at least 3 times a week and also workout 3 times a week. My wife Laura loved the results as my 5'8" frame was very toned and tanned. She also liked me to be clean shaven, so I removed most of my body hair to please her. It was fine except when I was in my running shorts which made me a little self-conscience.

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It all began when I asked Shira: "Have you been a good little girl?" My wife had been dreading this moment for hours. Indeed, she had known about her impending mortification for days. Even so, she began to blush and cry at once. It was bad enough to be treated like a baby, but to be treated so in front of her best friend was particularly humiliating.

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CHAPTER ONE He shifted from foot to foot and held a sign reading "Angie Bowman." It was nine a. m. at O'Hara International airport. Finally, passengers were pouring out of the run way, past the counter, and into the walkway. A tall gorgeous brunette wearing her hair in a pony tail and a sexy deep cut V-neck sweater, a matching knee length skirt and four inch hells walked up to him.

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Today was my day off. It was about seven at night, and I had just gotten around to taking a shower. After reading for a few hours, playing some old games on my Super Nintendo, and responding to a couple of work-related e-mails, it seemed prudent to wash away the stank of laziness before my current girlfriend returned home.

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Needing a break from things, I treated myself to a weekend in a luxury hotel on the coast. Arriving on Friday afternoon, I showered and dressed and went down to the lounge. It was quiet. Looking for company and some holiday fun, I left the hotel and strolled down the main street of the town, enjoying the warm evening air. There was music coming from a run-down looking pub and I went in. The bar was crowded and there was a band playing in the lounge. This was more like it.

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Part of me hates this man, whom I'll call "X" for now. We didn't get along as a couple, which is why we broke up in the first place. I didn't even hate him when we broke up- it was very amicable, the old ‘we're just in very different places right now,' blah blah blah… but very soon after the split, I found myself fantasizing, over and over again, about the sex we used to have. It became totally consuming, to the point that I finally found myself breaking down and calling him on the phone one day.

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I woke in the night and lay in bed next to you listening for whatever it had been that brought me from sleep to consciousness. Around me, the house was quiet, the white noise of night sounds a barely audible suss in the darkness. I knew you were asleep next to me; I could feel the soft warmth of your presence that told me you were still in our bed and hear your soft gentle snores as you breathed slowly and rhythmically.

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I was watching a hot, nasty porn tape, dick in hand, having a perfectly good solo time one Saturday night at my new place. I'd lived here just a month after answering an apartment-sharing ad Jimmy had placed. He had a nice, spacious two-bedroom spread in West Hollywood that he needed to share with someone, and the rent was good.

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Whoever thought it was a good idea to celebrate the holidays in a cabin on a mountain is an idiot. I keep telling my parents that, and every other person who decided to attend too. Sure enough I'm joking most of the time, but there's a core of truth here: I really don't want to freeze my ass off during Christmas. And as it so happens, I'm going to.

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