Your erotic stories

Trixie lurched through the door, heels clack-clacking on the laminate flooring as she stumbled. Failing to realise the racket she had just created, she turned and carefully shut the door, just in case her boyfriend, Gary, had gone to bed already. He had let her borrow his keys just case she came home really late, as he had an early start the next morning – a weekend away with the boys.

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"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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I got home late one night from my usual cardio session at the gym. Working out had got me sweaty and horny, so I raced home, glancing to be sure the DVD was still on the passenger seat, something I had grabbed from the gay section at the porn shop I worked at, before leaving for the day.

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Sweat dripped her brow. She smoothed her skirt over her nylon-clad thighs. Slender legs led to fuck me pumps underneath a cream-colored business suit tailored to show off her every curve. She looked one last time in the mirror, tugging her brown curls. She tucked one behind her ear before walking out of the bathroom and down the hall towards Bruce Callahan's office.

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The sun is setting on this Friday marking the end of a work day and work week. I watch the dynamically shifting color change while my car speeds along the two-lane highway. Although your email lacked specific details, I grabbed my backpack and jumped in the car anyway the sheer thrill of a weekend with you sets me in motion.

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Was it true? Did it really happen? Everyone always wants to know, don't they? It makes it hotter, doesn't it, to know that it really happened. I guess because they think if it actually happened to someone then it could happen to them, too. Well, it can. That's all I'm gonna say about my last story. It can happen to you, too, if you want it to happen.

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When you love music and like talking about it, radio is the way to go. But as a bill-paying career, it leaves a lot to be desired. I'm not complaining...well, maybe a little. I'm a single mother driving a 17-year-old car and one income from my noon to 3pm gig at a local rock station wasn't cutting it. The drive-time guys make the big money, especially if their ratings are solid, and I would go play with them on the air sometimes just to feed off their fame and get a couple of weekend remotes to pull in a few extra bucks.

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Note from the Authoress: For any one who has read the Julie Journals they will know I always mention that my stories are a mixture of fact and fantasy. The content of this story is pure fantasy but the characters are fact. For that reason I have not included this as part of the Julie Journals. It is dedicated to a lovely intelligent woman and her partner who it has been a privilege to get to know.

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From the first moment I met Annie I was in lust with her. Petite with big blue eyes and curly red hair, she was a lithe little fox that dazzled most men. She was of course hopelessly out of my reach, being the girlfriend of Eddy, one of my best mates. Eddy and I played basketball together at uni and I'd been enduring his tales about his new girl for weeks.

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At 30, the peak of my female hormones screaming at me to do something with them other than finger my softest parts, I found myself still alone. I was afraid I wasn't beautiful enough, yet every time I looked in the mirror (other than on fat days) I thought I looked pretty good. Sexy, even. Long dark hair, pretty eyes, and a nice (though not perfect) line of curves that complimented the mild tan of my skin.

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