Your erotic stories

I had just turned 35 – and not at all unhappy about that. I didn't have a lover, and that was fine too – I've never been desperate that way; I can be happy all by myself. So when my gay and lesbian health clinic was having one of its almost chronic fund raisers, and I was asked to volunteer for the date auction, I smiled brightly said sure, I'd be glad to.

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Bobbie maneuvered carefully down the dirt road that was rapidly disappearing under the heavy snow fall. Old Ned Hoover had said he saw someone prowling around the bluffs at the back of her property. Sneaking back here at the beginning of what was forecast to be the worst snow storm of the year was not necessarily smart, but she was well prepared for weather and trouble.

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So, 'V' and I are chatting away when she says to me 'why is it that all D/s stories are written from the sub's point of view. Why is it never from the Domme's. Take Summerhouse Blues, I really love that version of the Rhonda character and yet all we hear about is how Tracy feels. What about Rhonda, what did she make of it all?' And that got me thinking. 'V' was right, there's a whole different side to Summerhouse Blues, another story and one that ought to be told.

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I met Jaime on my job working as a waitress. Our restaurant was something like hooters but with a different name. All of us waitresses wore short booty shorts, tight t-shirts and high heels. It was hard walking around all night in those shoes but the tips were fabulous.

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I really had no good reason to go back to Baltimore. The woman that I thought I loved, that I thought had loved me, was past tense. (An icy telephone call, my words falling like snow, my emotions kept cool by distance and the warm memory of another woman).

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Sunday Morning in early March. I joined the regulars for coffee after a disappointing Saturday night; I hate to be part of a closing crowd, and so I'd left the Paradise Bar with fifteen minutes to go before the bitter end. It's my age, I suppose. As fine as I know myself to be at thirty-five, I just don't feel like competing at singles bars any more. So there I was, listening to the morning-after banter about the night before: Who did, who didn't, who got lucky, who got away.

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Each year they swept in, families of various sizes and ages from across the world. They came from the snow swept regions down to the tropics. Families came every year, looking for fun in the sun and to escape the cold winter season. I lived and worked in Aruba and enjoyed life here. The people of the island were tolerant and open minded.

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Dear Jenny: You asked for my story of way back then: how did I survive, how did I find strength and acceptance? How did I find love? Yes, I'll tell you, Jenny. You've a right to know, and from what you've written to me about your life now, you need to know.

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