Your erotic stories

Saturday I peered into the rearview mirror and saw the familiar VW logo of Jenna's Jetta. Not that I was worried about her finding her way. We'd been driving this route to the beach for over 15 of her 20 years, so she certainly knew the route. It was pretty much a straight shot from Columbia to Charleston on I-26 and then a short jog over to Isle of Palms. Nothing to it.

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The whistle didn't surprise her. At 46, Nancy Pace was still attractive. In fact, partly due to her recent interest in Roger Mitchelson, the up-and-coming real estate broker she'd begun dating, she was feeling more sensual than she had since her marriage to Bill ended, more than 5 years ago. The fact that she'd finally gotten breast implants last year, along with a regimen of collagen and Botox treatments, had her feeling downright sexy, most of the time!

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This story was so much fun, I had to share it with someone. It's a true story that happened to me this past week. I had some friends (two guys from back east) come in town for the week and I was going to show them around. There were a couple of events going on, so we had plenty to do and kept busy all week. Well, as the week came to a close, we decided to spend the penultimate night burning the town down.

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"Honey?" My girlfriend pushed me away gently and said the word I feared the most. We had just entered her apartment and by the time she locked the door I couldn't resist. I started kissing her. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever been with. But every time she said, "Honey" it was always followed by something I wouldn't like.

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She's got long, straight blond hair that always smells like coconut, a pair of legs that make up two-thirds of her height, and a round, narrow little ass. She also has an insolent, self-satisfied swagger, a pert, better-than-thou smirk, and a fifty-dollar manicure. I've taught a few like her before, and I know the way it goes. She's seen how I look at her. She's slacked off this whole term. I can tell she thinks she can scam an A out of me by shaking her ass.

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I don't know why I did it. Okay, that's a lie, do I know, at least I think I do. First of all, it's fun to be seen as a sex symbol. Not as a porn star, hell no. I'm not a slut. Okay, maybe a wanna-be slut, but I'm a good girl. I didn't go to a Catholic school, but I was raised Catholic and I still believe most of it, okay?

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Amy stormed into her dorm room and threw her books on her desk. "Damnit, I'm freaking failing this class!" Her roommate Carey looked up at her, wide eyed, from her computer. "What class is it?" she asked, eyeing her rather angry friend. "Stupid Computer Science! I fucking hate it, but I need the stupid credit!" Amy snarled, her voice sharp.

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When you start writing a fiction story, it's fun to think about where to start. But when you're writing a true story, especially one with a lot of threads runnings through it, deciding where to start is really hard. There are so many strands involved in explaining the key event, and people won't understand you if you don't describe them well. They may even judge you.

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She walked into his office knowing what this meeting was about. Earlier that day, Sarah had received an email from one of her professors wanting to discuss an important topic. While the email didn't specify what the topic was, Sarah knew her last paper was below standards. She had just started dating someone and, while she knew she shouldn't, Sarah was putting less effort into her school work and more into her new relationship.

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Linda looked around the classroom, filled with over 200 first-year students. My God, she thought to herself, how am I going to get any personal attention out of this class? I enrolled in this university because it sold itself as having an average class size of 25. I guess I'll have to remind myself what an average is.

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