Your erotic stories

[This story can be read on its own, but it continues the story of Jonathan and David into the next generation. All institutions and characters in the story are purely imaginary.] * Chapter 1 Early years One of my earliest memories is when I was about six years old being taken for a walk by Uncle Arthur Rockwell in the wood that he and my cofather had planted at Ixton some eight or so years before.

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The freight elevator seemed to be taking forever. Not that Alex was really in that much of a hurry. After all, he wasn't going anywhere for Thanksgiving. Home was too far away and he just couldn't to go home for Christmas and Thanksgiving. No, after work, all Alex had to look forward to was an empty dorm. His roommates and most of his friends that lived in the dorm had already left for their respective homes earlier in the day. But he didn't mind. Alex was actually looking forward to having the room all to himself. He liked his roommate quite a bit, but having a roommate meant having to be considerate of the other person.

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Ryan laid his hand on top of his gym shorts, pressing lightly on the erection underneath. He began to slide his hand up and down the shaft in long, slow strokes. In the total darkness of his bedroom, with no noise except for the ceiling fan, Ryan had time to think. He thought about his mother, Kristi. He thought about the robe she wore into the kitchen a half hour earlier when she didn't expect to find him there.

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My mother has to be the sexiest MILF on the planet, that's what my friends tell me and I agree. As a child, I took for granted how sexy my mother looked parading around the house wearing nothing but a bra and panties during the summer months. Now that I'm older and attending college, I'm beginning to see my mother in a different light. I love going through the photographs of Mom and me together.

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Frigid rain falls steadily from a leaden sky as the train pulls into Union Station in Portland. Even the dreary weather cannot keep Tigger from bouncing up and down on the edge of his seat. It's a habit he's had all his life. As a child his mother teased him that he was bouncier than a rubber ball. His liveliness had earned him his nickname.

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These stories will follow the views and perspectives of individual characters, sometimes switching between them. I apologize for any confusion this may cause and I hope to clearly distinguish between each character when I make the transitions.

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Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.

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I'm not a wild girl. My roommate, Kay, is, though, so naturally she was out at the clubs while I was in our apartment studying for a macroeconomics exam. I shouldn't have even been in the class in the first place, but I had a point to prove to my father, who didn't think women were capable of anything besides home economics. I admit, it was a struggle to keep the consumption and production functions straight in my mind, but I'd be damned if I was going to give up now.

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I always hated stereotypes. At least, that was my excuse for resenting anyone who assumed I was gay. A guy can be fabulous and into clothes and still be attracted to the opposite sex. And I have been attracted to girls as far back as I can remember--that's no bullshit. Girls love a guy they can go shopping with. "Metrosexual" was what they called me, and I was fine with that mantle. It meant they recognized my good taste, refined appearance, superior grooming, and upscale tastes. It was when people called me "gay" that I got frustrated. I'm not gay. Properly, I'm bi.

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1 Alexis Haley had blonde hair, penetrating blue eyes and fascinating lips that always seemed to be frowning. She was a graduate student at Priapis State University where I was finishing my bachelor's in psychology. I had met her two years ago when I first switched my major from English to Psych. She had ignored me, which wasn't surprising. I'd had a tendency to blend in and she was a hot, snooty senior who was about to graduate with honors.

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