Your erotic stories

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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"Come on in, Peter." Laura Rogers said with a big smile, "How was school today, dear?" "Pretty good, Mrs. Rogers." Peter replied quickly, "I was so excited about our session this week, so my mind wasn't on my studies today. I did what you asked, and waited all week." "How sweet of you." Laura answered while kissing the young lad on the cheek. "Lets go inside I have some cookies and milk." Laura cooed wrapping her arm around him, "I've been thinking of you all week myself. I have a special surprise for you today."

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Jenna was SO EXCITED!! Her freshman year of college had just ended last week but the week before that her roommate had let her know about an amazing opportunity. PARIS - LONDON - ROME- She couldn't believe it really. It was a summer study abroad trip and one of the students had canceled at the last minute.

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Emily here. I'm "No-boobs," remember? (From "Summertime Sex Ed.") They aren't any bigger now, even though I'm a year and a half older than I was then. I'm a sophomore at a big Midwestern state college now, with a tennis scholarship (thank you, Title 9!) I had a boyfriend in my freshman year, but it wasn't much of a relationship. For now, let's just call him LB (for Loser Boy).

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