Your erotic stories

"And over here is the Exercise Room." The building manager, Kyle Poirer, led me thru the apartment laundry room and gestured me through a door on the far side. It couldn't be called a "gym", but the small room was well-equipped for a good workout. A stationary bicycle, a stair-simulator thing, a rowing machine, and the universal contraption of weights and pulleys. A few exercise mats lay on the carpet. A mirror spanned the west wall.

read more

Given the choice between a young, hot, ravenous stud and an older gentleman, simmering in passionate wisdom and experience, my preference will always be without a single doubt the old man. I often wonder if men realize that while a woman is walking down a street being appreciated for her eye catching silhouette, offering them a break in the usual nothing to get excited about scenery, that she may be doing a little appreciating of her own.

read more

"She wants you...she asked me about you again tonight." You state to me casually while we walk. You found out in high school, much to your dismay, that your beautiful friend Sienna prefers the company of other beautiful girls. After moving south for a few years after college, she decided she missed it here and moved back recently. Although I was a little hesitant when you first told me about her, I figured I didn't have anything to worry about between the two of you.

read more

"I miss him so much," she said finally, after a long silence. She looked on the verge of tears, so I covered my best friend's hand with mine; it seemed the only thing I could do at that tender moment. She glanced down at our joined hands and continued, "I can't bring myself to clear out his closet. It smells too much of him. Everyone says I need closure, but I guess it's just too soon."

read more

It all started one evening at our local bookstore. I was browsing through the racks, Rachel having wandered off to glance at the science fiction section. I noticed an autobiography by a well-known porn actress and picked it up. The cover featured the author looking very hot in a black corset and matching boots. Rachel returned while I was reading the blurbs on the back cover. She saw what I was looking at and chuckled.

read more

The young man beside her was silent, lost in his own morose thoughts. Ginny concentrated on the icy highway in front of them, a hint of apprehension gripping her as they approached the Eisenhower Tunnel. Even though she had lived in the Rockies for sixteen years and made the drive from Vail to Denver weekly, this particular stretch of Interstate 70, approaching the Continental Divide, never failed to frighten her. Once more she wished she'd brought her husband's four-wheel drive, if only because it sat up higher and gave a better view.

read more

The ad read, "Urban domina, 40-something, tall, large breasted, and still menstruating, seeks slave to service lovely feet, legs, ass,....etc. Must have experience and great tongue. No inhibitions, please. Only those willing to serve need call. The curious will be ignored.". And it gave the number to call. A pissy woman answered, and asked how old I was, and WHERE I got the number. Very politely, I explained that I was twenty-two, a graduate student new to the city, and found the number in the local left-wing newspaper. She gave a dismissive chuckle, and asked what I was studying.

read more

Ursula almost remembered the dream that night. The alarm shattered most of it; even as she was waking up, the strident buzzing noise crashed through the memories, leaving nothing but fragments. She grasped at them, trying to hang onto something, anything at all. There was a hand, she knew, a hand sliding down the swell of her hip and...and a taste like wet rubber...no good. It was gone. Ursula hit the snooze button, but the dream didn't come back.

read more

Early in the morning of August 21, 1863 William Clarke Quantrell and his band of Missouri ruffians sacked and burned the city of Lawrence, Kansas and changed my life forever. Amost all of the city was destroyed including the Lawrence Journal newspaper, where I worked, and the Eldridge House Hotel, where I lived. Fortunately I was in Topeka on that day, covering the newly-formed and very contentious Kansas Legislature.

read more

My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

read more