Your erotic stories

Doctor Charlotte Preston sat in her dark grey wingback chair and quietly tapped her pen against her folio papers as her client rattled on about his latest setbacks, as he saw them. She had been trying to concentrate all day with little success, Jackson was coming in for his appointment right after lunch and she could barely contain herself.

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***My first story. Comments are appreciated to help improve writings. Thanks!!*** I woke up one morning and signed on to AOL as I always do to check my email. The familiar voice saying "You've Got Mail" didn't surprise me; I always had mail. Almost all of it was junk but the last message caught my eye; It was a message from a website I had an account in.

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Kenny Cho arrived at the Korean restaurant just as the other members of the group arrived. The group comprised of mainly gay Asian men of various ages and nationalities and some of their invited, non-Asian male friends/partners. Once a month the group would dine out at an ethnic restaurant of their choosing. Last month was Vietnamese.

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"Hello, you must be Shayne. I'm Mr. Caldwell's boy, Jerome. Come on in. I'll take your bag to your room. He's out beyond the great room, in the pool. Go on back." With that welcome, I entered the world of Ted Caldwell, retired supposed master spy, the man I'd been sent to the New Jersey shore to interview over the weekend for Spy magazine.

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This story is a work of fiction. All characters are fictional. This story is for adults and not to be read by minors, all characters depicted are over 21 years of age. If you like this story please vote, leave a comment or drop me an email! XXOO - Dre

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I drove up early Saturday morning. I remember he said he went there about every weekend and I was hoping this weekend would be no exception. I drove about the country with no luck of finding his street so I stopped by this lone gas station sitting out on some country road to ask for directions. The place looked abandoned when I pulled in, but I got out and went to the small office and opened the door and asked if anyone was there.

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I slid off my heavy backpack in the shade of a stand of Lodgepole Pine. It was 1980, the summer after I graduated from college. I had put life on hold to hike the Colorado Trail. I had no attachments, no appointments to keep, no place I had to be but on the trail and in the moment.

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