Your erotic stories

It was getting late and the party was showing signs of winding down. One by one our guests said their good-byes and took their leave until, by 2 AM, only myself, my husband David, and our best friend Jesse were left sitting at the small bar tucked in the corner of the dining room. The three of us were contemplating the last shimmering red jello shot that remained sitting on the bar. I picked it up and slurped it out of its small plastic cup, savoring the combined flavors of sweet cherry jello and vodka.

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My job had moved my wife and I halfway across the country about a year ago. The part that sucks is that we had a great group of friends at home. The lucky part is that, being in our thirties, most of our friends can afford to visit and have made the trip for long weekend visits. I'm 35, about 6'2" and 210 pounds. My wife Ally is 32, 5'6" and about 115 pounds. We both are very active, and she has a very fit physique. Nice shoulders, muscular arms, runners legs, and a pert little B cup, she's definitely my type of girl.

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It was the night before Christmas eve, the night of the office Christmas "do" - my least favourite night of the year. It was already dark at around three thirty when I finally managed to slip away from the manufactured merriment in the stuffy and overcrowded Board room. I donned my coat, stealthily dashed up the stairs and headed for my usual 1st floor hideaway.

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Trillions is where you go to get laid. It's not a private club, but you do have to look a certain way to get through the door. Well-groomed, is perhaps the most polite way to phrase it. I flatter myself that I do try and take care of my looks. While photographing models I've picked up a few hints and tips, and I'm not too modest to say that I've been mistaken for one of them on occasion. For your benefit, I'm five-seven tall in bare feet, trim figure, 34C bust, with shortish blonde hair. My eyes are clear blue, and I have very full, soft lips, or so I've been told.

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She was so drunk. She thought the girls that brought her along were her friends, but they weren't. If they were, they'd have never let me drag her away from the fire. I was a gatecrasher. I hadn't expected to be at any party, I didn't really know too many people in this city apart from my house-mates. I work at a local drive-through liquor store. Late one night a bunch of immature, loud-mouthed lads came through and told us about a beach party they were going to.

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After three days of the sales conference, Steve was sick. Sick of giant pieces of paper stuck to the wall covered with vague, ridiculous words regarding goals and mission, sick of pointless team building exercise but mostly sick of long evenings spent with amateur drinkers who felt free to let loose, particularly since they were far away from home in the French Quarter of New Orleans.

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Jenny and Tim were in bed after a long, tiring day of shopping and visiting family. Jenny was wearing a matching pair of blue shorts and camisole, while Tim wore only his boxers Jenny's head was resting on Tim's shoulder as they watched TV. They talked about the day and eventually were telling each other stories from their childhood about various family members.

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So after the back seat experience with Tara, Rob and Trevor, (See my story "Tight Places") it had been pretty routine. It was back to the grind with school and Trevor and I had hung out a few more times and slept together, but nothing noteworthy. Tara had gotten a job on campus and I had not been seeing too much of her with our busy class schedule. So when an evening became available when both of us had no plans we jumped at the chance to do something. Being boorish, we had decided to go over to Rob's and hang out.

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"I'm not sure why I went through with it, Gyen. Five years later and she still hasn't grown up!" Dave complained to his closest colleague at the Advertising Agency. "Look at her, out cold on the couch again. She won't even admit that it happens every time she drinks, or even that she almost always gets drunk when she does drink!"

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