Your erotic stories

10. Sometime in late July, the first year. My hair splayed out around me as the trickling flow of the stream lifted and carried it. Soothed by the water, my body warmed in the desert sun. I held Tom's hand and squeezed with love. We had been lying in the creek for nearly half an hour, letting our tired bodies come back to themselves after fucking so so hard.

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It truly was a day to remember. I stepped out onto my pool deck that Saturday afternoon, aiming to bring the water up to the proper level and check the chemical balance. Three neighborhood couples would be at our home that evening to share my locally-famous smoked ribs. I wanted the pool to be crystal clear in case we decided to swim too.

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"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.

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So there I was again, hanging out in my favourite pub on a busy Saturday night, talking to my buddy Zack, half-focused on him, half-focused on finding a good-looking guy to take home and fuck into oblivion. Yeah, I knew Zack wanted me, and the truth is that I wanted him, too, but neither one of us had ever acted on it. My rationale was: why ruin a perfectly good friendship just because a wet spot formed on my thong whenever I was around him?

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Rules were very important to her. Rules about eating. Rules about time management. Rules about messing around. She'd lived her whole life by her rules, and it kept her happy. It'd been awhile since she'd had anyone else play by her rules though; she was getting frisky. That's why she'd texted him, "Are you in town this weekend?" He knew her rules. He liked her rules, and right now he was the only man she knew who could satiate her desires.

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It was midwinter, and my best friend and I decided to take a weekend trip to my family's cabin in the mountains with our significant others. It was a long weekend, and none of us had Friday classes, so we figured if we took off on Thursday afternoon we could get back on Monday night. Thus, none of us would miss any classes, and we would have a cozy, romantic weekend full of cross country skiing, snowmobiling, and, of course, lots of sex on the bear skin rug in front of the fire.

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Peter and I were had been in LA for a couple of days, staying in a cheap hotel in Venice. Mostly we hung out on the beach, which is where we met Nola, Lara and Val. They were about my age and all very cute. Nola was a white, tall brunette and had a kind of wicked attitude about her. Lara was short — about my height — with beautiful auburn hair. Val was somewhere in the middle, and a California blond.

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The late afternoon sun shines strongly, casting long shadows on the ground. I search through the crowd, looking for my friends amid the mass of people standing, staring towards the stage. Where I am is still some way from the band currently playing, with only the tallest able to get a decent view. So everyone is mostly stood like near-inanimate zombies, their only movements are the odd step to the side, or a tilting of their heads as they seek that perfect view of a few guys playing guitars and drums.

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For those of you not familiar with the British 'pastime' of 'Dogging' let me explain that it involves numbers of people meeting up in secluded public carparks for sexual frolics. It's become a bit of a cultural cliché over here, with the tabloid image of seedy loners and old slappers getting down and dirty in dreary locations in the dead of night.

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Katherine stumbled out onto the uneven back stoop, audibly groaning under the weight of the heavy-duty trash bag. It was full of crumbled plaster and strips of wooden lathe and swung ponderously, threatening to pull her over with each uncertain step. As her foot slipped on the sloping stone slab she overcompensated and was forced to let the bag drop with a heavy crunch. Catching herself with a sideways grab at the door frame, she slammed backwards into the peeling paint of the old wood siding.

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