Your erotic stories

Chapter 1 Ever since my first time; it was Melissa Malone, I'll never forget; I've just loved sex. Well, I'm a guy and, I suppose, most of us do. But, I got really lucky on my first job after college when after working for two years, a new college grad hired on, Alexis Brown.

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Call me Jerry. I was a stranger in a strange town. I know I'm stealing those opening lines from Melville and Heinlein but if you're going to steal, steal from the best. I had recently moved to Florida and I had made a few friends in my new home but had yet to meet that special someone. My business occasionally took me on the road so here I was in another new town, knowing absolutely no one.

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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.

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"VALENTINE'S DAY STORY CONTEST 2012" All characters depicted are of consent age. CHAPTER I "No you didn't." "Yes, I did." "No you didn't." "I did. I swear I did." I was arguing with my best friend, Rose or Rosie, as I liked to call her. She just told me she'd sucked her first cock. "Okay," I said. "Whose cock was it?"

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He picked up the envelope, knowing what it contained and struggling to figure out how to justify its existence at the front counter to his friends. "Hmmm, this must be the fax I was waiting for at the office yesterday, " he said, "shit, I may have to do some work tonight." His friends groaned, rolling their eyes, commenting on his inability to have fun even while on vacation. He smiled.

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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.

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Edwin was definitely not the sort of guy I fell for. Not even close. I fell for wild boys who partied hard. Boys in black leather jackets with lots of tattoos and rings in their noses. The bad boys, the loud boys, the boys who knew where to find the best parties on Friday and Saturday nights. I knew they were trashy and rude, but I liked it. I couldn't help myself.

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When I went in there weren't too many people in the coffee shop. It's a bigger coffee place, the Java Palace, and it has a lot of nooks and crannies; but on Wednesday evenings there's usually not much of a crowd and they only have one barista. I had a lot on my plate; I'm the night concierge at the budget inn downtown, and I had to finish a paper on pre-revolution Russia for my twentieth-century history class. I sidled up to the counter.

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We had got drunk together numerous times, as part of a group, and just us I suppose, once or twice, he'd crashed at mine as well, a few times, came back for some chilli, a floor space. He was sort of funny, a little older than me, smart, he lived miles away.

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Just a little background on me, this may help you to understand my stories better. Then again it may not. I am a white male who grew up in the suburbs, in a nice quiet neighborhood. I went to a private school my whole life, and I guess you could say lived a somewhat sheltered life. My upbringing was a catholic one, which meant everything was a sin or wrong to do.

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