Your erotic stories

I really had no good reason to go back to Baltimore. The woman that I thought I loved, that I thought had loved me, was past tense. (An icy telephone call, my words falling like snow, my emotions kept cool by distance and the warm memory of another woman).

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I met Jaime on my job working as a waitress. Our restaurant was something like hooters but with a different name. All of us waitresses wore short booty shorts, tight t-shirts and high heels. It was hard walking around all night in those shoes but the tips were fabulous.

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I step into the front room and am struck by the immediate sense of anticipation that surrounds me. The doorman notices that I am not a regular attendee and approaches me with a copy of the house rules. I read over them and wonder if I have gotten myself into more than I can handle. Recognizing my apprehension the doorman asks me if I have any questions. Do I? Well, sure a whole list of them, but who will have the time or the inclination to be my personal informant as to the inner workings of this world without judgment?

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Sunday Morning in early March. I joined the regulars for coffee after a disappointing Saturday night; I hate to be part of a closing crowd, and so I'd left the Paradise Bar with fifteen minutes to go before the bitter end. It's my age, I suppose. As fine as I know myself to be at thirty-five, I just don't feel like competing at singles bars any more. So there I was, listening to the morning-after banter about the night before: Who did, who didn't, who got lucky, who got away.

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Dear Jenny: You asked for my story of way back then: how did I survive, how did I find strength and acceptance? How did I find love? Yes, I'll tell you, Jenny. You've a right to know, and from what you've written to me about your life now, you need to know.

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I heard Sarah's dad yell before I even pushed the doorbell. "Sarah! Your little friend's here!" He must have heard me walk up the porch. I stood up a little straighter and smiled, waiting for him to open the door. Not that he would have noticed my posture or expression anyway - he was blind - but whenever I was at Sarah's I always wanted to look my best.

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The alarm clock's music filled the room at 4am and Liz reached over to shut it off. She was tired. As the years passed she grew more and more tired. She was 52 years old, a little heavier, a little softer, a little more mellow...and yes, a little more tired. She stood, tugging at the sheets and quilt as she made the bed. She would strip them this weekend and do the laundry. Same as every Saturday.

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I remember my first time with a woman. I don't know how many of you do but it's crystal clear in my mind. I was a late bloomer to say the least. Well at least when it came to being a lesbian and coming to terms with my sexuality. I didn't realize what I'd been feeling towards women was attraction until I was nearly twenty-two years old. After I came to the understanding, it took me another two years to accept it.

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I was driving down to Knoxville Tennessee to help my best friend move back up to Michigan. I had a six pack cooler filled with five bottles of Aquafina water and crushed ice sitting on the floorboard on the passenger side. The sixth was wedged between my legs. I was driving a rented Lincoln Town Car straight down I-75 and was screaming through Kentucky when I noticed the upcoming road sign. It was announcing an exit for a road two miles ahead.

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Veronica was pissed off. She had just heard from her sister that her niece was leaving her prep school and wanted to move out of state. While she certainly didn't mind her niece coming to live with her for a while (she knew that her niece was already 19 & only had a couple of months left in school), she was pissed about the reason that her sister gave her.

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