Your erotic stories

I hung up the phone and waited to be buzzed in, maneuvering the box in my left arm so I could see my watch. Shit. Five after eight. Almost on time. Well, if I was going to be late, this was the night to do it. The normally frigid March weather was glorious. Most of the snow had melted and I'd opted for sandals instead of my usual choice of sneakers. How'd I gotten stuck babysitting on a Saturday night like this again?

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As luck would have it, I finally met a girl I liked. And she seemed to like me. Our third date and she was letting me cook her dinner. At my apartment. Just me and her. I could not blow this. I let her into my building, and we began to walk up to the third floor. I was a gentleman and let her in first and we began to climb the stairs. Of course there are advantages to being a gentleman. Like walking up a flight or two of stairs with a pretty girl in front of you and being able to gaze at her ass.

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I sat in my chair in the living room watching the news. The meteorologist was forecasting the weather for the next few days, nothing but a few clouds, although the temperatures would be a bit cold for this time of year. Next to the television sat the last two bags of gear waiting to be packed in the truck. It was going to be a great weekend, three days at the cabin with no interruptions. I could hear Wendy, my wife in the kitchen, talking on the phone to her best friend, Brenda. The two of them had known each other since they were children, and acted like sisters.

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Her eyes popped open as she jumped up quickly. She moved her muscles, trained and unthinking, over to the dresser. Just as she turned the alarm off, she completely woke up and realized what day it was. The clock on the bedroom dresser read 10:30 am, Saturday, October 6th. It was exactly 3 days before her lover's birthday and 23 days before her own. She had a treat in store that would make this one of the most memorable birthdays for them both.

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Cheryl is my best friend. I love her dearly. I depend on her and trust her and would do anything for her. I share everything with her. My hopes and dreams. My Fears. My triumphs and tragedies. I even share my husband... We started our little "situation" a few years ago. It all started over dinner and a couple bottles of wine. Cheryl had been telling us how she was having a hard time finding any good men. "Everyone I meet is a creep!" she said. "Or immature and looking for a mommy!"

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1. Emily opened her eyes, squinting against the blazing sun and looked down at the clear blue ocean far below her poolside lounge chair. She could hear Latin music drifting faintly from the bar. The air was hot and the faint breeze that blew did little to cool her. She had been daydreaming, lost in her thoughts.

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When I was 19, after my first year of bible college, I took a place on a crew going treeplanting in central British Columbia. I'd heard a lot about the good money, but, apparently, not every season is the same. We spent days and days crammed in a motel in Prince George — sometimes four and five of us to a room — paying whether we liked it or not.

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"Here you go Hon," Rachel said as she handed me the bright red thong her friend Karen had 'loaned' me. "All clean and ready to go." One by one, memories of both the previous day and night flooded my mind and started my cock stiffening. Getting caught wearing panties by Karen. Spending the morning in nothing but panties in front of my wife's best friend. Rachel rubbing a pair of panties against my body as we screwed.

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The "cleanest" sexual relationship I've had was also, in the end, the kinkiest. I lived in a cabin up in Vermont for a short time several years ago. I'd just moved east from California, had a couple bucks in the bank, and was woodshedding some songs for a new album. First night there I'd pulled all the curtains off the windows and stuck the clock radio in the closet, so every morning I woke up to the impossible shimmer of sunlight off the lake and got right to work.

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As I walk through the hall way of the spa, stretching my neck as I go and extending my arms to crack my knuckles, I wonder what kind of customers my boss has stuck me with today. As if put on her dump-on list as of late, I had nothing but the old, wrinkly, and unappreciative clientèle. I stop in front of a mirror to check my short spikes atop my head, when the reflection shows me a vision that made my entire body react. Behind me struts two women, robes and slippers in hand, mid to late twenties at best, walking close to one another and talking quietly to themselves.

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