Your erotic stories

Note: Your comments or constructive criticism mean a lot to me. Feel free to leave me a private message if you'd like to share your thoughts, get updates on future chapters or receive a personalized photo of my cock. Statement of veracity: This is a true story. Well, everything up to the break point. I'll leave it to you to guess which of these is the full true story.

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"Redhead by the bar," I nudged Michael. He raised his eyes, found her, then winced. "Too sexy for me?" He nodded, "Too sexy for you," then slowly sipped his soda. "I thought so." She looked again in my direction. I froze, caught staring for the umpteenth time. The first time I noticed her was earlier that night. I was sweeping the pub with my eyes when they landed straight on hers. She smiled, nodded discreetly, and turned away, leaving me confused and embarrassed, as if I had been the one snooping.

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The sky started clouding over as I found the cafe called 'Chances Are' down on Santa Monica Boulevard and pulled in. In 1974, I was nineteen, and had found a man in a swinger's ad magazine, and was here to meet him.

Inside, it was different than any other restaurant I frequented. The clientele was all men, not a woman in sight. I felt a shiver of guilt and fear as I waded into these unknown waters, looking around for a man in a black suede jacket with a large red book. That would be Gary. 

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Brad Halstead had never heard of the band Fountains of Wayne, but when he heard their song "Stacey's Mom" playing in his teenage daughter's bedroom memories of a wonderful time in his life flooded back. About fifteen years ago Stacey Keen was his best friend. There weren't many kids their age that lived close by, so they gravitated together much of the time. She was something of a tomboy and they played around the neighborhood together in the long, hot summers of their late teenage years. Stacey had short blonde hair and always wore torn jeans, worn tennis shoes and heavy metal t-shirts.

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This is a memory of my first time with a good friend. It happened in the 1980s in a small town in California. The first time I was with another girl was my senior year in high school, just after I'd turned 18. I was a bit of a late bloomer but by my senior year I'd finally started to fill out, get noticed by boys, and, I suppose, give myself permission to be interested in sex. My boobs were small, an A cup at best for most of my first three years but by my senior year they'd grown into a solid B and my hips started to expand and I felt more comfortable in my own skin. I stood about 5'5 with shoulder length, dark brown hair. I was an athlete and in good shape and as my body matured, it was nice to feel like I fit in a bit more and that made me less self-conscious.

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"My sweet Lord," I heard her whisper under her breath, as I framed her face with my hand, and gently turned her to look me in the eye. "Shh," I hushed, my face inches from hers, "don't speak." I curled my lips over hers, my bottom lip gliding into her mouth. I settled in closer, my other hand sliding down her arm to lace our fingers together.

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"You cannot put it off any longer, my friend. If you do not choose for Asu soon, the priests will take him. The choice will no longer be yours—or Asu's. He is of age for starting the life chosen for him. He cannot do other than meet his destiny."

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I love summer. Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.

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There are a thousand possible beginnings to the story of how this happened, and they're all swirling together at this moment. People tell stories of how they fell in love, how they knew that the person on their mind was the person they wanted to spend forever with, and that's something I could never quite wrap my head around.

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It was summer. I was visiting with Sinéad (no, not that Sinéad), my aunt, in her very nice apartment in Chicago. Sinéad was 28 then, single, working, and not at home much. We would spend most of our together time on weekends, but I was pretty much left to my own devices during the week. I'd visited before from Ireland, but never alone or to stay for the whole summer.

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