Your erotic stories

It's tough to keep a relationship going when you feel like no one really wants it to survive. Margo and I had seen our share of tough times, but we managed to keep our marriage together. Our relationship? Well, that was a whole different story. One of the points of contention in our marriage was our sex life. Or, more accurately, our lack of one. We were never the type to get passionate or worked up enough to break furniture and wake the neighbors. In fact, I'm confident that we were pretty damn boring in bed.

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Caroline and I had been together, on-and-off, for a little over 2 years. She was lovely. Warm, funny, loving and hot as hell. At 5'4", she was not tall, but had a nice figure--sweet ass and shapely legs--coupled with a pretty face, long auburn hair, and a knockout smile. She was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with; I just hadn't got round to asking her that question yet.

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The bar was reassuring warm after the cold night. I shook the rain of my jacket and ordered a cold beer. It had been a long day, or more like a long week. I'd been working the weekend shift and had been doing 14 hours a day for eight days now. My mind and body ached and the only thing that I was thinking was my much needed days off.

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I had never been particularly good with the girls. I was a little too smart for my own good, awkward physically and socially. But in my second year of college, I came into contact with a girl, Susan, who was just too good to be true. I made a decision that I just couldn't stand there and admire her from afar, as I always had with every other girl I had liked before. I had to go for it.

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Soon as I met her during our first week in college, I was seduced. Stephanie is a good-looking 22-year-old girl, with long strawberry blonde hair and the most admirable blue eyes. I would not call her a supermodel. But she has a lovely, slender body, thanks to just enough sport to keep it fit. Mostly, it's her kind, open personality that drove me — and countless other males on the campus — to fall for her almost on the spot.

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"You first encountered the defendant where, Mr. Philips?" "At my gym. We were members of the same gym." I did not want to be here, in this courtroom. But the DA had intimidated me. He had said that they might delve deeper into why I was in Baltimore—why I had left San Diego. I really didn't want them to do that. I had just fallen into it in San Diego.

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After another bout of love making, we were exhausted and fatigue had taken over our bodies. We showered together in the lavishly sinful bathroom, dressed again and left the place along with James, who drove us back to her place. On the way back to her place, she promised me another good time, and we fixed the appointment, and scheduled our program. We planned out where and what we would do for that next evening. James glided the car to a stop at her apartment gate. I pulled her in, as she was about to alight from the car.

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They say you never forget your first time. Although it's been nearly 20 years, I can still remember it well. It was January of 99 and I had just turned 18. 

My parents went out of town to celebrate their anniversary for the weekend, and that meant one thing for me. Busting as many nuts as I could.

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In the early spring moonlight, the back of the river seemed to lift and heave like the body of a snake, flowing over rocks and stumps, braiding its way through copses of saplings on the flooded banks, pooling and forming eddies as it washed around the concrete pilings of the bridges. "What does that remind you of?" I asked her as we drove along. "What does that make you think of?"

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His name was Roland and he was from Jamaica. I'm guessing he was about 30. He had deep ochre skin, eyes that were almost black, closely-cropped hair, and was tall, lean and very graceful. At one point in his life he'd been a dancer, but was now a set designer for one of the larger theater companies in Amsterdam. He was just a little bit effeminate, and overtly gay.

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