Your erotic stories

I had wandered into the bookshop to kill time. My appointment with Carol at the employment agency was for 11.30am and I had caught the eight o'clock train in from the lake. For once it arrived on time. The employment agency was on the second floor of the building and I found the bookshop at street level. I had an hour to fill in before I had to go, up so I thought I'd look for a book I had been after for some time, The Mycenaeans by Lord William Taylour.

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The first guy showed up at 7:30am. I was still in bed so it took me a few minutes to get up, get dressed and get to the door. I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and went to stop the ringing of the doorbell, wondering who in the hell would be ringing it in the first place. I told myself that if it was my cousin, Kathy, I wouldn't knock her off the front stoop. She had a habit of showing up at odd times but never this early.

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The café was warm, filled with low chatter and the pungent scent of roasting coffee. A jazz band sent its smooth sound over the vast expanse of crowded tables. Seated by the window, Hyuga bent his head over his sketch book, silently absorbed in the task of laying out the scene around him. His pencil glided across the page; he glanced around frequently to take in the exact detail of a certain mug or a woman's blouse. Incessantly, he flipped the dark bangs out of his eyes.

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It's been a long, difficult day. The world has been uncooperative, as per usual. One of those days where nothing goes as planned. People specifically. People are the worst, once again, as per usual. Although now, finally, you're standing on the front step. A little sigh of relief escapes your lips, being able to let your guard from the world down a little bit.

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One of the first things I noticed when I started interning at this company was Matt, our "fitness consultant," a professional bodybuilder that's been hired to keep the office in shape by running exercise classes in the company gym and making various recommendations.

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Konan rose at dawn from the bed he had made beneath the trees and stars at the side of the road. He stretched and ran his hands through his hair and over his body and adjusted his loincloth. He had already checked that his possessions were all there. His sword in its hard leather, iron-banded sheath, along with his knife and the small leather bag of valuables had all been wrapped in his robe, which he had rolled up and used as a pillow.

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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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The Moguls' General had plowed me almost as deeply as Konan the barbarian had. And before he left he assured me that now he had enjoyed my 'asset's' he knew I would be a great success at the Moguls' court. When the General was gone I lay back happily among my cushions with my legs wide, feeling better fucked than I had ever been before, and thinking about my brilliant future. But I also longed to feel the great barbarian Konans' huge weapon plowing me deeply again.

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Mike was fifty-three and in pretty good shape for a man his age. He was about six feet tall, 198lbs, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was nice looking and had a hairy chest. He had been married for nearly thirty-five years now and the marriage was a good one except for a couple of rough periods here and there. While Mike felt fine his wife was constantly after him to get a physical.

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Neal wasn't the sort of guy people noticed much. He could walk through a room of people talking—even a room full of people he knew—and get to the other side without being greeted or noticed. He could have conversations with strangers and then the stranger wouldn't recognize him if they met again. He was a guy of no standout talents, no distinctive looks other than being smaller of stature than his age. He wasn't ugly; he was just plain and forgettable—and a little scrawny.

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