Your erotic stories

Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn't ready to go yet. That's all Thomas, Master John's carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he'd found when he'd entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall on the second floor held him plastered to his shadowy vigil spot long enough to engage his curiosity.

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Just like always I can hear the nearest neighbour pour water into something before he shuts the water off. The soft padding of feet floating above my head. I follow the footsteps, wandering beneath him. It's fascinating, how I can hear every move he makes. I know when he goes to work, when he comes home, when he sleeps and when he wakes.

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Captain Delwin Jackson—Diggs to almost everyone who knew him—opened the only eye he was able to open, seeing first the photo of Tawna and the kids, Jamia and Jeron, that should be in his wallet but, inexplicably was in a frame too big for it and standing on top of a white laminated nightstand next to the bed.

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"First the tide rushes in, plants a kiss on the shore . . ." Matt often started a set with something quiet and slow, like "Ebb Tide," when there was a convention or two in the hotel, like there was today—electricians and bankers. What a combination. Something quiet tended to settle and quiet them down to the point that he could stand it.

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We broke up for a lot of reasons, Angela and I, as people always do. It was the laundry that triggered it. We must have squabbled over the laundry at least a dozen times before, but for whatever reason, this time the proverbial camel collapsed under the pressure. I'd been putting through load after load, trying to get through it all before she got home from work, hoping she'd appreciate coming home to a tidier living space.

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This is my entry in the 2015 Valentine's Day contest. It's much shorter and very different from last year's entry. I hope my message about love will resonate with you. All characters are over eighteen. Please vote (once) and comment if you like. * Thad crouched in the bushes, waiting for his opportunity to jump the delivery guy. Jimmy, the cool guy, called to have the roses delivered.

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Chad, breathing easily and looking mighty fine for a man of thirty-seven, ended his run at his usual bench beside a tool house in the remote Myrtle Beach park tucked into a golf course almost within sight of the ocean enough for most not to realize it was a separate public park. As usual, he ran in just athletic shorts and running shoes.

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He was almost completely untouchable. Even in his tribe he was an anomaly, the rest of the friendly people tactile by normal standards, but to him they kept a respected distance, granting him the space the shaman deserved by some silent demand to keep all hands off of his smooth dark skin.

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It was a Friday night, early and nice out; just nice enough for a trip down South Street by' myself. I loved coming down here in general but it was almost' always so much better when I was alone. Sometimes, I would walk around for a bit, and then take a trip down to the river and sit there for a while.

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I had only heard about The Cavern, on and off through the years in chat rooms. The stories were of a place a guy could go for stress relief by other guys. Between the continuing curiosity and a terrible state of horniness, my time to find out had finally arrived.

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