Your erotic stories

Thank you for all the positive comments about the Twins. The first two chapters begin with present-day followed by a flashback, so you might enjoy things a bit more if you read the first two installments. This chapter picks up again at present day. Enjoy!

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QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong === I arrived at my office the next day to find an envelope on my desk with my name written on it in neat, if rather florid, handwriting. It read "Robert" which was slightly odd because everyone at work calls me Rob.

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I heard my name being called out from the midst of the teeming horde pressing in on the barriers after customs in New Delhi's Indira Gandhi international airport, and a head and arm waving a sign was bouncing up and down over the tumult. The sign the young man was carrying said "Clifford Jenkins" with "New York" written under it. That was me. But I wasn't being met by anyone that I knew of.

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It was 1996 and I was living on the coast of Mississippi. I had been married for six years, and my second son had just been born. I had just returned from several months at sea on a Navy ship. My wife was always exhausted and not interested in sex. I, on the other hand, had a perpetual hard on. One day while driving along the beach I happen to notice a sign that said XXX 24 HRS. I was curious because I'd never been in an adult store before. On a whim I decided to see what it was like.

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Names of Characters in this story are fictitious and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. * With my cock straining to get loose from my jeans, I looked forward to seeing him every noon hour. He'd eat his sandwich, some cookies and an apple, while looking in my sport-card shop window. By now, I felt like I knew him. And when he'd left, I'd fantasize him naked in the back room, moaning, ecstatically, and pressing my face into his thick, black, pubic hair. 'Oh, yeah, man, get right down on my big, fat, uncut cock,' he'd shout, and I'd obediently do everything he commanded.

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I grabbed my coat and hustled out of the hotel room I had called my home for the last five months. I was running late and new that my trainer Dave hated tardiness. We were meeting to discuss the last week of my training before I finally got placed in my permanent position as a mid level manager. Dave wanted to meet at a bar and grill on the south side of town that had great food and a quiet comfortable ambiance. The problem was that this restaurant was on the other side of the city and there was no way I was going to make it before seven.

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We had become best friends by default. Quincy and I were the only long distance swimmers on our small college swim team and we were dating sisters. Our schedules brought us together. Eventually we roomed together. I am a reserved person and had never pressed for close friendships; Quincy was my first best friend since the third grade. He was more of an extrovert than me so it was he that initiated the conversation with the sisters that led to girlfriends. The girls were also members of the swim team and we were comfortable around each other.

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The next-to-the-last weekend had now descended for the gang at Spirit Lake before summer ended and we scattered again to our respective colleges and "whatever" activities. Giddiness was high, which is saying something for the group of friends from the affluent Atlanta uptown district of Buckhead, but we'd been on the other edge of giddy every weekend we'd come down to the lake.

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"Micah." I groaned slightly at the sound. "Micah, wake up," a voice sang to me. I groaned again, louder this time. "Micah, babe, you can't stay asleep all day," the sing-song voice chided me, "you have to wake up now." "It's Sunday," I mumbled in protest.

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