Your erotic stories

I always hated stereotypes. At least, that was my excuse for resenting anyone who assumed I was gay. A guy can be fabulous and into clothes and still be attracted to the opposite sex. And I have been attracted to girls as far back as I can remember--that's no bullshit. Girls love a guy they can go shopping with. "Metrosexual" was what they called me, and I was fine with that mantle. It meant they recognized my good taste, refined appearance, superior grooming, and upscale tastes. It was when people called me "gay" that I got frustrated. I'm not gay. Properly, I'm bi.

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"Why don't you and Clancy go fishing," my dad said. The five of us, Uncle Ted, Aunt Bessie, Clancy, dad and me were finishing our afternoon tea in the farmhouse kitchen after unloading the fourth load of hay for the day. The new corrugated iron shed was a quarter full of hay and that was all there was room for. The rest was taken up with the farm machinery. The few horses dad still kept were in the old split log barn, which had seen better days.

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As the family wagon pulled into a small truck stop in the middle of nowhere, Jack's father turned to him and his mother. "Who else is hungry? " They had been driving across state to visit family and were now heading back home again. The problem is that it's a long drive and Jacks iPod ran out of battery a long time ago.

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One warm Saturday morning in June I decided on a shopping trip to Birmingham, a drive of around 60 miles. The journey, which I had made many times before, was pleasant and uneventful in the sunshine. On arrival I parked my car in the open-air public car park, threw my jacket into the boot and walked towards the road leading up to the shopping centre.

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"I think we can dispense with these," he said, casting off his human visage. I followed suit, and we both took a few moments to stretch our wings, swish our tails and stamp our broad clawed feet, feeling the life pour back into our neglected bodies. We were the only two of our kind on Earth, and it was rare that we got an opportunity to relax into our native forms.

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This actually happened to me tonight on my commute from work. Well, everything up to the characters getting off the bus, anyway. The rest is a fantasy. I wrote it all in a burst after getting home, so it might be a little rough, but maybe it has the immediacy of what was going through my mind. Your comments or private message are always welcome.

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There was a light drizzle covering his windshield and clouding his view of the new dance club that had just opened in the industrial park. When he first saw the signs, he thought that maybe they were adding yet another peeler parlour to a small city that was already over run with strip bars and exotic dance clubs. The rumour was though, that this place was definitely not one of those, but a place that was much different and new to this town.

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"You could have at least waited for him to come off the operating table." "I couldn't . . . (huff) . . . help it . . . (puff). I think we may have overimplanted the scent. Come over here and . . ." "My God, I think you're right. God, god, finish with it. I must . . . as well. And we can see how well he can take an enhanced size. You're no . . ."

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I had just closed escrow on a house I found in Manhattan Beach, a better part of Los Angeles County than my old digs--closer to the beach. I spent the day moving in my furniture, and as the sun went down, to celebrate I drove to a restaurant I saw on Sepulveda Boulevard. I sat at the bar and ordered a Knob Creek and soda--a little 100 proof whiskey was just what I needed. 

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Danny was killing time at the one and only shopping mall in his little town, as he did most Saturdays afternoons, when he noticed the blonde muffin. He felt the familiar ache in his groin, in his heart and in his brain as his eyes drank in the stranger's beauty. This guy was born to induce lust; he was the kind of man that always got Danny's pulse racing: big-boned, blonde and beefy with down-home looks on an open, honest face.

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