Your erotic stories

"He's late." "I know." "Did you call him?" "Home and cell, yeah. No answer." "He's been late every fucking day." "I know, Chad." Chad pursed his purple glossed lips. "Well, Mr. Know-It-All, maybe you can tell me just how the fuck we're supposed to record without a fucking singer!"

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I was playing some basketball down at the gym the other day with a bunch of my buddies. We had a great game, strenuous, but fun. Afterword, instead of hitting the showers, Cody and I just stayed in our gym trunks and t-shirts and I went out for a couple of beers. Cody's a great guy. A 31 year old divorced stock broker, 6'4" tall and chiseled out of granite. We'd been work out buddies on occasion and the one time I'd actually seen him with his shirt off, I thought he looked like a fuckin' marine, very lean muscular build.

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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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"And a ten-inch cock." "You're shitting us now," Oliver said. "Yes, I'm shitting you," Porter answered. "But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him." "Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to," Adrian interjected.

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It had been a hard week at work and I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend. I called my mate, Darren, and asked him if he fancied a drink on Saturday night so he suggested we have a drink in and I stay over at his place as his parents were away.

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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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"My name is Nario. You are Mr. Armstead?" "Yes. I was expecting my uncle." "He could not come. I am his boy." Yes, I'll just bet you are, I thought. But then he clarified, if not enough to make a difference to me. "I am his houseboy. Welcome to Naples, Mr. Armstead." "Call me Harry, Please. Is it far from here to Positano?"

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Wally and I were roommates in college when I realized who I truly was sexually. Before Wally, I had been with girls. Hell, I liked being with girls a lot and loved eating pussy particularly. Hardly the resume of a gay bottom, but maybe the way I lost myself in the act of giving pleasure to women should have been a tip-off to me somehow. There was something submissive about the way in which their pleasure became my pleasure.

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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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A week before Christmas, I ducked into the fifth floor men's room. It served as temporary reprieve. The first among twenty or thirty things I could invent to occupy myself while avoiding the remainder of the company Holiday party two floors below. One other occupant was in the room. He barely registered on my eggnog-addled brain. Most years I managed to escape the compulsory merrymaking by being unavoidably detained somewhere else on company business. This year I was unavoidably detained in Los Angeles.

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