Your erotic stories

He was rude to me when I first saw him, which is one of the reasons I remembered him. The other was that he was drop-dead gorgeous. This was in the souk (Arab market) in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City, one dull Saturday morning, and I was shopping for a Quran. Not some paperback English translation, but something really nice, an ornate Arabic copy I could display in my office at home.

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I have been a very lucky man: my parents could afford to send me through college and school-work came easy for me; fresh out of college I landed a prestigious and lucrative position in a major law office; when my father passed-away I inherited the family business; with little effort I built the business up to the point where a competitor bought me out and I made a huge profit;

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You knew you wanted this. How warm his breath feels, coming in ragged gasps against the back of your neck. How strong his hands are, one twisted up and fisted in your hair, exposing your throat... how sweet his tongue feels against your skin as he's tasting the sweat glimmering in the moonlight. How blissfully forceful he is, giving you exactly what you need... exactly what you crave. He's all around you.

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Cliff took me for granted. For some reason he thought I was safe. Once I overheard him tell one of those guys he brought home that he wanted only straight roommates, guys who wouldn't hit on him, because he only wanted to fuck when he was in the mood. Well, he had been in the mood a lot these past several weeks.

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