Your erotic stories

John Fisher was sitting at one of the many outdoor bars that covered the beach area of Phuket, Thailand watching the hundreds of sailors walking around. He had just gotten off the ship with a four day pass of not having to be back at the ship until the morning it got underway. The sun had just gone down with an evening tropical breeze blowing off of the ocean cooling off the heat of the day.

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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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"Touch it piggy," my wife Julie said sternly when she saw the indecision on my face. We had been swinging for more than a year but we were a soft swap couple. I had no desire to watch my sexy wife with another man and she did not want to watch me fuck another woman.

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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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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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Plattsburgh, New York, in the summer of 1970... It had been a rough couple of months for Dustin Wood, and his life seemed to fall apart in every way imaginable. First, his mother passed away in the spring, and with her gone, Dustin's father seemed to change into someone unrecognizable, drinking heavily and taking all of his frustration out on his only son.

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I had been going to the local YMCA after work for about a week now, I was trying to bulk up a little bit to impress my girlfriend. I'm a pretty slim guy at 6 feet, and 150 lbs. I certainly wasn't in bad shape at all, I just wanted to get a little bigger and tone up a bit. I had always known I was an attractive guy, and many people had also said as much, but despite that I had very little luck with women.

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This is the story of the first and only man I've been with sexually. I had reached early middle age and found myself horny all the time and up late jacking off to internet porn. I especially found myself watching a lot of blow job scenes. I don't get enough or very good head from the wife, and I would occasionally cruise craigslist thinking jeez it would be easy to get a guy to give me an NSA blowjob.

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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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One night I was hanging out with my good friend Rich. Rich was a big guy, 6'4" about 240, big Nordic looking guy. We were hanging out listening to music, just bullshitting, drinking beers and smoking weed. About 1:30 in the morning we started to get drowsy. I didn't really want to see him drive home, we were loopy enough to be an issue if a cop pulled him over.

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