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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Chapter One "Fuckin hell!" I screamed as I looked in my locker for my deodorant. I was sure that I had brought some in my bag but much to my chagrin, I had forgotten it. The wrong time to do so too considering I had a date with a hot girl, Irene, from London. I met her after one of our matches last week. As I was going under the tunnel, she yelled out my name asking for an autograph and a kiss.

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