Your erotic stories

My mobile rang so I picked it up. It wasn't a number I recognised. 'Hey you, it's Luke. Remember me?' The voice on the other end was deep and sexy. I remembered all right. Still it had only been two days. There I was innocently minding my own business meeting my friends for a week night drink and game of pool. Then there he was, the barman.

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I felt guilt-ridden, taking pleasure from staring at the cute guy's cock. In any case, I reasoned, it was his own fault for wearing a wide-legged, boxer-style swimsuit; and therefore, I was entitled to continue admiring his jewels with impunity.

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Danny and I were making it in the kitchen, to be more precise, over the kitchen sink. He had it on him that he'd catch me when I was doing the washing up after a meal. I always dished up something for him when he visited.

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I walked into my Civil War history class on the first day of the fall semester. I enrolled in this class as a crip credit. My Dad was a Civil War buff and I spent my entire life hearing about the various battles, participants, what should have been done, stupid mistakes that were made, and endless trivia.

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"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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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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While I was in Miami about two weeks ago, I went to register for a room at a Marriott in Doral. I had made a reservation on-line about a month before that, but when I got to the desk, they told me that I had no reservation, despite showing them my printout. They thought I might have had the wrong Marriott; but when they checked there, nothing showed up in my name. I asked the desk clerk to check for space at a nearby hotel, and he said he would in a few minutes but he had to look after the others in line first.

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QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong === I arrived at my office the next day to find an envelope on my desk with my name written on it in neat, if rather florid, handwriting. It read "Robert" which was slightly odd because everyone at work calls me Rob.

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