Your erotic stories

I'm 42 and bisexual. I met a guy in a chat room and we ended up doing the usual thing . . . chatting about sex, talking on the phone until we came and then hung up. However, over the past few weeks, our conversations have become more and more frequent. Last night, we agreed to meet at a bar and have a few drinks, possibly even take this further if we both clicked. When I got to the bar, Dave was already waiting.

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Wanting to get in to better shape I decided to join a nearby gym. Moreover I was feeling the need to look at other men naked. With your experience you will know the type of young man I am. I am the one who spends longer than is necessary in the shower, stealing looks at other men's cocks. I am the young man who is slow to get changed, sitting there pretending that there is an important message on my phone while giving long, lingering looks, at the dudes standing, holding their towels, talking.

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Notice: I don't care what you do with this story. Make it into a movie or publish a play with it. I wrote it to be enjoyed and to be shared, so the more people read it - the better. * I was feeling depressed. Although I loved my wife and we were the closest of friends, our marriage had become very stale and passionless.

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"Hey Jim, you enjoying the party?" I looked up, and saw that it was my host, Bruce, walking up to the couch I was sitting on. I was a co-worker of his sister, and she was constantly bragging about his parties, and that I should come to one with her. I gave in, more out of curiosity than anything, and here I was, sitting on his couch, drinking his mojito, and people watching.

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I'd called to a friend's house to lay a carpet and found everything ready which was a good start, the floor was clear and ready for the underlay which went down quite easily on the rectangular floor which measured about fourteen by eighteen feet.

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All comments and critiques welcome. * The lock cylinder didn't provide its usual resistance when I twisted my front door key. My condo door swung open and I saw a man's dress shirt and slacks folded neatly atop a pair of polished shoes on the stairs.

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"You first encountered the defendant where, Mr. Philips?" "At my gym. We were members of the same gym." I did not want to be here, in this courtroom. But the DA had intimidated me. He had said that they might delve deeper into why I was in Baltimore—why I had left San Diego. I really didn't want them to do that. I had just fallen into it in San Diego.

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