Your erotic stories

The follwing story is a work of fiction, based on facts from my life. The names of all parties have been changed to protect their "innocence". "Hey Jim, you need anything from Supply while I'm down there?" "Naw, I'm good Marv, thanks anyway." I headed down the hall to the elevators so I could get to Supply. It was Thursday, and I was winding up some details so my weekend wouldn't be interrupted by any calls from the office.

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His name was Roland and he was from Jamaica. I'm guessing he was about 30. He had deep ochre skin, eyes that were almost black, closely-cropped hair, and was tall, lean and very graceful. At one point in his life he'd been a dancer, but was now a set designer for one of the larger theater companies in Amsterdam. He was just a little bit effeminate, and overtly gay.

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Last fall, when I was starting my graduate studies at NYU film school, I found myself sexually frustrated and unhappy with the guys I was meeting. The sex was OK, but nothing really special. I think that's kind of understandable because, after all, we were mostly all in our early 20s and not very experienced. Plus, if I was to be really honest, the guys I met (and I include myself here) were kind of immature and unworldly. We barely knew who we were, let alone capable of thoughtful, meaningful and satisfying sexual relationships.

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I mostly cruised the personals because that's how I got my kicks. If I was feeling sexually frustrated, I would leverage the vast power of the internet for the grist that kept the wheels of my libido turning. Still images, movies, erotica, text; it was all there and in every niche. Like all solitary perverts, I fantasized about having a partner who would fulfill my personal needs. But I was a miserable romantic partner and realized, at my core, I was a lone degenerate.

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I was getting ready for a trip to Washington on business, for work when Bill, a guy I didn't like at all, said at coffee, "If you are in D.C. you have got to go to the Iron Rod." "The what?" I asked, barely listening since all the guy did was bullshit. "The Iron Rod is the best pick-up bar in Washington. You are literally guaranteed to get fucked," he explained.

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The first thing I noticed when I woke up is that I was unable to move anything but my arms. I was lying naked, on my back, strapped down onto a padded leather surface. I couldn't really see what was holding me in place as my head was tilted back quite far by a wide leather strap wrapping around my forehead.

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The boy had no real name. He was the tanner's get, below even the whore's runts, responsible for soaking the hides in urine. The tanner called the child "Boy," long after the boy had left childhood behind. The town was large enough that most forgot to which tannery the young man belonged; everyone called him "the tanner's boy" for so long that it became his moniker.

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Hi guys, this is my first attempt at m/m romance and this was meant to be a stand alone story. If you like it, I'll expand...but only if you do, haha. No sex in this story (or chapter) by the way. Enjoy :) *** 'Do you know how obvious it is that you're in love with him?' I jumped, spilling my drink as my best friend snuck up and whispered that damning question in my ear.

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My twin sister Ryan is the crown jewel of the family. She is attractive, athletic, smart, and popular. I'm pretty much the exact opposite. We are both high school seniors. She is the star player on the volleyball team and I'm third string on the golf team. She is dating the stud quarterback and I spend my Friday nights with the chess club.

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Sex with my wife had been as hot as ever since my first massage with Alex. I wouldn't say the experience has directly made our sex life any better or worse but I do feel a more confident. My concern that is would alter my sexuality was unfounded. I still found my wife extremely attractive and arousing. My wife has a great body and I look upon it with lust every time I see her. I was comfortable that I wasn't gay; despite having had what one would have to admit was a gay experience.

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