Your erotic stories

It was late. K and Stephen lay in front of American Pie. The movie was 2/3rds over. The incense was lit; the wine was open and half gone. The lighthearted sexuality of the movie was inspiring lighthearted play which would lead to hard hilarious sex on the pile of couch cushions before the end.

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Paul could not believe what he was hearing. After 4 years of service, he had believed himself to be an asset to the company. His boss, Richard, now sitting there, spewing the company line, had become a good pal. Yet, here it was.

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When you open the door, the whole apartment is dark. You call out a name, knowing that your lover should be here... maybe he's asleep. You hit the light switch on the wall, but nothing happens. You flick it again. You can see the VCR blinking from the other side of the living room, so you know there's power. Well, maybe the bulb just burnt out.

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Jen's feet hurt, her legs were cramped, and she had to pee so bad she thought her back teeth were floating. She was beyond pissed, way beyond. The pressure in her bladder increased another degree, and a gnat started buzzing her nose. She tried to blow it away, but every time she did, the dam in her holding back the urine threatened to burst.

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Sitting opposite me was an old lady loaded up with shopping bags. Other than her there were only two others on the train. As it neared my station I rose to go to the doors and the old lady rose also, struggling with the bags and packages. "Let me help you," I volunteered. "Thank you I seem to have overloaded myself slightly and appreciate your help," she said in a very soft voice, she smiled at me as she said this.

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“Come closer.” She stood by the doorway, teetering slightly on the outsoles of her heels. Peering towards the corner, she made out the silhouette sitting casually in the leather sofa in the corner. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the light, but the shaggy mane and the scent of clean musk were enough to tell her he had managed, yet again, to enter her home. She knew it was pointless to ask how. More important was why.

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We've always liked to use food to enhance our sex ever since we read "Like Water for Chocolate" and that book by Marquez where the wacky dictator puts asparagus into the vaginas of the local towns women. I think that is actually where we got the idea from, sophomore year of college literature class. We passed notes back and forth to each other describing what we were going to eat off of one another and how we would become human sundaes. Jesus we ruined a lot of bed sheets back then. Now we just rip the shower curtain off the rod when we feel like human sundaes.

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I’ve been married to you for about two years. You are my dream man. I came to you a virgin, you showed me the ways of love. Sadly though our life together has been reduced to quick snatches of time spent together at dinner and in bed. Sometimes we’re both too tired to make love. I hate that. I want to be close to you, closer than your skin.

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"There," she thought, admiring herself in the mirror. A cross stood out proudly on her chest, executed in black, cloth tape, the arms of the adhesive crucifix covering much of her breasts, the rest extending down her sternum to her belly. She adjusted her Catholic-school skirt, and reached for the makeshift headpiece with which she completed her revealing nun's habit.

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We've all seem them; an object of nostalgia and whimsy. It is a jewelry box, a place to keep secret and personal things, sitting on the vanity table of a particular kind of woman. There is the lingering hint of some perfume, a subtle reminder of the elegance of it's owner. It is the color of ivory, picked out in silver or perhaps gold, the edges frilled or otherwise decorated to soften the lines.

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