Your erotic stories

This is a coming of age story of a young man in the 1960s. My father and I never really got along. He was a hard man, few words and worked hard all of his life to provide for his family. He was tough though. When I turned 13 he came to me and told me that he would provide a roof over my head, food on the table and laundry, but if I wanted any thing else that I had to do it for my self.

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The next-to-the-last weekend had now descended for the gang at Spirit Lake before summer ended and we scattered again to our respective colleges and "whatever" activities. Giddiness was high, which is saying something for the group of friends from the affluent Atlanta uptown district of Buckhead, but we'd been on the other edge of giddy every weekend we'd come down to the lake.

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Okay, so this is a one shot with no future installments (a first) and (drum roll please) my first mm romance. I really hope you guys like this since I plan to have a LOT more mm romances, because I mean seriously the only thing better than one hot hunky guy are two hot hunky guys getting it on. So please point out anything I got wrong, or things you'd like improved. Edited by the fabulous AdriannaBelen, beta read by Nikki E. Comment and rate.

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I am a man haunted. Driven to the depths of despair and raised to the heights of ecstasy by that girl: a slim young creature who bewitched me and made me half crazy as I careened between fierce lust for her and bitter remorse for what I subjected her to. It was not always this way. For most of my life I was the soul of dignity, a true gentleman. My life was a tranquil sea, roiled neither by triumph nor tragedy.

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San Francisco, California 2010 Happy Birthday to me! Joshua Barrett sang the celebratory tune to himself as put the finishing touches on the chocolate cake that he baked for himself. Today he turned seventy and he wanted to celebrate the evening by inviting a few friends and neighbors that lived in his complex for a birthday dinner.

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Conner's rough wind worn lips pressed to her soft ones once more and she was glad for it. Somewhere inside her head a voice cried out for her to deny this monster and his desires and hers. You can't give yourself to a pirate. You can't become a pirate yourself. This has gone too far stop it while you can. The voice was small and weak and wrong. She had less of a problem letting herself be taken by a pirate then she would have giving herself over to the dirty old men in her Father's social circle.

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Author's Note: There is archeological and written historical evidence to confirm that women fought as gladiators. While many were slaves from conquered territories, women from all classes of Roman society fought in the Coliseum and just about every arena in the Roman Empire. A carved relief from the 1st century AD depicts two female gladiators with shields, swords, helmets and dressed similarly to their male counterparts.

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In eighteenth century English society it was even more difficult for a girl to advance above her station than it was for a young man. Without the proper connections and lineage it was almost impossible for even the most attractive of young girls to marry a man who could give her a life of comfort. Seeing no other way around this dilemma, some parents took the grave risk of sending their daughters to India, where the men who survived the climate and the competition were seeking wives as gorgeous as the silks and gems they carried home as spoils. One of these girls was named Fanny Chamberlain.

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I had a good job. I was the editor and part owner of a weekly newspaper in Waverly, Kansas. It was a town of about 1000 souls, settled after the Civil War by a group of pioneers from Ohio. In fact the main event of the year was a large gathering in a clearing on the edge of town and it was called Old Ohio Days. I had a good house, a modest three bedroom bungalow within walking distance of my job. I had two good children who had long-since grown up and moved away.

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I'm close to the end of my life now, and as you reach your twilight years mostly all you have left is memories. Especially since I lost my wife of more than 50 years, Katie, I spend most of my time looking back.: my youth in Nebraska; my brief spell as a college football star; the first time I ever saw Katie, and fell in love with her; and, of course, the War.

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