Your erotic stories

My name is Matt I am 35-year-old married guy almost 6 feet and weigh 195 pounds. I am pretty solidly built. Been married 10 years to a wonderful woman and have 2 kids. I have a few friends I hang out with and we had been planning a weekend in the mountains without the wives.

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The hum from the washing machines was a chorus of white noise drowning out the street sounds, the wail of sirens in the distance, the crazy-looking homeless man shouting profanities two doors up the sidewalk and the god-awful street rapper free-styling just outside the door of the 50 Cent Washeteria.

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God, he was big; one of the biggest. Shit, he could fuck. Panting, panting, I grabbed the metal legs of the cot on either side in a death grip, my cheek pressed into the rough woolen blanket, my eyes bugging out and my mouth slack and open in a silent scream, as he drove it harder, deeper inside me. Cruel. Rough. Just what I wanted. Just what I needed.

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For me, coming to terms with what I am was like being born. It was something that happened when I was naked, wet and crying. I'm not really sure what it was that got me to realizing it. A long string of dates with 'the hot guy' that always left me feeling... well, feeling something. What I'm not sure. It was in the less than warm afterglow of yet another of those encounters that I was dragged kicking and screaming to the new spa that opened up nearby.

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Walter met Marjorie, the mother of basketball player Doug Slade, at Doug's graduation party. After an inebriated mutual seduction, they ended up in bed until morning. The relationship progressed and at the end of chapter five, Walter asked Marjorie to marry him. I apologize that this took so long but my flash drive disappeared - and thank you to those who encouraged me and requested this not knowing it was in work.

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Chapter I Helen spent three Friday evenings in a elegant little lounge on the east side of town. She wanted to pickup men, she was horny, she craved sex, and this seemed like the most likely place to find horny males. The slightly past middle aged widow was a good looking woman, spending a number of days at the gym, another good place to find males. She was successful the previous Friday, but the guy climaxed, rolled over, fell asleep, and Helen had to call a cab to get back to the bar to retrieve her car.

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Having finally reaching retirement years Jack tethered his resignation to the U. S. Navy. Twenty five years of service was finally enough. He had enlisted at twenty three and had risen in rank to be a chief petty officer. Had spent too many years at sea and had lost three wives because of being away so much of the time.

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The motel was worse than Milene expected, definitely low-rent and in need of repair. Several disreputable-looking characters hung out in the parking lot, checking her out as she drove in. Drug dealers, Milene assumed, or maybe drug users. Or pimp types. This looked like the kind of motel that rented by the hour, as the saying goes. Then again, that's essentially what Milene was there for, so who was she to judge?

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Before starting my tour of duty in Okinawa, I thought my primary talent was playing the piano. I was soon to learn otherwise, though, and my late coming to "the" life gripped me like a disease or an unshakable habit. I had known since not long after puberty that I had an unusual attraction. I had formed friendships quickly from my days in high school—and not just with my school chums but with their parents as well. Everyone wanted to get to know me—to get close to me.

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Brooke II: Finding Allison entered the bedroom, reached for the buttons of her blouse and whispered, "Cool." The young woman strutted as if she owned the room. She peeled off her top and short denim skirt, and circled the bed in nothing but a dampened thong. Her blue eyes flashed and her straight brunette hair steamed behind. The lean body dripped sexuality. At that moment Allison did own the room.

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