Your erotic stories

I tore off one of the phone number slips from the bulletin board post and figured I would at least give it a try. Just the kind of job I was looking for, high pay (for a college kid at least), and didn't sound like a lot of work. I had never been an artist's model, or even really knew what that entailed. I was an engineering student.

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Sun, sand, and silence. The beach was gloriously empty. Susan had been coming to this stretch of the Côte d'Ivoire for years. It was her retreat from the whirl of business life. The pavillon was humble by modern standards -- only a few rooms, with aging fitments -- but its rustic charm somehow enhanced rather than reduced its appeal. It was a family-run affair: well, it had been. The concierge had mentioned a change of ownership when she'd arrived yesterday afternoon.

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Laura and I had arrived in Jamaica only four hours before. We hadn’t been ballsy enough to bring our own pot and decided that we needed to look for some. As everyone knows, the island is swimming in the stuff and we didn’t think there would be any problem.

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Jessica was nervous, driving to the meeting. Her boss, Susan, had asked to meet at a hotel room at one of the best, most expensive hotels in London. This was a very odd request, but Jessica looked at it as an adventure. She would get to see a great hotel and possibly have a nice lunch. But this was so out of character for her normally too-serious boss.

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I went through my mid-life crisis recently, but instead of buying a Porsche or a 800 inch flat screen TV or fucking my twenty-two year old secretary (although it was tempting) Instead I decided to get back in shape. I was an athlete in high school and college, but in my thirties work, family and neglect have added a few more pounds than I was proud to admit.

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For some time Dwight had told me that when the time came, when I'd reached eighteen, and if I was still interested, he'd take me to the Candy Shop for the first time. I tried to tell him that he would be candy enough for me, but Dwight was an honorable man. That's the only reason why we ever needed to discuss the Candy Shop at all.

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I walk into the apartment without knocking. I am expected and you are about to fulfill one of my deepest darkest fantasies. You are waiting for me in the living room wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt in a shade of dusty blue. I scan the room but I don't see Jordan anywhere. You smile and lead me into the bedroom where Jordan is waiting, one narrow hip leaned against the bedpost.

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My girlfriend, Trinh, and I have been together for a little over two years now. We met and started dating during our sophomore year in college; we took each other's virginity a few months into the relationship. While the logistics of having sex with Trinh hasn't always been easy -- we don't live together and each of us has roommates -- the sex itself has usually been satisfying, at least I think so, and Trinh seems to think so, too, from what I can tell.

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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.

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Since my husband passed away a few years ago I haven't been in a significant relationship. It didn't find any joy in going through the process of finding a man, figuring out if I liked him, and if he liked me, and then determining what we both wanted from each other. My marriage with my husband had been fantastic. We got along well and raised two wonderful children. We had a great, although not wild, sex life. We were both very passionate, but not compulsive.

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