Your erotic stories

The sun shone blindingly, its radiance and emanating warmth serving as a deceitful mirage, a false comfort that belied the earth's frigid cold. Yet, its beauty was genuine, reminiscent of vintage holiday greeting cards. The snow sparkled with what seemed like an endless bounty of fragmented diamonds, its vast blanket spread out across pure expanses of slopes and dipping valleys, their virginity untouched by the invasive violations of civilization.

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I stood at the altar of Holy Cross Cathedral, slowly suffocating. The church was filled with candles and despite the snow falling outside, I felt as if I were melting. I wore my mother's wedding dress and while photographs proved it to be was beautiful and elegant on her, I was crushed beneath its weight.

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Dear Jenny: You asked for my story of way back then: how did I survive, how did I find strength and acceptance? How did I find love? Yes, I'll tell you, Jenny. You've a right to know, and from what you've written to me about your life now, you need to know.

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I'm pretty sure her plan backfired and she wasn't happy. I couldn't say I was disappointed but if she wasn't so pissed off I probably would have assured her no one was more surprised by how the events turned out than me. But I didn't tell Barbara that because she was too busy glaring at me to care about what I had to say.

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"Ms. Steven's office." I stated flatly into the telephone. I was angry. A little over six months after I graduated college with a marketing/business degree and I was answering telephones for my boss, Amanda Steven's. "Ms. Steven's? Mr. Bremmer from Coral Pharmaceutical is holding on line six." I barked into the intercom.

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Behind her closed eyes, Beth's distress began welling up. "Damn, damn, damn! You're twenty eight now and those days are supposed to be well over," she agonised to herself. "What on earth made you do that?" Rehearsing at least three profuse apologies at once, she eased her guilty eyes open. The flaring off the open fire was dancing all over the beautiful startled face, now a good two feet away.

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Hi, my name is Nerida Lawson and this is the story of how I lost my innocence. But first let me tell you a little about myself. I am an Australian now living off the coast of Washington State on an island near Dark Harbor. This is perfect for me as it is only a few hours to Seattle and my agent but isolated enough that I can do my art work uninterrupted.

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You probably haven't heard of the Isle of Sula. Not unless you're one of the eco-tourists who come trekking oot here, or one of the estimated 27,000 members worldwide of Clan MacCuilish. That's about 15 times the current population of the island, probably no more than 40 of whom were born with the MacCuilish name. Basically, we're a tiny wee island towards the south of that thin rocky spine off the coast of Scotland known as the Western isles, or Eilean Siar in Gaelic.

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Joanna was a dedicated career woman. All her life she lived by a set of values taught by her parents; work hard, be successful, and be an independent woman. It was no surprise to anyone that she graduated at the top of her law school. She worked diligently at whatever she did and she became successful in her adult life.

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I'm hearing words I never wanted to hear again, ever, in my life. Biopsy. Malignant. Cancer. I can't for the life of me remember leaving the doctor's office, but I'm sitting in my car, key in the ignition, door open, one foot on the concrete, and I can't breathe. The wound on my breast is throbbing, as if it knows that what was hidden beneath the flesh had evil intentions.

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