Your erotic stories

My name is Waylon Fielding and I am married to a wonderful woman, my wife Celine Fielding. I would like to say that my life is perfect, or even good, but after two years of marriage I'm pretty freaking miserable and it's all Celine's fault. Actually, it really isn't her fault; it's her Mother's, the lovely Melissa Harmon.

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Chapter 1 Everyone told me college was unlike any schooling I had experienced before. My parents told me that, my teachers, my counselor, my older brother, just about everybody. And, now, as I started my freshman year, I was seeing that they were exactly right. It was adult, for one thing, you were on your own. I saw just how grown-up things were when I got to know my new roommate, Shannon. Especially when she told me she was bisexual.

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Up until a few years ago, my sex life was very conservative and pretty boring; certainly nothing worthy of a story. I had been with several men and the sex was often enjoyable, but it always ended up being very predictable and in the end, very vanilla. That all changed when I met my present boyfriend, Mike. He is very good-looking and is nicely equipped but what really sets him apart is his ability to use what he has. He is very open, very creative, and has this ability to get me to try things I have never done or even thought about doing; and to really enjoy them.

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The evening sky was painted vivid colors of crimson, yellow, purple and azure. The sun was just passing over the horizon completely. I was anxious, alright, I was downright scared. What had I agreed to? What was it that made me want to be on the "list" for eight and a half months? As I walked down the crowded avenue, I wondered if anyone could tell what I was about to do.

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Martin sat in the dark of his bedroom and stared out the window into the night. His modest home where he and his wife June had raised their 3 children was quiet now. He could hear June breathing softly in her sleep. The dog rustled and snorted in his sleep but Martin was still awake. He was nearing retirement and the accounting of his retirement capital wasn't looking too good. Though he had worked consistently and hard through his 40+ years of employment, the money just did not seem to stick to his savings account.

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It was our first vacation for just the 2 of us in more than 7 years. Marc and I had been married for 13 years and had 3 children. We were very happy, but we had lost some of our "couple-ness" in these years of parenting and really needed to find that spark again. I wanted to be sure that we would still have each other when our parenting job was done. I found someone to stay with the kids and booked our room and off we went.

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I can see her watching me. Pretending not to, casting her eyes down to the novel in front of her every time I catch her eye from across the patio of this open-air café. Well, I've been watching her, too—long enough to know that she's been "reading" the same page for the last 45 minutes.

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"Hey man, you got a light?" the old guy next to me asked with a hoarse voice. He looked to be about 5'5" tall, overweight, had a head full of roughed up black and gray greasy hair, and a shaggy beard. I guessed his age to be around 50. His jeans and flannel shirt were a little dirty looking. "Sorry, I don't smoke," I told him.

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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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I Mirrors should be banned, I thought, tilting my head slightly to one side. They're awake, you know, and exist to torment women who appear too fat, too short, too tall, too...anything. Each should be seized, in on-going raids by some would-be federal agency, a Department of Imagery or something, which if it doesn't already exist, ought to be mandated by Congress to protect females everywhere.

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