Your erotic stories

The bride worried that she would shatter. She felt as fragile as the glass bottles of oils and perfumes set out for her bath--a bath she didn't welcome, and one she knew would never make her feel clean. In the water, a gilded lion gushed rose-scented water from his mouth. Julia had always thought the fountain beautified the room, but now the lion seemed like he was just another predator waiting to pounce.

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I wake up. My room is darker than I've ever seen it, pitch black with no moonlight slipping in through the drapes. I start to move my hand to search for the candle on the bedside table and find that I can't – my arm doesn't respond. The sensation brings me wide awake and I try moving my legs, panic setting in when I can't shift them and realize I have lost the power of movement. I want to open my mouth to cry out for help but a tightly stretched fabric muffles my lips.

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It had been a year since I'd seen her...months since we'd last spoken. When she walked up to me in the lobby of the hotel where our convention was being held all those feelings rushed back to me in an instant. The heat growing through my body. I tugged at my clothes and patted my hair as I watched her walk towards me with that easy gait. Her strides long and confident. Her clothing all black, just like always.

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This is a work of fiction, that does deal with certain depression issues. All people included in this story are figments of my imagination. Any mistakes are my fault, my editor did the best she could with what she had.

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At 30, the peak of my female hormones screaming at me to do something with them other than finger my softest parts, I found myself still alone. I was afraid I wasn't beautiful enough, yet every time I looked in the mirror (other than on fat days) I thought I looked pretty good. Sexy, even. Long dark hair, pretty eyes, and a nice (though not perfect) line of curves that complimented the mild tan of my skin.

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This story is meant to serve entertainment purposes only, it means no direspect towards Muslims or the religion of Islam. I had a crush on a girl, and it just happened that she was Muslim. Hope you enjoy the story. * "Oh my gosh, it's her again," I thought to myself.

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Last year, I attended my cousin Stephanie's wedding and the entire family turned out to celebrate the occasion. A solo attendee, I wanted to bring Lenka; in fact she was more than eager to go with me... I thought my father's relatives were stuffy and dry, especially the older matrons. I was comfortable with my sexuality but would they be accepting?

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When I write my stories, I am concerned with one an only one thing - trying to create a mood of tenderness and longing. Sometimes I probably over do it. And I end up getting into such heightened state, I get really worked-up - and I write most of the really "haunted" love stuff when I am right on the edge. When I re-read my stories, I can tell that parts were created in that shaky mind space.

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"You're kidding? Right?" my ex-husband Alan asked incredulously. "Now, why would I kid about that?" I returned the question with annoyance. Alan was temporarily speechless and I could hear him fumbling for the right words. "I'm telling you because when you pick up Alana, Valerie might be there and I want you to be cordial," I stated firmly.

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My friend Jason had come a long way to visit me in Annapolis. The drive from northern Maine took him well over 14 hours and he had been exhausted. He said the trip had done him good. The driving had given him a lot of time to think about the events of the last few weeks when his wife left him for another man.

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