Your erotic stories

There's a faded childhood scar on her jaw. It shows in sharper relief in the flickering candlelight. She walks to me, letting her cream chemise spill to the carpet. The beauty mark on the inside of her thigh winks at me as she crosses the room. I had stripped and laid down on our bed earlier, as soon as I saw the lit candles and massage oils on the nightstand.

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The dance music was loud. The club was packed with sweaty bodies, and Karen was thirsty. She moved past gyrating bodies and through entangled couples. The dance club charged a lot for drinks, so she ordered a bottle of water and retreated to a corner. She sipped it and stared out at the dance floor. Karen was a twenty three year old senior in college, finishing up a Masters in communication.

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She leaned against the cold brick wall, trying to defend herself from the three hoodlums. 'Leave me alone!' she yelled, covering her breasts with her left arm, while slapping away the many hands that were trying to go under her short shirt. 'All we want is some of that sexy ass, baby,' one of the punks said, trying his best to get a feel between her legs.

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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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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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