Your erotic stories

It's a fairly common misconception in many schools... boys are better at math, and girls are better with language. When people find out for the first time that I majored in or teach mathematics, many find it exceptional that a woman would have that interest. What's strange, though, is the thought that someone whose main interest is a left-brained activity like math would not be able to do as well with English language arts.

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My name is Robin, I am half-Euro, half-Asian woman, rather short and closer to plump than to twiggy. I am now 37 years old, happily married to a very sexy and caring man with two very young children. I really enjoyed reading some of the mutual masturbation experiences on your web site. I wanted to share what I think was the most erotic masturbation experience that happened to me during my college days.

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'What was I thinking?' Louise thought holding up the red baby doll before her. The idea was a month old, a way of re-kindling her husband's passions for her, of showing her husband that Louise Chester was still a woman at fifty and a sexy one at that. Boudoir photographs, erotic yes, dirty surely not. They had been her best friend Carols idea. Louise had spent the afternoon bitching and moaning about her husband Mike with Carol throwing in her own thoughts before she finally gave her the idea.

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She stood in front of the mirror, slowly taking in what she saw reflected. Most of her day had been spent alone, so that she might have ample time to prepare. Her dark eyes flickered as they moved over her image, checking carefully, looking for even the smallest flaw. The short sundress she wore appeared white at first glance, but was actually a pale lilac. It had an embroidered bodice and hem, and spaghetti straps that left her shoulders exposed.

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CHAPTER 1 Caleb Hunter had this recurring thing in his head about returning to the room and the woman sprawled on the bed, covered in sweat after having had sex with him, the moonlight coming in through the window and highlighting her, breeze fluttering the curtains. She'd opened her glistening eyes and coo, "Are you ready to fuck me again darling?"

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Looking back on it now, it was a turning point for us. We had been dating for a little over a year, and things had gone from fairly fantastic, to routine, to downright ugly. We were arguing over every little thing, it seemed; completely at odds with one another. I can't speak for Rob, but for me, it wasn't purposeful or anything. Things were just unsettled between us, I guess.

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The room was quiet. It was cluttered with clothes, text books, computer parts, and basically random crap. Bunk beds were stacked in one corner, and two college freshmen were lying awake. On the bottom bunk Mary was having a hard time falling asleep. She was wearing a tight t-shift, and sweat pants. Those being enough to keep her warm, she had kicked off her covers. She was staring up at the top bunk wondering if her roommate was asleep yet.

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Man spilling blood in honourable, woman spilling blood is unclean, what logic is that? I am Rohan. I am nineteen. I am in the second year of my bachelor degree course in engineering in a college near the extreme southern tip of India. My family consists of my father, a retired accountant from the revenue department, my mother, a housewife, and my elder sister. Her name is Sarala, but as I am younger I cannot call her by name. I call her Akka, which in the Tamil language means elder sister. She is 23 years old. After graduation she is at home waiting for marriage.

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The bus ride started out innocently enough, but then most major events do. If anyone really knew what was going to happen to them at the end of the day—or night for that matter—would they board the bus, or would they stay home? Would you drink that last glass of wine and stumble out into the rain with only a knee-length vinyl rain slicker to cover your nudity, or would you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain on the roof? I'd probably do it all over again.

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For Talina, college was a blast. However, some classes were a flat-out bore. Professor Dougherty's early morning Anthropology 101 defined boring. The subject matter could be dry and the professor had a terrible presentation style. She spoke in a monotone and her bland presentation of facts was often accompanied by slide after uninteresting slide. The sole appeal of the class was that virtually everyone could get a "B" with minimal effort.

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