Your erotic stories

I cracked my eyes and was rewarded with a faceful of harsh morning light streaming through my girlfriend's window. It must have been about 8, 8:30. Way too early to be conscious on a Sunday morning, particularly given the way we had tied one on the night before. I looked over at Erin. She was laying on her side, facing away from me, still sleeping.

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"What's this?!" Harlan said to himself. "Lorraine's the last person I expected to run into tonight. She's married! At least, she was the last time we talked. And, who's that cute, little redhead sitting next to her?" Harlan had never cruised the city's cougar dens to pick up women. Life was complicated enough with his job and the girls he was already dating.

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"Am I glad to be leaving the office, I have been here for twelve hours!" As I exited the building, the security officer Scott locked up behind me. Thinking about the hour drive home, I remembered the toy in my purse. Scott was just walking back to his desk as I knocked on the door. He walked back over, unlocked the door and smiled. "Forget something?"

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What a difference two days can make. When I woke up the day before yesterday, I was lying in a hospital bed with more cables attached to me than a substation feeding New York City. At least that's the way it seemed. I really don't remember how I got there, but they tell me that I was rushed to the hospital after passing out at the mall.

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The light mannered laughter echoed around the empty area, the only other sound being the occasional car coming along the road adjacent to the train tracks. "You know you practically fall over every time you go up those stairs." The amusement was abundantly clear in Cale's voice as he grabbed Nicole under the arm, practically dragging her onto the platform.

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We had got drunk together numerous times, as part of a group, and just us I suppose, once or twice, he'd crashed at mine as well, a few times, came back for some chilli, a floor space. He was sort of funny, a little older than me, smart, he lived miles away.

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Part 1: Christie at the Gas Station "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow!" said Christie Wilkins as she left her friends in the high school parking lot. She drove her small, hand-me-down, gremlin-like car toward the exit to the parking lot, stopping at the stop sign at the intersection.

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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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I was sitting backwards on one of the chairs in my tenant's kitchen, watching him cover an easel with bold strokes of varying shades of green. Sean had moved into the basement suite in late August, and we'd hit it off right away. He was a nice boy, 22 years old, a couple years older than my own son, who was also away at university.

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After 32 Valentines Days spent together, her mind contemplative as she thinks of something unique, something that will take his breath away as surely as the merest glimpse of him turns her to a quivering mass of aroused and wet female flesh. There is time, she grins and reaches for the phone. She spends the next three days buying and arranging her assortment of Valentine gifts for her husband.

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