Your erotic stories

Stanley Montrieth III rushed into my office, "Oh my God, I did it. I actually did it. I shagged all these beauties in a pool on my own desert island!" His curly, ginger hair was more unruly than usual and his face was flushed with excitement and exhilaration. I knew, he'd been working on something exciting and it looked like he was ready to tell me at long last.

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"How long is it since you last had sex?" Sarah asked Rachel. "Too long," Rachel replied. "It's a couple of years since I split up from my boyfriend, and I haven't gone out with anyone since then for long enough to end up sleeping with them." "Well that's not a problem," Sarah said. "Just go out to a club, find a guy, take him home, let him fuck you. Easy."

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The lights low, his glistening contours barely visible in the mirror. I step closer. So does he. My eyes slowly adjust to the near dark, and I see me, staring back. Blue green eyes drinking me in, a closed circuit of self lust. I step closer. Six feet of rock climber, six feet of swimmer, six feet of dirty hot mind wrapped in a perfect body. I tilt my head. A shaft of light slashes across a sculpted cheekbone.

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You get that occasional blind date where you both seem to just click. You like the same things, you find you have friends in common, you're opinions are similar, and there's a romantic hue cast over the entire date. You rejoice and bless the person who set you up. This was not one of those dates. My neighbour and friend, Karen, had set me up with Janet, assuring me we had a lot in common, she was a nice girl, easy to get on with and, if I played my cards right, I might even get lucky.

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Several pictures of her were tucked into the sides of the mirror over his dresser. Most were school pictures, and one was of the two of them together, their arms wrapped around each other, both of them smiling at the camera. My hand, holding the brush that I had picked up from amidst the clutter on his dresser, stopped in mid-air as I peered at those pictures.

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The drapes to the sliding door were closed. The sun was blazing hot, and closing the drapes help keep the house cool. Karen and I were watching The Stand. She had seen the movie many times, almost knew the dialog of all the characters. The old black woman had just died. I leaned over and kissed Karen on the cheek. She snuggled up to me, I put my left arm around her shoulders. She turned on her hip and placed her left leg on my lap.

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When I took over as chair of the office social committee, I was not aware that one of the tasks I'd inherited from the previous chair was helping the boss set up for the company Christmas party that he hosted at his house. It wasn't something I should have had to do, but the previous chair had set a precedent that I was then obliged to uphold. It wasn't all bad, though, since the party was on a Saturday night and they offered to let me get ready over there rather than having to run home and run back.

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The phone woke me from a focused stupor as my secretary let me know a call was on the line. Talking to whomever it was on the phone, anyone, would be a welcome relief from reading through the boring minutiae of the commercial pre-lease agreement in my hands. "Paul Sturner on the phone for you, Max." Paul Sturner? Now there was a blast from the past. Paul and I had worked together in the mid 90s when he was still running a large construction concern in midtown.

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