Your erotic stories

So, maybe based on true events. Several years ago while attending a conference for my then employer, had a presentation by a Mom and son team as described in the story. As the day long presentation went on, it seemed to me as if there was a very complex relationship going on...lots of touches, looks and caresses and so the idea for a story began and now I've finally set it down on paper. I hope you like it. As always, this is a work of fiction...inspired by real life events, changed just enough. The characters exist only within my wishful imagination. If I'm anywhere near accurate, it was luck...lol. Again, enjoy!

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The following story depicts plenty of male and female bisexuality, plus several fetishes such as anal, spitting, cum swapping and smoking. If you are offended by the notion of sexual acts between two men, you should skip this story and read something more suitable to your taste. The previous chapter has been revised and expanded. More chapters will follow soon.

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I was in kitchen preparing dinner when Graham called from office and said he would be coming home early as he had something important to tell us. Worried that it might be bad news, I asked him to tell it right away but he calmed me down saying, "Don't worry, it's not bad news," and hung up.

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Tiffany Dawson stepped into the therapist's office of a walk-in clinic on a rainy Monday afternoon after work. She'd made sure her son Michael knew dinner was wanting for him in the oven and that'd she'd be home by six o' clock. Tiffany was a tiny woman, just over five feet tall, but she had a curvy build. Men and women alike often complimented her on her generous breasts, slender midsection and thick thighs. Tiffany's long, dark hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. A few tendrils had escaped and they gently caressed her smooth shoulders.

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Look, I know I'm not perfect. I have some problems. I have been to shrinks. They have given me pills. If I took enough of them I could pretend I was normal but that was all it was, pretending. I don't take the pills anymore. I am nineteen. I guess I probably should. I will probably go see if there are any left in the cabinet. I'm not violent. Don't get that idea. I'm just fucked up.

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It was a very late night for Dana and Gina and both slept late into the morning. When they finally rose from bed Dana slipped into one of the long shirts she usually wore to bed and didn't bother to put anything on underneath. Gina pulled on another of Dana's large sleep shirts and she too didn't bother to put on anything else.

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It was the first Saturday of April and I was dozing on the sofa watching daytime Sports TV when Mum and Dad arrived home from a day shopping in town. "Guess what?" Dad grinned as he playfully shook me from my half-sleep. "I've arranged an interview on Monday; for a Summer job for you!" "You've done WHAT?" I growled as the enormity of the sentence hit home. "Dad has organised an interview for you with Nick at Nicholas Shoes". Mum repeated Dad's life changing sentence as she changed TV channels.

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Time-keeping has never been my strong point. There again, I would never have described it as one of my principal weaknesses before, either. And let's face it, there's a pretty long list of candidates in the 'weaknesses' category -- so what happened last Friday afternoon was a shock in more ways than one. Okay, so I wasn't exactly 'keeping myself to myself' or 'busy minding my own business', but nor was I doing anything flamboyant or acting the show-off.

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As might be expected, dinner that evening at the DeVries household was somewhat awkward. Christopher picked hesitantly at his pasta, not trusting his stomach. He just couldn't settle down. His heart would palpitate for twenty minutes at a stretch, and just as he'd start to relax he'd think of the delights he might earn in the next few months, and the whole process began again. He was getting exhausted just sitting.

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I struggled not to run home from school. It would arrive and day now and just the thought caused my heartbeat to quicken. Typically I got the mail before my mother, so I was not too concerned that she might discover it. If she did, I had a good excuse prepared, a reaction which I had practiced many times, for why an 18-year old boy would receive such a thing.

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