Your erotic stories

Fireworks burst in the night sky overhead and a menagerie of costumed men and women push past me on the crowded street. The inebriated celebrants shy away and let me pass when I glare them down with my practiced 'Do Not Fuck With Me' face. It takes quite a lot of practice to get it right when you're a five-foot-six woman. I scan the crowd and regain sight of you as you turn down a wide stairway and into an underground concourse. My lips can't help but curl up in a smile.

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I took a long sip of my dirty martini and leaned into the bar, staring resentfully down towards the end of it. My boyfriend of three years, Ryan, was still engaged in conversation, feeding his ego with clever banter. I noticed the familiar animated expressions, grand gestures, and overly enthused laughter that captivated the small crowd of people he was talking to. I sighed heavily, and settled back onto my bar stool and played with the spear of olives in my drink.

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I've always been a gadget guy. As a kid I was the one who took all his toys apart and put them back together. I built a bike with two frames and a long chain so I could ride around taller than the other kids. When I was old enough I bought two junk cars and made one good car from them. Building stuff and fixing stuff so it was better than when it was new has always been fun for me.

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He keeps saying that it can't happen again. Every time, as soon as his afterglow wears off, the guilt and self-loathing kicks in and he spits out those words that always make me smile. He is so adorable, trying to fight this like either one of us has a choice. I keep telling him that this is bigger than both of us, and he would be much happier if he would just give in. Give in to his fate...the way that I did the very instant that I saw him.

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"What?!" I half yell as I turn around to see who keeps calling my name. I should have known it was HIM. We had gotten off to a bad start when he started at my parent's medical practice a year ago and we had never tried to make peace with each other. Things were...well...tense when we were around each other so we tried to stay out of each other's way as much as possible. It was really hard though when we worked together all week.

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It was almost six p.m. shift change at the small local bar that has been my hangout for many years. I seem to only get there on Sunday evenings now. I shoot pool with friends, look at the strippers and stock up on fantasies for the coming week. One lovely, married dancer named Britney was responsible for a large share of them. She always worked Sunday evenings. Her life has been in turmoil for most of the last year. Every few times I see her I help her relax and get her off with my hands in the private corner.

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"You are joking. Please tell me you're joking?" I doubted my mother understood the desperation in my voice, but I was disgusted and disappointed. How could she do this? "I'm not joking Chris." My Mom was still calm, oblivious to reality as usual. "I told Megan to call you. She'll be in town next week and I thought it would be wonderful if you could take her to dinner. It's not like you have this busy social life and you can't fit her in. You're always telling me that you don't get out enough."

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Vanessa stood nervously before the elevator. She had just moved to Vancouver from a small town in Saskatchewan a little less than a year ago and her relatively new group of friends had been repeatedly telling her over the last few weeks that they had a ritual whenever someone turned twenty. They wouldn't give any details, only laughed mischievously.

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As we were driving down the highway I heard a moan and wondering what Beth was up to now I looked over just in time to watch her unbutton the last button on her blouse. Beth had her eyes closed and she was slowly moving her finger back and forth on her tummy by the bottom of her slightly open blouse.

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"Hey baby?" Uh oh. I've heard that tone of voice before. Whenever you get that sort of introduction, you know that what comes after it can't be good. It usually is followed by something like, We gotta talk. "We gotta talk," she said. Damn. Here I was, relaxing. I had the game controller in my hand, the bad guys in my crosshairs.

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