Your erotic stories

"Truth or dare?" asks Cristina. "Truth," Sammy answers. There'd be plenty of time for wild antics later. The slumber party was just getting started. "Okay..." Cristina looks around the room at her friends mischievously grinning, feigning serious consideration with a finger to her chin. She pauses extra long to build suspense and takes a swig of her wine cooler before posing her brilliant question: "Spit or swallow?"

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I met Amanda and Brooke at Ignacio and Rachael's beach house during one of their big, swanky parties. It started when I was talking to Ann over by the big salt water fish tank; the one with the octopus. We were talking about the hosts' odd relationship when she nudged me and nodded her head in the direction of the ocean. "Hey Craig, there're two hotties checking you out," she said around her cigarette.

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The soft patter of rain that began to pelt against the roof grabbed my attention, and I paused, setting my fiery-red lipstick back on the wooden vanity below me. "Shit." I muttered to myself, disgruntled. The weather forecast hadn't called for rain earlier in the morning, so I'd decided on a costume with more involved makeup. I'd planned on arriving at the annual Crowley Halloween ball dressed as a sexy version of Harley Quinn, my favorite character.

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It was 1959 and I was 19 years old. I had left London and had accepted a position as a junior clerk in a large company in the north of England. I found a small, cheap bed-and-breakfast hotel run by Mrs. Johnson, a friendly motherly type, who made me feel instantly at home. I decided to stay there for a couple of weeks until I found a flat to rent. It was Friday and my first night in the city.

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I made it through the week, not an inconsequential accomplishment in that strange year so long ago. 

I made it through Saturday, too. I wrote a little and did laundry and got some physical activity to try to take the edge off the tension I felt rising within me. I was horny and on a whim, I called up the web site of the Washington Blade, the local gay paper. I scanned the ads, and thought back to how things had been when i was just entering middle age.

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Kari Bates is an attractive 36-year-old mother of two. She's no supermodel, but she has the look of that good looking school teacher that most boys had a crush on during their school years. She stands 5'6" with a slender 34-B-24-24 body. Brown hair, parted in the middle and hanging almost to her shoulders. Bright blue eyes hidden behind her thin rectangular framed glasses and an ever-present smile.

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The sky started clouding over as I found the cafe called 'Chances Are' down on Santa Monica Boulevard and pulled in. In 1974, I was nineteen, and had found a man in a swinger's ad magazine, and was here to meet him.

Inside, it was different than any other restaurant I frequented. The clientele was all men, not a woman in sight. I felt a shiver of guilt and fear as I waded into these unknown waters, looking around for a man in a black suede jacket with a large red book. That would be Gary. 

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My wife Sara and I were out celebrating our third anniversary. She was 34 at the time and I 37. We had no set plans and decided to begin with dinner at a nice restaurant. We finished both our dinner and the pitcher of margaritas we ordered. Upon leaving decided that neither of us should be driving. Instead we decided to walk around the city.

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Coming out of the bathroom, hair still wet from my shower, I stop before the bed. It's all there. He's laid it all out for me, and the tension that I had been feeling all afternoon ratchets up another notch. "Oh, god, oh god," I mutter, not really aware of what I'm saying.

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Casey stood in front of the full-length mirror. She had just finished a long hot soak in the tub and was wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel that covered her from her breasts to mid thigh. It was the most excited she had been in the five years since she started her private security business.

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