Your erotic stories

The Chapman farm in the sleepy town of Clinton in upstate New York was a modest operation back in the late 60's, but while the family members did most of the work during the year, come harvest time they needed to hire some outside help. There were a number of such workers who made a circuit of the area farms each summer, usually going back to the same places each year if they had been reliable and did good work.

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When I got to the first turnout up the Waimea Canyon Road and couldn't see anything I knew that my worst fears had come true. The fog had beaten me. If I'd just gotten up a little earlier I might have had a better chance of getting clear weather. But it was late morning now and things weren't going to get better. Kauai, the smallest of the major Hawaiian Islands, is a tropical paradise. But it's also one of the wettest, mistiest places on earth when you get up into the mountains.

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10. Sometime in late July, the first year. My hair splayed out around me as the trickling flow of the stream lifted and carried it. Soothed by the water, my body warmed in the desert sun. I held Tom's hand and squeezed with love. We had been lying in the creek for nearly half an hour, letting our tired bodies come back to themselves after fucking so so hard.

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This might have been 1972 in San Francisco but out here in rural Averill Park it might as well have been 1930. There may have been gay guys my age around, but if there were they kept it to themselves like it did. A couple of weeks ago my Mom let me take the car into the big city, which in our case was Albany, New York.

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"So?" Jason asked as he rolled up at the bottom of the drive on his mountain bike. Robert held up his phone, showing the message from his older brother with two specifically capitalized words in an otherwise innocuous message — care package. "Sweet. Let's roll." The pair set out on the gravel road, riding even deeper into the middle of nowhere. Living out in the country certainly had its disadvantages, but there were a few things that helped offset the boredom and inconvenience. One of them was the lack of prying eyes.

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If you asked our friends and neighbors, "Hey, what kind of couple are Ingrid and Ben?", I'm sure they'd all say, "Oh, they're very nice, very quiet." Just another dull suburbanite couple, laid-back and conservative. Appearances, as they say, can be deceiving. Maybe my friends would mention the fact that I'm a very attractive woman, the archetypical Scandinavian beauty, with pale, ice-blonde hair, china blue eyes, and flawless alabaster skin.

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He was the perfect gentleman. I'd been working at Junior's, an old fashioned ice cream parlor in the tourist trap part of town known as The Riverside for a couple of months. He came in at least once a week, had a single scoop of chocolate ice cream and always he made me laugh. His name was Craig. I'd guess his age at about 50. He looked his age, but in all the right ways. He had thick hair, black at one time but now going white.

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It started with a telephone call, a couple of weeks ago, one of my former girlfriends called Christine, inviting me to her birthday party. I had nothing else planned for the evening, and accepted the invitation. When I walked into the venue, an upstairs room at a local pub, Christine was leaning on the bar, ordering drinks. She was wearing a very short, mini skirt, her long shapely legs were parted, and her J. Lo like arse, was pushed back, Christine, was on the pull.

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"What are you looking for?" "Mermaids," the young woman replied without hesitation, without even lowering her binoculars. Her Irish accent matched the fiery mane of curly red hair that had first caught my eye. She was currently leaning against the railing at the bow of the ferry, scanning the horizon, her plump bottom pushed out behind her, an attractive target for the flat of my hand, but I resisted the temptation.

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I had just turned 30, had left one job and was about to start working for a new company, but wanting a break from the routine of the daily grind, decided to take a road trip through the deserts of Rajasthan before starting the new job. The old Jeep was cleaned up and packed with all the necessary gear, spare parts and tools to keep it running, my tent, and of course provisions, as I was headed into a rather sparsely populated area where the villages and towns were few and far between.

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