Your erotic stories

Amy stormed into her dorm room and threw her books on her desk. "Damnit, I'm freaking failing this class!" Her roommate Carey looked up at her, wide eyed, from her computer. "What class is it?" she asked, eyeing her rather angry friend. "Stupid Computer Science! I fucking hate it, but I need the stupid credit!" Amy snarled, her voice sharp.

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She walked into his office knowing what this meeting was about. Earlier that day, Sarah had received an email from one of her professors wanting to discuss an important topic. While the email didn't specify what the topic was, Sarah knew her last paper was below standards. She had just started dating someone and, while she knew she shouldn't, Sarah was putting less effort into her school work and more into her new relationship.

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Linda looked around the classroom, filled with over 200 first-year students. My God, she thought to herself, how am I going to get any personal attention out of this class? I enrolled in this university because it sold itself as having an average class size of 25. I guess I'll have to remind myself what an average is.

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The lecture was boring. Even Natalie was bored, and she was delivering it. She looked at the ten faces in front of her, sagging with indifference and incomprehension. Is this what her life had come to? Trying to teach maths to engineering students at a provincial university. What had happened to the bright ambitious graduate she had once been? Here she was, almost 40, still in the same job she had had for the last 17 years, still single, unloved, unlovely, frustrated and bored to death. Is this all that life had to offer her?

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You look out the window as the plane takes off, leaving home and your fiance behind. In a few hours you'll be where I am, at the conference on the west coast. You first really big conference. Your first time giving a panel paper before such an influential crowd. And your first weekend away with me.

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You sit there bending over your work, and then you stretch, you lean back on the sofa with your arms behind your head and fluff up your hair, and I see your nipples jutting out in excitement through your bra, through your shirt, and then you say, "I must make some tea," you leave the room. I pause. Mustn't leave too soon after you, the two events aren't connected. Some day she will notice, but if I'm careful, not today.

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Dr. Randy Wolfe, PhD, stared with purpose into the bathroom mirror as he applied the last bit of near fluorescent, ruby red lipstick to his mouth. Setting it aside, he used a piece of toilet paper as a blotter to dab away any excess, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. Suddenly his deep voice began to reverberate off the walls and ceiling of the small bathroom.

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Dr. Kessa Brammer led him through a creaking metal door into the last storage room in the antiquities department. He stepped past her at her direction, looking around the chamber with slight un-ease. He was perhaps her brightest student, which was part of why she liked him. She pushed her weight against the metal door, which creaked closed, and latched with an echoing click.

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The summer before I was to start my second year as a Master's student at a prestigious coastal California university, I decided to participate in a 3-month fellowship through the University of British Columbia. The fellowship was a paid position where I would be trained in fish pathology, ultimately helping my academic career back in the States.

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It had been a long day and I was happy to see the line growing short. I love book signings, but I'm usually pretty happy when they wind down to the last few stalwarts and I know I can finally stop being "on". I surveyed the line and only saw five more people and knew the end was in sight. The third to last person handed me the book and said, "Hi Mister M. Will you sign my book?"

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