Your erotic stories

The scent of cooked turkey still lingered in kitchens across America and the shops and stores were already decorated for Christmas; the coffee shop where Carol sat being no exception. Disconsolately sipping her latte, she didn't feel in a very celebratory mood. The promise of employment that had motivated her to leave home and move to the city hadn't materialized and now she was homesick, low on funds and still job hunting.

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I could not concentrate for the life of me today. I kept thinking about this mystery weekend that my husband planning for us that started tonight. He wouldn't tell me many of the details, other to say that we were bringing the toys and sexy lingerie, and that it would be a fantasy come true for both of us.

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Nate sat in his car and took another long drag off of the half-finished cigarette, he knew that if he was going to chicken out he had to do it quickly. He looked again at the plastic shopping bag in the passengers seat and was tempted to reach inside and feel the cotton panties again.

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Every year the Company held a Halloween party and it never failed to be a masquerade though the theme changed every year to keep the concept from becoming boring. This year the theme just happened to be 'favorite actor/actress'. Mya didn't go every year, actually her track record was one party every two years for the past eight years that she had worked for the Company which only put her at four parties total. Well...it would be four after this year's party, at least.

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Tonight was the first 'culture night' that Lee suggested they add to their dating routine. Annika had agreed, but she was less enthusiastic than Lee. She preferred going to bars or dance clubs. In fact, that's where they had met five months ago. The initial activity was the offbeat Artomatic exhibit. It was a Washington, DC open admission art event.

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I stood in formation in the hot, stuffy gymnasium: at ease, but hard as hell. The third local official of the day was basically reiterating everything the previous two had said: how proud everyone was of us, that we'd done good work, etcetera, etcetera. I knew I shouldn't feel so fucking ready to get the fuck out of there, but I'd just spent the last thirteen months, seven weeks and four days, thousands and thousands of miles away from the woman of my dreams.

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Chapter One: New York City to Albany. The Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City, circa 1971, was a very cold and sinister place to hang around, and I made it a point to spend as little time as possible there while waiting for my bus. I was 18 years old and alone, and while I had grown familiar enough with the city to navigate to and from my Aunt Elle's home in Queens, once I entered that dank and dismal bus terminal, I kept to myself as much as possible, and held onto my gym bag very tightly.

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This spring my girlfriend and I went to Europe for a month staying in hostels everywhere we went. I'm 31 and she's 30, we're both athletic, and stylish urbanites. When we were in Prague the hostel we stayed in was an old dorm, with our own private room, however the bathrooms and showers were located at either end of the hallway.

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The hum from the washing machines was a chorus of white noise drowning out the street sounds, the wail of sirens in the distance, the crazy-looking homeless man shouting profanities two doors up the sidewalk and the god-awful street rapper free-styling just outside the door of the 50 Cent Washeteria.

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I slipped into my dorm room after my calculus class. Sunlight poured through the blinds in narrow streams that set the ambient dust aglow in the air. Tiny motes of golden light curtained the room, made it hard to see. I stumbled towards my bed, tripping over clothes and shoes.

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