Your erotic stories

When she came down to greet me at the lobby of her dorm building, nobody -- not the security guards nor the other students nor the people passing by on the streets -- could have guessed what was going on. I was in a suit, she in a sexy (but not slinky) red dress that made the red in her hair pop. They'd have thought we were prepared for a classy night on the town (as classy as college students could afford, I suppose). If they had been paying close enough attention to her knowing smirk and my short, fearful breaths, they would probably have known something else was going on.

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We had arrived in my husband's home town. It was really a small village with a main street that looks like it came right out of a painting. The town was decorated for Christmas; all the lamp poles had colored lights running up and down them. A fresh carpet of snow blanketed the town; this place could really get you in the Christmas mood.

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In my 30s, I worked for a company in the east coast for several years. During the time, I met a young woman named Bonnie. She was a Chinese in her early 20s and an entry level staff at our company. We had some occasional flirting, but most of the time we kept it professional, especially with the fact that I was her supervisor. However, that all changed one drunken evening on a business trip. We both had a little too much to drink and wrecked each other in my hotel room that night.

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I force myself upon my girlfriend about twice a month. Such a statement sounds so cruel and negative I am obliged to explain it. Ours isn't a common situation and the explanation is quite lengthy. But I want to write about it, as I believe explaining the details will help me feel a little less guilty about the most exciting sexual relationship of my life.

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"Oh, look," Carrie says "another adult bookstore. What is that? The 5th one we've seen on this highway? "Yeah, at least," I reply, "what is it about highways in rural Missouri? I guess truckers must be the horniest profession known to man." We watched the signs as we passed by the XXX Adult and Novelty Store. There were a couple cars in the parking lot, but probably not more than the folks who worked there.

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I took a big gulp of water from the wet plastic bottle, and set it back down in the cup holder of my lawn chair. The hot sun was beating down, slowly cooking my legs and bare chest, and the sound of quiet voices passing by was lulling me to sleep. "You look awfully cute in that straw hat Bobby," a familiar female voice said.

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The late afternoon sun shines strongly, casting long shadows on the ground. I search through the crowd, looking for my friends amid the mass of people standing, staring towards the stage. Where I am is still some way from the band currently playing, with only the tallest able to get a decent view. So everyone is mostly stood like near-inanimate zombies, their only movements are the odd step to the side, or a tilting of their heads as they seek that perfect view of a few guys playing guitars and drums.

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I look at her, and I know I want her. It's not the first time I've seen her tonight; I got here about four hours ago, and she was already here when I walked through the door. She hasn't danced at all. She's done nothing but watch the crowd, her dark eyes glittering with the reflection of the club's lights.

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Authors Note: These stories are based on my life experiences. If you haven't read the first part of my story, I'd suggest that you do so... The names (or most of them) have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. By the way, in case any of you are wondering after the end of this story, the answer is: "Yes, Cheryl is still a part of my life – even if we aren't roommates anymore."

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Sunday evening Steve and I went out for a drink at our favourite bar, the one we had previously met Tracy in, its nice and quiet, sometimes deserted, with lots of dark secluded nooks, which allow us to play around if we get the chance for fun.

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