Your erotic stories

Rain smiled as she walked down the beach with her fiancé and lover, Marina. The Pacific Ocean was so... BIG! It was the first day since their arrival from Alberta, and she had dragged Marina down to the beach before they had even made it to her house.

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Julie ran from the party as fast as her long legs would carry her. Her first college party had been a total disaster and now she was probably the laughing stock of the school. * She had been sitting with some of her girlfriends from the dorm at the local coffee shop. It was supposed to be a study session, but all her friends wanted to talk about was their boyfriends or potential boyfriends. Since she didn't have either one, she was feeling left out.

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She had been sitting outside for about thirty minutes, waiting for him to come home from work, and watching the clouds build up to the northwest of them. There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few brief glimpses of lightening. And then she heard the siren go off on the golf course behind the house and knew that the storm was headed their way.

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Parker saw him walk into the hardware store again and work his way around the outer aisle. Parker was helping a customer pick out paint and wondered if the good-looking man would work his way over to Parker's station, being attracted to Parker, or if this was the hardware store he had always come to and Parker just hadn't noticed him before his visit the other day.

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In the early spring moonlight, the back of the river seemed to lift and heave like the body of a snake, flowing over rocks and stumps, braiding its way through copses of saplings on the flooded banks, pooling and forming eddies as it washed around the concrete pilings of the bridges. "What does that remind you of?" I asked her as we drove along. "What does that make you think of?"

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Here we are arguing. Again. It's gotten bad lately. I don't know if it's the stress in his new job, or the mounting debt from my student loans. One thing is for sure, I've raised my voice one too many times, and now he's shut down. It infuriates me when he does this, but at least I managed to talk him into a walk. A long excruciatingly quiet walk.

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"Holy shit." I said it out loud, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, mid-step, staring at the picture on my phone. "He's...hot." I scrolled the picture on the screen, increasing the size to get a closer look, noting it was a scan from the back of a book. "Oh, that's right," I thought, "He's a writer." He was definitely hot, for a guy the age of my parents. He had a thin nose and high forehead, dark eyes with fine lines at the corners, and dark hair that fell around his face in waves.

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I looked out from our patio above the trees at the end of the garden and saw that the clouds were gathering fairly quickly. Thick purple towers were rapidly developing in the north and I predicted that a real good rain would be hitting the house soon. It would come as a relief since the morning had been uncomfortably hot and a good storm would always bring a welcome cool to our house.

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Dave was spading the flowerbed along the fence but his attention was on his wife who was planting flowers in the bed around the fountain. At forty-five, Jane was still a very impressive woman, especial bent over on her knees with her ass up in the air. The old cut offs she wore showed more than a little of her ass cheeks and allowed the plump outer lips of her sex to peek at him. The tent in the front of his shorts was a jutting testimonial to her sexiness.

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Summer classes had always been a drag for me. The students were always more captivated by the rays of sunlight crashing through foggy classroom windows than with my explanations on how context was one of the most important aspects to master when translating a literary work. And more often than not the students were as fogged up as the windows were as they fought off the haze of the previous night's partying. Not that I blames them -- there were still parts of my early days attending university that were a blur.

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