Your erotic stories

The song on the radio was a smooth R&B love song – the type to make a person glad to have someone. I looked over at Nesha to share a memory that the lyrics invoked. She was still looking out of the window. Feeling courageous, I reached over and stroked her bare thigh. Without a word, Nesha shifted until my hand slid to the seat. I sighed heavily, resolving to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Why did I even bother? I didn't think what I did warranted the punishment she was dishing out. It was her idea in the first place.

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Jude had gotten through the second set at The Spot in Chelsea the same way he had gotten through all of Logjam's concerts in the last two decades—riding a high on the music, the roar of the crowd, beer, and poppers. If the proportion of beer and poppers had been relentlessly creeping up over the last fifteen years, it had been too gradual for Jude to notice it, or too scary for him to acknowledge it.

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We both were wearing our fatigues and bundled up against the fall night air at the edge of the woods behind the mess hall. So far there was no reason to adjust our warm clothing beyond my fly being unbuttoned. My cock was out as I leaned back against a tree trunk, but it was being kept warm by Corporal Hart's mouth enveloping it.

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"Are we sure we want to sell the house? It's in a great location and it should be scarfed right up. There won't be second thoughts to be had about it. Sales in Mystic are booming." Daren Peters was standing at a window at the back of the house, taking a break with a cup of coffee, while his older sister, Peggy, chattered on as she continued packing boxes to send back to California.

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I had sat there at Joey's beachside bar for more than an hour, watching the young man playing in the surf. When I'd first arrived at the bar, both bored and out of sorts, I'd seen him on his surfboard, riding the waves and doing quite well at it. At length, however, I saw him tire of that and come up on the beach and bury the tip of the board into the wet sand, with a strong force that, in itself, would have arrested my attention.

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In most senses Bran had been invisible at the Hayden saloon the couple of months he'd been there. But as he came out of the back room into the main saloon hall, carrying the bucket of water Levi Yost, the saloon keeper, had told him to use to freshen the bowls in the rooms upstairs, he looked at the tall Christmas tree in the corner. Sadie, Katie, and Faye were busy happily decorating the tree with colorful bows from their own drawers. The tree had been his idea.

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"I think he's signaling to you, sugar." I'd stopped to talk to the two guys who regularly positioned themselves at the corner of 4th Street Northwest in Albuquerque and the alley in which I temporarily resided in a cardboard carton. I hadn't been there long following a relocation from Las Vegas and, although I'd found some work as a gofer on a high-rise construction project downtown, I didn't have near enough funds yet to rent a room—or even to have three squares a day.

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"What's for dinner? Lamb chops, I hope. You do those so well." "Of course, if that's what you want, Ely. If that's what you want, than that's what we'll have." He's got no taste buds left, I think. What does he care if it's lamb, pork, or shit? Note to self—while I try to keep my voice from having the sarcastic edge Ely had complained about of late. Of course we don't have any lamb chops in the house. I'll have to go to the market.

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Thanks for all of the positive feedback on the first chapter of this story! Hopefully this chapter will give you a new perspective on these characters. The next chapter should be up as soon as possible. * Continued from Chapter One... Kellin: I buried my face in my hands, leaning my elbows on the small café table in the coffee shop by my house. This was where I ended up. After I stormed out of the house, my mom screaming at me from the kitchen, I drove in circles until I ended up here, hungry, upset, and out of gas.

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