Your erotic stories

For Valentine's Day, I had planned something really special for Vinnie. It was something I'd always wanted to try, and I knew he'd like it, too. I told him to come to my place after work, and I'd have dinner ready for him. It was a bit of a fib. Yes, I was going to make him a nice steak dinner, but not until after I had my nasty way with him.

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Last winter I decided to get back into snowboarding on a more regular basis. It was something I did a lot when I was younger and thought it would be better that sitting on my ass all winter. I got a season pass to the small resort that was close to my home and started riding a couple of time a week, that is, if you can call it a "resort", it's really just a small group of hills.

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One's mind can play tricks when the brain is on overload the last week of the semester? Which is trick, and which is reality? Hard to say when one's in a fog, as I am. Here we three are again. It's about 1:00 am, and Tanner, Mitch and I are working away in the fraternity house dining room. Tonight's scene will undoubtedly repeat the last few nights.

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If you're driving along the motorway and feel like a break, I would strongly recommend Mudchute Services. They're fairly easy to find, right next to Brown Wood, and you'll find the toilet facilities make a very worthy detour.

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I had to leave home to get to the south coast for some business meetings. I was not in a hurry and it was a great day. I hate all the crush at the stations, so I decided to get on the final carriage of the train, before first class. I was delighted it turned out the way it did. The carriage was not full and there were no frontward facing seats until near the back.

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Because the boy pushing the large cement-laden wheelbarrow was exceptionally attractive I'd been delightfully spending every day sitting in the sun. He'd nodded and smiled the first time we made eye contact; assuring me I'd be spending my Summer Break in the garden.

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I was walking through the streets of the little Central American town, headed to one of its many markets. Founded by the Spanish over 500 years ago, it's nestled in a ring of mostly-dormant volcanoes. You can still see the occasional plume of steam and smoke escaping the crest of one or the other of them.

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QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong === I arrived at my office the next day to find an envelope on my desk with my name written on it in neat, if rather florid, handwriting. It read "Robert" which was slightly odd because everyone at work calls me Rob.

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It was the summer of 1976 and I was vacationing with my family in one of several log cabins that were part of an aging camp constructed in the Thirties on the shore of Lake Michigan. Each morning after breakfast I would set out combing the endless beach collecting stones and driftwood, enjoying the waves rolling over my bare feet.

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