Your erotic stories

It had been a long day, and all Jim Reynolds wanted to think about was taking in an evening run and enjoying a quiet Friday night at home. He had a full weekend planned ahead of him, finishing up the renovation work on his latest real estate investment. Running and working was his way of staving off depression. Since his divorce five years ago, he had been buying older homes, living in them while he updated them, and then selling them. If you didn't mind living in substandard conditions for a while, it was a good way to make a tidy profit outside regular work, and keep your mind off growing old alone.

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Terrance Madison looked around the crowded ballroom, hoping for a glimpse of her, not seeing her anywhere. For a brief moment, all his old insecurities came flooding back to him. Terrance pushed them back down -- way, way down, because there was no logical reason to have them any more. At 43, he looked great -- better than he had some 25 years earlier.

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So much for a senior prom, I mused, watching the flicker of the candle flames on the center piece. They wriggled in the dimly lit ballroom of the Rose Hotel, stretching only to almost drown in the liquid wax only to stretch again. It was supposed to be a platinum night. I had a date with a chick named Kara that had a killer body and a bottle of vodka my older brother bought me waiting in a room I rented upstairs.

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"Ohmygod I'm so sorry!" Tucker said, almost shouting, "I don't know why..." Bud cut him off: "Don't be sorry. It was great." Tucker and Bud By RalphyNJ [This story is fiction and includes depictions of unsafe sexual practices. Such practices would be reckless in real life, and the author cautions strongly against them.]

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One of my father's crudest friends had a saying that he reserved for men he thought were losers with the women. He would say, "That guy couldn't get laid in a whore house with a pocket full of hundred dollar bills." I never thought about that much; I figured I was doing alright with the ladies until I turned forty. Then it dawned on me, I had never had one that truly cared about me. Through my blue collar hard-working, long-hour days, I had a long string who abused my trust, used me and made me pay too much for the attention I got from them.

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It started out as just another Saturday night – me, Terry, Jezza and a few other lads going out into Luton for a few beers and a bit of fun. Then Terry mentioned some gay celebrity he'd seen mincing about on TV before he came out, and we were into the usual shared rant about how queers were taking over, and soon it'd be compulsory to take it up the arse.

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I love my wife, and I would never cheat on her. Usually, when someone makes such a bold statement, the word 'but' follows and we hear how this is not always the case. I suppose my story is no different. Kelly and I have been together since high school. I thought back then it was a love that would always last. Ten years later, it was still the case. Kelly had been out of town for three weeks now, acting as a consultant for a company in California.

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"Reception to Tom, over." The radio on his belt squawked softly, and his friend Gina's voice beckoned to him from his reverie. "This is Tom. Go ahead, Gina, over." "Tom, I have a guest request for an unusual repair, over." "What do I need to bring up, Gina? Over." "I don't really know, Tom. Can you come to the front, please? Over." That was unusual for Gina; she's a great communicator, so it must have been something "Personal" that the guest needed.

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"She didn't want to say anything, but when you fall for someone, it doesn't really take a lot of work. You don't have much choice in the matter. It sort of just hits and then you know." We've all seen commercials where there's that random thing - that once in a lifetime blink of a moment.

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I am Anna, a 24-year-old suburban librarian. I have blue eyes and one of those innocent faces, with an easy smile. My hair is long and red; I usually curl and then pile it up for a professional look at work. The rest of the time I love to feel it on my back and shoulders. I have to dress conservatively for the job, low heels naturally, with a skirt and silk blouse -- nothing too showy.

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