Your erotic stories

He was there again. 

The man of my dreams. 

Or, to be totally accurate, the man in my dreams.

On an off for over 5 years I'd seen him. He was tall, around 6' 2" as far as I could tell, broad shouldered and muscular with a slim waist and strong legs. Lightly tanned skin and dark brown, shoulder length hair and bright, almost piercing blue eyes.

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"So, would you like to put your mother's name on the card?"

I stood there in the florist shop, completely stunned. I couldn't speak for a moment. My mind was both a total blank and fast-forward video, my whole life racing before my eyes.

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Simon's hands automatically went to my waist, slipping low to cup my ass in his palms. I'd already pushed him past the point of no return, but he was still trying to reclaim control of the situation, feebly asserting his authority. "Amy—we can't," he said. "We said we wouldn't." Even if there had been conviction in his voice, the presence of his hands on my ass and the way his mouth opened against mine, his hot breath filling my mouth, made his true feelings clear. I felt a little guilty for pushing him, but not enough to stop.

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This is an edited version of the original. A comment mentioned that the ending of the original didn't really fit and after reading it a few times, I realized he/she was right and I changed it. I hope you enjoy. "Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything." - Katharine Hepburn, Me: Stories of My Life

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As I closed my car door and stepped toward my house, a small voice cracked like leather on an old saddle called out, "Alan, you've got a package over here." "Thanks, Mrs. Taylor. I'll be over in just a minute." I carried my satchel into the house and picked up a envelop of photographs I'd just gotten developed the day before.

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Hi everyone this is a little filler between Not To Late and its sequel that I'm working on. Many thanks to my wonderful editor for her help with this. Please leave comments as the help me improve my writing and enjoy. ~#~ "Aww, Miles. Come to bed already! I want to give you an early birthday present," Ryan moaned from the sofa. It was ten thirty at night and Miles was still typing away on his art report.

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"Let's head over to West 4th for a pickup game, whadda ya say?" It was a hot summer New York night, the kind where it doesn't dip below 80 degrees and anyone and everyone is out and about, looking for something to do. The idea sounded like a great one to Ernesto; his friends, however, weren't as enthusiastic.

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She'd been planning this day for weeks. He didn't celebrate holidays much, just marked the time passing. But she meant to change that. Holidays should be special, she mused happily. Valentine's Day especially! It's the perfect day to celebrate being alive and in love, a day to enjoy! He'd had to work that morning, but the evening she intended to be devoted only to him.

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It all started in the summer of 1998, back in Cairns, Australia. Marriage is a fickle thing, and mine had fallen apart over perceived jealousy and the fact that she just wasn't meant for me, or maybe I wasn't meant for her. It didn't really matter any more, she gathered her things on a Saturday morning, called her parents, they came to pick her up, and that was it. I never saw her again, and the only conversations I had were short and angry with her wanting nothing more to do with me.

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Although he had thought about it so much over the years, he was just not prepared for it. He ran the scenario over and over in his head and he could always be suave, witty, charismatic, and romantic. But when it actually happened he was like a deer in the headlights. The softness of her hand on his at first nearly overwhelmed him because for so long he had wanted to know what she felt like. And now that it finally had happened it was so much different than he imagined.

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