Your erotic stories

Mike lowered his binoculars and pushed the throttle forward to the maximum. It would be an exaggeration to say his battered cabin cruiser surged ahead. A large cloud of black smoke and a backfire burst from the exhaust, the ancient hull vibrated, slowly the revs mounted and the inappropriately named "Queen of the Waves" lurched and protested as the speed built up to 15 knots.

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Have you ever had a dream that you were having erotic sex with a gorgeous girl, only to wake up in the morning disappointed to find out it was just a dream. My story is about a dream like that, only this one became reality in the tropical rainforests of Kauai. I will never forget the amazing events that unfolded from this chance encounter. I woke that morning with a yawn and was startled to find that I had slept in.

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'Christmas is a time for togetherness and compassion. It's not a time to be on your own, not if you have a choice.' That was what my wife Julie had written in her letter to me, and I couldn't disagree; which made it even more of a kick in the guts that this Christmas she was going to be over 3,000 miles away, in fucking Afghanistan. I didn't agree with British involvement in the Afghan conflict, and deep down I could tell Jules didn't either.

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It was a sultry July day as I stepped out of the taxi; Ali would have loved it. As I walked into the synagogue, however, I reflected how much she would have hated that. Ali despised all religion – I wanted to give her a humanist funeral, but whereas her family had totally rejected her in life, in death they had reclaimed her, doing their best to freeze me out entirely.

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This story began a bit over five years ago as I write this, little did I know when I accepted this assignment that my life would be changed forever. United States Marine Sergeant Robert A. Whitson and I would begin rehabilitating him physically and mentally as he learns that the roadside bomb in Afghanistan took only his feet. He is still every bit the man he was prior to his injury. This is our story.

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"I'm sorry, what was that you just said, Mrs. Pettington?" What a tiresome woman. I had just now been distracted from listening to her by the way she snapped her fingers at Kisula and then gave him a distasteful look when he refilled her coffee cup. "I said, Mr. Woolston, that I hardly think we need worry about these rumblings from the tribal huts. England has held this protectorate in Tanzania since the war, and we will do so as long as the London cafés need their coffee."

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Kenny Cho arrived at the Korean restaurant just as the other members of the group arrived. The group comprised of mainly gay Asian men of various ages and nationalities and some of their invited, non-Asian male friends/partners. Once a month the group would dine out at an ethnic restaurant of their choosing. Last month was Vietnamese.

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Chapter One Pamela watched the pick-up truck pull into her drive and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron; her hired hand was here. Her husband had passed away three years ago and she had milked their prize herd all by herself as well tended the farm's crops. For all her hard work she'd finally managed to make the last payment on the small farm and this year opted to hire a full-time summer employee.

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The name's Michael. I'm an Irish boy from nowhere in particular, and the bright-red ponytail I wear is more than enough proof of that. I dress well enough when I need to; my work wardrobe usually consists of black wingtips, tight-fitting black slacks that are a little loose around the knees to allow for bending, and a dark solid button-down. I'm a relatively fit guy; I bike to work every morning and jog in the evenings.

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I was sitting in my living room that Sunday morning, working on the broken clasp of one of my anklets, my favorite anklet. The most expensive piece of jewelry I owned, it was a silver chain studded with diamond chips given to me by an ex-girlfriend. But the price tag was hardly the reason I cherished it. She gave it to me last year for my twenty- fourth birthday and I considered it a sign of how she felt about me. I was in love with her and it was her way of saying she felt the same.

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