Your erotic stories

I hate labels. I don't consider myself gay. Hell, I don't even think of myself as bi, either. Slightly bent? Straight with a slight curve? Fuck if I know because I love sex with women. Really, I do, except I've had a dick or two inside my mouth, too. So, what does that make me? Before Todd, I never thought much about it. Best to think of myself as a horny bastard and leave it at that.

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"Hi. What are you doing here?" I heard the familiar voice as I felt the tap on my shoulder. It was the girl who serves coffee to me every day at the local Starbucks. I instinctively stood as I turned to face her. "Hello. Well, I came to the restaurant for dinner, and since my table won't be ready for a while, I thought I'd come in to the lounge to have a drink and relax. How about you?" She laughed lightly. "Well, my date was supposed to meet me here over fifteen minutes ago."

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Since the first time I came across her she was the sexiest woman I ever seen. I was alone in the break room at the office job I work at, since most everyone else ate lunch at the surrounding fast food places. I'm Joseph Sanchez, an average lookin guy that worked at this call center for a few months now and was still learning the ropes on helping people pay their water bills.

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"Redhead by the bar," I nudged Michael. He raised his eyes, found her, then winced. "Too sexy for me?" He nodded, "Too sexy for you," then slowly sipped his soda. "I thought so." She looked again in my direction. I froze, caught staring for the umpteenth time. The first time I noticed her was earlier that night. I was sweeping the pub with my eyes when they landed straight on hers. She smiled, nodded discreetly, and turned away, leaving me confused and embarrassed, as if I had been the one snooping.

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Tina looked around the bar: the menu was pretty scrumptious! Her luck must have been holding and she had hit the jackpot tonight. There must have been at least a dozen guys who would work -- now she just had to narrow down her choices. She was on one of her periodic hunting sprees. She and her husband had agreed a while ago to have a very open marriage -- anything goes as long as it's consensual.

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"Good morning Christy," Bryan Jensen said, as he set his briefcase down on the floor next to the receptionist's workstation. Without glancing her way, he began sorting through the stack of correspondence, phone messages and inter-office envelopes that were waiting for him.

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I didn't get into sex when most of my friends did. I'm not sure why, but at thirteen and fourteen when my friends were starting to take an active interest in sex and boys, I just wasn't that interested. I suspect my hormones were late bloomers or something. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I started to feel the urges, and I tried to deal with them at bedtime by touching myself with very little results for some reason.

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"So, you think you might be OK, now? A different perspective, I hope?" "Yes, yes, thank you, . . . You know I haven't gotten your name. I feel so . . ." "No need to, son. You can just call me Dingle. And I won't be seeing you up here again, I do hope." "Umm. I kinda hoped that—"

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Alison. What can I say about Alison? She was eighteen, nearly nineteen actually, quite lovely, platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, excellent figure and, to top it off, she possessed a natural sexual allure that automatically turned heads. Any male coming in range of her sensual aura was instantly drawn to her, irrespective of age, girlfriends or wives. It wasn't her fault. It was just that indefinable something she had.

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My name is Alicia. I'm an eighteen year old recent graduate from high school. My eyes are blue but I had to dye my hair blond. I was born blond but my hair turned darker as I grew older so I decided to change it back. My friends all say I'm a pretty girl but sometimes I question their wisdom on that. You may catch me from time to time in front of the mirror making faces, trying to determine whether my nose is too wide or my cheekbones are too high.

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