Your erotic stories

Could I really be doing this? I'm following some guy at a garage to the back room - seriously, the back room - where he is no doubt going to fuck my brains out. I'm watching his muscular ass ripple in his tight jeans, and I'm already unzipping my leather jacket. It was barely holding me in to begin with, and since I don't seem to be wearing anything underneath it, I'm already bouncing free by the time that my surprise lover opens the stock room door. We slip in, I slam the door closed with my foot, and he reaches for me.

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She knew he wanted her. She strode efficiently between the workstations; her eyes never wavered from the door to her office, she walked with purpose and confidence. She acknowledged him, but only in a curt professional manner, she wasn't here to be anyone's friend. His eyes followed her to her office, she knew he watched her and she enjoyed it.

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I was always amazed at how someone from my past unfailingly seemed to turn up on opening nights of exhibitions. It didn't seem to matter which city I was in, some old school friend, long lost family member or an acquaintance from the photography fraternity seemed to find the ads for my openings in the small print and turn up to say hi.

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Anna's parents came from Europe. Her father was a tall blond from Poland and her mother a red-haired beauty from Ireland. Yet poor Anna was stuck with the wrong branch of the DNA. She was six feet and then some in her socks. Her face was plain with a broad forehead, long jaw and beaked nose. Most of her height was in her legs. She wore men's jeans with a 30 inch waist and 36 inch inseam. Her hair was neither blond nor red but a sad mixture resulting in a rough brown. Her height served her well in obtaining a volleyball scholarship to college where she majored in business.

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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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I'm Alicia. I just turned eighteen one month ago. My very best friend, Shelly, is five months older than I. Not only have we been best friends since the fourth grade, we became lovers at the Log Cabin Motel two days after I turned eighteen.

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It was hot as hell, and I still had three more lawns to mow. It was the drawback to making most of my summer money doing yardwork. Graduation was only a few weeks behind me, and college and its expenses loomed ominously over my head. Fortunately, I was going to a local school, but I still had a commute, and books were going to kill me. Anyhow, I'd started early that morning, as soon as the dew was out of the grass, but after two yards already, it was just after noon and the sun pounded down.

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I've never been a big fan of horror movies. It's not that I scare easily, but they just don't do much for me. I will say, though, that the scariest movie I ever saw when I was a kid, was a film called "Poltergeist." It came out when I was about thirteen or fourteen, and it frightened the shit out of me when I first saw it. It's about a bunch of people living in a housing estate that's been built on an old cemetery, and in the big finale, there is this huge storm, and coffins start popping up out of the ground, and the lids flying open, with skeletons in ragged, rotting clothes start falling out, and it's a shocker!

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Stephanie breathed a deep sigh as she once again sat in traffic on the interstate. Yet another commute in a life full of them. It seemed that this was all her life had been since her divorce five years ago. Commute, work, commute, sleep, commute, work and so on and so on. At age forty-six she needed a change, but the rut she was stuck in was so deep it seemed that climbing out would be impossible. Today was just like any other day except it was Wednesday, not Tuesday or Friday or even Monday. It was just another day in a string of days that seemed to never change.

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The hour was late and we had been drinking fairly heavily throughout the evening. I had been doing shooters of tequila and the girls had been drinking screwdrivers. We were all getting pretty plastered and we were a bit loose in our conversation. Ellen, our neighbor, had just regaled us with a tale of a sexual escapade she had experienced this last week.

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