Your erotic stories

"Happy Birthday." you say with a smile. Sliding a small box across the restaurant table. "What is it?" I ask. Unaware of your plan. "Your fantasy." Your eyes flash an erotic pulse as you toy with your hair. My heart skips a beat as I try to digest what you've just said. I stare at the box and then to you wondering if what you're telling me is real. After a second or two I grasp the box to pull it towards me, but you tighten your grip on it and lean in.

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Kevin was grateful when his boss invited him home for dinner one Friday night. He had only been at the accounting firm for three months. He was fresh out of college and trying to fit in. George Jones, his boss, had built the company into one of the biggest firms in their town. Kevin was lucky to have landed there. He wasn't very social in college but in accounting that was okay. He minded his own business at work which was easy because of natural shyness and the general environment at the office.

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Most of Matt's friends went to Lauderdale, or Daytona, or somewhere typical for Spring Break, looking to abandon themselves in the slick, sunscreen- and alcohol-laced musk of ten thousand horny college kids in a space too small to contain them. Matt had another plan, though--he'd head down to the smaller towns, along the Atlantic Coast. Just as much sex in the air, but better parking. I suppose, he thought, I shouldn't complain. The mile markers whipped by as Rachel goosed the accelerator on the old Chevy wagon.

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When a man comes home to his wife and a houseful of women, it's either really good or really bad, especially when the conversation stops as soon as the door opens. And most especially when the women looking at him have those expressions suggesting they know something he doesn't (and of course they do -- it's always that way). His wife stepped forward and walked toward him.

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I was having dinner with my long time girlfriend Cassie. It was a place we had seen many times but never tried. We had heard the food was pretty good, and it was. But it seemed to be more of a hangout than a restaurant. Our table was in the middle of the room. I sat facing the door, Cassie faced the back wall. Behind me was what seemed to be an office party of some sort.

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I was on a quiet tropical island, resting up after a week of a difficult conference. My company always arranged these weeks of work in the best places – this was no exception. Sun, warm crystal clear sea and fish galore on the coral reef – it was a real paradise. I'd gone away from my colleagues, who'd preferred to stay in the busy capital and enjoy the high life – I needed to relax.

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Billy was shit out of luck. His problem was that he was just an average Joe - but he was really, REALLY average! He was twenty-five years old, working as a delivery man, and not a bad person. But he just couldn't get laid. It wasn't that he was ugly or fat or anything else like that. He had ordinary looks with an ordinary body (bordering on the chubby side, though).

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After a long week at work, I think I was just as happy not to have a date: changing into a t-shirt and sweatpants, ordering a pizza, opening a beer and watching the ballgame on tv sounded like a pretty good plan. Then in the top of the eighth inning, I heard a loud crash from the apartment next door.

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I left you a note posted at the door stating: "Strip down naked and meet me in our back room." From the back room, I could hear you laugh as you read it, but I smiled and hoped you would comply. I heard you, first removing your shoes and letting them drop loudly on the floor. The ensuing silence made me think that you might be taunting me, but I let out a sigh as I heard you mumble something about your pants.

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Rob entered the bar apprehensively. It was warm and lively. He had never done anything like this before. What was he thinking? He had a very strong urge to return to his room for a quiet evening of reading. But he promised and a promise is a promise. Although he could just tell ... NO! That would not be right.

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