Your erotic stories

In his novel "I Will Fear No Evil," One of Heinlein's female characters remarks that, until a woman has been in bed with two men who love and trust one another as much as they love and trust her, she's still got "One virginity to go, and an important one." When I first read this as a teenager, I felt a visceral response. Yes, I thought to myself with deep conviction, that's for me!

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A few weeks ago, I went to a local 'fast food restaurant' for breakfast, which is the norm for me. I am divorced and live alone and I see no profit in buying eggs, bacon, bread, sausage, and all that stuff, taking the time to prepare it and then cleaning up afterward. So shoot me, I am going to eat out for breakfast.

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As I walk through the hall way of the spa, stretching my neck as I go and extending my arms to crack my knuckles, I wonder what kind of customers my boss has stuck me with today. As if put on her dump-on list as of late, I had nothing but the old, wrinkly, and unappreciative clientèle. I stop in front of a mirror to check my short spikes atop my head, when the reflection shows me a vision that made my entire body react. Behind me struts two women, robes and slippers in hand, mid to late twenties at best, walking close to one another and talking quietly to themselves.

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The beginning of this story occurred at least a dozen years ago when I worked for a former employer and would travel to various cities on business. These business trips occurred quite often and would vary from overnight stays to a week in duration. One of these cities was St. Louis and the stays were usually three to five days long. Clients and vendors would usually wine and dine me most nights but eventually I needed some time to myself, so I started begging off at least one night during each visit.

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"Character," Kristin said. "The most important part of any piece of fiction. If you start writing with only a plot in mind, you will struggle with your characters. However, if you start with your characters, they will create your plot for you." The writing workshop was nearly full. Kristin Morris had had eleven books on the romantic bestseller list. Her current historical romance, "The Sands of Fortune," had been holding steady on the list for nearly eight weeks.

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"I miss him so much," she said finally, after a long silence. She looked on the verge of tears, so I covered my best friend's hand with mine; it seemed the only thing I could do at that tender moment. She glanced down at our joined hands and continued, "I can't bring myself to clear out his closet. It smells too much of him. Everyone says I need closure, but I guess it's just too soon."

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Lindsey woke at 11:30 a.m., groggy but not hung over. Her boyfriend Steve was passed out, naked, on the bed next to her. Lindsey shook him gently, but he didn't stir. There was a used condom on the bed, and she vaguely remembered him fucking her for a brief period before passing out the previous night.

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She was sitting at the bar, dressed like a nun compared to the majority of the other women around. It was Vegas, baby, and the outfits ranged from the slutty to the half-naked. The woman I was interested in, and maybe it was the outfit that did it, was all business. Charcoal black suit, white blouse open at the throat, blazer draped over the back of her stool.

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Courtney and Alex have known each other for many years. From a distance, they shared some sensual, intimate, erotic and passionate moments. On one occasion, they acted these out in a hotel room in Texas. It was a memorable night for Alex. He will never forget the text messages and phone calls leading up to that experience. A room key was left discretely outside.

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I wiped the condensation from the bathroom mirror and leaned close, applying my mascara in the small window I'd made on the glass. The tiny room was full of steam and the smell of shampoo and soap. "How can you take a hot shower in this weather?" I said, capping my mascara and leaning in even closer, scrutinizing my face. I'd had a shower a half hour ago and could already feel a thin film of sweat on my back; it was going to be another boiling hot day.

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