Your erotic stories

I'm a femme lesbian who works for an investment-banking firm in Chicago. In my line of work it is hard to meet women like myself. After my girlfriend and I broke up for the last time, I became very lonely and bored. I was 36 years old and single for the first time in a long time. At first I thought that I would love my freedom, but this euphoria didn't last very long.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction intended for the enjoyment of those over 18 years. * My good friend Shar came to me all excited about a weekend lingerie buying trip to San Diego. I wasn't all that interested but she assured me that we would have a fantastic time. Our guys could golf and do other man things while we were gone.

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I fell in love watching you shower, you know. I've done it so often I know your routine off by heart. I know how shy you are and how you shriek when you catch me watching. I always hated the see-through shower doors until the first time I saw you through them, now I wouldn't trade them for anything.

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In case you haven't read any of my other stories, my name is Alicia and I'm eighteen years old. My best friend since fourth grade and lover since December is Shelly. She's five months older than I and a very beautiful girl, if I may say so at the risk of being a little bit prejudiced. We are bisexual, not lesbians, because we have boyfriends, too.

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"Nice spot for a party," Candi Martin smiled, gazing around the interior of the luxurious beach house, then giving Mia Nelson, her latest model find and newest bedroom conquest, a suggestive wink. Candi shivered, looking at the honey-blonde's sensational bod in the snug, glittery hot-pants ensemble Mia had chosen to tempt her with.

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On the last night of our trip to Jackson Hole, we'd headed out for dinner and some shopping in town. I ended up buying a new bikini, but little else. Tori, my girlfriend, bought a pair of hot leather pants from Hide Out. When we were done, we returned to our hotel room, took all of our stuff out of our suitcases and repacked everything for my trip home on Saturday. We had plans for the night, so we got dolled up and headed off to Teton Village.

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I am one lucky son of a bitch. There. I said it. I have a life any other guy would kill to have. And I have no idea why, except when genes play a role. It certainly isn't because I'm a genius, because I'm not. I'm not the biggest, the fastest, the strongest, or the best athlete. I'm sure as hell not rich. Just lucky. Now, I did mention genes helped out, and I wasn't lying. I mean, I'm pretty average-looking: brown hair, green eyes, thin, six feet tall even, straight teeth.

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