Your erotic stories

Jordan stepped outside his small London hotel and paused. His business here in England was completed and he had one more day to sightsee before his flight home. This late October day had been cold and drizzly since morning and he was glad he'd saved his free time for some museums. He held an umbrella and glanced upwards. The sky was nearly dark with the early winter night.

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On this particular night I had decided to step inside a café. Not one of those trendy ones with surly employees and background music more suitable for night-clubs, but one with a warm and friendly, relaxed atmosphere that smelled of cinnamon. Just the kind I like. Sometimes I almost felt like one of them, sitting there and sharing that warmth. It was a soothing feeling but it always faded quickly. I am not of their kind, and I don't have much in common with most of my own kind, either. It's lonely. I didn't like it, but I didn't complain either. I'd gotten used to it.

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