Your erotic stories

My wife Sara and I were out celebrating our third anniversary. She was 34 at the time and I 37. We had no set plans and decided to begin with dinner at a nice restaurant. We finished both our dinner and the pitcher of margaritas we ordered. Upon leaving decided that neither of us should be driving. Instead we decided to walk around the city.

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The "cleanest" sexual relationship I've had was also, in the end, the kinkiest. I lived in a cabin up in Vermont for a short time several years ago. I'd just moved east from California, had a couple bucks in the bank, and was woodshedding some songs for a new album. First night there I'd pulled all the curtains off the windows and stuck the clock radio in the closet, so every morning I woke up to the impossible shimmer of sunlight off the lake and got right to work.

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I was standing in the small room, in front of a curtained window. Paul's hot breath on the back of my neck was doing little to dispel the tension that was tying me in knots, even though that's exactly what we were here for. The room was pretty dreary really; just this curtained window and a padded massage table behind us against the wall. Tired paint on the walls, scruffed tiled floor and ceiling, as if men before us had been walking the ceiling and dragged across the floor, which, for all I knew, was exactly what had caused the scruffing.

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Miss Annabelle Nella was a high school teacher who really enjoyed her job and loved teaching her senior class. It was, for her, great to give all the students one last piece of education before sending them off to college, where many she hoped, would make something of themselves and enter the real world off to a great start.

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Joe Christopher didn't know, while he was out working on his 1952 Ford, Mary, an eighteen year old girl who had at last run away from an orphanage in Illinois, had made her way to his house of all places out in the middle of rural, Bryan, Ohio, and snuck into his house through the kitchen.

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"What the hell do you mean eight hundred bucks?" I practically yelled into the phone. "It's a fucking water pump!" My mechanic gave me some song and dance about having to pull a load of shit off the engine to get to the broken part. "Fuck, dude," I said. "Where the hell am I getting that kind of money?" He gave me some more song and dance.

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For a moment when she woke up the next morning Dana was confused. She was alone in her bed. Had the previous night been just a wild, intense dream? From the aching of her head she knew that her drinking hadn't been a dream. It had all seemed so real, but where was Mike? Had he been so freaked out when he sobered up and woke up beside his mom that he ran out of the apartment?

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My affair with Stevie; if that's what you want to call it is still going on today. It's not an affair in the conventional sense as there is absolutely no chance that he would ever buy me flowers or take me to a French Restaurant. Nor would I want him to. We are as he quaintly calls it – 'fuck-buddies'. We still occasionally go to the derelict factory on a Friday afternoon and the odd evening after work.

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I sat down with a heavy sigh of relief as my brother and I dropped the last, huge, brown box in front of our new couch. He heaved out a long winded breath of his own as his wiped his forehead with the back of hand. "Shit, I'm glad we're finally finished moving all of this useless junk..," He irritated mumbled as he smacked a pack of Newports against his palm and pulled one out of the pack, along with a plastic lighter.

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I suppose trouble follows me because I look for it, but sometimes (more often than not) I find myself in the wrong place at the wrong time (or as I would say, the right place at the right time). Such was the case on New Year's Eve.

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