Your erotic stories

Two middle age men walk down a rain-soaked street on a dark night, and a small neon sign directs them down an alleyway. JIGGLE HUT, it reads. A bright red door at the end of the alleyway is well worn and has a big 'JH' painted on it in yellow. Marcus, the taller of the two, pushes it open and they walk in. Dark stale air glows with dim purple light, and bass heavy music throbs. A fat man on a stool that's way too small for him looks them over.

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It was early afternoon, and it had been a quiet day. I had gotten a few things from the shops and done some things in the garden. Staff party tonight. Christ, I can't be arsed. All that brown nosing. I'll have to stand with the boss, and he won't be listening to a word I say. He'll just be leering at my wife, Jane. She copes well with it, but I know she hates it. We're both in our late thirties now. There was a time in our 20s it would have been funny. We would have laughed about it. But now? He's a lecherous old man in his mid-fifties and it's just sad and very annoying.

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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 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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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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I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. I wrapped the towel around me and dripped to the front door. Guys are much more able to do that than girls are. We can drip, and show up at the door in only a towel from the waist down, and no one thinks it's a come-on. If a girl does it, she's just asking for it.

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There's something about clothing-optional beaches that just appeal to any red-blooded hetero male. The chance to find the girls-next-door daring to bare all on vacation in search of that all-over tan is mindblowing.

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Sitting at the computer in my office, the problem wasn't solving itself. I needed a break. I ran my fingers through my hair, leaned back, stretched my arms, moaned audibly and then decided to take a walk. I pushed my chair back from my desk, stood up and headed for the door.

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When I was in college, I tried out for the cheerleading team. I didn't make it. I'm not bitter about it, and I wasn't at the time either. My dorm roommate Justine made the team however, and that did create tension between us. She wasn't too subtle about thinking she was superior to me because of it. I guess I have to admit she was a better cheerleader than I was, since she did make the team and I didn't after all.

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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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