Your erotic stories

You, my sweet wife Julie, have occasionally shared some of your fantasies with me in moments of post coitus intimacy. It seems to be our time together when we share our most inner secrets and sometimes, hidden, desires. One which has come to the surface several times over the past few months is a scenario of you watching me make love – not just participate in having sex – but truly making love, to another man while you watch.

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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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It happened in the year 1998 when Andrew, a real naughty dude of 18, had his first odd intercourse. It was a strange that the guy of such an age had a boy amidst his friends that was only 14. His name was Oleg and of course he went to school. Oleg and Andrew had been the very close friends for some time and shared everything they could and there was plenty of that between them.

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It was getting to the end of one of those, long, miserable winter days. All day the storm clouds had been building up; black, threatening monsters heavy with rain. Although it was bitterly cold outside, the temperature inside the office that I shared with Angela was warm, even slightly too so. I watched absently out the windows as the first of the thick, heavy raindrops began to splat onto the pavement outside.

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I love summer. Hot days are best. Hot, bright days that bring out beautiful women with long, smooth legs and deep cleavages. Bare shoulders and thin straps support light summer dresses and strappy sandals caress tanned ankles. Thin tops that cling to perky breasts and give a hint of nipple. Denim cut-offs that give tantalizing glimpses of the crease between thigh and buttock. Unexpected breezes that whips up the unsuspecting summery skirt, giving flashes of pale buttock and pink G-string.

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It was summer. I was visiting with Sinéad (no, not that Sinéad), my aunt, in her very nice apartment in Chicago. Sinéad was 28 then, single, working, and not at home much. We would spend most of our together time on weekends, but I was pretty much left to my own devices during the week. I'd visited before from Ireland, but never alone or to stay for the whole summer.

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Out of all the social functions I attended each year my favorite by far was Caroline Carson's annual summer kickoff party, held every June at her twelve room plantation home on the river. Caroline's parties were legendary in savannah's social circles; she picked the guests personally for each party.

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I'm writing this as I watch a copy of a video we made last Saturday afternoon. I should probably erase it, but I just can't seem to do it. We had a softball game, and afterwards I invited the guys over for a swim. Some of the guys just took a quick dip and left, but Andre, Carlo and Tony are single, with a reputation as the party animals on our team, and they stuck around for the rest of the afternoon.

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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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I arrived at the Jefferson's Lake Campsite entrance and upset some of those waiting - families in station wagons, seniors in their recreational vehicles, young couples in their cars pulling small trailers -- when I rode my bicycle right past them. I smiled as I approached the ranger station and saw a familiar face exit. I got off my bike and walked up to him.

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