Your erotic stories

For many years I led a life of quiet desperation. At the age of 23 I still lived with my divorced mother, and I was still a virgin. But do not think for a moment that I had no sex life, no appreciation for pleasures of the flesh. I did. I worshiped, adored, dreamed about, and was utterly obsessed with the legs of young women.

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The Piper Malibu bumped and rocked as it touched down on the airstrip in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing around the 4000-foot concrete pad except a couple of hills, a whole bunch of desert and some mountains barely visible through the shimmering heat on the horizon. The plane rolled to a stop and headed straight back up the runway and aimed at one of the large hills off to the side. As the plane came closer the front half of the hill slid apart to reveal a large hanger with several smaller planes parked inside.

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Jan and I had been to this club on a few occasions but were still new to the swinging scene and clubs of this nature, so we were nervous but excited. The night had been billed as a casino night with lots of references to Ian Fleming's Bond and all the trappings associated with 007. So we dressed accordingly; I myself in full tuxedo and Jan in her high heels, full length double side split super-low cut evening dress and only sheer black hold-ups underneath.

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I've waited months to share this story with someone. I still can't believe it happened. You would think the details would have faded over time, but fortunately the events I want to share with you are vividly imprinted in my memory. I have never felt anything like this before in my life, a warm, fuzzy, tingly feeling deep inside of me and bubbles with happiness.

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So there I was again, hanging out in my favourite pub on a busy Saturday night, talking to my buddy Zack, half-focused on him, half-focused on finding a good-looking guy to take home and fuck into oblivion. Yeah, I knew Zack wanted me, and the truth is that I wanted him, too, but neither one of us had ever acted on it. My rationale was: why ruin a perfectly good friendship just because a wet spot formed on my thong whenever I was around him?

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Sweat dripped off Matthew's forehead and stung his pale blue eyes. Not the Halloween weather Matthew remembered growing up with in Delaware. Even after four years he had difficulty adjusting to his new home in San Diego. Adults ferried their costumed children through the hot afternoon, trick or treating amidst shops that enticed with free treats for the little kids and costly treats for the bigger ones. Signs posted in bars announced Halloween parties with prizes for the best costume. Tattoo parlors advertised Halloween discounts.

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For those of you not familiar with the British 'pastime' of 'Dogging' let me explain that it involves numbers of people meeting up in secluded public carparks for sexual frolics. It's become a bit of a cultural cliché over here, with the tabloid image of seedy loners and old slappers getting down and dirty in dreary locations in the dead of night.

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About two years ago, while working for the space agency, I was sent to a one week training/workshop in Huntsville, Alabama. I stayed at a hotel within walking distance of the Marshall Space Flight Center, where the workshop was to be held. There were about 75 people there, composed primarily of engineers, technicians, research scientists, a few administrators, and some military personnel.

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Shelly put down her women's magazine with a sigh. She'd just finished another of those 'Woman Discover Thyself' stories about exploring her sexuality, and as usual, she'd been most fascinated with the part of the story where the woman explores her sexuality with another woman. She was twenty-five, married to a naval officer, very attractive and she'd still never had sex with another woman.

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The club is crowded tonight, and hot. The press of bodies, half-naked and gleaming, is a feast. The warm brush of flesh against flesh is a fever. Bodies clashing and rubbing become a furnace fueling my desire. As I make my way to the bar, threading carefully through the throng, my hand touches a shoulder here, a well-muscled chest there, my bottom brushing against the crotch of someone behind me as I squeeze through a small corridor.

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