Erotic Stories With a Twist

Have you read one of my short stories yet? No, they don’t all have a gay or bisexual theme, but they do offer an intriguing look at the human condition.

They are stories about intimate human circumstances that most of us will never experience. My Sister is a story about a young man that one day learns he has a very open-minded and motivated sister.

I never had a sister. If I had, I can’t say I would have been sexually attracted to her, though I find the notion intriguing. Most guys that have sisters aren’t attracted them, but it might not be so uncommon as we think. John always thought his sister was attractive; he never in a million years thought he’d find himself in a situation that would lead them into her bed. You can read more on your Nook, or on your computer if you have the free Nook app. Not on Amazon though, they banned it. I thought that was a bit strange.

Most of my short stories are available on Amazon here. Nook users will find them here. Try one of my erotic tales and see if you get hooked.

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The Many Flavors of Human Sexuality

We all have our own individual perspectives. We all have different circumstances. For some those circumstances lead to unexpected destinies, which is exactly what happens to the characters in following stories.

They aren’t full length novels. They’re novellas, stories told in sixty to ninety pages and priced accordingly on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. They are dramatic circumstances you may never find yourself in, but you very may may be drawn into the lives of those involved.

Available now on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Note: “My Sister” has been banned on Amazon and is only available on Nook.

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My Sister

My new story is called My Sister. It’s about a brother and sister who find themselves in an intimate relationship. By definition it’s called incest. Normally I would invite you to take a look at it on Amazon, but to my astonishment Amazon refuses to offer it for sale, stating it violates Amazon’s terms and conditions, without telling me why.

And I couldn’t figure out why. None of the characters are under the legal age of consent. The cover is no more suggestive than countless other covers found on Amazon. If you keyword incest on Amazon you get 6,840 results. As far as sexual content is concerned, there are thousands of titles on Amazon that are no less graphic. Based on what I’ve been able to conclude, Amazon has decided to dabble in censorship. It would seem they have a mountain of books to burn.

I fully agree with censorship when it comes to using children in sexual situations, or brutality against women, or blatant threats to national security; but sexual encounters between brothers and sisters, though far less common than conventional relationships, are part of the human fabric. Suggestive  book covers are part of marketing erotic stories. So I’m still scratching my head.

Barnes & Noble had no such problem with this title, and it is available there. If you have a Nook, check it out here. If not you can download Barnes & Noble’s fee Nook app for your PC or other device here. It’s only $1.49 and I think you’ll enjoy the read. If you would like to read an excerpt, click here.

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Born in the Wrong Body

When she looked in the mirror she saw a man. During puberty her body had changed in a way that broke her heart. When the other girls were talking about pending dates and trying out for the drill team, she was sitting alone in her room on Saturday nights and her father expected her to join the basketball team. When the other girls at school were trying different colors of lipstick and admiring their developing breasts in the mirror, she was shaving her chin and looking at a male organ that had gotten larger and darker.

She couldn’t understand why she didn’t fit in. Through puberty and her early teenage years, she never felt an urge to act or look masculine. She just wanted to be herself, which meant a perpetual struggle to be accepted, failing no matter how hard she tried to fit in. She identified with the girls, but didn’t look like them. She looked like the boys, but couldn’t understand why they liked to play baseball, hit each other on the arm, or yell catcalls at the girls. But by the time she finished high school, she had a plan.

After college, two years into her new career and a long regimen of hormone therapy, she finally looked like a woman. Her breasts had developed and her hips had taken on soft round curves. Born with the name Michael, she was now Michelle. She wore heels and flowing dresses and carried a purse. Mind, body and soul, she was completely female, except for the final operation: genital reassignment surgery. She didn’t know that she would fall in love with a wonderful man before that day came, nor was she ready for the challenge of telling him her secret.

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Read more about Michelle on your Kindle here.

On on your Nook here.

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Two Wives and Two Husbands

Married shortly after college, the two couples had been best friends for ten years. They had given birth to their children and had established their careers. The wives shopped together and took theirs kids to soccer games. The husbands worked out together three times a week at the gym. All four of them vacationed together every summer. All these years later, their marriages could be described with a yawn.

Can the monotony of her daily routines bring a wife to wits end? Can a husband’s desperation for adventure take him over the edge? As they walked into the rented beach house on the Florida coast to begin their summer vacation, it was Brad that had come to a breaking point. Overwhelmed by a sudden impulse, he decided the four of them needed a little excitement, to do something daring and different, to risk his marriage by doing something so shocking that his wife and two best friends would be forced to deal with their secrets.

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This story is available at Amazon for $1.49

 

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A Female Phenomenon

Female Ejaculation …

Wikipedia defines female ejaculation this way:

Female ejaculation (also known as gushing or squirting) refers to the expulsion of noticeable amounts of clear fluid by human females from the paraurethral ducts through and around the urethra during or before an orgasm. The exact source and nature of the fluid continues to be a topic of debate among medical professionals.

Here a woman is ejaculating (squirting) as a result of stimulation by a male lover.

www.netdoctor.co.uk explains female ejaculation as follows:

How common is female ejaculation?

The reality is female ejaculation isn’t all that common. Some women do it once in a lifetime, but never again.

The actual percentage of females who ejaculate is uncertain. However, in Masters and Johnson’s famous lab experiments with over 400 women, they did not record anyone who ejaculated at climax.

Nevertheless, the experience of gynaecologists and family planning doctors indicates there is a substantial minority of women who ejaculate regularly.

One of the more convincing assessments is that of Stanislav Kratochvil (1994), who found that about 6 per cent of Czech women reported ejaculating. Agony aunts certainly get many anguished emails from females who are deeply embarrassed by the fact they wet the bed when they come.

Agony aunts, too, get many anguished emails from females who are deeply embarrassed by the fact they wet the bed when they come.

How much fluid is produced?

I have heard claims that highly-sexed women can produce litres of fluid in a single orgasm. This seems very unlikely – after all, where could such an amount be stored in the female body? More realistic is the estimate of Beverley Whipple, American sex guru and co-author of the original G-spot book. At a recent conference, she told me that in most cases, the amount of fluid secreted is usually around ‘half a coffee cupful’.

What effect does it have on women? Continue reading

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The Girl in Greenwich Village

I’m currently working on a collection of erotic short stories, one called The Girl in Greenwich Village, which I have posted the first draft here. It’s about a man that falls desperately in love from afar with the girl next door, a girl who is self-conscious about her protruding labia that he has become obsessed with and watches every night through her window. The story is for anyone who enjoys erotic stories, but it’s especially for young women that feel abnormal because of their labia size.

protruding labiaThe Girl in Greenwich Village

 Her apartment is directly across the alley from mine, fourth floor. Hers is a tiny one room flat: a bathroom, a fold-down bed, a corner kitchette with a small stove near the window I’m looking through. Mine, somewhat bigger, has three rooms. I’m in my living room, sitting where I sit every night, falling in love all over again.

Her blinds are never closed. It must not occur to her that someone may be staring in her window, like she is living in her own private world free to enjoy being home alone without wearing clothes. I have watched her every night from the first night I moved in, captivated, enchanted, building a world in my mind where she and I fall in love. I have thought of little else since. When it’s dark outside, with my lights off, I can see everything she does in her room. The first night I saw her, she was walking out of her bathroom, still wet from taking a shower.

protruding labiaForgetting the boxes I still had to unpack, I pulled a chair close to the window and stared as she patted her body dry with a towel. Time ceased to exist. Everything else in my mind evaporated. It must have been that very night that I fell in love with her, became obsessed, began creating fanciful scenarios of the two of us together, both of us naked, perhaps talking about our day, or maybe watching a movie, just the two of us being comfortable together without the inhibitions of the everyday world.

She is of Asian descent. Her olive color body has possessed me from the first moment I saw her, the color of her skin, her stature and mannerisms, her long willowy legs, her soft feminine curves. Just by looking at her I know she and I are one, like counterparts though we’ve never met, walking the same path with the same hopes and dreams, as if destiny has already written our future.

protruding labiaSlightly above average height, her olive color skin perfectly matches her short dark brown hair. Her delicate shoulders compliment her narrow waist, flat belly and long willowy legs. Her protruding pelvic bones give her a sculptured look. The dramatic flare of her hips draws attention to her fleshy round buttocks. As I watch her each night, I feel her soft smooth skin on the palms of my hands, supple, warm and receptive. We take walks together in Central park. We take cross-country drives. We walk hand-in-hand along desert beaches.

Her female features are unlike any I have ever seem, irresistible female embellishments, uncommon, unique, tantalizing beyond any I have ever imagined. Her large brown nipples are upturned and appear to be perpetually swollen, like dark amplified peaks that crown the summits of her small breasts. I see myself sucking them, pinching and pulling them, watching her squirm and listening to her squeals.

protruding labiaBetween her legs she has the most uncommon, yet captivating female characteristics I’ve ever seen. Rather than the puffy, nondescript slit one expects to see hidden in a triangle of hair, her pussy is a prominent mound, smooth shaven, enhanced by protruding inner labia that hang between her legs like a succulent pair of dark fleshy butterfly wings. I long to taste them and make them swell. I long to part them with my fingers and reveal the female mysteries that promise to take me to the center of the Universe. I long to feel their wrinkly texture with my tongue as I suck them and pull them with my teeth, and make her writhe with ecstasy. I long to feel them sliding along the shaft of my penis as I penetrate her.

protruding labiaI have lost myself in her. My days are spent contemplating my return to the chair in front of my window, where I watch her until she turns out her light. She is the magic in my erections, the object of my climaxes and my dreams, the source of my destiny. I imagine the smell her skin after a day’s work, the girlish sweat of her underarms, the tart odors between the fleshy rounds of her buttocks, the musk of womanhood between her legs, damp and fragrant.

I’m married to her. I’m with her every night. I think about her at work, on the train home, lying in bed at night, when I masturbate during my morning shower. She’s in my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I have followed her to work, watched her look at dresses at Macy’s, watched her eat a sandwich at the deli down the street. I’ve watched her prepare her dinner, make her bed, read a book in the square across the street. I’ve watched her rub her pussy when she takes off her panties, like a man does to adjust his genitals when he takes off his underwear, but she is doing it so that her beautiful labia hang freely.

protruding labiaForemost in my daydreams is the day we meet.  When? How? How will I go about introducing myself? What will I say? Will she know I’m in love with her the moment our eyes connect? Has she ever noticed me watching her from my window? Will she be glad we have finally met? Will recognize her destiny with me as I have found my destiny with her. Or will she think I’m strange, the man she has seen in the shadows, a hopelessly sad voyeur?

It’s Saturday morning. I awaken to the city noises on the street, detect the faint smell of semen that I have left on the sheets. The girl was in my thoughts as I fell asleep, as I masturbated, breathing the scent of her exposed secrets, secrets only she and I share. I twist my legs off the bed and head for the window, my erection bobbing before me.

protruding labiaStanding in the shadows of my living room, I see her having breakfast at the table, same chair where she always sits, a bowl of cereal it seems. I watch how she brings the spoon to her mouth, leaning forward a bit to skim the pages of an open magazine just beyond the bowl. How beautiful she is in the morning light, her naked body like caramel cream in the soft light, her legs slightly parted under the table, her small breasts with their glorious nipples dropping slightly as she leans forward to turn another page. Continue reading

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Cassandra Mott’s Mysterious World of Debauchery

From the third chapter . . .

“The ninth gate?  I … “ Johnny stopped mid-sentence, frustrated.  He felt gullible, like an innocent boy.  Cassandra Mott, obviously a woman of the world, was saying things that flew right over his head.

Her quick smile took on a hint of mischief and her eyes shifted to her brother.  “Perhaps Julian would be willing to show you the ninth gate.”

Like a lost lamb cowering between them, Johnny turned his gaze to Julian.  Their eyes locked.  Unnerved, he felt as if he were being looked at caged and unclothed.  Staring into the crystal blue eyes, he saw something he could not identify, not wicked, not threatening, but puzzling.  He drew from them a premonition, a kinship on some obscure level, and the feeling it caused ran through him warmly.  His curiosity ran wild.  He recognized an urge to know more about him, to hear his thoughts.

Johnny watched him come to his feet.  His eyes followed Julian’s hands to the buttons on the white linen shirt.  When Julian lifted it from his shoulders and laid it on the sofa, Johnny realized that he intended to disrobe.  He sat spellbound, his gaze fixed on the twitch and flex of a masculine chest.  Mired in disbelief, he watched Julian’s hands move to the front of the white linen pants and unfasten the buttons one at a time, while Cassandra remained attentive to Johnny’s unsuspecting reaction.

A different kind of unease came over him.  He tried to deny the sudden desire welling inside, a desire to see Julian’s body.  Feeling stimulated by this was wrong.  A man undressing should be perceived with indifference, though the promise of Julian’s nudity was unfolding before his eyes as a visual treasure.  Facing the laws of right and wrong, he should be indifferent, yet, against his conscious will, he had become eager for it to happen, as if a long dormant urge had been lying in wait. He wanted to see Julian undressed, to see his body, his male form, all of him.  But why?  Why all of a sudden?  Why these long forgotten urges between his legs and across the pores of his skin?  Why this sharp desire that he had so easily denied all these years?

The pants slid fluidly down Julian’s legs.  He stepped out of them, naked, his skin bronze, his forearms and legs and chest swept lightly with golden blond hair, his genitals inflamed and pendulous between muscular legs.  Julian walked around the low table, looking down at his guest, the guest that had become a taut mass of anxiety and nerves.

Continue reading

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The Strange Haunting of Johnny Feelwater

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The Strange Haunting Of Johnny Feelwater

An excerpt from chapter 19 . . .

Johnny was aware that Brian was looking at him.

“Shame you’re not bisexual,” said Brian, a sudden and unexpected whispering of his thoughts.

Johnny turned his head and their eyes met.

“Forgive me, my friend, but I’m no longer inclined toward the fairer sex, even to these frequently available young girls.  I would consider myself inappropriate for them anyway.  But now I’m in bed next to a man, quite an attractive man I might add, and it occurred to me that a little mutual affection is nourishing for the soul.”  Brian shifted to his side and faced Johnny, bracing himself up on an elbow.

Caught off guard, Johnny glanced down at his companion’s torso, a candlelit display of shoulders and a chest thick with muscle, of dark hairs mixed with gray that curled about a pair of nipples and ran a wide path toward a sunken navel.  The glance ventured downward, over strong hairy legs, then upward, fixing on genitals flaccid in the warm air, dropping with generous weight from a dense swath of salted pubic hair, fleshy and splayed atop a muscular thigh.  It was no more than a glance, the entirety of which lasted the bat of an eye, though it sparked the fires of adrenaline.

Oh, the power of such a visual to set one’s imagination stirring, Johnny realized, not much to his surprise as he twisted his head upward and returned his gaze to the shadows.  It all came rushing back as if the image had opened a floodgate of memories from his confused youth.  Those fleshy organs—were they not an anomaly of the male form, peculiar in shape and so much darker than the rest of the body?  Were they not an inconsistency in the fluid contours of muscle and limb, hanging from the body at the apex of one’s legs like something alien by virtue of their odd design?  Perhaps it might seem, but for that inborn consciousness of their purpose, and in being male with the same fragile effects, accompanied always with that sublime awareness of their ever changing weight.  Oh, those daunting colors, dark and purposeful, like magnets drawing one’s eyes, like streaking meteors that suddenly exclude all other thoughts.  And those masculine odors lingering in the air with his own, born of errant drops of urine and yesterday’s sweat and last night’s involuntary seepages from that tiny hole, mingled with those living with aromatic vibrancy between damp gluteal cheeks.  He was thinking about all of this as he stared at the ceiling, his face fixed with a dreamlike gaze, thinking there was even more to resist: the warmth of a man lying so close, the warmth he could feel on his face, the feel of that same man’s breath on his ear.  What was it, but a universe of two men, a symphony of maleness within the parameters of a small space, offensive perhaps to some, though more akin to euphoria for two certain men on a warm Kenyan night.

Continue reading

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