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Plunging Into The Pool What if you gave in to desires you had never dared to confess?   This genre-defying blend of personal memoir and steamy erotic fiction reveals my answer.    I thought John was safely confined to the realm of my secret fantasies,  but his  reappearance rekindled smoldering desires that had never been fully extinguished. Drinks after work led to a subtly flirtatious dinner, tensions increased when we met again, and I realized I would be unable to resist if he would only make the right move. Would he satisfy the longings I had thought could never be fulfilled? If we took the Plunge Into The Pool, the release of pent up desire would surely be so forceful  as to result in an encounter that, when described in explicit detail,  would definitely not be appropriate for readers under 18.    Mark and John hadn’t seen each other since high school, but John’s return after 24 years leads to an encounter unlike anything either of them had ev
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Lingerie

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Delicate underthings for women that have caught my eye over the years.
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Sometimes a photo found on the internet would inspire me to write a short vignette for one of the people I corresponded with on G+.  Here is an example. This photo, and the pigtails in particular, reminded us of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I always suspected that Dorothy had something special going on, for those who take the time to get to know her. What I find to be most intriguing and attractive about a woman are the dreams and desires she keeps to herself. The "highly erotic" is always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be recognized. Yes, the colors. Of course Dorothy's magical ruby slippers would be paired with bright red panties that are magical in their own way. And of course the contrast with the innocent blue dress. But the colors were far from the only aspect of your photos that I admired. Surely you don't think that I failed to notice your very, very well toned legs in the first photo? But what captured my attention there was you
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Now this is the way to travel! I love trains, both here in the US, and in Europe. You never know who you'll meet! Originally shared by Amanda Gordon "Southwest Passage - Sunset Pink," model in pajamas by Kickernick   | 📷 Lillian Bassman | Harper's Bazaar | January 1951
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Prologue

My phone rang. “Hello, this is Mark,” I answered. “Mark!  I can’t believe I tracked you down!”  The voice at the other end of the line sounded surprised, and also vaguely familiar to me. “You did!”  I said tentatively, but with some enthusiasm encouraged by the friendly tone of the voice. “You don’t know who this is, do you?” “No …,” I answered.  But now I was sure I knew who this person was.  I just couldn’t place the voice.  I didn’t mind the interruption; it was a quiet day at work, on a lazy August afternoon, and I couldn’t help feeling a little curious. “It’s me, John,” he said. “John… John,” I thought to myself furiously.  I know and have known a lot of men named John.  Which one was this? Fortunately, it seemed he was sympathetic to my predicament.  “From high school,” he volunteered. “Oh, John ,” I said, emphasizing his name, as if that actually meant anything.  Then I paused.  “Wow … John.  It’s bee
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Backstory

In high school, John and I were two of the guys who hung out in my friend Gary’s basement and smoked dope.  On weekends, we varied the scene by first smoking dope in Gary’s basement and then going to one of the high school parties someone was always having.  When we got to those parties we didn’t mingle or pick up girls.  We didn’t know how.  Instead, we lingered on the fringes and listened to music and giggled like stoners do. When we weren’t smoking dope or going to parties (which used to be the case more often back in 9th or 10th grade but was becoming more rare as time went by) we did guy stuff, like playing Dungeons & Dragons or playing cards or doing crazy things in Gary’s back yard.  But we also flirted (badly) with Gary’s sister, who was about 10 years older and, looking back on it, infinitely patient with us.  And we looked at “men’s” magazines – Playboy and Hustler and sleazier mags like Swank . But I wasn’t your typical stoner.  I was also a “brain” w
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