“I’ll sleep on it,” I decided. I switched off the light and circling my clitoris with my finger I gave myself some relief from frustrated sexual...hunger. I let my finger slide inside my opening, feeling the soft silky warmth and the freely flowing juices of my lubricant. “My God,” I thought, “surely there is some man somewhere who would want to enjoy that.” As I languorously pleasured myself I thought of the all the men and women who longed for sexual gratification, who, like me, would offer. D. B. Story is a name I only use for my erotic fiction on the web. The kind of stuff I give away because nobody will actually pay me for it. And it's the kind of stuff one doesn't admit to writing in polite company - or to your friends, if you don't know any polite company. Like any writer, you want to be serious, published (and paid) someday soon. And when that day arrives, you don't want this stuff coming back to haunt you. Call it honing one's writing craft. Or part of the three million. More

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