My Little Book Of Erotica - Sex Stories

My Little Book Of Erotica

I was sixteen years old when I took a book from my sister. We were on holiday visiting family in far North Queensland, and it was the middle of summer, with scorching hot weather. We were bored teenagers walking the streets of a small country town. We visited the local store that served as the ultimate convenience store because it was a newsagent, post office, takeaway and video store all in one. My sister and I grabbed snacks and magazines to help us keep boredom at bay. While she chatted with the worker, I shyly stood to the side. I spoke when spoken to but stood quietly, not wanting to engage with anyone unnecessarily.

We returned to our relative's house in the middle of the day as the temperature hit its highest. We locked ourselves into our bedroom with the aircon on. We ate snacks, shared the Gameboy and read magazines. As a teenager, the magazine that piqued my interest was 'Cleo' Magazine. A women’s magazine that told helpful stories like, 'Is your crush into you?', 'What’s the best sexual position to provide you with the most pleasure?' And so on.

The item that intrigued me the most was an extra book with the magazine. It was a little book, approximately 15cm x 10cm, with a black cover and silver writing on the front. It was called 'Erotic Short Stories'. This little book had fifteen short stories from random writers. There were no pictures or colours; it was simple, and the best thing was that it was in my hands.

My friends, I have found it! It was the ...

... most exciting thing I’d ever touched in my life. That’s a lie. I was already proficient at masturbating by this stage, and my pussy was a pretty exciting thing to explore, but this was the perfect partner in crime. It is the ideal combo for a young girl's early nights in bed.

This little book of erotica slipped into my possession and became one of my nightly rituals over the next few years. It was tucked under my mattress, where I could easily retrieve it whenever needed. Lying in bed, I would reach under the mattress, on the wall side of the bed, and my fingers would feel the smoothness of its little spine. I’d lie back with the light off but the lamp on, open its pages and find my preferred stories. Each story must have been read at least a hundred times in this little book's life and what a life it had.

My favourite stories were ear-tagged for ease, ready for whatever mood took my fancy. I’d find the story that would help me escape to a world of masturbation, sex, anal, threesomes and homosexual desires. With different characters and settings all over the world. I could read these stories over and over again. Even though I knew each story's outcome, the excitement was always there. The anticipation still bubbled, and I became skilful in the art of well-timed orgasmic releases.

Once I'd picked my story, I’d settle in with excitement. I'd hold that little book with one hand because it was the perfect size to handle one-handed, which was extremely helpful. After all, my ...