Roamin' Sex Games

Though the topics and themes are much the same as American erotica, the British use of English adds a luster to the stories, missing from the vulgar used in America. Pam was sitting, idly pulling the material of her thin dress up her thigh and back down again. It was a hot, humid day in San Francisco, and the dress clung to her in a maddenly sensuous way. She was thinking and remembering. It had become her favorite hobby lately.

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Excerpt:

Her blue-green eyes stared out of the ceiling-to-floor bay window, half-focusing, dream-like, on the busy people down on the street. They were all so intent, going to or coming from somewhere. The apartment was a modest third floor walk-up. As if mesmerized by the activity in the streets below, the five foot-six beautiful eighteen year old absently stopped caressing the dress long enough to light a cigarette, then let her hand drop back down to her soft, moist thigh again.

Mike. Ah yes, Mike! He was the one who had started all her desires brewing, the night he had made her a virgin-no-more. Mike, the high school football star, Mike the cherry-stealer. She remembered her own voice singing out in that car, parked by the fishing lake. "Yes, Mike. So good!" It had hurt, but at the same time felt so unbelievably good. And she remembered too, his voice, saying, "Oh, man!"

She was away from that now, on her own in the big city. In the few months since leaving home she had been a waitress, a nudie model, and slept with both the manager of the restaurant and the photographer. And oh how she had come to love sex! She thrived on it, yearned for it, like a baby thrives and yearns for its bottle or breast nipple. She had found loving more fulfilling with older men, but somehow she wasn't remembering them now. Her memories were of young Mike.

She blinked her long, thick eyelashes, and pursed her ripe, red lips, thinking how much easier life would be if she wasn't such a warm, sensuous girl.

Pam pulled herself up and made her way into the bedroom. She sat before her mirror, staring at her reflection, thinking about the trip she was going to begin the following day. She wondered what adventure lay in store for her. She could imagine herself now on the white, sandy beach, soaking up the sun, listening to the rhythm of the pounding surf. Maybe a bronze God of a man would come along and begin an interesting conversation with her. She smiled to herself and picked up a hairbrush and began brushing her long, blonde hair.