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Stimulating
Stories About Group Sex
(four or more, mate-swapping, etc.)
A Compilation of Literate
Erotica
These
short stories are
works of fiction.
Names, characters,
places and incidents
either are the
product of the
author’s vivid
imagination or are
used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to
actual human beings,
living or dead,
business
enterprises, events
or locales is
entirely
coincidental.
Hogmanay
& Highland High
Jinx
Here is part 1 of a
reader-submitted
story.
Actually, it was an
outline /
chronology. Harry
has begun enlarging
it and adding his
naughty touches.
Part 1
The neighbor and I
are watching a game
on TV. Our wives and
the neighbor’s grown
daughter are at the
kitchen table.
“Honey, did you
hear, Aviva was
invited to a
Hogmanay party.”
“Tell her that women
do not wear kilts.”
“I told her that you
own a kilt.”
“Why did you tell
her? I haven’t worn
it in 30 years.
Where is it?”
“It’s probably in
the cedar closet. It
wouldn’t take me
long to find it.”
Aviva runs into the
home theater. She is
as excited as she
was 10 years ago
when she was
accepted to medical
school.
“You really have a
kilt?”
“I had a kilt when
you were a toddler.”
“Where is it?”
“Sue thinks it’s in
the cedar closet.”
“Can I look for it?”
“You may
look. Take a
flashlight in case
the light bulb is
kaput.”
“Thank you so much.
None of the guys I
know wanted to go. A
few of them saw the
“kilts optional”
line in the
invitation and told
me they weren’t
cross dressers.”
“They are idiots. A
kilt is worn by real
men, not femboys,
sissies or
transvestites.”
Aviva and my wife
return near the end
of the third
quarter.
“Honey, we found
it.”
“I sure hope it is
moth-eaten.”
“It is pristine. Get
off that recliner.
Let’s see if it
still fits.”
New Year’s Eve
The
Hogmanay (&
Highland High Jinx)
affair is at a lake
house about one hour
north of us. Aviva
and I are taking the
motor home in case
we stay late and
decide to sleep by
the lake.
“So, who invited you
to this party?”
“My newest
phlebotomist gave me
her invitation.”
“What’s her name?”
.
“Beth.”
“Just in case,
please use her name
while we are there.”
“Do you have an
alias?”
“My evil twin is
named Harry. Call me
Harry at the party.”
The lake house is
huge. It’s as large
as one of the
oceanfront
“cottages” near
Newport. The guard
at the gate (in a
rented tux) asks to
see our invitation.
I ask him if we
could hook up the
beast for the night.
We follow his
co-worker who drives
a faux-Cadillac golf
cart into the
spacious motor
court. He plugs in
the beast, connects
the water hose and
extracts the motor
home’s sewer line. I
tip him $20.
A striking banshee
or maybe a Vampira
opens the massive
door when we ring
the bell.
“Happy New Year you
two. I’m so very
happy you wore a
kilt.”
“Beth wanted us to
be somewhat
authentic.”
“Did you have to
twist his arm?”
“No Ma'am. Harry
likes to show off
his mountain biker’s
legs.”
.
A correspondent
submitted the outline for this story.
Harry enlarged, fleshed it out and
made it luscious.
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