Erotica Readers & Writers Association
Home | Erotic Books | Authors Resources | Inside The Erotic Mind | Erotica Gallery
Adult Movies | Sex Toys | Erotic Music | Email Discussion List | Links

Story Gallery | Treasure Chest

Erotic Fiction
Queer Fiction
Kinky Erotica
*  The Softer Side

By Aspire
Nice Ass
Parking in the 60's

By B.K. Bilicki
Long Goodbye
Penny's Worth

By G. Gregory
Free Falling at ...
Fuck Mountain
Queen of Temptress Moon

By J.T. Benjamin
7 PM At Mickey...
Wilberforce The Cunning

By Lynne den Hartog
Different strokes

By Richard V Raiment
Honeyed Tongues
Richmond, Dear Park

By Robert Buckley
Corner Booth
Dancing with the Banshee
Its Been Going Around
Julie's Ankles
Leah And The Eagle
The Courtyard
The Last Thing You ...
The Long Ride Home
The Love Song of...
The Nice Guy
The Night the Stars..
The Shades of Gray
Wait Along
Waking Katie... 


by B.K. Bilicki © 2010

Story inspired by the song 'Open Door' by Genesis
  (Three Sides Live - Atlantic SD 2000-2)


erotic fictionHe stood there in silence, contemplating the front door like a critic poring over a work of art or an old wizard enmeshed in thought over some ancient scroll. Slowly his mind wandered back in time and he saw her there, framed by this same doorway, smiling at him with eyes full of love, her naked body hidden behind the thick oak door. A chuckle threatened to spill out as he thought of how she had seductively extended one bare leg then slid her foot up the edge of the door, beckoning him to return to their loving. Someday, he had jokingly told her. Someday.

He slipped in through the door without a sound, something which both pleased and startled him. The usual complaining squeak of the hinges would have broken the almost mystical serenity of his surroundings and yet would have provided a measure of comfort, a feeling of being at home again. He looked at the hinges and frowned, annoyed at their silence, before closing the door behind him.

Sunlight trickled in through the curtains, painting a swath of tiny floating particles in the air. The patch of sunlight fell upon the couch where they had said goodbye so many times, their daily routine as she sent him off to work. He ran his hand over the fading material and smiled. The aging fabric held a hundred memories of times spent together. They had made love to each other for the first time upon that couch, if one could call the awkward insertion and frenzied withdrawal for fear of being caught by her parents lovemaking. In the early years of their marriage, they had more than made up for that initial time, spending long luxurious hours giving and receiving pleasure upon the dark brown cushions, afterwards making plans to someday have a real bed in which to share their passions.

Padding silently through the living room, he reached the kitchen and breathed deep the familiar scent of bacon and coffee, the aromas each sharp and distinct. Everything seemed to have a peculiar clarity to it, despite the time which had passed, and he found he did not care. The sights, the smells, the feelings—they were all there and they were right. This was right. He was home again.

Taking one last deep breath, he turned and made his way down the carpeted hall to the bedroom. Stopping outside the doorway, he steadied himself and selected a specific memory. That morning. It had to be. When they had made slow passionate love for hours, not caring how late he would be to work. He had coaxed sounds from her which had rivaled the greatest symphony, had played her body like a rare instrument until she sang of ultimate pleasure. Her encore had been performed upon his body, her hands and mouth sliding across him in a never-ending swirl of passion, culminating in her body accepting his one last time. They moved together in perfect harmony, each becoming part of the other until chaos finally and loudly consumed them. In the breathless afterglow, they had made whispered promises to recreate this ultimate union again.

So long ago, he thought ruefully before sweeping the words from his mind. Time was of no consequence now. The memories would remain unblemished in their hearts for all time. Their love would endure. With a smile and a nod, he turned and stood in the doorway.

The scene before him took his breath away. Everything was exactly as he had left it in his memory. The sheets were tossed about upon the bed, twisted and damp with their sweat. The blanket lay discarded upon the floor, along with one pillow. Upon the other pillow lay the head of his beloved, her hair billowing out in a golden halo around her peaceful face. Her ample breasts rose in fell in an even cadence as she slept, broken by tiny whimpers and sighs, the aftershocks of delight. One of her hands lay beside her face, but the other rested in the junction between her legs. Somehow he knew her fingers had danced there earlier, mingled in their combined juices. He stared at her in sheer rapture and wanted her as he never had before.

In the living room, the phone rang and the sudden sound brought his world crashing down around him. His body convulsed and the sense of unnatural clarity came upon him again. No, he thought as he saw her body stir. It can't be. The phone rang again and her eyes opened. Please, he implored her silently. Don't. She ignored his unspoken wish and got up out of bed with a tired yawn. "I'm coming!" she called out, her words thundering through his being. He staggered back from the doorway and she rushed past him as if he wasn't there. Falling to the floor, he panted heavily as she picked up the receiver.

Sounds and memories and sensations bombarded him all at once, but he focused his mind on her alone. Fighting his way past the tumult in his mind, he heard her answer the phone and felt the words on the other end of the connection. An accident. Your husband. Couldn't save. "NO!" he heard her cry out in shock and agony.

"Someday, my love," he whispered as his body faded away into nothingness.

© 2010 B.K. Bilicki. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: After seriously ticking off fans on several continents by not doing anything worthwhile with his earlier works, B.K. Bilicki has now launched into the second phase of his writing career. His stated goal is to sufficiently upset anyone he may have missed the first time around and to write enough new material to make the remainder of his furniture sit level. Furor Scribendi can be chastised by new fans and old alike at Grr-ya.

Authors live for feedback!
If you enjoyed this story, please send comments to
B.K. Bilicki


  E-mail this page

Search ERWA Website:

Copyright 1996 and on, Erotica Readers Association, Inc.
All Rights Reserved World Wide. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or
medium without express written permission is prohibited.

By Wimzcicle
Neighborhood Watch
Little Thing Called...
Male Seeks Lady...

Naked Grief
by Arthur Chappell

Too Little, Too Late
by Daina Blue

The Unfair Maidens
by Helen E. H. Madden

Splashing Corn
by J.D. Coltrane

Lefty and Toffee
by Julius

Orbiting in Retrograde
by Kathleen Bradean

Lost and Found
by Mike Kimera

The Violin
by Nick Nicholson

It's So Much Easier
by Riccardo Berra

Duck, Duck, Goose
by Rod Harden

Time in a Bottle
by Rose B. Thorny

Only Kissing
by Savannah S Smith

Cocos Locos
by Valentine Bonnaire

A Letter to Margaret
by William Dean