Pathways to Pleasure: erotic romance adventures

Two women, friends for years, learn there is something more when a blind photographer helps them discover who they really are. Passion and sexual tension are released as friendship turns to love.

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The cab driver glanced at the young woman in back. “You new here?”

Though she tried to appear sophisticated, Kathy knew she looked out of place in the city. “Does it show?”

“Yeah, a little,” the cabbie laughed. ”Let me guess, you’re a runaway from Kansas hoping Seattle is your Emerald City over the rainbow?”

“Something like that… Ohio actually.”

The taxi pulled over. “Here you are, 217 Seneca. Good luck, Dorothy,” he joked.

Kathy paid him, grabbed her suitcase and stepped out. The apartment building looked worn out and dusty, but inside it had an inviting, old school ’80s feel to it.

Her room, however, was a different story with its cold, white walls and bare linoleum floor.

‘Was this a mistake?’ she wondered.

Her Mom had tired to stop her. “It’s crazy,” she’d said. “All you have is a job interview waiting for you out there. No guaranteed work and just a couple months of money. What are you thinking?”

But now, standing in the empty room, 2000 miles from home, Kathy felt like she’d gone to the other side of the planet. Maybe Mom was right.

Taking another look around the room she knew with a little inexpensive decorating she could warm up her two-room apartment. “No,” she said out loud. “This feels right. This little country gal is going to take on Seattle and make it hers.

____________________________

”Tom Bronson hated parties—this one especially. It was filled with socialites, lazy people born into old money, and women trying to be someone, anyone, other than who they were. Hoping to marry into that money, they circled the rich like sharks looking for an easy kill.

“Oh, shit," he muttered to himself, “here comes one now.”

“Tommy, darling, are we having a good time? They told me you’d be here. I missed you at last week’s yacht club gala. Where ever were you?”

“Hello, Cybil.”

He knew those were the only two words she’d allow him to squeeze into their conversation. He tried to keep up, be polite, but as she babbled on about parties, charity banquets, who’s marrying, who’s divorcing, who died—his interest was plunging lower than her neckline.

Finally she took a breath, giving him a brief opportunity to jump in. “Sorry, Cybil, but I have to leave. Here, you can have my drink if you like.”

Before she could answer, he handed her his glass and ducked away, hoping no one would notice his escape attempt. But two sharks were swimming by the door.

“Oh, Tom, we were hoping to…”

“Sorry, I was just leaving.”

“But, really you should stay…”

“No, sorry. Important meeting. Gotta go.”

As he stepped out to the street, he felt like a lucky seal who’d somehow managed to escape the jaws of death.

The wealthiest man in the city, he always felt out of place in so-called ‘high society.’ His was a fortune made from hard work, careful planning, and taking calculated risks––all things he’d learned when a teenager, working on his father’s boat.

His dad had a way of wrapping up a world of wisdom into one simple sentence. “You won’t make it out here, son, unless you keep your eye on the weather, chart a steady course through these seas, and put your back to the work.”

Tom missed him.

____________________________

Kathy put down two grocery bags and then remembered she hadn’t closed the door.

“Hey, neighbor!”

A smiling face peaked in throwing a flurry of non-stop words.

“Hi, my name’s Megan, but everyone calls me Meg. I’m right across the hall from you. Oh, I’m so glad this room will finally have a happy person in it. The old man that lived her shot himself, you know.”

Kathy’s eyes widened, “What?”

“Oh yeah, right there in the middle of the room. Blood everywhere.”

“Oh, my god!”

Meg laughed. “Kidding, kidding. I couldn’t resist.”

“Meg!”

“Sorry about that. Here, I brought you something to eat. There’s enough for two if you...

It was a windy, gray autumn day, but Aryn didn’t mind. She never let the weather stop her. Every day, five times a week, she did the one mile jog from her house to the Coast Guard Station. She’d skippered rescues boats for three years. But today was special.They’d be trying out their new one, a 45 foot RB-M. The boat was named Tilly, after some Rear Admiral’s dog.

She stopped at the top of the hill and looked out over the sea.

Five foot swells were rolling in, wisps of sea-spry blowing off their tops. In the distance she could see the flag at the station flying straight out. It’s going to be a rough one out there today, she thought with a smile. Aryn loved being out on the water, the rougher the better.

She’d spent most of her teenage years working with her father hauling in salmon on his purse seiner. The sea was part of her DNA, she couldn’t imagine living inland.

Aryn sucked in the clean salt air and finished her down-hill run to the station. No one was in yet. She always arrived early enough to take a shower and get ready for her day. Finally, wet and clean, Aryn was toweling off when she heard the crew.

Barney, Aryn’s second in command, shouted at the entrance to her shower room, his voice echoing on the tile walls. “You in there? Coffee’s on.”

“Yeah, Barney. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Working uniform on, Aryn grabbed a cup. “You boys ready to take the new boat out?”

Tom, the new guy, nervously looked out the window. “You sure this is a good day for it?”

“Don’t worry rookie,” she said. “Tilly will do just fine.” Aryn gave Barney a wink. “The boats designed to right herself if she capsizes. I’m told that actually works. Well, at least most of the time.”

“You’re kidding right?”

Barney returned Aryn’s wink. “No, really, They tested it. The boat popped back up after a knock-down at least, what was it Aryn? Five times out of ten?”

“Come on,” Aryn laughed. “Let’s take her out.”

The wind was howling through the trees as Aryn climbed aboard, ran the blower, then started Tilly up. Barney and the rookie cast off the lines, then joined Aryn in the cabin as she backed the boat from the dock and headed out.

When they cleared the breakwater Aryn turned Tilly west to meet the waves head on. The boat’s bow rose at each crest and plunged down in every trough. Aryn turned the boat sideways to the waves causing it to rock violently side to side. Tom was turning green.

Barney whispered, “You’re being a little hard on the kid, ain’t ya?”

“Just testing Tilly out,” Aryn laughed. But she nodded to Barney and pointed the bow back into the waves, slowing the engine down.

“Well, would’jah look at that,” Barney exclaimed.

“What?” said Aryn.

“To our starboard, there about 100 feet out.”

A small boat, maybe only 18 feet long was passing them, heading into the swells at full throttle, jumping out of the water as it crested each wave.

Barney looked through the binoculars, then handed them to Aryn. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

“Take the wheel, Barn.” Aryn stepped to the window, searched through the powerful lenses, then spotted the boater. “Is that…?”

“Yep. One of those fair-weather ski boats with nice cushy seats in the front so you can get a tan.”

“Damn”, she said. “Open bow.” As she watched, the driver waved. He was laughing.

“Well,” said Barney, “Looks like he’s having a good time.”

“Good Time?” said Aryn. “I’ll bet ya dollars to donuts the idiot’s going to drive deep into a wave and swamp that thing.”

The small boat headed off towards the islands, but Barney kept Tilly straight. “Well, we can check up on him on our run back.

Barney and Aryn took turns at the wheel, putting Tilly through her paces. The rookie finally got his color back and was working the deck.

Let’s go check on that halfwit and his boat now,” Aryn said.

My dearest friend,

I wanted to write this letter to let you know I haven’t forgotten. It’s been ten years already. Ten years since we graduated from the university and went on our separate ways, to our separate futures––ten years since that incredible night.

I’m married now, and so are you. But we weren’t then. We’d become best friends over those four years in school, close friends, studying together, taking many of the same classes, sharing our dreams and hopes for the future. But we knew our careers would soon send us on different paths.

That last day was our goodbye. We met early on campus at the bench by the pond. Do you remember? Then just like all those nights when we crammed for exams, we tried to cram our friendship into lasting memories.

We walked through the campus one last time, holding hands, pointing at the gym where we raced in the pool and you beat me by climbing on my back, keeping me from touching the edge first (cheater!). The lecture hall where old man Simmons kicked us out for talking and laughing too loud, and the fountain we poured orange dye into on Halloween. I’ll bet they’re still trying to figure out who did it.

We ate our last dinner together at Toad Hall Pizza, had our last drinks at the Castle pub, then just walked around town. We could have gone to a club or something, but we didn’t want the crowd or the load music we’d have to scream over. Being alone together was everything we needed.

I miss those days, I miss you. I know I shouldn’t be saying that. I’ve been married now for 8 years, and I love her very much. But I can't forget that night, with our uncertain futures staring us down, when we suddenly felt the need to cling to what we had. A friendship that somehow on that final night expressed itself as something more––something special.

It was midnight when I walked you to your apartment. It was time. The day was gone. Your cab would be picking you up early so you could catch your flight home.

Then, remembering that my plane was leaving only an hour after your’s I said, “Wait, I could come over tomorrow morning and we could take the same cab to the airport.”

Your face lit up. “That would be great,” you said.

Almost like magic, your eyes, moistened by the thought that this was our last night, caught a glint of the street light. My eyes were wet too. We’d been talking all day, trying to hold off that final moment of goodbye.

Something changed in us. Something we should have seen in all those study sessions and shared classes. We were more than friends, but we were stupidly just discovering that on our last night together.

We stopped talking and starred into each others eyes, trying to memorize our faces, trying to memorize that moment. I’m not sure how long we stood there. It felt like time had frozen. I reveled in the unspoken words we were sending each other. A quiet understanding filled us.

I don’t know if it was the beer, the moonlight, or that glint in your wet eyes, but suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing to kiss you. It was like we had the same thought, leaning into each other, kissing lightly, then hugging and pressing our lips harder together as if that would hold back our futures and let us stay there, together, forever.

A tear fell down your cheek. I wiped it off and said goodnight. Turning to leave, I felt your hand grab mine. Without a word you pulled me back and walked me to your door. Neither of us spoke as you slowly slid your key into the lock, and pressed the door open.

Our silence continued down the hall and into your apartment.

Once inside I tried to speak, but you put a finger over my lips and hushed me to silence. I pushed you against the wall. Our kiss was instantly passionate and deep. Our bodies pressed together. My arousal was beginning to harden. I pulled back, not wanting to rush, needing to make the night last.

I walked you to the couch. We necked

He didn’t meet you at the airport. You were gone three months and he only sent his driver? The driver handed you a note. It just read, “I have a special place for us to meet this time.”

You thought you knew Kauai pretty well, but after the driver left town and turned down a dirt road, you were lost. He finally stopped the car and walked around to open your door.

There were no buildings–nothing, anywhere. He was dropping you off at the edge of the forest. Seeing you were worried, he said, “It’s okay. He’s here. There’s a note on a tree over there. He just wants you to follow the trails. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.”

The drivers eyes seemed to glint a little with that last comment. Or was it just your imagination?

As the car left, you headed for the tree the driver had pointed out. There was a light rain, the kind Kuaii is known for, the kind you barely notice. The droplets were so tiny. It was more like a mist.

It wasn’t the weather bothering you. He’d actually had you delivered, well, nowhere. Alone.

As you stepped into the forest, your shoulder brushed an Orchid leaf which bowed gracefully, spilling its cool water down your back. “Damn him,” you muttered to yourself. The rain softened the front of your blouse as you walked––not soaking it, just lightly nourishing it with moisture.

The first note was pinned to a tree right where the driver said it would be. You frowned, this stunt better lead me to him, and when it does, we’re going to have words.

The handwriting was quite impressive for a man. He must have taken special care with each letter.

"I'm so glad you came. Don’t be mad. I know you didn’t like being dropped off in the middle of nowhere. Be patient, you’ll like what you find. Now follow this path until it splits into three, You’ll find another note there. Come, my love. I await you.”

Some sort of bird sang a lonely song in the distance. A small brook was splashing somewhere nearby, but the forest was too thick to see it. The rain stopped and the lush green leaves all around you were steaming from the warm sunshine flooding through the trees.

Though the forest was thick, the path was clear and bathed in light. It was nothing like the forests back in Washington State. Most everything growing around you would be considered house plants back home.

You spotted the next note, tacked to a Breadfruit tree. Before you lay the three paths.

"I can hardly wait," it read. "The birds are so beautiful here, their songs fill the place. It is perfect for us. Take the path to your left. It will be a bit of a walk to the next note, but I promise all this will be worth it."

You smiled. His romantic gestures were winning you over. Somehow the forest seemed more inviting with its steamy leaves, moist ground, sunlight… and there was a man waiting for you. The thought sent a little tingle between your legs.

The note was right; it was a bit of a walk––more than a bit actually. Halfway there a parakeet leapt off a branch above you and flew away. You ducked and screamed a little too, then laughed as you realized the bird was just as startled as you were.

The trail slanted uphill making you inhale deeper as you climbed. You wondered if that wasn’t part of his plan. Perhaps he was watching you as your breasts rose with each deep breath.

Finally, you spotted another note on a large boulder, held there by a small rock.

“You’re here, my love. You’ve arrived. Look up and to your left.”

You turned and realized that just in front of you the trail opened into a broad meadow, bathed in sunlight. You stepped out into the clearing and looked up. There, not more than 50 feet away, was your man standing on a rock shelf. No shirt and cotton pants that hung much lower than they should. A thin wall of water was falling gracefully behind him into a small pool that you guessed was feeding the brook you heard earlier.

Light...

In this erotic romance, you meet an old High School flame who leads you on a path of passion, love, sex, and ultimately freedom from a bad marriage.

Pathways to Pleasure is an erotic romance podcast. We believe erotica should be more than just sex. Our erotic stories mix sex, really good sex, with love and romance, raising your passions in a slow burn, pulling desire from deep within you, until, at last, they climax in raw, sexual release.

Erotic romance author, James Jobe, publishes one episode each month, taking time to lovingly write stories you can escape into on your pathway to pleasure.

An erotic romance adventure: It hit at midnight, just as the calendar switched from 1899 to 1900. Waves hitting the rocks sent sea spray twenty feet into the air. The winds raced at near hurricane speeds in what people would later call the New Year’s Day Storm.

Kate stayed up through the night keeping the kerosene lamp burning. It's huge, rotating fresnel lens cast a pulsing light over the sea. Her lighthouse was the only hope passing ships had to make it home safe.

From the moment she’d buried her father two years ago, Kate took over duties full-time at the Deception Island lighthouse. As a young girl she’d help him. Now she did the work alone carrying heavy equipment up and down the hundred-foot tower’s winding stairway, feeding the livestock, hauling logs from the beach, chopping firewood, and all the other tasks that living on an island required.

Lean muscle, earned from hard work, skin tanned by the sun, black shoulder-length hair inherited from her mother, and dark sea-green eyes from her father, Kate would have stopped any man, and possibly some women, in their tracks. She would have, that is, if anyone else lived on the island. She was alone and liked it that way.

By sunrise, the storm blew itself out. Waves that only hours ago threatened seaman’s lives, now looked only two feet high, rolling gently to the shoreline.

Finally, Kate could climb down the stairs and make her way up the hill to her house. But first, she took one last look from the top, scanning the horizon, then turned and looked down the beach. Something had washed ashore. She grabbed the binoculars. It was a body still halfway in the water.

“Oh, my god”

Her flight down the stairs seemed to take forever, as if the 100-foot tower had suddenly become a mile high. She ran along the beach, heart pounding, muscular legs pushing against wet sand.

It was a man lying on his back, face pale, lips blue. She kneeled, putting her ear close to his mouth. He was still breathing but in short shallow breaths. Kate knew she had to act fast or he’d be dead in minutes. Running to the barn she hitched up the horse to the wooden sled.

The sled was meant for hauling logs, but that day it would carry a more precious cargo.

He was heavy, but Kate’s strong arms managed to pull him onto the sled. She urged the horse onto the house. Then dragged the man inside and laid him on the floor in front of the fireplace. She quickly built a fire, ran to the kitchen, fired up the stove, and tossed a blanket into the oven.

As the fireplace warmed the room she started to put another blanket over him but realized his wet clothes would keep him cold. She had to take them off.

Not wanting to waste time unbuttoning it, she tore open his shirt, lifted his back, and pulled the sleeves off his arms. Laying him back down, she rubbed his chest in an attempt to warm him. Then pulled off his boots and socks. She stopped and stood up. She’d been so focused on saving his life that she hadn’t thought about what she was doing. Still, it had to be done. Those cold, wet pants had to come off.

Untying a rope belt, then unbuttoning his pants, she tugged at them. The wet cotton pants were heavy making it difficult to remove. She finally got them down to his ankles and pulled them over his feet.

Only his underpants remained. Soaked through, the cotton cloth clung to him perfectly revealing the shape of his manhood.

Kate decided to leave the underwear on. Somehow it seemed too invasive to strip this unconscientious man completely.

Running to the kitchen, she grabbed the heated blanket from the oven and laid it over him. Then put another one on top of that. His lips were getting some color back, but his breathing was still coming in shallow, shaking breaths.

Kate reached under the blankets, rubbing his chest hard, but he was still dangerously cold. She knew she had to warm him fast or she would lose her...