Autoerotic Association

(United States Autoerotic Association)

Thanks for visiting the primary site of the United States Autoerotic Association.

Our web sites have sexually stimulating content (stories with minimal images) to appeal to intelligent and literate biological females and biological males who want to cultivate their imagination, and become totally attuned to their erogenous zones.

Our initial content has been created by the dick-brain who calls himself Harry Merkin. We are soliciting user-generated content from a group of fans. To date, we have received erotic plot ideas and bare-bones outlines. These will be developed into publishable stories in the near future. Though we have zero social media presence now, we plan to open accounts anonymously. Our intention is to create a lively community of hands-on hedonists.

Stimulating Stories About Outdoor Sex
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.

The Golden Girl
I called her Golden Girl. Whether holding hands while walking very slowly through the quad, or with our heads resting on the same pillow, or while sharing one ice cream cone because that was all we could afford, she was my one and only Golden Girl. She was radiant. Her voice mesmerized me. Her body thrilled all of my being, so much so, that I considered our intimate moments to be perfect. Those times, when we were essentially conjoined, when words became inadequate, taught me that the greatest of the poets had not exaggerated about love. Nonetheless, I began to see their most beautiful compositions (which I had once greatly admired) as being mere approximations. (read more)

The Heels Are Alive
The excitation threshold was exceeded - the point of no return. The deliriously pleasurable contractions began. A foretaste of paradise saith the sages.

My river ran in spate. My tumult overflowed her deep, deep well. The vital flow breached the aqueous/terrestrial boundary. It flooded her grassy banks, and dissipated in her lush thickets.

It trickled outward. It found natural channels. It trickled downward, down between Angela’s legs, still parted to accommodate my form. We laughed. Our laughter stilled the birds of this Arcadia. Its echoes filled the voids of this Arcadia. Was this the joy of which Friedrich Schiller wrote? Was this the joy about which a deaf Ludwig composed? She yodeled and we kept laughing. What joy! What titanic joy! (read more)

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