Anyone here write?

And feel confident sharing it with us? Not homo fan fiction or your gay livejournal, but real stories. I'm having a hard time finding decent short stories online.

Eventually I realized that I was lost. The trees around me were unfamiliar, the ground beneath my feet was not the path I'd become accustomed to, but unmolested grass and weed. I looked around, realizing that I had no idea which way I had come from, nor which way to go. I'd walked through these woods more times than I could remember, and couldn't think of any place that could fit the area I was in now.

I tried to locate some evidence of my own footprints, but found nothing. Unnerved, I began walking in the direction that I was fairly sure I'd come from, taking care to step stray roots, branches and rocks. Had it been this difficult coming here? I plodded onward, with no company but the sound of the wind, drifting through branches and over bushes, sounding almost like singing as I went deeper and deeper with no sign of anything halfway familiar. If anything, the plants were becoming exotic and obscure, too wild to have survived so close to a city, seeming to have flourished to the tune of the song-like wind...

No--that was not a song like wind, but actual singing. The realization shook me from the daze that I'd been walking in. Where was it coming from? Over there--it seemed lighter, and I could swear that I saw a glimpse of water, a pool of some sort. The logical part of my mind protested the thought, reminding me that there was no pool anywhere in these woods. But I was hungry, and desperate for some sort of proof that the forest did indeed end, that there was another human being within a hundred miles of me. I closed myself off from rational thought, and entered the clearing.

She stood there before me, hair like fire and eyes like lust, fully nude. She was sexual perfection, slender yet curved, with full lips, red like blood. It was obvious that she was wearing no makeup, that no human tool had ever so much as grazed her body. And yet her lips were redder than any I'd ever seen, not the glossy red of cosmetics but a full, flushed red. Her breasts rose from her skin gracefully, home to two nipples that were soft despite the chill in the air. Her belly curved inward slightly before giving way to her hips, which bordered the patch of red between her legs. The patch was slick with wetness.

I tried to say something, to appologize, but felt no desire to do anything but stand there, gazing at her. At some point during this, the singing had stopped. She walked towards me, and felt my hands working the buttons of my shirt. Before it was off she was on me, lips going straight for my neck, kissing it, going downward. Her tongue traced soft lines across my chest and I shivered, my legs collapsing under me. My mind was overwhelmed by her scent, her passion, processing only brief snapshots of what was happening: her pressed against me, forcing a nipple into my mouth; her mouth pressed against mine, her fingers sliding my pants away from me; her straddling me, looking down upon me, eyes black pits, hair ragged, cadaverous breasts above jutting ribs, face gaunt. Broken, jagged teeth looked down upon me in a leering grin as I climaxed, spasming as if being electrocuted. I passed out. When I awoke, she was gone.

I found my way back to town with no problem, feeling a dead tiredness in my bones. I slept for fourteen hours before awakening, feeling refreshed, more energetic than I'd been in my life. A missed call waited for me on the phone: an ex-flame, interested in having dinner with me soon. I called her back immediately, suggesting that we dine at the Caldera before taking a walk somewhere. Somewhere quiet, where we could be alone.

Perhaps the forest.