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Not all stereotypes are true- Gina is an Italian American woman who is tall, and forceful, an independent attorney who is proud to be an “out” lesbian after two bad marriages to men. She loves women, but she still craves cock- and the only man she trusts to give her what she wants is her brother! What happens when her son discovers that Gina loves her brother in more than a family way? Excerpt My brother tasted good- yes, all cocks are somewhat similar in their taste, yet his unique flavor was a mixture of his own cologne and the salty bitterness of all men. Sometimes, I love to suck a cock fast- I am a cum junky, and if the guy is just a man I want to suck and nothing more from, then I work my lips efficiently. In this basement, though, I wanted to savor him. I slowly took him down, only to almost pull my head off of his corona- my tongue made a soft path around the ridge of it, as I felt his manly hand grab hold of my hair. He was resisting the urge to face fuck me. Sometimes I like that treatment, but not this time. I moved my arm, leaning onto his leg, as I balanced myself, and I slowly suckled. Getting the idea, Gus let go of my hair, and he let me enjoy him. “Yes,” Gus softly whispered, “Yes, yes, suck me.” I began to take a little more of him in- I was an inch past the base of him- but it was a struggle. I wanted to fully envelop him, but being out of practice so long did have it’s consequences! I was not the only one who had gone too long without this- suddenly, my brother began to buck his hips, and I knew that he was close to cumming. Maybe next time I can do this longer- but right now, he is going to cum. My pussy had just started to warm- I get wet when I have a dick in my mouth- and my nipples were hardening. If I could make him last another ten minutes, maybe I would be so excited that I had a hands free orgasm. Sometimes this happens when I am pleasuring another person, whether that person has a cock or a pussy. Gus came less than a second later- a hot, thick gooey jet of sperm that entered my mouth, splashing against the back of my throat. It was such a thick rope of jizz, that I choked despite myself- it was like he hadn’t come in a week, judging by how much he shot into my mouth. Gripping the base of his cock tight, my tongue savored every drop, as he slowly deflated within my mouth. Oh I missed this taste! When I had gotten the last of him, I finally removed my mouth, and I looked up into my brothers eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Gina,” Gus managed. Now that it had happened, now you feel weird all of a sudden? Once I decide to go for something, I have no regrets- whether that was a random man, another woman, or my brother- when the deed is done, it is too late to think twice. This was the first time a man seemed to be acting weird after sex- a couple of women I had been with did seem strange after we had shared some physical passion- but I never expected Gus to be this type. I looked into my brothers face, a little bit of him still dripping from my mouth, and he did seem to be shocked. “Is everything alright?” I asked. When a woman acted weird after the sex, it did not matter- she would be a one time thing- but this is my twin brother, and there was no way I could let this damage our relationship. Gus not only looked surprised, he looked almost terrified. That’s when I saw that we were not alone- turning my head quickly, I saw my son, Lorenzo!
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Liczba stron: 83
CHAPTER ONE Chapter One
CHAPTER TWO Chapter Two
CHAPTER THREE Chapter Three
CHAPTER FOUR Chapter Four
CHAPTER FIVE Chapter Five
CHAPTER SIX Chapter Six
CHAPTER SEVEN Chapter Seven
CHAPTER EIGHT Other Books
Chapter One: Spaghetti, No Polpette
There is an old saying- stereotypes exist for a reason.
All groups of people are stereotyped in our society, whether or not they want to be, in both good and bad ways. Maybe this is the result of living in a country with so many diverse cultures and traditions?
I don’t know if that is the reason behind it, but I do know that stereotypes are not always true.
Yes, like most of us who are Italian- American, I love to cook. I love to eat spaghetti, I like designer clothing, and I love my family. These are all stereotypes about us that are positive, and I embrace them the same way that a Black man embraces the idea that he has a huge dick. There are exceptions of course, even to these good things that other people say about us, but I can say that at least the people in my neighborhood seem to follow these ideas to a “T”.
Like most Italian Americans, I was born and I still live in the New York metro area- one of the most diverse areas in this most diverse nation of ours. That isn’t a bad stereotype or a good one, just like saying that most people who are Black have family from the South- or that most farmers chew tobacco. This is a neutral stereotype, usually a simple statement of fact.
Now, the other spaghetti stereotypes (as I call them)- those are the ones that piss me off. When I see shows on cable that reinforce them, I don’t get angry enough to be all bent out of shape, but I am not exactly happy about it.
Nobody in my family is in the Mafia, and never has been- my father was a plumber (ha ha), and maybe he didn’t ask questions about who was running his union, but he was not exactly some goodfella. My uncles on his side were plumbers mostly too, and on my mothers side, there are a lot of people who work in different fields of work. My grandfather was a district attorney, and my great uncle was a career tugboat captain. People who go around saying that there family is tied into this criminal organization are usually just idiots who think that being a criminal is something to be proud of, and then they are the first people who get mad when someone doesn’t want to associate with them because their last name is Rizzoli.
Looking at me, I can’t hide my ancestry even if I wanted to (which I don’t).
My hair is jet black- even though I am forty five, there isn’t one strand of grey yet- and it is as thick as good pasta sauce. It falls down past my shoulders like an inky wave.
My skin is dark for that of a White person. When I visited Arkansas once- a trip with my first husband, who had some crazy idea that he was going to strike it rich in the diamond park there- some of people there actually tried to talk to me in bad Spanish. Of course, no one who is actually Hispanic would confuse me for being of their race- I may be dark, but my bone structure has not a trace of Mesoamerica in it- but some less traveled people think I look Mexican or Puerto Rican. Italians have mostly stuck to the coasts, and maybe that is half the reason why?
Like most Italian descended women, I have always had large, full natural breasts- I developed early, and after having two kids, my chest has swollen up to a full 38DDD. I come from a family of big breasted women, so this is no surprise. My ass likewise is large and round, not the flatter or smaller backside of most other White people. Some men love my ass and my build, some are intimidated by it, but it never kept me from having men stare at me or walk behind me like puppies with their tongues sticking out.
Even in my looks, though, not all stereotypes are true.
I am five foot eleven, which is tall for a woman- my mother is barely five one- and I am big boned.
Not fat- there is a difference- but my shoulders are broader than those of most women. This makes it hard for me to buy off the rack dresses and clothing, so it is fortunate that I don’t have to do that. My mother always told me that I better have a husband that made a lot of money to keep me in good clothes. Even when I was still in middle school, I knew that I was going to be buying my own clothes someday- no man was going to take care of me.
Instead of getting married to some guy from around the block, I went to college- on a basketball scholarship. When I went to school, there was no such thing as professional sports for women- such as they are now- but my skills on the court were good enough to pay my way though four years of university. I graduated from the University Of Michigan, in the top ten percent of my class, and I didn’t stop there. Law school at Rutgers, followed by working for the Kings County District Attorney.
I am not the weak woman that society pictures us Italian American women as, I have never been the one to stay at home and keep my mouth shut about my husband’s business. Nor am I the other kind- a loud mouthed trashy bitch. I am educated, I earn more than enough now to support myself, and this is the reason that my first marriage collapsed. My husband, though he had an okay job, was making less than me as I rose through the ranks of the prosecutors office. Once I decided to go across the aisle to criminal defense, he couldn’t deal with the fact I was pulling in three times what he was.
That marriage ended, and I tried again- this time with a man who was Jewish. I thought maybe that because he was more liberal than my first husband, that he would like the fact that I was an equal partner in the relationship and not some drone who followed behind him. I don’t want to sit here and bash Allen for being Allen, but he wanted more children- something I was not into once I had my daughter- and I did not. We ended things on mostly amicable terms, though I still don’t like his new wife.
Being Italian isn’t the only set of stereotypes I have to deal with- being a lesbian gives me a whole new category of expected behaviors.
Yes, that’s right, I am now an open lesbian.
Some people can’t understand how I became a lesbian- especially my mother, who simply said I am going through a “phase”, and my sisters, who ignored it as best they could- and I can’t explain to them that sexuality isn’t really a choice. Just as I didn’t choose to grow into the tallest woman in my family, I didn’t go out and purposefully choose to become a pussy licker. Nobody ever asks a straight person why they like the opposite gender- why is it that some people still feel a need to question those of us who are gay, lesbian, or bisexual?
I have always been attracted to other women, and in college, I did discover what having sex with girls was like. I can’t say that it is better than having sex with a man- that would be like saying that a pickup truck is better than a compact car, without considering the needs of the person driving the vehicle. They both serve a purpose and are good in their own way, even if they are different from each other.
I never told my husbands about my natural attractions- I still enjoyed sex with them, and there was no reason to make them doubt themselves. See, men love to watch porn where two hot women are fucking each other-but men generally don’t like the idea of women being in actual love with other women. For most men, even when women are having sex with each other, a man is still at the center (that’s why threesomes are more popular than lesbian sex), and the concept that women can live without men only makes them feel inadequate. When I used to watch porn with my second husband, I never did tell him that the so-called lesbian sex scenes were not how real sex goes down between two women!
I had never dated a woman, even though I had been with more women than men, and I never even messed around when I was married. People seem to think that someone who is bisexual has to be a slut- again, another stereotype. Just because a woman likes dick doesn’t mean that she wants to fuck every dick, so why is it if someone likes cock and pussy that everyone thinks they are just greedy?
As soon as my second marriage was over, I found myself drawn more to spending time with a female coworker of mine. One thing led to another, and while we never dated, she reminded me what I had been missing. We messed around until she ended up getting promoted, and I decided to cross the legal aisle and start defending clients instead of sending them to jail.
I don’t call myself bisexual- even if I still like sex with men- because I have no desire to ever be involved in a relationship with a man again. I have been with my girlfriend now for three years, and we have been a couple openly for two. I would not trade her simply for some cock. Would you trade the person you love simply because you find someone else attractive?
People think that lesbians hate men.
I don’t hate men- saying that all men are the same is as wrong as saying that all Italians are the same- I just don’t want to be involved with one in a romance.
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