Fans di Gia

Probably would not say it, but you invite visitors, adults, who warned, they decided to enter this blog, do not misunderstand the meaning of the contents therein, which are only fantasy if literary, and fiction or if photos or videos, and therefore, have nothing to do with the reality that, fortunately, is another matter entirely.

Tuesday, 1 March 2016


A passage from the lesbian erotic novel
Act 1°: Scent of Female
Kindle and E-epub format, for reading on the iPhone, Blackberry, iPad, Android, Desktop.

… I put myself more comfortable: I took off my jeans and panties that, to tell the truth, they’re already showing soaked my hot, sticky fluids... her fault, of course. I’m so prodigal in the liquid manifestation of my excitement! And indeed this has never been lived poorly from my lovers: my prerogative like it very much to them, since, besides their senses, also satisfies their sense of smell... and, even more, taste.
My quality of overflow in such a manner in front of the feminine grace is another of the reasons why I don’t like to wear panties; and this, unless they’re useful to seduce.  You have to think that with all the pussy, either native or imported, which vague in every season for my Venice, inevitably attracting my attention, and would make me dunking my panties all the time. Not to mention when I happen to have a date with one of my affectionate girlfriends in some cafe in Piazza S. Marco: to insinuate my hand, stealthily, to visit their pussies, or to make “ginocchietto”[1] between their thighs under the table, in the meantime that we prepare ourselves spiritually to coitus that will follow in her house or mine, my poor panties, would have to change every five minutes.  Without underpants, instead, my pussycat can safely dry in the air and stay fresh, always ready to rejoice to tears... “pussycat” so to speak, because I bring it perfectly shaved from my brown wool just curly. I’m not quite blonde, but brown-clear, and my skin, say it my girlfriends, is white as milk... sweetened, they add.
Going back to that night when things between Nourhan and me took place usually, to stay with the breasts free from any hindrance, I also took off my shirt and bra; I remained dressed only in the socks. I felt pervaded by a wellness, I was free and relaxed, and lingered a little to watch at my boobs: I found them beautiful, full. The nipples pink and swollen, in their mute language, excited, they urged me to cuddle them; massage them gently with the fingers soaked with my vaginal secretion which I like to call “honey”. No wonder that I call so my vaginal secretions, because if they aren’t sweet in taste, delicious are the sensations that cause their appearance plentiful.
After that shitty day, I had decided that I would have enjoyed to the fullest the awaited intimate moment, the pleasure that I was going to give me with the prospect of coming together with her. For Nourhan and me, this was not considered to be masturbation: in the end, even though far away thousands of miles from each other, we were in two.
Through the thumb and middle finger soaked, opened to form a thin and resistant veil opal, I looked at the picture of my woman drawn on the monitor: it was intriguing to see her blurry image; it was as if I saw her with my eyes shuffled due to the lust to have her. The veil broke, and the fingers returned to the womb, to get soaked again: I liked to repeat that game; it was how to take possession of her image through the filter of my pleasure. The two fingers open in “V” in front of one eye and close to the nostrils, made me feel my intense odor; I put my fingers to the mouth: in those moments, I like to taste my flavor, from my lovers, often called “seafaring”. Of course, I prefer that of other lovely women, but in the absence of one... and then, testing it is also a question of civilization: how could I offer myself to my lovers, if I for first, I don’t like my smell?
Here’s something else that is not given to men to do: we women are “liquid” already during the development of libido, and before reaching the climax. Their only fluid, instead, shows up only to done things, when they become flabby, and the motivation has died... poor men.
I put my fingers in my vagina, to soak them again and began to draw some concentric circles on the...(Continues in the novel).

[1] Ginocchietto, refers to two people who, intentionally, under a table, skim each one knee; is a sign of sexual advance.

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