Nici: Erotica for Lesbians Book One

By Ana Montero

Nici looks and acts like many Italian American, Catholic girls her age. Her large family is deeply loving and hard-working. She has grown up with a strong work ethic, a caring heart and a concept of beauty that embraces the arts and delectable foods her parents inherited from the old world.
When Nici’s world crumbles, she almost crumbles with it.
Standing on the precipice, where life’s biggest decisions are made, Nici does not step back into the safety net of family and friends.
Jump off the precipice with Nici. Land in the hands of various women who teach her about life, spirituality, love and sex in ways she never dreamed possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483579207

Book preview

Two

Preface

Less than forty years ago, homosexuality was considered a mental illness.  Mainstream Christianity considered it an aberration worthy of burning forever in hell. The practice of homosexuality was against the law in almost every state.  Female sexuality was acceptable only in the context of a monogamous marriage to a man or purchased in a brothel.  The most benign attitudes considered that Lesbians simply hadn’t found the right man. 

Nici’s story begins almost forty years ago.

Her story contains bits of all of our stories with a little added spice.

To create one’s own world takes courage. Georgia O’Keeffe

Chapter One Nicola Angelica Bertoli

Lani’s image surfaced as it always did, unexpectedly and at the wrong time.  This time, the memory of how her face looked during the going away party my family gave her pierced me like thorns just as I was trying to enjoy Michael’s nervousness at meeting my family for the first time. He was my parent’s great hope for me. I could see the small wet spot his armpit made when he reached to put his arm around me. Feeling a little nervous Michael? I finally managed a giggle. It was a pleasure to see my GQ man always handsome and supremely confident feel unnerved.

He knew he was the first man I had ever brought home and one of the few men I had ever found interesting enough to date. He knew my parents and brothers and sisters wondered if I had a calling for the convent because I always preferred the company of my girlfriends and books to boys. No one knew about the honeyed secrets I carried to my bed each night, not even my best friend and brother, Frankie. It was precisely those deep secrets that eventually drove me to Michael in the hope of living a normal life. We both wanted the blessing of my parents even if we had different reasons.  There would be no future for us without it, at least for me. It was the Italian way of my world.

The smell of fresh cut lilacs wafted over us when my parents opened the front door to our family home. Welcome! they said, practically in unison. I was surprised they hugged us both and delighted they liked the first impression we made as a couple. But I knew the evening was young and that Michael would be the object of intense scrutiny beneath my father’s incredible charm and my mother’s quiet surveillance as she served her superb cooking. I was their baby, their later in life beloved accident who they spoiled without ruining me. At least that was what I wanted to think.

Daddy led us to the large family room where the late springtime sun warmed us and where more of mama’s flowers splashed their colors and scents for our enjoyment. This is always my favorite room, I thought, while daddy got glasses of wine for us to enjoy with the antipasto from one of their deli-restaurants.

I remained fairly quiet so daddy and Michael could focus on each other.  Mama had already set the table, quite beautifully I told her, so there was nothing for me to do except descend into the orgiastic pleasure of eating daddy’s famous sopressata salami. Not for the first time, did I feel deeply grateful for the home I grew up in, always beautiful and filled with luscious food.  I worshiped my parents for their love and care in creating such richness.

The wine made me a little tipsy by the time mama seated us at the dinner table so everyone seemed to glow as the sun dipped silently leaving the candles in charge of light.  I remained quiet listening this time to Michael and Daddy talk about opera. Michael was holding his own in knowing at least the basic repertoire against daddy’s extensive knowledge of it.  Daddy sang his rich baritone with the chorus when he could and I caught his smiles as the evening wore on. Mama kept winking at me, laughing her little laugh. They were pleased.

The evening so far had been a success. With the after-dinner brandy, I giggled looking at Michael’s blondness, like whipped cream on our cappuccino and wondered one more time what he saw in me.  He was elegant in the way one thinks of the upper classes from New York where he grew up on Long Island. He had come from a long line of successful artists.  Michael was a successful watercolorist himself and currently worked as one of the curators at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. His ultimate goal was to secure a permanent position at the Guggenheim in Manhattan. Something I didn’t want to think about much.

Maybe it was the way he looked at my parents, seeing their beauty the way artists see in their special way, that I finally understood the essence of why he loved me.  It was the beauty I inherited from a long line of Italians whose beauty is a given because beauty is a way of life.  I have my mother’s voluptuous, full breasted figure and my father’s long eye lashes and big eyes.  The only difference is I was something of a throwback with lighter skin and hair as if I was a northerner where blonde haired blue eyed Italians live.  My beauty obviously mattered to Michael in a way it did not to me, but then, I am not an artist.

Maybe I was simply Michael’s moveable piece of art.  Certainly he had me pose for him so often that I became something of an exhibitionist, loving the way he loved looking at me, enjoying what he did to me after his sketching was done.

With these musings, conversations and brandy came to a warm finish. After goodbyes and the invitation for more evenings together, I hugged my parents knowing the night was even more than what I hoped for. Michael had been deliciously charming himself and I knew he liked my folks as much as they liked him.

By the time Michael had gotten me neatly tucked in the car, I was feeling creamy thinking about being a personal work of art. The night had cooled down considerably but I took my sweater off anyway hoping Michael would fixate on the cleavage my low cut dress revealed. I knew my breasts gave him endless pleasures, so when he revved up the engine I gently caressed his cock hidden in his boxer shorts and slacks all the way to his place, enjoying the sexual tension I created.  I said nothing. I didn’t have to.

By the time he got me to his balcony overlooking the lake, I knew he was hurting bad. But no matter what I did to drive him crazy, he always maintained enough control to pleasure me first and he never demanded I do things to him I didn’t want to do. 

You have no idea how much I love you! he murmured while rubbing his hard cock against me while he buried his face in my breasts. Slowly he lifted my dress over my head exposing my skin to the chilly night air. My nipples grew hard as he licked my goosebumps and undid my bra to let my breasts spring free. 

He stepped back then, to look at me. He always began with my eyes and worked his way to my breasts. I arched to make them look like they reached for him, jiggling them just enough to make him salivate knowing that he enjoyed the delayed gratification as much as I did. We drove each other crazy that way. 

Finally he laid me down on the chaise lounge, running his tongue alongside my breasts and belly murmuring about beauty when all I needed by that time was to have his hard thick cock fuck me into oblivion.

Take me Michael, please! I whispered. He ripped my panties in half and spread my legs wide. I could hear him unzip his pants to let his cock rise up but nothing happened. He left me wet, groaning and open in the dark, his hot breath making my clit stand up needing to get sucked until he wrapped his lips around as much of my parts as he could, sucking gently at first, then hard and fast enough to bring on an almost agonized orgasm. I almost whimpered Lani’s name but Michael rammed me with his cock, pushing it all the way in and out and in again until we shuddered in an explosive orgasm together.

Afterwards, I felt a little scared at how close I had come to saying Lani’s  name vowing to never think of her that way again, when Michael stirred enough to help me get up.  He was still fully clothed with his limp cock hanging out.  I was naked and getting cold so Michael picked me and carried me to bed.  I made the little purring sounds he loved while I enjoyed the hard strength of his muscles.  Michael is a beautiful man to look at and feel, I thought lazily, happy to get tucked into a warm bed.

I woke the next morning to hot coffee and Joan Sutherland’s voice singing one of my favorite arias from the French opera, Lakme. 

"Under the thick dome where the white jasmine with the roses entwined