Gina's Tale My Tale

Hey all. My name is Gina. I am 31, an Italian American woman, divorced and yearning to let people get to know some of the more, ”secret” parts of my life. I have always been a voyeur, an exhibitionist and consummate unfulfilled sexual being.

What I am hoping to do is give you all a little piece of my thoughts, fantasies and real-life experiences. So, wish me luck and please email me. I’d love to hear what you all think of my stuff.

Smooch

Gina G

My discovery, growing up and growing fast. I was raised in a traditional Italian family. Mom is from Naples, Dad was born just outside the same Italian city. They expected a few things of me, being their first child born in “America!” First thing, go to school because they never had the chance to go. Secondly, meet a good Italian boy and get married. Third, have many babies. These are totally cliché I know, but totally true as well. Well, Gina, little old me, was not the kind of person to let people tell her what to do. What really broke it for me was when I started maturing and the issue of sexual and physical development came up. You see, we Italian girls have a reputation of...shall we say...of being on the buxom side. I wish I could say it was a myth, but it isn’t!

My cousin Josephine is all of 5’4”, former college and high school gymnast, and she was an H-cup when she married. I shit you not, as my brother is fond of saying. The girl has since had a breast reduction, but it is prime example of the big busted Italian women. My mom is chaste, so is my sister and yes...so am I.

I got my first period when I was nine...TOTALLY freaking me out. Mom said it was OK,natural, etc. etc. It didn’t matter..I was still freaked. Well if that wasn’t bad enough, shortly there after I began to develop. So by 13 I was a full fledged C-cup. (Authors note- From what I understand this is the current average female adult size!) Come high school, I keep growing and now, 31, all of 5’5”, I am 36DD. Yes you read it right and it is completely true. All right, by this point I am all “curved out” size 7 dress, and without working out I would have a little excess “junk in the trunk.” I was already curvy when I was way too young to be curvy, I noticed boys much older than me paid a hell of allot of attention.

Virginity. Something I couldn’t wait to get rid. I lost my virginity when I was 14 to a boy who was 16. Typical friend of a friend scenario. It was quick, less than spectacular and something wish I could have a “mulligan” on. ( Ex-hubby is a golfer, even I get creatively contaminated with his stupid phrases) Well once I was unleashed, as it were, I dated plenty of guys during my high school years. Mainly guys from out of the town I grew up in. I preferred to be the “mysterious girl from out of town.”

However, like a good Italian girl I tended to go for the same type of guys. Guys with the names of Vincenzo and Carlo. Yes I kid you not, I once dated a guy named Vito.One of the more popular rumors about Italian men is that they are all “Stallions in the bedroom and in the pants.”

I was with seven guys before I got married when I was 19, all of them Italian, none were “stallions” in any sense of the word.Now I will admit to be VERY curious about the issue of “size” growing up. The first guy I saw naked was my brother Dom when I was 10. I remember thinking, “ewwwwwwww.” I had seen my dad naked once and once heard my mother talking with aunt’s about a “boy” she had a tryst with in Italy. Once again hearing way too much information about my mom’s sex life. But what I did retain was her appreciation for the size of a man’s cock. Come four years later and I am all raring to “let me peek” with my boyfriends. High school comes and I am probing my girlfriends for stories about their boyfriends and even their brothers. Was I way out of my league? Hell yeah. They thought I was way too horny for my own good. They blamed it on my chest. Kidding. Anyway, I am weeks away from graduation and I first hear something that I still obsess over to this day, the myth of the African American man and penis size.

My best friend at the time, Sarah, was a very rebellious young lady and dated boy on the wrong side of the tracks. We grew up in a very white suburb of Boston, where literally the only black family in our town wasn’t really black, but Portuguese ( Please don’t ask me why) Well Sarah used to go into Boston, get into clubs and she started dating black guys. She brought a real handsome black guy to the prom, you’d think she had the plague. Racism was still rampant in my home town then. His name was Tyrone.

I brought a guy, geek of geeks named Frank from the marching band..I don’t know what I was thinking. Anyway, we head off to the party after the prom, with typical prom crap with typical prom guys staring at my cleavage which seemed to always want to pop out of my dress. Sarah and I get a room together, ditch our dates and just plan on chillin with other friends. Knock knock at midnight, guess who’s at the door. Tyrone.

Suddenly I find myself in the hallway, my stuff in my hands and Tyrone closing the door smirking. Judging by the sounds I heard coming from the room Sarah was having the night of her life.

Next morning, all of us feeling a bit woozy, meet up for breakfast. Sarah literally waddles in,looking like hell. She sits down slowly and proceeds to tell me about a night she still talks fondly over 10 years later. Sarah and I are still friends, amazingly. Sarah told me a lot of stuff that morning but the one thing I will always remember...” He has the biggest cock I have ever seen!”

Sarah was never prone to overstating things, but this totally floored me and admittedly really made my mouth water. So I wonder, was it just Tyrone, or is it black guys in general? And I was damn curious to find out. I never got a chance to find out right away. Being an occasionally impetuous person, I am an artist so I have weird sensibilities sometimes, I met this guy who was in a band. Yes, I know, yet another cliché. Long hair, heavy metal guitarist and a total god on stage. I was 18. It was 1989.

Well come 1990, guess who I am married to? I left school, a community college north of Boston, we moved and got married. To this day my father will not speak his name. My dad almost never came to the wedding he was that hurt. Mom wasn't much better, she insisted I broke her heart by marrying a guy like that. Long hair be damned, he wasn’t Italian.

Daryl, my ex, managed to cut his hair, get a respectable job in advertising and makes a pretty good living. I however, seem to get lost in the shuffle. I am suddenly keeping house and biding my time to have kids.

I had dreams of things you know I wanted to sculpt and paint. I was convinced I would bike and backpack across Europe with Sarah after college. Instead I was cleaning house, working a part time job at a book store and completely desperate to get out of my life. I really hoped Daryl would understand my needs and give me the space and freedom to pursue some of my dreams.

He did none of those things.

I was miserable for years. Then I decide I am not going to live my life to serve and please him.

But what mainly, and completely honestly, broke the deal for me was the fact I was TOTALLY sexually unfulfilled. Daryl was fast and average in size. He was convinced he was the best lay ever.

The First Time I Cheated

I was faithful to Daryl for years, managing to keep temptation at bay for five long years. Then I met Paul. Paul worked the floor of the book store I was at in the toney college city of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Well Paul to me was stunning. At least 6’3”, pure and perfect milk chocolate skin, broad shoulders, perfect smile and an intellect that made me swoon. Our relationship began purely as a friendship. We would go to lunch, he would tell me about his girlfriends and relationship problems. I would whine about my husband and lack of artistic fulfillment.

We’d managed to dance around the subject of sex for nearly six months in our friendship before it came up at lunch one afternoon. Poor Paul, both parents originally from Jamaica now professionals in the suburbs of Boston, was going through a weird time with one girlfriend and would never tell me what it was all about. Her name is Michelle. You see Paul was Michelle’s first black boyfriend. Michelle was a small girl, all of 4’11” judging from the picture Paul had with him. Well it seems they were having intimacy problems. I probed further, since I love juicy stories about sex among my friends, I got Paul to admit there was a “size” problem.

I swear to this day my nipples instantly grew hard and my skin went flush. I knew where it was going and I couldn’t wait to hear it from Paul’s mouth.

For the last 15 minutes of lunch I was treated to an increasingly details account of Paul’s sexual problem and the root of it. You see, Paul was very well endowed and Michelle was literally refusing to have sex. Apparently she was sexually inexperienced. I hear tid bits like....like a cucumber...very wide...cervix pressure....and tell me I was NOT swooning!? It was at that moment that I totally let Paul into my kinky little mind when I said something I would have never said before.

“I wouldn’t know about a large cock Paul. I’ve never had one.”

God’s honest truth, I said that to him in the middle of the bagel shop. The look on his face was equally as surprised. He danced around the issue, almost embarrassed to give specific details. He was far from bluster and bravado.

I one upped him. That conversation changed our relationship. From that day on we were more at ease and grew more explicit in conversations with each other. I found out days later he had measured himself once. I have also learned since that time a hell of a lot of guys do that at one time or another. Still he refused to give me anything specific. He was totally playing with me in a modest sort of way and I was totally eating it up. OK, how did it happen, you ask. How did I cheat. Well it happened the way allot of cheats happen. We got drunk. There is a great Tex-Mex eatery off Harvard Square in Cambridge and Paul and I went there for frozen margaritas after work. I was so drunk and hadn’t let loose like that in a while. Paul however managed to hold his liquor better, yet it loosened him up dramatically.

Talk drifted to sex as it got later. Paul fired the first shot. I came back with all I had. OK, for the male readers out there who need to know what I was wearing ( you visually based meat eaters) Gap low rise jeans, white button down blouse. Nothing blatantly sexy, but damn I can fill out a simple white shirt. My skin was flush, and it was showing especially across my chest and my “ample cleavage.” ( Damn that's lame but hey it is the Internet right?)

I was so drunk they cut me off and Paul had to drive me home. I usually took the subway home, but he was a bit worried if I’d make it. So he walked me back to his car, set me in the passengers seat. Hopped in, started it up and that’s when I let my hand drop right in his lap. Was it the booze or was it really me. I’ll chalk it up to the booze.

But God damn that night totally changed my life!

There was a minute of OOPS, giggles, awkward jokes and laughs. But as he looked at me I felt so wanted. In a way I had not felt in years. I mean I knew I still could attract men, but this was a lust I had not felt since I married Daryl. I asked Paul to take me back to his place and the bastard almost didn’t. He made excuses, told me what was going on was wrong, blah, blah. Way too goody two shoes for me. Our first kiss was in his car at a traffic light. Our last kiss was the next morning in his car heading to work.

Paul took me to his apartment, was absolutely gentle and perfect. His lips were magic. I mean my skin tingled when he touched me. I still get shivers thinking about him. I got a bit bossy at one point and he let me take control. I told him flat out that I wanted to unwrap the package because it was mine. Damn..or at least something like that. I was shit faced that night.

I unzipped, reached in and oh my! I remember the feel of him in my hand like it was yesterday. I reached in and his cock had weight, it was draped over my hand. It was down one leg! I cannot express the flood of thoughts and feelings. When I pulled him free it was the darkest and largest cock I had ever seen. It was covered in perfect bulging veins and had almost this sheen. It was magnificent. It took little coaxing to get him hard either. A big bonus for me because I was way too wet to wait.

He just sat there on the couch, I yanked off my pants and panties, pressed his large cock head against my pussy and I slowly sunk down onto him.

I gasped. It was a pressure and pain that took my breath away. I had taken in more than I could handle. I literally (another cliché) felt like a virgin again. His size was perfectly large. We went at slowly for about an hour when we both came. I had multiple O’s during that time. Lord how I missed them. When I was a teen and fucking around allot I could easily get off a couple times in a good fuck session.

Paul’s cock made Daryl a light weight. Paul fucked me all night. Well after the alcohol wore off. I never went home that night, but when I did after work I was unable to contain my utter joy at the experience. I mean I was sore, very sore. But it didn’t matter.

I had my first big cock.

Daryl was never going to be able to compete.