Lust

Genre: Erotica

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Prologue

 

Alex

 

Alex was already asleep on the uncomfortable seat  in front of the door corresponding to his flight, after two hours of wandering around the airport, first to carry out the check-in tasks that the airlines have delegated to travelers and then to dispatch the baggage. The nervous tension that usually accompanies those activities prior to boarding had vanished once he had completed them, giving rise to the great fatigue accumulated during the week before the trip, in which he had had to prepare all the material that he was expected to present at the international convention of the company he worked for and in which he had to show the results of the Argentine affiliate in the previous year. His bosses had placed great expectations on him and had loaded him with recommendations on the points to emphasize in order to highlight the efforts to overcome a year with an unfavorable economic environment in the country. He knew that he had been chosen to represent Argentina because of his knowledge of the company’s activities but above all because of his fluent use of the English language, acquired in the years he had lived in New York, when he was working in his previous job.

The loudspeakers woke him up from his lethargy by announcing the departure of his flight and giving priority to frequent travelers, first class and business class passengers, pregnant women, families with young children and the elderly. Resignedly he got up from his seat and positioned himself in the line that was forming. The young man reflected that luckily he was assigned a seat next to the aisle of the plane, since his long legs did not fit in the narrow window and middle seats.

 

The plane taxied and finally took off so that the next cause of tension was also relieved and the older lady who had not stopped talking to him nervously calmed down and concentrated on reading the on-board magazine with all its banal texts and magnificent photos. Alex closed his eyes and started the unconscious process of reflection that always took place at the beginning of each flight. This time the thoughts did not address the task that had to develop in the convention, which he had already prepared sufficiently and did not show weak points but were rather oriented to relive the events occurred ten years before when he had lived in New York for twenty months. The experience had been very strong for a young man who had just turned twenty-three years in the previous work weeks spent in Caracas, before traveling to the United States. The traveler recognized that at that time the culture shock for the boy born and raised in a middle class neighborhood in Buenos Aires had been very strong and had somehow shaped his personality. On that occasion he had been visited by his then Argentine girlfriend accompanied by her aunt and that four week visit had shortened his loneliness. It was when they returned to Argentina and he found himself alone again that the city of New York devoured and reconfigured his personality with the traits he still retained, a mixture of light and shadow that combined resilience and strength of character with a certain disenchantment that nevertheless did not fall into cynicism.

When he returned to Buenos Aires after that period of training he had married Susana and they had lived together for seven years. The marriage had then been shipwrecked by repeated infidelities on his part that had culminated in his affair with a woman thirty-five years older than Alex who had absorbed him like a sponge. Finally Susana had expelled him out of the house and he had had to send his belongings to his parents’ home and go live with his new partner. Marta was a lady belonging to one of the patrician families of Buenos Aires to such an extent that there was a street in the city carrying her name; she had then imposed on him a new life based on her strict etiquette standards. The woman had an apartment in an exclusive area of the city and liked to show her young partner among her friends of similar social extraction; she did it with discretion and good tact, avoiding any hint of scandal. In bed Marta became transfigured and became a demanding lover who wanted to try all the erotic variants that arose from her readings of oriental love arts. The lady had warned him in advance that she wanted to see all her sexual fantasies fulfilled and was also prepared to satisfy his. Both postulates had been fulfilled in excess and the repertoire carried out by both lovers seemed to have no limit and boredom and routine had never reached them. Despite the physical imprint of their relationship, in an anticlimax Marta had confessed that very much to her regret she had fallen in love with Alex and lived this feeling as a problem. Without a doubt, it would be the woman who would most suffer for the temporary distance produced by the young man’s trip abroad.

Alex’s errant thoughts in his airplane seat addressed a recent event that had unexpectedly occurred. Although he was not a frequent visitor to Facebook, he usually entered his account once or twice a week. About fifteen days before he had been surprised by a request for friendship that made him jump in his chair; even in the doubt of if it was the person that he believed the young man confirmed this request and then all his past was displayed in front of him. Rachel Lewin was a young woman with whom he had a very intimate relationship during his first stay in New York.

The girl, who belonged to a well-to-do Jewish family in Manhattan, had gone to live a few weeks before their first meeting in Brooklyn Heights, in front of the island of Manhattan and the exit of the East River to the sea. In one of the outings to walk by the riverside esplanade called Promenade, Alex had sat on one of the benches of the site. This place had a marked erotic memory for the young man, since several of his conquests in New York had taken place there. He had moved to Brooklyn Heights after a couple of weeks spent in a hotel looking to have a place of his own and save money.

Alex was staring into the skyscrapers of Manhattan and the river water when he noticed a young woman approaching and surprisingly sitting next to him despite the fact that there were other empty benches on the esplanade. The young woman, slightly overweight and with graceful but somewhat vulgar face immediately began a conversation, at first somewhat forced, and then invited him to have a coffee in her apartment, not far from Alex´s home. Just as the boy had anticipated the visit ended up in bed in a love marathon in which he had to employ himself thoroughly to satisfy the seemingly insatiable needs of the woman. Rachel confessed that she had been following him since she had seen him on the street a week before, that she knew of his walks on the Promenade and that had taken advantage of the meeting to force getting in contact. In spite of the flattering nature of the confession, Alex was surprised by the naivety with which the woman had exposed her feelings towards him, undoubtedly tinged somewhat by her romantic and sexual fantasies.

During the entire stay of the boy in New York they had sex on a regular weekly basis, although the boy had let her know that they were not on an exclusive basis.

 

After the first contact on Facebook the woman had sent him messages almost daily, not always answered by Alex, in which she made known her desire to meet him again; Rachel had even declared herself willing to travel to Buenos Aires for that purpose, until the man had finally let her know that he was moving to New York for work reasons, although he had not communicated the exact date, to avoid creating himself an obligation as soon as he arrived in the city. The woman’s response was immediate.

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Encuéntralo en: Amazon Kindle ebooks: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H2161XM

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Capítulo 6

 

Michael

 

El joven decidió usar el tiempo disponible en el fin de semana para averiguar el paradero  de varias personas con las que había estado sentimentalmente relacionado diez años atrás. El verdadero propósito de Alex era constatar si los recuerdos que tenía de aquella época aún conservaban validez.

El sábado Alex se levantó más tarde que lo habitual. Su mente estaba en paz y tenía razones sobradas para estar satisfecho con su vida tanto en el ámbito laboral como en el sentimental. Esa mañana desayunó y salió a caminar por Brooklyn Heights ya que había descubierto que había adquirido una cierta aversión a realizar viajes innecesarios por la ciudad usando medios públicos de transporte, dado que los debía utilizar todos los días de la semana laboral para ir a su trabajo. Salió a pasear sin rumbo por su zona y caminó un rato por el Promenade, la amplia explanada que bordea el East River con una visión espectacular de la parte sud de Manhattan. Sus pasos no tenían un sentido claro más allá de la caminata pero Alex se dio cuenta que lo empujaban insensiblemente en una dirección vagamente familiar en Montague Street. Venciendo su ansiedad miró las casas que se sucedían hasta que encontró por fin la que le resultaba conocida. Subiendo la escalera de cinco peldaños se acercó a la puerta y atisbó desde uno de sus cristales los buzones que se hallaban en el interior del pasillo. Forzando un poco la vista intentó buscar uno de los casilleros que estuviera rotulado como Peter Strauss.

Peter había sido su primera relación neoyorquina diez años atrás, cuando Susana, entonces su novia, había regresado a Buenos Aires con su tía, dejándolo solo en la inmensa urbe luego de una permanencia en su apartamento de Henry Street durante varios meses. El sentimiento de soledad de Alex en aquel momento había sido intenso, ya que era un joven de una clase media de relativamente timorata arrojado en medio de la inmensa urbe neoyorquina. Caminando por el Promenade había conocido a Peter quien se encontraba paseando a su pequeño perrito faldero y se había acercado a él con algún pretexto ahora olvidado.

Aunque Peter tenía una pareja gay llamado John, había visualizado de inmediato al joven errabundo y había detectado su vulnerabilidad emocional. Ese mismo día lo había llevado a tomar el té en su casa y habían terminado en el lecho, en una experiencia gay inédita para Alex. Durante un tiempo corto ambos habían tenido un affaire hasta que surgió Michael, otro gay afroamericano dotado de un  prodigioso instinto sexual que había atrapado a Alex, arrebatándoselo a Peter, a pesar de que eran amigos.

Con esos recuerdos en la mente Alex recorrió los buzones hasta que su corazón dio un vuelco. Uno de los casilleros estaba marcado Apt 3- M.Brown.

En ese momento Alex se percató cual era la razón que había guiado sus pasos hasta la casa de Montague Street. Sin vacilar apretó el timbre del apartamento 3 y esperó ansioso el resultado.

Al cabo de unos instantes respondió por el parlante del portero eléctrico una voz que el visitante reconoció de inmediato.

-¡Hola! ¿Quién es?- Insistió la voz desde el interior.

El muchacho sintió que se había formado un nudo en su garganta y tuvo que forzar su voz para decir.

-Hola Michael. Soy Alex Bianchi.

Del otro lado siguió un instante de estupor hasta que la voz respondió también afectada por la emoción.

-¡Alex!… ¿eres realmente tú?

 

Ambos hombres se observaron brevemente a través de los vidrios de la puerta de la casa que Michael abrió de inmediato.

– Ven, pronto, pasa.- Dijo tomando a Alex por el brazo e introduciéndolo en el pasillo. Luego, sin pronunciar palabra, lo remolcó literalmente hasta su propio apartamento, que como el joven recordaba se hallaba en la planta baja y del que el dueño había dejado abierta la puerta en su prisa por dar la bienvenida a su visitante. Una vez que ambos se hallaban en el interior el dueño de casa empujó a Alex contra la pared anexa a la puerta y dándole un abrazo le plantó un beso en la boca, que resultó eterno. Cuando el joven pudo liberarse de la cálida recepción y tomaron distancia el uno del otro aprovecharon a mirarse. Alex encontró a su anfitrión ligeramente más gordo,  habiendo ganado diámetro su cintura que ostentaba ahora un vientre amplio, sus caderas sus muslos y sus nalgas, estos últimos prominentes y comparables a los de una mujer. La tez de Michael era más oscura que lo que la memoria del argentino rememoraba y el cabello se hallaba rapado por completo. El dueño de casa se hallaba vestido con una remera y un pantalón de tejido de punto, los que resaltaban sus formas femeninas. Michael aun retenía la cabeza de su visitante entre sus gruesas manos y lo contemplaba tratando de grabar sus rasgos en su memoria.

-El tiempo te ha tratado bien. Estás aun más guapo que cuando te conocí.

-Tengo algunas canas aisladas.

-Lo que te hace más interesante. Además te veo con la musculatura más desarrollada.- Era obvio que el hombre no perdía detalle de aquello que resultaba de su interés. Nuevamente lo abrazó y besó su boca. Mientras lo hacía tomó las manos del joven entre las suyas y las deslizó dentro de la cintura elástica de su pantalón, guiándolas hacia sus glúteos.

-No pierdes el tiempo.- Exclamó Alex con una carcajada.

-Mil veces he soñado con este reencuentro y siempre creí que era imposible.

-Aun no sé si vives solo o acompañado, y que se ha hecho de Peter.

-Ya habré de contar luego.

-¿Luego de que?

-De que te lleve a mi cama y me hagas tuyo.

-¿No vas demasiado rápido? ¿No hace falta mi consentimiento?

Lujuria

Genero: romance eróticoLujuria(2)

Descripción:

 

Después de diez años Alex regresa a Nueva York y sus pasos se encaminan a Brooklyn Heights, donde entonces había tenido una actividad sexual turbulenta pero excitante.

En su nuevo trabajo conoce a Brenda, una belleza afroamericana de la cual queda deslumbrado de inmediato y con la que comienza un tórrido romance.

Sin embargo, los viejos affaires románticos rápidamente afloran y queda envuelto en una seductora y voluptuosa red impregnada de erotismo con personas de ambos sexos que habían sido sus amantes. El joven cree que podrá mantener el equilibrio entre las viejas pasiones y su relación con Brenda.

Sin embargo, debe viajar a Buenos Aires por temas familiares y en el viaje de retorno a Nueva York conoce a Julieta, una joven chilena de la que se enamora perdidamente. Este entramado intrincado de afectos e instintos lo sumerge en un laberinto emocional del cual no consigue escapar.

Lujuria tiene todo lo que su nombre promete; es una novela cargada de un fuerte erotismo que no elude los temas espinosos y te arrastrará en su vértigo sensorial.

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Amazon versión impresa: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1718073488

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South of Capricorn- An Erotic Novel

Keywords: erotic romance, interracial, cunnilingus,oral sex,BDSM, noir novel.

South of Capricorn 2

Find it in: All Romance e-books: https://goo.gl/IEIIIU

Description:

South of Capricorn is a novel with a strong erotic content, so the book is aimed at the adult audience.
A ten-year-old boy hosted in an orphanage located in a remote village in the northern end of the Argentina, is seduced by the supervisor of the establishment, who is madly in love of him. This woman, even against her own moral standards and upbringing is his secret lover, protecting and taking care of him.
The fate of the child undergoes a drastic change when his mentor is replaced by another woman, who has similar claims on the child, but it exerts its power without scruples, so he becomes her sex slave.
Upon reaching adolescence and youth, the boy gets trapped in the nets woven by each one of his mistresses, in a dynamic that determines his relationships with other women.
In his search for a way in the midst of these circumstances, he is involuntarily wrapped in a dark episode with an organization of human trafficking, with dramatic consequences.
South of Capricorn is thus located at the interface of the erotic novel and the noir genre.

Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1
The Province of Misiones constitutes a wedge between Brazil and Paraguay, separated almost completely from both countries by rivers. It is the Northeast end of Argentina, with a semitropical climate since it is partially situated to the North of the Tropic of Capricorn. Since the end of the 19th century, this province was populated by settlers coming from all over Europe, and it is estimated that in the province there are 48 communities formed by the descendants of mostly European immigrants, which were added to the native population of Creoles, mixture of the Spaniards and Guaraní Indians. In addition many Paraguayan and Brazilian migrants have joined this population over the years.
I was born in this province, possibly in some of the communities of Slavic origin that have settled in it. I was apparently abandoned at birth at the portal of a church, from which I was transferred to an orphanage, which was my real home and kept me away from the streets, despite its precarious economic means and the roughness of the relationships between children, and among these and their preceptors, which in some cases did not exclude abuse.
My memories go back to the age of about ten years, and the lessons and games in the old courtyard of the institution. It was at about that time that Mrs. Teresa Gonzalez de Pasiuk entered as responsible for the boys Pavilion, a woman who was then thirty years old, of small size, rather slim but well formed body, with a noble face of correct features, with black and bright eyes and hair. All her appearance betrayed the dominance of Castilian blood, with some distant ingredient of the indigenous peoples of the region. Her character was extremely quiet and kept to herself, which perhaps was a requirement for the performance of her functions in a turbulent environment. This woman would have a decisive influence on my life.
Mrs. Gonzalez, or simply the lady, as they called her, soon took a particular appreciation for me, but she made efforts to hide it in order to avoid gossip about preferences and unequal treatment with other children, but that I could however notice mainly in the few moments in which we found ourselves together and somewhat separated from the rest of the pupils. This veiled protection prevented me from being targeted by taunts or abuse by other older children, being that I was one of the boys of light complexion in the group. Later, my body size, bigger to the other children, my sturdy physical build and the acquisition of rudimentary but effective methods of defense on my part, discouraged potential harassers, making unnecessary any physical protection.
As I learned later, Teresa Gonzalez’s entry in the Institute produced a certain seizure between the directors of the institution; certain intrigues that took place with the purchase of items of daily use were cut from the root, the control of the health state of pupils was emphasized, that had formerly been quite neglected, not even meeting the vaccines calendars. Finally education experienced a substantial upswing, closely monitored by the lady, a teacher by profession. All this earned her respect since the beginning of her direction period, not without grudges.
The woman, with a silent but strong personality and making full use of the authority role which she had been granted , kept the wilder and more aggressive boys at bay, including draconian discipline action in extreme cases. In general were weak or new children who benefited most with this attitude, but I always felt that in my case, there was something else. The way she caressed my head when no one watched created me on the one hand a feeling of security and on the other a pleasant tingly feeling that was accentuated with the passage of some years. Children in this type of establishment rarely receive a caress or another display of affection.
Once, three wards which had been bothering me for some time laid me a trap in a nearby park; they were usual events produced by internal gangs, seeking to establish some kind of leadership, but I defended myself fiercely and I got to considerably hurt them, while I received numerous cuts and bruises. Alerted by other children the lady appeared with two wardens, who managed to untangle us with effort. The woman came to me and noted concerned the injuries on my face and scalp, cleaning a cutting wound in a brow with her handkerchief. Then she looked at the three aggressors, and she saw them bleeding and their swollen faces, I noticed a fleeting glimpse in his dark eyes, which I interpreted as a sign of pride.
Later, when I was eleven, destiny took a turn that would be decisive in my life. Children at the orphanage were taken in a bus to visit some Jesuit ruins located a few hundred miles away. Mrs. Gonzalez, who had been nervous and sullen in the previous days, reported that she would stay at the orphanage to arrange an inventory of supplies of the school running in the establishment, and decided that I would stay to help her in the task. Logically I felt somewhat frustrated by losing one of the few rides that were performed each year, but her decisions were not discussed. In addition, the expectation of staying alone with her did not displease me; on the contrary when I reflected on the situation a mixture of curiosity and anxiety invaded me.
All children and adults in the place then departed, and we stayed alone in the extensive grounds.
After the count of items in school, which took us no more than a couple of hours, the lady told to me that we should go to the boys bedroom to check whether there were additional elements that we should add to the inventory. The sky was by then covered of thick clouds that promised one of the frequent storms in that part of the year. Once we had completed the task that claimed no more than an extra half an hour, the woman, who looked particularly uneasy, told me she was tired and sat down on my bed, telling me to do the same thing at her side. The beds were arranged in long rows with narrow aisles in the middle. Thus we stood side by side for several minutes, in the darkness of the bedroom, which had few windows. At the beginning I was expectant of what she would do, but time passed without alternatives. Slowly I became aware that the woman was in a deep state of inner struggle, which communicated to me in the form of agitation. I felt her leg next to mine and noticed that her body radiated heat. The sensation was pleasant at the same time than unusual; as it was said before, abandoned children do not usually have physical proximity of other people, at least not without an aggressive mood.
In the meantime, several lightning lit up the sky and their reflections were admitted through the narrow windows. A flurry of fresh wind came by them as the sound of torrential rain that had started to tap on the veneer roofs of buildings could be heard.
Unexpectedly, as under the influence of the electrical events outside, the woman broke her state of self-absorption. She slid her hand by my head, telling me that she liked my blond hair, but words flowed from her lips with difficulty; even for an inexperienced boy as I it was clear that she was under the influence of a tension that closed her throat. The feeling of her hand caressing me was extremely pleasant, particularly in this suggestive atmosphere of shadows and freshness.

Finally she took my left hand and squeezed it between hers, first voluntary contact of her skin with mine. I immediately felt a chill running down my spine like an electric shock. In fact, the act was deliberate and not a consequence of any external factor. She approached her lips to my forehead and slipped a brief kiss that for me was full of meaning, even if I could not then specify what. For the first time in my life I had been kissed, and the person who had done so who was increasingly becoming the object of my expectation.
It followed another time of quiescence, in which each of us processed the feelings of what had happened until then. Rain kept raging outside, but the spacious galleries and porches prevented it from entering the Pavilion, despite the open windows. I watched the face of the woman in search of signs that would foretell me what would follow, while she looked forward, as if she did not wish to see my eyes.
She still retained my right hand in hers, and at a time she placed it on her lap. There, with my palm on her skirt I could recognize the shape of her thigh, and then experienced a sensation of different character to which I had had up to that moment; my face blushed while I noticed some itching in my groin.
Instinctively, my hand slid down towards her knees, but did so with infinite slowness, since in the first place I was well aware of my dare, and secondly I wanted to enjoy every moment and every inch of the course of my movement. I looked at her directly in the eyes, and for the first time she drifted her look that still had maintained in a fixed position to the front, in reality the vacuum, into my eyes. A smile appeared on her lips and I felt that she had taken a firm resolution, which so far had been pending.
My hand eventually came to the edge of her skirt, and with the tip of my fingers, I rubbed the skin of her knees; alarmed by my boldness I removed them, but then I placed them back, this time decisively. Her body did not move and I, encouraged by the absence of penalties or adverse reactions, continued my slow and loving exploration of her legs. I caressed the front part of her left knee, and then the back side, and while my hand continued gently caressing her calf, I inclined my head down and kissed her left knee, then the right, leaving wet marks on her skin. I continued petting her ankles, and finally, I left my position on the bed and I knelt at her feet. I removed her shoes and took a foot in my hands and then the other; the feet were small and of beautiful forms, and barely exceeded the size of my hands. The lady at the beginning seemed to feel tickled but then adapted to the situation. I approached my mouth to her instep and I kissed it, as well as the different parts of each foot. And finally I licked each one of her soles. The lady let me, and at times rode one leg over the other in a feminine position: in the movement, and given that my head was at the height of her knees, I could briefly glimpse into her thighs and her white underwear.
She uncrossed her legs, and then took my head in her hands and placed it on her lap, where she let it stand for a while. I looked at her again to the eyes and saw a placid smile.
I realized at once that this place was a haven of peace where I wanted to live. The series of sensations that I had been experiencing was completely new in my life quite tough so far, and made me feel that another universe was possible.
I placed my arms around her thighs and I introduced my head under her skirt, kissing their firm and hot flesh, looking for that secret world which I had glimpsed moments earlier. Her legs that were tight together, opened up by millimeters letting my mouth between them. I glimpsed her face for a moment, and saw that her skin had flushed.
At that moment we heard a bus braking and rumors of children. The pupils were returning from their trip towards the end of the afternoon, chased by rain that had shortened their tour.
The lady got out of bed smoothing her skirt and composing her clothes and hair. I felt very disappointed since my best life experience up to that time had ended abruptly and had left me disoriented.
We fixed the bed and the lady told me:
“Not a word of this to anyone, because the consequences can be very serious for me, but also for you.”
From that moment on we lived our secret relationship hidden from the view of others.
Life in the settlement continued its routine, and many months passed. Due to my infatuation I found it incomprehensible that the whole exterior had not altered along with my internal state. My existence, which had been a mere duration devoid of all meaning and purpose until the moment of our fleeting intimate encounter with Teresa was now vibrating with passion. The elapsed time was only an anxious expectation to repeat the time spent with her.

Hot Brooklyn Heights- Una Novela Erótica

Keywords: Erotica, romance erótico, bisexual, Nueva York.

En Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/z7q6vol

Un joven extranjero va a vivir en Nueva York en la década de 1970 y se instala en Brooklyn Heights. relata sus experiencias sexuales a partir del momento en que su novia regresa a su país. La narración tiene un fuerte componente erótico incluyendo experiencias con personas de ambos sexos y de diferentes etnias.
Hot Brooklyn Heights pertenece al género de ficción. Su propósito es destacar el cambio en las costumbres y en las relaciones en el plazo de cuarenta años, en particular en lo que se refiere a las costumbres sexuales.HBH Spa

“Hot Brooklyn Heights- An Erotic Novel” in Kobo

Keywords: erotica, bisexual.

Find it in:

https://goo.gl/xE5jyP

Hot Brooklyn Heights- An Erotic Novel

Hot Brooklyn Heights is a novella belonging to the erotic genre.
A young Argentinean goes to work in New York in the 1970s and settles in Brooklyn Heights. He recounts his first sexual experiences with his girlfriend, who comes to visit him for a period of time and then when he stays alone as the girl returns home. The bittersweet narrative has a strong erotic component including experiences with people of both sexes.
Although based on true personal experiences, Hot Brooklyn Heights is not an autobiographical narrative but belongs to the genre of fiction. The author took some personal experiences to highlight the change in customs and in intimate relationships within forty years, in particular as regards sexual mores.

“Hot Brooklyn Heights- An Erotic Novel” in Barnes and Noble

Keywords: Erotica, bisexual.

http://tinyurl.com/pn9ahr2

Hot Brooklyn Heights: An Erotic Novel

A young Argentinean goes to work in New York in the 1970s and settles in Brooklyn Heights. He recounts his first sexual experiences with his girlfriend, who comes to visit him for a period of time and then when he stays alone as the girl returns home. The narrative that has a strong erotic component includes experiences with people of both sexes.
Although based on true personal experiences, Hot Brooklyn Heights is not an autobiographical narrative but belongs to the genre of fiction. The author took some personal experiences to highlight the change in customs and in intimate relationships within forty years, in particular as regards sexual mores.

“Hot Brooklyn Heights- An erotic novel” In All Romance

HBH-Eng

Find it in:

http://tinyurl.com/q6y6jqt

A young Argentinean goes to work in New York in the 1970s and settles in Brooklyn Heights. He recounts his first sexual experiences with his girlfriend, who comes to visit him for a period of time and then when he stays alone as the girl returns home. The narrative that has a strong erotic component includes experiences with people of both sexes.
Although based on true personal experiences, Hot Brooklyn Heights is not an autobiographical narrative but belongs to the genre of fiction. The author took some personal experiences to highlight the change in customs and in intimate relationships within forty years, in particular as regards sexual mores.