Friday, February 10, 2012

The little voices still talk to me sometimes. I wrote them down this time - a fun little Valentine.

Edward = non-italic; Bella = italic

The Diary of Bella and Edward
February 14

6:45 a.m.
I can’t believe you’re making breakfast for me. Granted, it is Valentine’s Day, and I did wake you early again with my amorous urges. I couldn’t help it - must be the day. Or maybe it’s just you.

Did you know your ass shakes in a really sexy way when you whisk eggs?

Yeah, it’s just you. But Valentine’s Day gives me a perfect excuse for fucking you awake today. Again.

God, you look so stinking cute with your hair going in twenty directions. I love doing that to you, of which you’re well aware. But you have to admit, that position is the best. So deep . . . so good. And you’re so surprisingly bendy that I can’t help but push you to your limits. I know you’ll push back if I go too far.

I live for it, in fact.

Wow - am I seeing heart-shaped pancakes on that griddle? You’re amazing. Damn, I’m feeling inspired now.

A Valentine Poem for my Beloved Bella:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
You have frightful bed-head,
But I still love you.

Your pancakes are rockin’,
Your eggs are divine.
But as for the sausage,
I'll just give you mine.

Sheer poetry, that. I’d write more but you’ve just informed me that breakfast is served.
It smells fantastic. If I forget to tell you later, it was delicious.


Oh, that’s it, Cullen. You did this to my hair, so you’d better damned will like it, especially after I made you a nice, hot breakfast. And it was delicious, if I do say so myself; so thanks for the compliment.

Regardless, you’d better prepare yourself. My retaliation may not be swift, but that’s only because I haven’t had enough coffee yet. Rest assured that my phone and I will be sending a poetic rebuttal after I get to work.

P.S. I’m only bendy in the morning because I’m not awake enough to stop you from turning me into a pretzel. But yeah . . . that thing you do, the way you do it . . . that’s always good.

Better than good. There are no words for it, really. I seem to remember you being speechless as well.

I look forward to your hair-raising rebuttal. I’ll be sure to set my text alert on vibrate. *grin*


8:45 a.m.

Okay, early riser (emphasis on that last word.) I’m armed with a pot of coffee and a light work load. Let the poetic sexting begin.

I have a boyfriend named Ed
Who won’t let me get out of bed.
My hair is a fright
‘Cause he fucks me all night
With zero regard for my head.

8:56 a.m.
You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Dirty limericks, eh? My favorite kind. By all means, do keep them up. *snicker*

I shall endeavor to add another stanza to my poem from this morning. How’s this:

With lips so pink
And skin so fair,
Your face nearly trumps
Your hot derriere.

Sorry, baby. But your ass is slammin’. I’d rhyme on that but Prince already beat me to it.

9:21 a.m.
Prince actually said “Your body’s slammin.’” Not just “ass.” Although, considering his next line about ramming, he was probably thinking it.

My boyfriend is almost as crude
As an animal in the zoo.
He thinks his big trunk
Is the best piece of junk
To ever come near my wazoo.

Yes, he’s impossibly lewd
And sometimes he’s downright rude,
But he does me so right--
Makes me come every night--
That with him, sex is better than food.

Well, hello there, Edward, Junior. I can feel you winking up at me from all the way across town. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. LONG.

9:53 a.m.
Trying to wake the beast at 10 a.m., eh? Nice. Well, two can play that game.

My Bella, you’re sweet
Like nectar and honey.
You give such good head,
I should pay you money.

But that’s not why
I love you so.
You’re so much more
Than an amazing blow.

Your heart is pure,
Your love is strong;
You satisfy more
Than just my schlong.

You challenge me
And make me think,
And only occasionally
Drive me to drink.

I crave you
Morning, noon and night.
Your vanilla skin
Screams “Take a bite.”

You smell so delicious,
Nothing can compare
To the tasty treat
‘Neath your underwear.

Beware, my pretty,
When the workday is done,
I’ll bury my face
‘Twixt your legs ’til you come.

“Wazoo?” Is that the shy little orifice hiding behind your hoo-ha? I’m quite fond of that one, as I am all your orifices.

Damn. This is not helping my situation with Junior whatsoever.

10:15 a.m.
“Beast,” eh? Junior does think highly of himself. And he definitely just proved the point of my last set of limericks.

When it comes to you, Edward Cullen,
It’s hard for me to stay sullen.
You’re sexy and silly
And have such a big willy,
That head over heels I’ve fallen.

I think it’s a pretty safe bet
That you’ve made my panties all wet.
You’d better come find me,
Bend me over and grind me
While I’m as horny as I’ll ever get.


10:52 a.m.
Fuck. Me.

I really must know--
What time do you eat?
I’m dying to give you
A Valentine treat.

I think we both know
What we’re hungry for.
If love be our food,
I’ll always need more.

10:56 a.m.
You say the most beautiful things
To make up for all your teasing.
I forget to be mad,
I just want you bad,
So meet me at noon for a fling.

10:59 a.m.
There’s no privacy there,
So I’ll make the way clear
For you to leave Java Noise
And “come” over here.

11:10 a.m.
If I’d known you wanted a nooner,
I would have texted you sooner.
I just hope my boss
Doesn’t get too cross--
Oh wait, it’s just Rose, so screw her!

11:50 a.m.
Hip-hip, hooray!
I’m on my way
To mount that willy
And hump it silly.
See you in ten
To make you come again.
And again . . .
And . . . yeah.

12:05 p.m.
Fuck. Me.

(I meant that the first time I texted it and I still do.)

I hear the front door--
I’m ready for more.
To hell with this phone,
Now I’ve got you alone . . .

12:59 p.m.
Now that was poetry. Poetry in motion. Wish I had time for a cigarette. Wish you didn’t have to leave so soon. But I love the view while you walk away, as long as I know you’ll be back.

1:20 p.m.
I’ll always be back for more of that motion. I’m all out of rhymes. Or words of any kind, really. I need a ciggie too, and that’s saying something.

1:53 p.m.
Speechless is good. I’ll join you.

It’s a good thing I made dinner reservations at the Club tonight. I have the feeling we’ll be starving by then.

1:55 p.m.
You sure that’s where you want to go? We don’t have to go back to that place.

1:57 p.m.
No, I’m sure. I never let Donnelly keep me out before, so I’m not about to start now. I have some great memories there. Tonight, we’ll make a new one.

1:59 p.m.
Sounds like a plan. See you tonight. Love you. So much.

2:00 p.m.
Back atcha, Beautiful.

The Diary of Bella and Edward
February 14 (cont’d.)

11:37 p.m.
Can’t sleep. Can’t shut off my brain. Thinking . . . Wondering.

You really thought that jewelry box contained a ring, didn’t you?

You’re right, maybe I did that on purpose. Maybe it was a test. But in my defense, you’ve mentioned at least a couple of times that you wished you had real diamonds for your second ear-piercings. And you know how much I love filling your . . . never mind.

Anyway, the fact that the earrings came in that little velvet box with the rounded corners was merely a coincidence.

Okay, it’s true, I wanted to see your reaction. Your real reaction, when I put you on the spot. So I’d know how nervous you really are at the idea of the “M” word.

We dance around the subject constantly, every time we talk about moving in together. I, for one, can’t wait until your lease runs out in May. We’re together most of the time anyway, so I doubt it’ll be much different than the way we’re already living. I already think of everything I own as yours, too.

I’m all in, Bella. All the way. You, me, forever. You know that. But the best part of today is that now, I know you’re all in, too.

Not that I’ve ever doubted what you tell me. I see it in your eyes. I feel it, deep in my bones. I really don't need words, or rings, or blessings from God or our parents or anyone else. But I'd still like them, eventually.

I figured I’d see relief flood your face at the sight of those earrings, and I was right. But then, for just a split second, I saw a flicker of the very emotion I was hoping against hope that I’d see:


Go ahead and deny it, but I know the truth. I saw it. I felt it ripple through you while you mustered that sweet smile and said, “They’re beautiful.”

You wished the gift had been more. You wanted it to be more.

And it is more, Bella. So much more. I know for sure now that it’s only stage fright holding you back - some residual, irrational fear of commitment gone wrong, like it did for your parents. We’re not them - it won’t be like that for us.

But I don’t need to convince you of that. I saw everything I needed to see tonight. So the next time I give you that ubiquitous velvet box with the rounded corners, you won’t have to wonder what’s inside.

You’ll know.

P.S. I’m not sure I thanked you enough for your Valentine gift to me. Those flavored massage oils were a very inspired choice. The cinnamon one made me feel warm in all the right places. Seemed to work just as well on you, too, and it tasted divine . . . as if you weren’t already sugar and spice and everything nice.

I love you. Happy Valentine’s day, Bella.

February 15

7:00 a.m.
Edward. Did you really need to see that flash of disappointment to prove that I want to spend the rest of my life with you? I thought you knew me better than that.

You do know me better. You said so yourself. There’s nothing I want more. Yet I’ll still be nervous whenever that question-popping moment arrives, but not because I’m unsure.

I’ll be nervous because you still give me butterflies.

And goose-bumps, and wobbly knees, and a heart that skips and races and pounds in my chest and my ears. You are still a constant source of excitement for me, every bit as much as you are a source of comfort. I still feel that tremor of anticipation every time I’m about to see you, or when you look at me with hunger in your eyes even though you’ve already had me a hundred times before. I know that look, and I return it, because I recognize the feeling, the urge. I know I will never get enough of you.

I suppose the butterflies will calm down one day, but they’ll never be stilled completely. With you, the thrill will never be gone. I’ll feel it for every important milestone of our lives - the days you ask me all the important questions, and the days I answer them.

So if I’m shaky or sweaty or queasy or downright nauseous, don’t ever let that stop you. That’s just the butterflies going crazy because of how badly I want it - how badly I want you.

I love you, Edward. And I love your Valentine present to me, for everything that it is and everything that it isn’t . . . yet. I’ll probably never take these diamonds out of my ears, you know. They’ll be good practice for any other forever-jewelry that you might wish to bestow upon me. I promise you won’t be disappointed in my reaction, or my answer.

I’m all in, Edward. All the way.

You. Me.


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