Sunday, September 20, 2015

ಇದೊಳ್ಳೆ Edward Cullen ಸಹವಾಸ

The weirdos you tend to meet add value to perspective. What if every hair in your head was a history, a universe? So is the boy.

Vegetarian, except for human meat- sniffs, bites- not to leave pretty purple patches, but break your skin and draw blood. And he'll tell you exactly where.

He'll flick a finger at your upper arm till the flesh twangs like a tuning fork. "That's where I want to bite," he'll say. Because this Ed Cullen is too hippie to go for the neck. Instead, he'll draw a road map on your body. Biker, after all, he'll systematically plan his ride.

You'll want to spank him, teach him how to behave, tame him. But it won't work. He's presidential candidate material for the Iron Butt Association, tbh.

Breathlessness- that's another side effect. And the foreplay hasn't even started. You'll be holding your breath for so long that your sighs will be ominous. The world's biggest release- like Nile flooding the Sahara- or some such cheesy metaphora. Not that you've had a dry spell for thousands of years. Not at all.

You have a feeling that you'll happily welcome your period just to catch a break from him. But he'll say "That's okay. I'd be happy just to watch you sleep."

Edward Cullen, didn't I say?