A Twilight Kiss

Photo Courtesy of RadarOnline.com
Photo: WireImage

A Fictitious Entry that Chronicles the Thirst of Robert Pattinson aka Edward Cullen for Kristen Stewart aka Bella Swan

WARNING: Aside from being potentially offensive, reading this with a wild imagination may cause undue heart palpitations and wanton desires, so please use your own discretion.

I cursed the thousands of miles between us. F—k! As I perused the pictures, I longed to curl my fingers on the feminine flare of her hip, revealed by the tight fitting white shirt and the low slung jeans that she wore. However, my desire only drew my attention to the fact that Taylor Lautner had his clutching fingers on Kristen’s waist as they posed on the red carpet of a New Moon event in Mexico on 03 November 2009, while I was stuck in Japan with our director Chris Weitz

Viciously, I wished that the gun on Kristen’s shirt would come alive like some animated drawing on The Simpsons and blow Taylor’s arm away, then I can saunter in like some conquering hero, shove him away from my girl before grabbing Kristen around the waist and then kissing her until she’s gasping for breath.

Then I will haul her into a private room where I can explore all her dips and curves with possessive and predatory hunger. I will sit astride a chair like some mustache twirling bad cowboy, and pull a willing Kristen in between my legs. I will let my greedy palms follow the course of her form from her well shaped legs to the widening of her hips, before coursing in to grasp her waist and then following the trunk of her ribcage so that I can cup her breasts between my rapacious fingers.

Then I will tease her by pulling her suspenders away from her body and proceeding to let it snap back repeatedly on her sensitive tips, taking care to withhold my itching digits from her responsive flesh. My lack of attention on her needy body will send her wild and she will surely attempt to slide her figure against mine, something that I will halt immediately.

Only when I’ve brought her to a fever pitch will I let her sit astride on my lap, grasping her hips to forcefully bring her feminine center against my pulsing groin, grinding against her nerve laden core, making her writhe sensuously with molten desire, until I release my gun and sheath it in her sleeve, before firing pellets of my seed into her welcoming womb to claim her as mine.

I mentally shook myself from the images coursing through my brain and calculated the time difference between Japan and Mexico. Maybe I can call her.

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