12 if i wasn’t shy

If I wasn’t shy
If I wasn’t shy
I’d ask you, if you don’t mind
To kiss you a hundred times
If I wasn’t shy
If I wasn’t shy
Excerpt from “If I Wasn’t Shy” by TMBG


This was the part of the date when I gathered my clothes (dressing as quickly as possible) and sneaked out the door.

But I really didn’t give a shit about what I normally do, or even what I was supposed to do. If Alice came in the door this moment, I would laugh at her while she yelled at me. Just the thought of a scene like that caused me to laugh out loud.

It was only a giggle, but with Edward’s bare walls, the sound reverberated.

I started to cover my mouth shamefully, but didn’t. Instead, I lolled over to the couch and snuggled into the spot where Edward’s ass had been just moments before.

His fine, toned, naked ass.

I could smell sex (and latex) in the air. I worried for a moment that my laying here on his couch, and more importantly having helped create this smell, would be upsetting to Edward when he returned from the shower. But I knew there was nothing I could do short of getting the hell out of there, which I had absolutely no intention of doing.

And yes, I totally shaved my cooch. I didn’t know much about OCD, but I was willing to bet that the less hair down there, the better, so I tempted fate and got rid of it all.

I considered waxing…but let’s get real: this Bella could never say the words: “wax it all, yes…every hair…yes, even my asshole”…which I understand is de rigueur; “Brazilian” not always being sufficient to get the level of removal one may want…and then there would be the hair removal itself, and I wasn’t sure I could handle the pain or the humiliation.

Edward seemed to like my efforts, so I smiled inwardly at my success.

Although I was now comfortable with my nakedness (coming, spread open in front of someone will do that to you), it did seem like good form to at least put my underwear back on.

I rolled my ass-framing panties up each leg, lifting from the couch just enough to slip them over the bump. My bra was more difficult. I was certain it was twisted somewhere as I clasped it on.

Exhausted from post-orgasm dressing, I flopped back down, rolling onto my back.

From this vantage point, I surveyed Edward’s living room. There were no pictures, knickknacks nor anything without a clear purpose. There was a couch, a chair and ottoman, a weird bench, a floor lamp made out of a surveyor’s tripod, and a medium-sized bookcase filled with what appeared to be computer parts. Everything was in containers or binders, behind sliding glass doors. I squinted, and noticed an alphabetical pattern.

Of course.

Almost convinced that the man I was totally in lust with was allergic to clutter, I spied a LAMY fountain pen resting on top of a leather-bound book. It’s large tale-tell metal clip facing me. Although I thought it odd that those things weren’t on a shelf behind glass, I was more intrigued by the pen itself.

I was a BIG fan of fountain pens. The smooth feel of a nice inked nib on quality paper was sometimes my only motivation for writing.

But I’d never seen one like this before. It was transparent. The entire mechanism visible. A lot like Edward, I surmised.

Even though I knew that he probably wouldn’t like me touching his things, I had to look at the pen up close.

But, it was just out of reach from my lazy recline, so I had to grab the edge of the leather journal and pull it toward me.

Yes, I know, I should have gotten up off the couch and picked it up like a normal person. But I don’t have common sense sometimes.

Then, I inadvertently pulled both book and pen off the table, where the former flopped open, and the later bounced several times, ending up under the couch. The sound of the slapping leather and plastic pen on the hardwood cut through the silence, and I wondered if Edward would come running.

When he didn’t, I rolled off the couch, picking up the book and trying not to read anything. Honestly. But something jumped out at me.

My name.

I was written in very small, neat script all over both sides of the page. Starting with my full name, it progressed over several pages with my initials, then Miss? Mrs.? Ms.? and finally, a few pages of just Bella. There were also draft-quality sketches of me scattered throughout, in various stages of undress. None were naked.

He would make an excellent serial killer, I errantly thought.

Blushing and only moderately confused, I put the journal back on the table, but not before sneaking a peak at the inscription on the inside cover:

Bella Journal

I swallowed. He had an entire journal dedicated to me?

Creepy? Uh…yeah, a little—but I do, after all, have a thing for Dexter, so…

I was also somewhat turned on…

Hesitating about whether to finish putting my clothes back on or look for his pen, I settled on getting the pen first.

I turned away from the bench, and moved to the floor. I began the search for it under the couch, ass high, forearms on the floor.

Steadying myself, I reached out, and as my fingers brushed the plastic, I heard, “Oh, fuck.”

I stilled, realizing that he would know I had been snooping.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder at Edward, fully dressed, hair still wet…pants tented.

“Um,” I said.


“I uh…I was just trying to reach” reaching said arm to demonstrate, “fuck, this couch is massive…this pen. It rolled under the couch.”

“What about your ass?”

“No, the pen.”


“I’m sorry, you lost me at ass.”

“I didn’t say ‘ass”.”

“You didn’t?”


“Would you?” I gestured to where the pen had rested, closer to him, with my head.

Edward easily grabbed the pen off the floor. Then he helped me to my feet. He stared at the pen in his hand.

“What happened?” He asked without a hint of accusation, just an inquiry for knowledge.

His tone alone helped me feel more comfortable about speaking.

“I, uh, I dropped your pen and it bounced on the floor and ended up under the couch.” I was talking to him about the pen, but I was looking guiltily at the journal.

“You touched my pen?”

“I’m sorry.”

Edward didn’t speak. His lips pressed together. I couldn’t tell if he was angry, confused, or both.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left those things out.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“I’m not sure, Bella.” His eyes went to the journal. “There’s a part of me that is upset you touched those things…but there’s another part of me that likes it. I don’t know which to heed.”

“Oh.” For once, my dumbfoundedness made sense. How to respond to that?

Had he just noticed the journal was in a different place from where he left it? I was positive he had. And now were both staring at it.


Stop it, Bella.

I looked away, guiltily.

I didn’t notice that his attention had made it back to me until he said, “Would you put your clothes back on? I’m finding it very difficult to concentrate with you almost naked.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No…” he said, a smile working its way up the right side of his face, “Don’t be. I’m just…” and the smile faltered, “I feel very out of control…” He swallowed loudly. “I like it and I don’t. I don’t want to make mistakes, but I don’t know what to do.”

I already had my shirt on, and was sitting on the ottoman to put my pants back on.

He watched me while I dressed, seeming to be mesmerized with each movement.

I stood up when I was dressed. “What do you want to do, Edward?” I asked, more confident and less weirded-out once I was fully clothed.

“I,” he swallowed again. “I want to kiss you.”

“Go ahead,” said a very brave Bella, entering stage right.

He looked surprised (we both were)…but also scared (we both were).

“But you saw my journal.”

“Yeah…” I admitted, sheepishly and therefore somewhat reluctantly.

He pointed at the journal. “You know I lied to you about not masturbating while imagining you naked.”

“You didn’t draw me naked,” I pointed out.

“I didn’t want to get it wrong.”


“You aren’t mad,” he said.

It felt like a question, so I said, “No.”

I should have confessed to him that I hadn’t come to the conclusion that he masturbated while thinking of me naked from anything I saw in the journal. I’m not actually an idiot, it never occurred to me that he hadn’t.

He was very transparent to me.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of latex slapping skin. My arousal was immediate; I shivered.

Edward wore a serious expression.

“I want to try something.”


He licked his lips, frowned slightly in concentration perhaps, and leaned in. He stopped a mere inch from my face.

“Please. Be very still.”

I succeeded in not closing the distance between us even a little. His eyes were still open, looking for something above me and to my left. I resisted the urge to grab his face and make him look at me.

Finally, his lips made it to my face…

He totally missed my lips. His were more in the vicinity of my left cheek and nose. I debated whether or not to move.

“Oops!” He said, realizing what he had done.

He pulled back enough to look at me and reached up to cradle my head in his hands.

“Let me try that again.”


He leaned in, breath ragged and labored, staring into my eyes until the last moment, when his closed, head tilting. This time his aim was perfect. His lips warm, his thumbs slick against my cheeks, his nose resting in the indention between my nose and left cheek.

He inhaled slowly. I took a chance and leaned into the kiss. I kept my tongue firmly behind my teeth.

He moaned.

We stayed there, not moving, the position of the kiss lasting way longer than is normal.

I suppose.

One would think that passion would carry us away, and we’d make sweet sloppy love on the floor.

But let’s get real: this was Edward and this was me. Although certainly capable of getting swept away, we were both too anxious and in our heads to completely lose ourselves in the moment.

Instead, Edward carefully pulled away from the kiss, and looked at me.

“I want to do that every day, from now on. I hope you’re OK with that.”

I nodded.

Then he did it again.

Only this time his mouth crept open. Not taking the bait I waited for his tongue. It didn’t come, but my lower lip did slip in between both of his for a brief moment.

He pulled away again. He was sweating and breathing heavily.

“Was that OK?”

I nodded enthusiastically, in what I hoped was a silent plea for more of same.

He smiled, smugness radiating outward from his lips.

While his hands were still cupping my face, his eyes searched mine…looking for confirmation of something.

Then he broke the silence: “I’m not afraid of you anymore…I don’t think. I want to take this slowly, though. Can you do that with me?”

What was that? I wasn’t able to pay attention with his mouth so close. I ran through what my ears had picked up, but mind failed to process. My scrunched up figuring-face must have momentarily confused him.

“No?” he asked, misinterpreting my expression.

“No. Um, yes. I don’t mind.”

“Good.” He leaned in one more time, touched his lips to each of my eyelids and let my face go. Electricity jolted between us as his hands released my head, the latex causing static that made my hair to stand out around me.

I rolled my eyes. Edward grinned. Men of science love this shit.

“You are perfect,” He confirmed.


When I got home, I picked up the phone to call him and make sure everything was still OK. I stopped myself before I finished dialing the number.

I was about to call a boy…actually a man.

Fuck, was he ever a man.

This was an event without precedent…in an evening full of events without precedent.

I stared at the phone for a few minutes, but because I was unable to come up with an appropriate reason to call him, I ended up just going to bed, where I fingered the glove he had been wearing when he touched himself, as I fell asleep.



After she left, I dealt with constant warring thoughts and emotions.

OCD-Me wanted to take several showers, clean the apartment from top to bottom, burn my clothes and air out my apartment.

Bella-Me, though, wanted to sit in this room, filled with her scent, content to replay the memories: each sight, each sound…and fuck me…every touch

I curled up on in the couch, staring at the place where she touched herself, watching it in my mind again and again, until I fell asleep.


Emmett POV (a few hours before Edward fell asleep…)


Rose was asleep already. The wine was great, but if she drank too much, she passed out.

We had said our goodbyes to Ed and Bella and Jazz-o.

We did the dishes. Then I got online to give her time to wash her face and do other chick shit before I jumped her.

I must have given her five minutes too long…

I knew better than to shake her, because she’d totally grab my balls if I did, but continued whispering her name, hoping she would wake up…

Impatiently, I rubbed her arm and continued whispering. She moaned and turned toward me, eyes fluttering.

Then, she jerked up when we both heard “Fuck!” from across the hall.

She looked at me, panicking.

“What should we do?”

“Be still, babe. Eddy-boy is supposed to call if he needs us. If he doesn’t call, or she doesn’t stomp out in the next five minutes, I think they’re OK.”

“Did you get his gun?”

“Yeah, I got it this morning.”

“Was that her?”

“Yeah, sounded girly to me.”

Not that Edward never sounded like a girl when he shouted, he had definitely done that on many occasions, but I happened to know that particular kind of shouting very well. Rose was prone to doing it…I wanted her to be doing it right now…Anyway, I was positive that it wasn’t Edward who had just screamed “fuck.”

I didn’t realize that I had been grinding on my wife while I thought of what was going on across the hall, until she punched me.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get you horny,” I lied.

“I’m already horny, but for future reference, dry humping the side of my leg isn’t as effective for me as it is for you.”

“Okay! Let’s do it!”

And I jerked off my boxers (all I was wearing), and pulled up her nightshirt (all she was wearing) just high enough to access her tits.

As I eased into her, I felt a relaxation I hadn’t felt in years. I wasn’t afraid of getting a frantic call from Edward, the police or neighbors. I could enjoy fucking my wife, because I had confidence that my little brother was going to be okay.


Jasper POV (now-ish…)

My field of vision was filled with red patent leather, new, by the smell of it, with just a hint of PVC.

I’d been laying here, on my side with my arms bound behind my back, for barely five minutes…just long enough for me to come down from a post coital high.

My mistress rode my face, my pelvis, and finally…patiently…my ass. She hadn’t allowed me to come, yet, but that was normal. She usually wanted the Last Hurrah to be straight up missionary, still in the playroom, but without me being trussed up. She always gave me some time to come down, so I could last for at least a few minutes…another orgasm for her…

And now, she was standing over me, her boot all I could see…only she must have squatted, because her breath and voice were suddenly in my ear.

“Lovely? I need for you to stand up, now. Can you do that?”

Odd. She usually untied me once the kinky part was over…was it not yet over? What wondrous torture could she possibly have in store for me now? My cock twitched at the thought of nipple clamps, still in the drawer to my left.

She had not allowed me to vocalize this evening and she hadn’t ended our play, so I nodded before I leaned forward, needing her help to stand without using my hands.

That was probably why she hadn’t untied me, yet.

I opened my eyes further to take in her form and to gaze into her eyes. Bottomless. So dark in the low light that it was impossible to discern her pupils from her irises.

She rarely blindfolded me, because she said she liked me looking at every part of her.

My Mistress swallowed my cold, gray-eyed stare, which in any other situation rendered the recipient intimidated and pliable; she eradicated it as though it never existed. Under her gaze, my will became her own.

She paced back and forth in front of me and I enjoyed the view of her red-PVC catsuit. Crotch-less.

“You’ve been a very good boy in my playroom tonight, but I don’t think you were as good earlier tonight, were you, precious? I think you’ve kept something from me…and I think it’s time for you to tell me what it is. It’s time for you to confess…”

I swallowed but didn’t speak, because she hadn’t commanded me to speak. Still, I had a twinge of worry. Sometimes, she made up shit so she could spank me a little…I liked it a lot, but that was usually at the beginning of our play, and never after she fucked me in the ass. This late-play, post-anal confession was new.

“When you came into the playroom this evening, I smelled a particular smell. Do you know what it was?”

She circled me like a shark. I didn’t move. What was she implying? That I had an affair?

She continued her pacing, her heels clicking on the floor. Her arms were folded over her chest, one hand brushing her lips absentmindedly as she continued to think aloud.

“I don’t think you made time for a whore, or…” She stopped briefly and leaned in to speak quietly toward my ear, chuckling under her breath, “another mistress…No, this smell created a mystery that I’ve been trying to solve in my head for the past couple of hours.”

I broke out into a cold sweat, but not because I knew what she was talking about, but because of her tone. There was an edge of seriousness that I’d never heard before.

That’s not to say she never sounded serious, but this level of seriousness was typically relegated to work. As if to accentuate the point, she stopped in front of me and looked me in the eyes, gauging my reaction from that vantage point, only.

“I still haven’t quite solved it, yet. And the reason is because things just don’t add up to anything that makes any sense…unless you’ve lied to me. Either you weren’t where you said you were…or you met someone tonight that I didn’t expect you to meet.”

Her accuracy without the facts was a mind fuck in and of itself. She must have seen something in my eyes, because hers narrowed in that way she does when she’s got all the information she needs to go forward.

“Whipping bench.”

I didn’t hesitate as I turned on my heel to walk ten steps to my right, then leaned over the wooden bench, it’s smooth concave top gently cupping my chest and abdomen as I curled over it. I hoped she would just punish me and get it over with, but this was turning out to be different in a lot of ways. I assumed this wasn’t going to be straightforward…I had a sinking feeling that this was going to resemble an interrogation.

She walked around to face me, leather strap tucked into the belt at her waist. Her arms were still folded and she wore a weary frown.

“Before I warm you up and punish you, I’d like to know exactly why I’m doing this.

“I already know you lied to me, that was obvious from the beginning,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You did lie to me, Jasper, either directly or by omission…but I really only need to know one thing.”

OK, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. An easy “yes” or “no” question. I could handle that. She probably had plenty she wanted to say, anyway. I relaxed into my stance, the bench warming with the contact of my skin. I was ready.

“Why did I smell my sister’s perfume on you when you told me you were eating dinner with your sister and her family tonight, Jasper?”

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