Before I move on to the real post, for those of you who haven't seen the aerial pics of the Eclipse re-shoot in Vancouver from this week that were posted by Punk'D Images - see them here and here. Sigh that I did not get to see Rob in town today. Hope he got up to no good with Kristen :)
You know how we get random Twilight thoughts all through the day? Like when I saw this set of matches at my sisters place
Well, random Twilight strikes even when I submerge myself into a man's world.
I live in a house full of testosterone - Mr. TC and my two little boys decidedly make the place all blue with no pink in sight. But even then, I see Twilight everywhere!
Literally. Case in point:
|while reading Lego Star Wars (bedtime story of choice)|
|held a straight face the whole time reading this with my kids|
So you hear that guys? There is a Jedi starship called the Twilight. Although I'm sure the guys who actually care already know this sort of geeky tidbit anyways. Surprisingly my 7 year old let this one go and didn't tease me about the Twilight part. God he must have been tired to have missed that one (or could I have raised a boy who was nice and would refrain from teasing his dear mom? I don't think so.)
This one is a no brainer. First off, I would officially call myself a hockey widow but that is no different than the wife of almost every Canadian man around. It's hockey playoffs and we all know that, if the guys have their way, we won't see them for weeks except to show up in the kitchen to replenish beer and chips.
|Rob looks good sporting a playoff beard|
We even have to put up with the playoff beard - for those of you who don't know the players and hardcore fans are superstitious about shaving during playoffs. Sounds like Samsonite and Delilah right? I think it's just an excuse to look and act like slobs.
So how does this relate to Twilight? Other than the fact that when my husband is off watching hockey I get to post, twitter, and read my Twi-smut fanfic in peace?
Twilight has finally managed to make hockey sexy to me.
Not like this.
|Not like this, I don't know what the hell she was thinking|
But this is what brought sexy back.
"God that is so hot, you are so fucking hot," he declares as he assists me in removing his shirt. He's still staring at my chest, and then his eyes move up to my face and back down again. I'm not sure what is 'so hot' or what it is about me that he finds so appealing other than that I'm willingly grinding all over him, but I'm not going to try and dissuade him if that's what he thinks.
Once his chest is bare and I can see the thick, flexing, sinewy hot-as-fuck muscles of his arms--not to mention the rest of his upper body--I totally forget about the nipple sucking deal and how sad I was that he stopped.
I pause my desperate grinding and just focus on what's in front of me. "Now that is nice," I whisper in approval because Jesus mo-fo Christ does this man ever have a rockin' body. One of the first thing my eyes are drawn to are his two tattoos, on the upper bicep of each arm. I'm such a sucker for tattoos. On his right arm is a waving Canadian flag, and on the left is some sort of crest that's all in black. I don't really care what it is, all I know is that it's sexy as hell.
Mr. TC hasn't figured out why I suddenly like watching playoffs with him and that I'm not bugging him as much about being a hockey widow. Little does he know that every time there's a hit on the ice my panties disintegrate just a little bit.
Gotta run. Mr. TC just got back from playing hockey tonight and is heading for a shower. Oh, he and all the other Canadian guys should send hunterhunting a f*cking fruit basket for writing her fic.
Getting back at 1am from a late night hockey game stinking like wet hockey gear has now become foreplay.