You are so very brilliant, Viola Cornuta! Cheers for hanging out with me and beating (as well as betaing) my ideas into shape.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. Sort of.

This little gem is from my Men of Twilight – Twilight 25 challenge but I'm posting it as part of the ADF (A different forest) Happy Valentine's Day Emmett Challenge. Other Emm-centric offerings can be found at: fanfiction(DOT)net/community/A_Different_Forest_ADF_Emmett_Valentines_Day_Challenge/77956/

~~For Emmett lovers and anyone who thinks plump vampires are sexy too! Happy Valentine's Day~~

Thanks Gasaway Alley for the car-talk.


Why Do Fools Fall in Love

Yeah, this was my era.

With the birth of rock 'n' roll, the new prosperity of the Nifty Fifties, the rising hemline, I was in my element. Girls whose bodies were round, juicy and ripe replaced the wasted forms of the Forties. And thank fuck I didn't have to relive the Roaring Twenties again. It'd been bad enough as a human boy. Skinny Twenties would've been a more appropriate nickname for that decade. I mean, just because there was a Depression didn't mean a woman had to let herself go to rack and ruin.

Flappers. Christ, what an abhorrence of nature. Rail thin and flat as boards, there was nothing to hold onto with those waifish forms!

I liked a bit of meat on the bones, and I wasn't just talking about my nightly meal of antelope, bear or whatever other animal I came across.

I'd already been around for twenty more years than my death at the age of twenty. Damn, I was sick and tired of that number!

In 1935 a gentle woman by the name of Esme had happened across my heaped up, gut-spilling, near lifeless corpse in the woods of the Smoky Mountains. My intestines were mounds of linked viscera spilling racing red streams across a frostbitten ground, warming iced-over fallen leaves so their serrated tips curled and dyed a deeper crimson than autumn alone had wrought. A hunting trip, an accident, a gunshot wound to my belly, and I was left for dead.

Miss Esme sang to me like an angel. Saying goodbye to the world, I closed my eyes on the shock that replaced the stamp of saturating horrendous agony. Her embrace was more frigid than the November dusk. My shaking started, but she held me firm, this slight woman clamping all six three brawny feet of me to the ground. The dying sun glinted across her grim mouth; my throat was numbed and stunned. I hardly felt a thing compared to the buckshot when it entered my gut and spread outward to my stomach, my liver, my kidneys and spleen.

Waking with a burst of adrenaline after a goddamn tortuous, flame-licking-the-insides-of-my-bones eternity, I was just where I'd fallen. My blood had dried to rust colored ice. Miraculously, my stomach was now whole. Incredibly, I didn't need to breath!

There was a note, which I found weird and strangely amusing:

I cannot stay, young man.

My family must never know about this as we've sworn to remain reclusive, to protect our secret.

I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to let you die.

You'll find that you're almost indestructible. That you have immense power and speed. That you crave the food of human vittles only.

If you do one thing for me, leave people alone. Nourishment is to be had in the animals of the forest.

Look after yourself, do not look for me,

Esme

What the hell? A hillbilly Appalachian vampire? Jesus Christ! I needed some bootleg, never mind blood!

But my stomach roiled at the idea.

When I tried to fold the scrap of paper, it crumbled to linty dust between my fingertips. Then I began to understand the truth of her words.

I gagged at the thought of blood-food even while my throat turned to the ashes of a campfire, flamed and hungry for something warm, wet, thick, and ruby-rich running down it.

I can't say I never tried mortal stock, because I did. And it was fucking amazing! Addictive. Better than sex and alcohol combined on a weeklong bender!

For five years, in fact, I took humans at will, much more a beast than any creature I'd ever hunted.

Shaky, famished, I left the woods, left my death and my rebirth, and found myself at the white picket fence of a little rambling ranch. A small girl played with her baby doll and carriage in the backyard. Through the open window, the noxious scent of Sunday dinner roasting made my gut churn. The lass whetted my appetite.

At the door, a woman came out, her eyes sweeping the yard and stopping where I'd hidden behind a wide pine, maternally sensing danger, "Bella. Come inside and wash up, it's time for dinner, and your father will be home soon."

The girl skipped, making her long brown braids swayed, and they both disappeared into the house.

Instead of doing what I wanted, I did what Esme had asked of me and finally walked away.

Since then I'd reined in my bloodlust, I'd chanced across a few playmates of my own kind, I'd discovered I could even make love to human women so long as I wasn't too forceful. Absolutely there were slip-ups along my way; I was only a vampire, after all.

I'd entered society and found myself fascinated with the times in which I lived, the full breadth of civilization. My enormity of power, my speed and unstoppable strength gave me hours of amusement! Sometimes I ran to Canada and back just for the feel of it, stopping along the way to crush a few boulders and bellow louder than thunder booms in the wilderness.

For a year I'd been in Detroit, an interesting swing town. The automobile industry taking off, the hot rods, the women preening, the lights glowing, the music flowing… it was Motown at its finest!

The venue for tonight's sock hop was the Elk Lodge in Midtown. I doffed my head with a chuckle as I entered the claustrophobic cavern, a nod to all the antelope meat I'd eaten.

Inside the disc jockey was spinning up Ray Bryant's Madison Time.

A pastel whisper of taffeta and satin dresses, full knee-length skirts, stockings, wafting luxurious heady perfume, elegance and money, fun and cocktails greeted me.

I grinned and observed. Looking for a lady as I tapped my foot in time to the piano and escalating trumpet and soulful sax, the deep froggy bass.

Thank god sock hops were in name only now, all those clammy human feet in one hot enclosed place really fucked up my incredibly keen vampire olfactory senses.

Back to the birdland and back to the Madison. Hit It!

My black hair was swept back with one crest over my forehead, a sheen of Brilliantine keeping the jet crown intact.

Narrowing my eyes, there was one voluptuous broad who kept calling to me with her swivel of hips, her eyes closed so she inhabited the resonant music, her shoulders dipping, her chin thrusting to the rhythm. And her pelvis, fuck me!

Now when I say hit it, I want the big strong Cleveland Box and back to the Madison, Hit It!

Each upbeat found her jerking her ample hips up out of a roll, her bountiful bosom almost topped out of the low straight bodice. Yeah, she was a woman I could sink my fingers into, probably even my teeth if I weren't careful. Her luscious rump in the silky flared dress was more than a handful. Glamorous, busty, effortlessly beautiful, she was stylish with her claret lips and endless lashes, her high rotund cheeks that hinted upward with an inner smile of delight. Lost in the vinyl tunes, she acted on every nuance of melody, feeling it in her bones, not just acting it.

Blond hair, drizzled like from a honeycomb, was elaborate in shiny waves with row upon row of ripples, flaxen ocean currents, to the tops of her shoulders with not a strand out of place. She patted the curls as if sensing my gaze, and then ran her hands over the hourglass silhouette of her waist cinched in by a wide black sash accentuating her breasts and hips.

Now this time when I say hit it, I want the big strong JackieGleason and back to the Madison. Hit It.

Creamy skin, round shoulders, the dimples at her elbows made me sigh just thinking about the divots of flesh sure to be found nestling above her full ass.

I fucking loved a woman who took pride in her appearance.

Keeping this goddess in my sights, I slinked my way across the varnished floor, beating the air with my pelvis, dipping my knees in tune, skimming my feet jauntily until I made it to her in the front line.

Walk on, you're lookin' good.

I gathered my share of looks. That was a given. I was damn handsome in my white shirt, the dark blue blazer and narrow tie that only made my chest appear more muscular, trousers pressed so the creases were as razor sharp as my startlingly white incisors, my wingtip Oxford's polished to a high glaze.

The lively beat thumped. A mournful clarinet deepened. The trumpet blared.

She pretended she wasn't paying attention as I neared, but I caught a sidelong glance beneath upswept lashes over eyes whose color remained a mystery to me.

Her skin was buffed to a glowing ivory patina.

But she wasn't perspiring.

Close enough now I could smell her spring-garden fragrance, suddenly aware that of all the bodies packed tight and sinuously writhing to the album, we were the only two that remained supernaturally pale and sweat free.

What the hell?

Her eyes were caramel as mine!

An imperfect immortal?

One made of plentiful flesh and splendidly Rubenesque stature?

The pin-up girl of my wet dreams was a vampire? This really was my lucky decade!

She sneered at my advance; I used my thick shoulders to shove a bevy of greasy soda jerks away so I could stand next to her as the song wound down.

And hold it right there.

Hell yes I would.

The Stroll started up before I even had time to adjust my thoughts or my crotch.

It was low and dirty and humming hard.

Crooning, the sexy saxophone reeling up from an undertone to a hot exclamation, a climax with each refrain, I grabbed her hand, cold as mine, and walked her down the parted alley. Halfway, she turned me to her, grabbed my tie and bent back as she gyrated down to the ground, perfectly preternaturally balanced on the balls of her feet, the pointy heels of her black patent pumps lifting off the lacquered floor.

With a flourish of pelvic rotations, she made her way back up, wound my tie around her wrist like a leash and led me to the end of the line.

I'd sure as hell be sweating now if at all inhumanly possible.

We clapped as the song ended, parted by the gap of the dancing leeway, but I made to her straightaway, "Haven't seen you around here before, Doll. Are you new to Motor City?"

She battered her eyelashes and her cupid bow lips topped up into a smile, "You'll have to do better than that, Stud." Feisty and forthright!

I would have blushed for all my years, as it was I stammered a bit and pressed the parquet with my sole, "How about this, Miss? I'm Emmett McCarty, pleased to meet you." I pushed every ounce of dashing into my smile so my dimples dug deep into my cheeks.

I was rewarded with her own flustered look before she returned with a pure uptilt of her lips, "I'm Rosie Hale, and I've seen you around, Emmett." Holding her hand aloft as if she were Mamie Eisenhower herself, Rosie's fingertips met my lips very softly.

At her ear, collecting her supremely gold painted locks back to her nape, I whispered:

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

I felt the full bodied indulgent flesh of her fine figure and a teasing kiss against my lips before Rosie leaned back, "Pretty words for a pretty boy, but why don't you ask me what you're really thinking?"

My eyes twinkled, and I raised one eyebrow before I twirled her out, causing the peach colored satin to sit up and open like an umbrella revealing a healthy length of her rich robust thighs. Coiling her back to me, clasping her with my forearm around her sturdy waist, I mirthfully questioned, "Did you come here alone?"

Her translucent laughter rang up to the rafters like the bells of St. Joseph Catholic Church. Rosie pushed me away with the toughness she was blessed with so I nearly stumbled. "Please, Emmett," she braced a palm to my chest, walking me backward, sashaying forward with a sinful roll of her hips, "Aren't you the least bit curious about a full-figured vampire? One might even describe me as… imperfect."

When she laid those imperfect plentiful tits to my torso that was the last thing on my mind! Counting my blessings and trying not to tug her further back into the darkened alcove so I could feel just how satisfyingly curved her ass would be seated in my hands, I praised whatever sire or dam had made her so curvy, succulent, plump.

"Tut, tut, tut," Rosie walked her fingertips with each utterance up to my collar, opening the first button, running her whole palm into the gap where the muscles at the base of my throat constricted and strained.

Lifting up to her toes, her body crushed against mine, our two implacable forms colliding like glaciers, she whispered in my ear, tucking a couple fingers into the neck of my white undershirt, "I do believe I'm the only vampire with proper womanly proportions," I shuddered and bit down on the moan revolving about my tongue. Her round contours undulated against my groin.

The carmine of her lips mesmerized me so I barely heard her words, "It was supposed to be a curse, actually. My just desserts, so to speak, for being such a vain and haughty human being."

I met her mouth with much more tenderness than the pounding arousal sloping inside of me, moving my lips over hers just to feel the taste of the red and the camber against mine.

"I wouldn't call it a curse, more like a miracle," I whispered roughly when our kiss ended.

"That's what I think," Rosie returned with a wink and a grin!

I laughed loudly, didn't seem she'd changed all that much from the narcissistic human she claimed to have been, but I sure as Hell wasn't complaining!

Captivated, clamorous, I was just about to feast on those lips again when a tiny young thing bumbled into us, aptly highlighting the difference between girl and woman.

A shout from across the dancehall – Alice, over here! -- drenched out Rosie's quiet snide comment, "Girl, I'm just this side of hungry, so you better get your skinny ass away from me, pronto!"

The timber framed windows shook with my laughter! Yeah, she was definitely my kind of woman; a sarcastic sense of humor and a smart mouth too? My non-heart jitterbugged in my chest and my erection worked its towering way up beneath the placket of my trousers.

Fanning herself with her clutch, Rosie grumbled again, "Broad probably wears falsies too. And dammit, I really am thirsty!"

Prodding my monogrammed silver flask from my pocket, fighting against my shaft to get it out of the tight space, I unscrewed the cap and offered it to Rosie. Unfortunately, the temperature of the blood was less than appetizing. I looked to Rosie's cleavage, the deep dip between her two swelling porcelain hills; if she were mortal I wouldn't have thought twice about pushing the container into the crevasse to warm the crimson drops to room temperature.

As it was, I ended up ogling her as she tipped back the drink, imagining something else, also cold and very rigid, between her resplendent tits.

Roll over and listen to a little of this.

Chuck Berry's Roll Over Beethoven shouted out of the speakers and the dancers crammed onto the floor. I drew Rosie with me to the middle of the mash. We hand jived and kicked up our heels with the rest of them, all the while I thought of hand jobs and kicking up her skirt with the pointed toe of my wingtips while she whirled around with a sexy twist.

I grabbed her rump and ground against her as the music crashed, "Rosie, baby, you'd be surprised how many vampires like a big girl. More to hold on to!"

She winked those thick long eyelashes at me and excitement pinged around my body like a marble ricocheting off the insides of a pinball machine, complete with lights flashing and bells pealing, "Honey, you don't have to tell me. I think you'll find I'm more than a handful."

While the others caught their breaths and shouted above the din to each other, I linked my fingers with this big, bold, beautiful, brash woman, "Wanna' blow this joint?"

She nodded and we made our way outside, a light stole over the crescent globes of her shoulders. My hand at her back with my fingers negligently stroking the topmost mounds of her derriere, I said it without thinking, "Baby, I love your ass."

"I heard that, Emmett."

Strolling with her across the parking lot, we halted at the side of my shiny Cadillac Convertible Coupe 6267.

Rosie patted the sleek hood in appreciation, one fine dame acknowledging another.

I opened the door of my sharp-finned ride, the glossy paint as red as Rosie's come-hither lips, and settled her inside, watching her flush skirt rise up her striking thighs as she crossed her legs and pulled a chiffon scarf out of thin air to wrap around her hair so she truly did resemble a silver screen starlet.

Sprinting to the other side, I showboated and jumped over the closed door, winking at Rosie and gunning the engine. Her net petticoat rustled sweetly against the cream leather seats that crackled and gave.

The jaunty tune of Why Do Fools Fall in Love fizzled through the radio when Rosie turned the dial. And we floated down Detroit's Davison Freeway with the top down and the V-8 revving.



~Thoughts on Motownmett?~

Go and check out my other stories!

The Madison:

http://www (dot)youtube (dot) com/watch?v=AkGljPsLXkA

The Stroll:

http://www (dot)youtube (dot) com/watch?v=C4Z4k6edoBM

The poem is My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose, by Robert Burns

Roll Over Beethoven:

http://www (dot) .youtube (dot) com/watch?v=jLD5H4uQ1xs