By the way, many people like to listen to stories while sleeping at night, especially women who are very desperate to hear bedtime stories for girlfriend. My girlfriend also loves listening to stories. I often tell him many stories. However, my profession is to keep bringing good short bedtime stories for people.
I have a good interest in short stories and I also have a good experience of how most short romantic bedtime stories for girlfriend. By the way, girls do more tantrums, though they are experts in them, or even say that this is their profession.
Okay, we have joked a lot, now we work to find romantic bedtime stories for girlfriend. I tell you 3 great stories that your girlfriend will surely like. This story is related to real life. Most of the girls ie Girlfriend likes Motivational stories or Surprise stories.
Are you thinking that girlfriends should tell ghost stories at night? Never do this because a girlfriend is already like a ghost and later you will insult the ghost by telling the girlfriend’s ghost story, then it is not right. It is very bad my friend.
Ok Enough jokes, This is the time tell to the story to our girlfriends. It is said that stories are comfort or a feeling that creates peace in the mind and enhances the capacity of our thoughts.
3 Best Bedtime Stories For Girlfriend
Your girlfriend will surely like these three cute bedtime stories for girlfriend. You will be able to impress your girlfriend. Although I understand very well which stories are used to impress our girlfriends.
- Heaven To Hell
- Breakfast in Virginia
- Story Of Vanka Zhukov
short bedtime stories for girlfriend
1. Heaven To Hell long bedtime stories for girlfriend
THERE we were dancing ‘up the steps of glory, my husband, Mackenzie, and me, our earthly troubles over, when who should we meet comin’ down but Nancy Smothers!
“That hussy!” I said. “How did she get up here?”
She had her white wings all folded around her, looking ‘just like an Easter lily. cept that her face was chocolate.”
Nancy Smothers, if you come a – near my husband, I’m gonna crown you!” I said. “I did stand enough from you down on earth, let alone meeting ‘you in heaven.”
All this while, Mackenzie ain’t said a word. Shamel, He knew he’s done wrong with that woman. Mackenzie lifted up his wings as if he was gonna fly, but I dared him!
“Don’t you lift a feather, your dog, you! just hold your horses! I’m gonna ask God how come this Harlem just got to heaven anyhow.”
Mackenzie and I went on up the golden stairs I could see him straining his eyeballs, trying ‘to look back without turning his head.
Nancy Smothers switched on down the steps. I reckon.
But I never did find out how she got in heaven because just then I come out from under the ether.
I looked up and saw a pretty white nurse standing there by my bed just like an angel. I hollered. Where is Mackenzie Washie hurt much, too? You know, he was driving when we hit that pole!
“The nurse said,” Don’t worry, madam Your husband’s all right He just got a broken arm when the car turned over. But he’ll be in to see you by and by them, re keeping ‘him in the men’s ward overnight.
“I’m glad he’s safe,” I said. “I am sure I am glad!”
Then the nurse said, “This lady’s been here with you a long time, sitting by your bed. An old friend of yours, she says. She brought you some flowers.”
So I turned my eyes and there sat Nancy Smothers, right beside my bed! Just as long-faced and hypocritical as she could be!
“Nancy,” I said, “where am 1 in heaven or in hell?”
“You still on earth, Amelia,” Nancy said sweetly, “and, honey, I just come from the men’s ward where I saw Mackenzie. He says to tell you he’s doing ‘well.”
Even with three broken ribs, I would have tried to kill Nancy that hussy, bringing me messages from my own Mackenzie but there was that nice white nurse standing beside me like an angel, and I always did hate to act up in front of white folks.
All I said was, “Nancy. I wish you’d been with us in that wreck! Then I coulda got some pleasure out of it. I’d just love to see you all crippled up”
Shh-ss-s!” said the nurse. “You’re weak! You mustn’t talk so loud!”
“You shouldn’t excite yourself. dear, “said Nancy, rising,” so. I’ll be going on home. I know you’re out of your head.
“I wish you d go to”
Shss-Shh-s-s! “said the nurse.
Then I realized I was starting to act up in front of that mee, sweet white nurse, so I tried to smile.” Goodbye. Nancy.”
She said Goodbye, Amelia. Her eyes gleaming ‘like a chess cat’s That shake Snake”
when the nurse took my temperature agam, she said.” That’s strang, udan Yrkan leve gone away up! “
“Strange: nothing thought to myself.”
But then how cold that pretty young nurse know I was layin there worry in myself to death about whether Nancy Smothers went home or not -or if the hussy went back in the men’s ward to set beside Mackenzie?
Love can be worse than hell.
2. Breakfast in Virginia Bedtime Stories For Girlfriend
Two colored boys during the war. For the first time in his life one of them, on furlough from a Southern training camp, was coming North. His best buddy was a New York lad, also on furlough, who had invited him to visit Harlem. Being colored, they had to travel in the Jim Crow car until the Florida Express reached Washington.
The train was crowded and people were standing in WHITE day coaches and in the COLORED coach the single Jim Crow car. Cor portal Ellis and Corporal Williams had, after much insistence, shared for a part of the night the seats of other kindly passengers in the coach marked COLORED. They took turns sleeping for a few hours. The rest of the time they sat on the arm of a seat or stood smoking in the vestibule. By morning they were very tired. And they were hungry.
No vendors came into the Jim Crow coach with food, so Corporal Ellis suggested to his friend that they go into the diner and have breakfast. Corporal Ellis was born in New York and he had been a star trackman with his college team and had often eaten in diners on trips with his teammates. Corporal Williams had never eaten in a diner before, but he followed his friend. It was midmorning. The rush period was over, although the dining car was still fairly full. But, fortunately, just at the door as they entered there were three seats at a table for four persons. The sole occupant of the table was a tall, distinguished gray-haired man. A white man.
As the two brown skin soldiers stood at the door waiting for the steward to seat them, the white man looked up and said, “Won’t you sit here and be my guests this morning? I have a son fighting in North Africa. Come, sit down. “
” Thank you, sir, “said Corporal Ellis,” this is kind of you. ” Corporal Ellis. This is Corporal Williams.
“The elderly man rose, gave his name, shook hands with the two-colored soldiers, and the three of them sat down at the table. The young men faced their host. Corporal Williams was silent, but Corporal Ellis carried on the conversation as they waited for the steward to bring the menus.
“How long have you been in the service, Corporal? “The white man was saying as the steward approached. Corporal Ellis could not answer this question because the steward cut in brusquely,” You boys can’t sit here. “
“These men are my guests for breakfast, steward, “said the white mari”
I am sorry, sir, “said the white steward,” but Negroes cannot be served now. If there’s time, we may have a fourth sitting before luncheon for them, if they want to come back. “
“But these men are soldiers, “said the white man.”
I am sorry, sir. We will take your order, but I cannot serve them in the state of Virginia.
“The two Negro soldiers were silent. The white man rose. He looked at the steward a minute, then said,” I am embarrassed, steward, both for you and for my guests. “To the soldiers he said.” IF you gentlemen will come with me to my drawing-room, we will have breakfast there. Steward. I would like a waiter immediately. Room E, the third car back.
“The tall, distinguished man turned and led the way out of the diner. The two soldiers followed him. They passed through the club car, through the open Pullmans, and into a coach made up entirely of compartments. The white man led them along with the blue-gray corridor, stopped at the last door, and opened it.
“Come in,” he said. He waited for the soldiers to enter.
It was a roomy compartment with a large window and two long comfortable seats facing each other. . The man indicated a place for the soldiers, who sat down together. He pressed a button.
“I will have the porter bring a table,” he said. Then he went on with the conversation just as if nothing had happened. He told them of recent letters from his son overseas, and of his pride in all the men in the military services who were giving up the pleasures of civilian life to help bring an end to Hitlerism. Shortly the porter arrived with the table. Soon a waiter spread a cloth and took their order. In a little while, the food was there.
All this time Corporal Williams from the South had said nothing. He sat, shy and bewildered, as the Virginia landscape passed outside the train window. Then he drank his orange juice with loud gulps. But when the eggs were brought, suddenly he spoke, “This here time, sir, is the first time I ever been invited to eat with a white man. I’m from Georgia.”
“I hope it won’t be the last time, “the white man replied. “Break ing bread together is the oldest symbol of human friendship.” He passed the silver tray. “Would you care for rolls or muffins, Corporal? I’m sorry there is no butter this morning. I guess we’re on rations.”
“I can eat without butter,” said the corporal for the first time his eyes met those of his host. He smiled. Through the window of the speeding train, as it neared Washington, clear in the morning sunlight yet far off in the distance, they could see the dome of the Capitol. But the soldier from the Deep South was not looking out of the window. He was looking across the table at his fellow American
“I thank you for this breakfast,” said Corporal Williams.
3. Story Of Vanka Zhukov cute bedtime stories for girlfriend
NINE-YEAR-OLD Vanka Zhukov, who was apprenticed three months ago to the shoemaker Alyakhin, did not go to bed on Christmas Eve He waited till the master and mistress and the more senior apprentices had gone to the early service, and then he took a bottle of ink and nib from his master’s cupboard, and began to write on a crumpled sheet of paper spread out in front of him. Before tracing the shape of the first letter, he looked several times fearfully in the direction of the doors and windows, and then he gazed up at the dark icon, flanked on either side by shelves filled with cobbler’s lasts, and then he heaved a broken sigh. With the paper spread over the bench, Vanka knelt on the floor beside it.
“Dear Grandfather Konstantin Makarich,” he wrote “I am writing a letter to you. I wish you a Merry Christmas and all good things from the Lord God. I have no father and mother, and you are all I have left.”
Vanka raised his eyes to the dark windowpane, on which there gleamed the reflection of a candle flame, and in his vivid imagination, he saw his grandfather Konstantin Makarich standing there. His grandfather was a night watchman on the estate of some gentlefolk called Zhivaryov, a small, thin, unusually lively and nimble old man of about sixty-five, his face always crinkling with laughter, and his eyes bleary from drink. In the daytime the old man slept in the servants’ kitchen or cracked jokes with the cooks. At night, wrapped in an ample sheepskin coat, he made the rounds of the estate, shaking his clapper. Two dogs followed him with drooping heads one was the old bitch Brownie, the other was called Eel because of his black coat and long weaselly body. Eel always seemed to be extraordinarily respectful and endearing, gazing with the same fond eyes on friends and strangers alike yet no one trusted him. His deference and humility concealed most Jesuitical malice. No one knew better how to creep stealthily behind someone and take a nip at his leg, or how to crawl into the icehouse, or how to scamper off with a peasant’s chicken. More than once they just about broke his hind legs, twice a noose was put around his neck, and every week he was beaten until he was only half alive, yet he always managed to survive.
At this very moment, Grandfather was probably standing by the gates, screwing up his eyes at the bright red windows of the village church, stamping about in his felt boots and cracking jokes with the servants. His clapper hung from his belt. He would be throwing out his arms and then hugging himself against the cold, and, hiccupping as old men do, he would be pinching one of the servant girls or one of the cooks.
“What about a pinch of snuff, eh?” He would say, holding out his snuftbox to the women.
Then the women would take a pinch and sneeze, and the old man would be overcome with indescribable ecstasies, laughing joyously and exclaiming: ” Fine for frozen noses, eh! “
The dogs, too, were given snuff. Brownie would sneeze, shake her head, and walk away looking angry, while Eel, too polite to sneeze, only wagged his tail. The weather was glorious. The air was still, transparently clear, and fresh. The night was very dark, but the whole white – roofed village with its snowdrifts and trees silvered with hoar frost and smoke streaming from the chimneys could be seen clearly. The heavens were sprinkled with gay, glinting stars, and the Milky Way stood out as clearly as if it had been washed and scrubbed with snow for the holidays.
Vanka sighed, dipped his pen in the ink, and went on writing: “Yesterday I was given a thrashing.” The master dragged me by the hair into the yard and gave me a beating with a stirrup strap because when I was rocking the baby in the cradle, I, unfortunately, fell asleep.
Because I began with the tail, she took the head of the herring and rubbed it all over my face. The other apprentices made fun of me, sent me to the tavern for vodka, and made me steal the master’s cucumbers for them, and then the master beat me with the first thing that came to hand. And there’s nothing to eat. In the morning they give me bread, there is porridge for dinner, and in the evening only bread again. They never give me tea or cabbage soup they gobble it all up themselves. They make me sleep in the passageway, and when their baby cries, I don’t get any sleep at all because I have to rock the cradle. Dear Grandfather, please for God’s sake take me away from here, take me to the village, it’s more than I can bear … I kneel down before you I’ll pray to God to keep you forever, but take me away from here, or I shall die.
“Vanka grimaced, rubbed his eyes with his black fists, and sobbed.
I’ll grind your snuff for you,” he went on “I will pray to God to keep you, and if I ever do anything wrong, you can flog me all you like. If you think there’s no place for me, then I’ll ask the manager for Christ’s sake to let me clean boots or take Fedya’s place as a shepherd boy. Dear Grandfather, it’s more than I can bear, it will be the death of me. I thought of running away to the village, but I haven’t any boors, and I am afraid of the ice. If you’ll do this for me, I’ll feed you when I grow up, and won’t let anyone harm you, and when you die, I’ll pray for the repose of your soul, just like I do for my mother, Pelageya.
“Moscow is such a big city. There are so many houses belonging to the gentry, so many horses, but no sheep anywhere, and the dogs are not vicious. The boys don’t go about with the Star of Christmas, and they don’t let you sing in the choir, and once I saw fishhooks in the shop window with the fishing lines for every kind of fish, very fine ones, even one hook which would hold a skate fish weighing forty pounds. I’ve seen shops selling guns which are just like the master’s at home, and each one must cost a hundred rubles. In the butcher shops they have woodcocks and partridges and hares, but the people in the shop won’t tell you where they were shot.
“Dear Grandfather, when they put up the Christmas tree at the big house, please take down a golden walnut for me and hide it in the green chest. Ask the young mistress, Olga Ignatyevna, and say it is for Vanka.
“Vanka heaved a convulsive sigh, and once more he gazed in the direction of the window. He remembered it was Grandfather who always went to the forest to cut down a Christmas tree for the gentry, taking his grandson with him. They had a wonderful time together. Grandfather chuckled, the frost crackled, and Vanka, not to be our doing, clucked away cheerfully. Before chopping down the fir tree, Grandfather would smoke a pipe, take a long pinch of snuff, and make fun of Vanka, who was shivering in the cold. The young fir trees, garlanded with hoarfrost, stood perfectly still, waiting to see which of them would die Suddenly out of nowhere a hare came springing across the snowdrifts, quick as an arrow, and Grandfather would be unable to prevent himself from shouting: “Hold him! Hold him! Hold that bobtailed devil, ch!
“When the tree had been chopped down, Grandfather would drag it to the big house and they would start decorating it. The young mistress. Olga Ignatyevna, Vanka’s favorite, was the busiest of all While Vanka’s mother, Pelageya, was alive, serving as a chambers Olga Ignatyevna used to stuff him with sugar candy, and it amused her to teach him to read and write, to count up to a hundred, and even to dance the quadrille. But when Pelageya died, they relegated the orphan Vanka to the servants’ kitchen to be with his grandfather, and from there he went to Moscow to the shoemaker Alyakhin …
“Come to me, dear Grandfather,” Vanka went on. “I beseech you for Christ’s sake, take me away from here! Have pity on me, a poor orphan, they are always beating me, and I’m terribly hungry, and so miserable I can’t tell you, and I’m always crying. The other day the master hit me on the head with a last, and I fell down and thought I would never get up again. It’s worse than a dog’s life and so miserable. I send greetings to Alyona, to one-eyed Yegor, and to the coachman, and don’t give my harmonica away. I remain your grandson Ivan Zhukov, dear grandfather, and come soon!
“Vanka twice folded the sheet of paper and then he put it in an envelope bought the previous day for a kopeck. He reflected for a while, dipped the pen in ink, and wrote the address: To Grandfather in the Village. Then he scratched his head and thought for a while, and added the words: Konstantin Makarich. Pleased because no one interrupted him when he was writing, he threw on his cap, and without troubling to put on a coat, he ran out into the street in his shirt sleeves.
When he talked to the clerks in the butcher shop the previous day, they told him that the letters were dropped in boxes, and from these boxes, they were carried all over the world on mail coaches drawn by three horses and driven by drunken drivers, while the bells jingled. Vanka ran to the nearest mailbox and thrust his precious letter into the slot.
An hour later, lulled by sweetest hopes, he was fast asleep. He dreamed of a stove. His grandfather was sitting on the stove, bare feet dangling down, while he read the letter aloud to the cooks. Eel was walking round the stove, wagging his tail.
I hope guys you and your girlfriend really enjoy all the bedtime stories for girlfriend. Well, we try to do a lot more for you and give you more content. Stay Connected with Amazing Story.