The Bun also Rises Chapter 3 - Liz and Prince Malcolm - Sex Stories

The Bun also Rises Chapter 3 - Liz and Prince Malcolm

... cool, calm, and collected, inquired if he would care to join me for a cup of coffee after work. He said he would love to.” “Yep. I call bullshit. I'm going to assume that you stammered, and stumbled your way through it, possibly vomited on his shoe, and was incoherent for most of it. All while red as a beet.” “Oh dear sister, you know me so well.” Liz put her arm around Mary. “That's what I thought. So when do you get to see this Joe again?” “Saturday night, he asked me out on a dinner date. He's going to take me over to Tom's in DeSoto.” “Aren't we living high on the hog.” “Trying to make a good impression, I think. He knows I'm a bit of a foodie, and didn't think Reids was a first date option. I told him the food was good comfort food, but he wanted something fancy. So I'm not complaining.” “Well, you're going to have to find something fancy to wear. What do you have in your closet that would work?” “Nothing that doesn't have flour on it. But I'm sure I can find something to wear. What about that brown dress?” “Mary, you look like a big old turd in that dress. Absolutely not.” Mary sat up in bed and gave her sister a look. “Wow Liz, just wow.” “Well, you know what I mean. It's just... well it's turd like and there's no other way around it.” “Why in the hell didn't you tell me earlier? I've been going around town looking like a turd!” “Ahh don't worry. None of those were dates, so they didn't really matter.” “Still!” “Whatever. Listen go shopping tomorrow night after ...

... work. As a matter of fact why don't you close a bit early and go. Friday is always slow in the afternoon anyways. Get everything ready for Tommy and take off.” “You know, I think I might. I own my own business for a reason, after all. If I can't do this once in a while, then why the hell am I killing myself?” “Right on sister!” “Hey, I'm going to make dinner. Got any ideas?” “Yeah, gnocchi with pesto and garlic bread.” As Mary stood in the kitchen and cooked dinner, she thought about her day. She couldn't believe that it had really worked. It had been a while since she had been on a real, honest to goodness date. Sam the car salesman was the last one. What a smarmy, handsy jerk he'd been. On the car ride home from the diner, where their date was, he tried to put his hand up her skirt. He got a hand slap and no kiss at the end of the night. What had happened to chivalry? What happened to opening doors, and pulling out chairs? Was it dead? It seemed like it was in this town. All these men wanted was sex for a cheap dinner and maybe a beer down at Moof's. Why couldn't life be like all those romance novels? Mary plated up dinner and put in on the tray and carried it down the hall to Liz. They ate and watched TV, a nightly routine in the Hemingway house. Liz was the first to break the silence. “What are you going to wear?” “I don't know. I guess I'll find a dress to wear. It's a shame that Misselhorns closed up. I guess I'm going to have to go over to the Factory Connection in ...