1. Beef with Broccoli


    Date: 2/12/2016, Categories: Fiction, Blowjob, Erotica, Written by women, Author: CandyXLove, Rating: 92.9, Source: sexstories.com

    won't notice. "I went there to visit her two summers ago. It was a lot of fun." "That's my home town," he reaches into the messenger bag slung to his hip and pulls out a Wong's Wok paper bag, then something square from it, wrapped in wax paper. "Your friend probably didn't take you anywhere that makes these, though." He walks the short distance to my kitchenette and holds the waxy parcel out to me. I tip the paper open and see two slices of white bread clamped around something that looks like the crazypants in Scream Bloody Death tried to make an omelet. "What is it?" "That's my favorite Friday night movie-watching food. It's a Saint Paul sandwich. Go ahead, take a bite. I brought a whole bag." I do. It tastes like a crazypants omelet, too, with lots of mayonnaise. Mayonnaise and crunchy bean sprouts. Aw, fuck, is this what he's going to taste like if we kiss again? It's not a deal breaker, but it's not a point in Jay's favor, for sure. I chew and swallow heavily. "What do you think?" He unwraps one for himself and takes the kind of enthusiastic bite only men with fast metabolisms can manage. It's his favorite. He brought it to share with me. For all I know he made it at the restaurant, himself, after his shift was over. Am I going to lie to spare his feelings? "It's horrible," I blurt out, pressing my fingers against my lips as if I can shove the unvarnished truth back in. "Jesus, I'm sorry, that was really rude." He laughs. Not the self-aware, suave laugh that made my ...
    knees weak when he was flirting with me in the hallway, but a full one with an ugly snort tucked inside its rolling folds. "Well, I'm glad I brought the ice cream, then. Egg foo young on Wonderbread is an acquired taste." "How long have you been here?" I ask, grateful to have some kind of out. "Three months. I'm still learning my way around, which is a real problem when I'm driving delivery." He opens up my fridge and finds a can of High Life I'd missed on the door, hiding behind the mustard. "I'd be a disaster without GPS." "And when you're not driving delivery?" I spoon big curls of red-flecked pink ice cream into the two bowls. "I play a lot of Dragon Age." He opens the can and takes a long drink. "And when you're not slinging dragons and Chinese food?" I go along with his teasing game. A shadow passes through his expression, a flicker of disappointment so fast I would have missed it melting into his half smile if I wasn't staring at his face and thinking about kissing him again. "Right, right. This is where I tell you I'm working for my uncle to put myself through med school." He's not mean or sarcastic, but his voice makes clear that's not the real story. "But you...aren't in med school?" I ask, testing as gently as skimming a flat pebble out onto the frozen pond in the park. "Nope. Just a thirty year old delivery boy, sad to say," he searches my face for disapproval. My kitchenette is tiny, there can't be but two feet between where he leans against the closed refrigerator ...
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