His Royal Sweatiness

 


Prince Edward Sues Sourly Mallory for Breach of Contract
Photos of the Royal Penis in Clear Violation of Confidentiality Agreement



It was the piss seen all around the world. By now, everyone is familiar with the recently-surfaced photos of Prince Edward standing on the deck of a yacht, penis in hand. The complaint filed by His Royal Highness asserts that those photos were taken by none other Lauren Mallory, his former flame, and that their subsequent leak was a direct violation of the Non-Disclosure Agreement she signed prior to becoming his girlfriend. (That’s right—the word ‘leak’ is used to describe what happened to photos of Prince Edward, well, taking a leak. We couldn’t stop giggling, either.)

It’s expected they’ll come to an out-of-court settlement, with any awarded damages being donated to charities devoted to helping penises less fortunate.

COMMENTS (showing 6 of 387)

Palace Alice

I KNEW she wasn’t any good.


Troll E. McCavetroll

So in other words, he’s pissed that we know he pisses. OUTSTANDING.


HRH Princess Edward

Is it true penises look ten pounds heavier in pictures?


His Royal Gayness

That’s ten inches longer.


My Narcissistic Alias

Paybacks are a bitch. NDA or not, he should have known she’d be out for blood. I mean, come on. He had his BODYGUARD dump her for him, for piss sake.


Lady In Waiting

I thought the pics were flattering.






After what seems like forever, he turns around.

Even though all the important bits are covered, I’m still nervous. Part of me thinks he’s going to make fun of me—not because of anything he’s said or done, but because the entire world seems to think I don’t measure up, that there’s no way he finds me attractive. I’m too plain. I don’t dress well enough. My eyes are dull. My butt is big. As much as I pretend hearing this stuff doesn’t bother me, it does—and that he’s standing there just staring at me doesn’t help.

Just when I decide I can’t take another second of this, he crosses the room and sits on the bench behind where I’m standing.

“That has to feel a bit better,” he says.

I plunk myself down on the bench beside him, shrugging. Physically, he’s right. But I’ve only gotten out of my clothes in front of one other guy, and then it was in the dark and as a precursor to sex. In all the time we dated, that guy never once looked at me the way Edward had a moment ago. I fold my arms across my chest and stare down at where the straps of my plain white cotton bra peek out from underneath my towel. Maybe I’m reading him wrong. I mean, I’m not even wearing cute underwear.

“Are you okay?”

I sit straight up and whip my head around to look at him. “Yes, Sir. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” he says, laughing. “You are stuck here. And you’re with me…”

It takes everything in me to keep my eyes on his face, but I can’t, and almost of their own accord, they start to drift downward, stopping when they get to his lap.

I’m not going to lie. When I got into work this morning and Heidi told me pictures of His Royal Penis were all over the internet, I did a Google search the moment I sat down at my desk. As luck would have it, the photos were still on the screen when a guy from IT came to my office to fix my printer. Instead he hightailed it to Human Resources. I’d never been so grateful for nepotism.

Edward clears his throat, and I know I’m busted. Panicked, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Your pants are sticking to you, Sir.”

He shrugs. “Given where we are, that’s not a huge a surprise.”

“You can’t be very comfortable.”

“Better me than you.”

“I know I didn’t react well before when you said you were going to get undressed—”

“Didn’t react well? Now there’s an understatement. You had a hysterical crying fit.”

“—but I don’t want you to suffer on my account. If you want to take them off, Sir, take them off.”

“I want to, but I won’t.”

“Let me guess—because I didn’t sign the NDA.” I sigh. “I understand why you wouldn’t trust me. I went through your stuff and I know how that looks. But after you kissed and put me to bed in your guestroom, I just…I can’t figure out what you want from me. You could have anyone you want, and I don’t know myself when I’m around you…”

He holds up his hand. “Wait. Esme told me that was part of a reconnaissance mission she sent you on.”

“No, Sir. She only said that to cover for me. For what it’s worth, I’ve felt awful about it ever since.”

“Then how did she get her hands on that list?”

“I asked if she’d help me sneak it back into your room before you noticed it was missing. Even though you knew I’d been snooping, I didn’t want you to think I took it to sell you out. I panicked when you found me in your bedroom, and you looked so disappointed.”

“I was, but not because I realized what you were up to.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I am genuinely sorry. And it truly didn’t occur to me the weight room was a bad place to apologize.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“May I ask you a potentially uncomfortable question, Sir?”

He laughs. “Sure, why not? We’re already drowning in our own sweat.”

“Earlier you asked if I wanted a transcript of our conversation to end up online. Has that actually happened to you?”

“Not to me, no. But it has to my father.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t know.”

He studies my face for a moment, then shakes his head.

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You must live in a cave or something.”

“No, I just don’t read the gossip blogs—at least, I didn’t until they dubbed my sister ‘Not-Today Esme’.”

“You know, all things considered, the tabloids have been decent to Esme—way better than we thought they’d be. When she and Carlisle first met, he was sure she’d decide being with him wasn’t worth losing her privacy. As much as we try to buffer her from all that, we can’t protect her from everything. As bad as it is for her, it could be worse. It’s not as if they’re calling her Princess Prozac like they did my mother, or even Not-a Swan.”

I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sir. Not with you. The last time this came up in conversation, you got angry, we both yelled, and then you kissed me…”

“And we both know how awful that was for you,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“You don’t want a repeat performance. It’s okay; I understand.”

“No! I mean yes. Shit.” I cover my face with my hands and sigh. “I meant that I don’t want to offend you again, Sir, and yelling doesn’t accomplish anything…”

I’ve never been much for crying. More a doer than a feeler, I far prefer to channel that energy into something productive. Even as a child, Esme would cry while I’d focus on fixing whatever it was that made her upset. But here—with nothing to distract me from His Royal Heinous and how he makes me feel—once again, I can’t seem to stop the tears.

“I’m sorry, Sir. This isn’t me. I don’t expect you to believe me when I tell you I’ve cried more in the past hour than I have in the past decade, but it’s true. It’s just that I feel like my life has spiraled completely out of my control, and all of this is so new to me…”

“May I ask you a potentially uncomfortable question?”

I shrug. “Well, like you said, we’re already drowning in our own sweat…”

“Are you a virgin?”

“What? No.” Even though I’m still crying, I start to laugh. I lean back and search his face for evidence he’s kidding.

If anything, he seems uncharacteristically earnest—and it pisses me off.

I’m twenty-seven years old. He fished condoms out of my purse. Why the hell would he think I’ve never had sex? He couldn’t possibly share the tabloid opinion about me being thatundesirable. Then again, I wasn’t even on his list—not even under his only-if-I’m-desperate category.

“No!” I repeat, a bit more vehemently. “You can ask my sister.”

“It’s okay; I believe you.”

“Seriously, Sir? Why would you even think that?”

“You said today was the first time you cried in ten years—and it happened once at the thought of me undressing, and again when talking about our kiss. Then you said this was all so new to you—”

“I was talking about living in a fishbowl! You know, until I met you, I didn’t have these problems. Bloggers didn’t make fun of my clothing, and paps didn’t follow me around town snapping pictures only to post them online with big red arrows pointing to my flaws. I didn’t delude myself into believing I was as pretty as Esme, but I always felt good about myself. Now…” I’m crying too hard to continue.

As angry as I am with him, I don’t fight when he pulls me into his arms. For a while, he rocks me back and forth, whispering an occasional, “Sh” as he strokes my hair. It isn’t until I stop crying that he speaks.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything when I asked if you were a virgin. You were freaking out, and I couldn’t figure out why. I hate that knowing me comes at such high cost. I know the media attention you’re getting is all my fault, that the press is especially brutal to you. I wish you’d realize it has nothing to do with you. To them, you’re an extension of me, and I’m fair game. The crazy thing is that they’re actually monarchists. It’s why you almost never see controversial photos of my dad or Carlisle—or even your sister, for that matter. Those pictures of me that surfaced this morning? They also had shots of my brother’s penis, along with your sister’s breasts. Those were returned to Masen Palace out of respect. As they told my secretary, ‘It’s hard to take a Head of State seriously once you’ve seen him naked.’

“But the tabloid press still wants to make money, so I’m the obvious choice. Exploiting me doesn’t damage the monarchy; everyone knows the chances of me ever being king are slim to none. I’m just the insurance policy, the spare to the heir. As far as they’re concerned, I have all of the privilege and none of the duty. They think I earn my keep by being their fodder.” His arms tighten around me as he sighs. “If they only knew.”

“How exactly do you earn your keep?”

I regret my words as soon as I say them. Panicked, I pull away from him so I can see his face. I expect him to be offended, but if anything, he appears amused.

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head.

“Funny, I thought Esme would have told you. I’m a Captain in Her Majesty’s Army, and until three weeks ago when my grandmother pulled me out of active duty, I was serving in Afghanistan.”





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