Getting ready for a date

A week before the date, Faith asked if I was willing to try a blind date that a friend set up the three of us. I was apprehensive, but agreed. It clearly mattered to Faith and Charity, so of course was willing to meet up with this date, even if the darkest recesses of my mind told me nobody would match them.

Firstly, the dress. Faith and Charity often make custom dresses for us; stuff that’s easy for us to put on, and hides (or selectively reveals) the stranger parts of our body like my useless leg or quartet of breasts. We agreed on a dark green dress that went down to their ankles and had a slit for my own leg. I always liked dark green because it reminds me of the serenity of the forest, and of frogs and crickets singing at night at our childhood home. But that’s a tangent for another time.

Charity and Faith both like doing my hair and makeup, so I let them alternate . As Charity brushed out my hair and did it into two giant pigtails and Faith did my makeup into something I would later describe as “killer”, I felt serene and relaxed from all the attention from my sisters many hands. It’s almost too nice considering this sort of attention had stirred me up in the past, but fortunately my cock only gets hard when my sisters are stirred up, so at least I don’t have to worry about a them finding a boner brushing against them while they uhhh… “dote” on me.

When they’re done giving me a good first impression, Faith asks “how do you look”. I tell her I look “killer”, provoking a giggle I didn’t understand from Charity. They then finished working on their own looks, Faith humming the tune to a song I liked while I hovered in between my sisters (standing is for people with useful legs). I think I I spent 15 seconds staring at Charity before realizing I was. I instinctively looked down in shame and hope she didn’t notice, but that brought my eyes into contact with Faith and Charity’s six slender legs and pastel-painted toenails. It’s not a fun feeling when you remember you can’t escape the women you’re supposed to not be infatuated with. A feeling reinforced when I shut my eyes and could still hear Faith humming. It’s a habit she picked up to stimulate me when I otherwise might get bored, but right then it was reminding me of the crushes I couldn’t act on. I tried not to cry and ruin the makeup Faith had enjoyed applying to me, and I succeed. For what little control I have, I can at least control myself.

Eventually, my sisters slip on a half dozen high heels, grab their purse, and wrap a small pink bow around my tiny leg, a gesture I may have objected to in a healthier mental state, but simply appreciated in my cloud of anxiety. With that, we’re ready for our date.

As we leave our apartment and head to a local restaurant, I feel calmed by the clicking of six heels as Faith and Charity walk. As I take in the cool air and autumnal colors of the trees, Faith asks me “What would you like in a partner, Hope?”

I think about it a bit, I give her the necessities for me “someone who’s Respectful, obviously, someone who’s compassionate for the less fortunate and patient are also musts…” I try to think about any specifics that don’t apply to her and Charity… I realize I kinda can’t, so tell a half-truth. “Beyond that, I don’t know. It’s not like I don’t like people, but I guess I don’t have enough t experience to properly know what I want.” Broadly true. How do I ever tell Faith she’s the gold standard? How could I consider anyone else being in eternal proximity to the gold standard(s)?

Faith gets apprehensive with her response “oh… okay…” as Charity opens the door to the restaurant of our date. My sisters walk up to the reservations desk, and the receptionist asks us