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Mcdonalds Girl - by Kissy the Amazon ~(BBW, Explicit Lesbian Sex, ~SWG)

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Britt Reid

Library Editor
Joined
Oct 28, 2009
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~BBW, Explicit Lesbian Sex, ~SWG – sometimes chance meetings lead to unexpected new things

Mcdonalds Girl
by Kissy the Amazon​

Chapter One – First Contact

She was dressed in all black except for her pink ball cap when we first met, but that’s getting ahead of the story. You need to know a little about me first.

I was tired of meeting the Gypsy Hippie girls who didn't shave their legs or pits. They dressed like me, they liked the same music as me and I'd meet them at concerts or at campgrounds, hit it off and only manage a one night stand with them.

I was sick of meeting the intellectual snobs at the cafe or bookstore, they always became holier than thou or smarter than thou after a couple of dates.

I was sick of meeting the environmental dykes at the action meetings who had neuroses about their dad's SUVs, and I was sick of the twiggy vegetarians I kept meeting at the market.

Basically I was sick of meeting women like me.

I don't think I ever had an outline for the perfect girl, and living in this part of North Carolina I wasn't about to be picky. I took on the mind-set that you can't know if she's the one until you get to know each other.

Sure it helped that they liked the same music and fashions I did, the same books and movies, the same coffees and teas, and the same social causes, but all those women and I could never work it out. I needed to try something different, someone who was a type of person I haven't met yet.

A regular day in my life usually consists of waking up with the sun, brewing tea of coffee depending on my mood, eating a banana or apple for breakfast while my beverage brewed, when the drink was nice and hot I sit on my balcony sipping it and writing until noon or one.

If I can't write I'll go shopping or for a jog, at noon I go to the cafe or deli for a vegetarian wrap or a salad, I check my email, go home and write some more.

When my friends get off work I usually find something to do with them or go to one of my clubs, nature club, book club, eventually I come home and grab dinner if I didn't eat out. I'll go for a jog then shower, watch about an hour of TV. then read in bed until I fall asleep. On the weekends I go hiking or something like that with friends.

I'm not the type of person that meets the kind of girl in the pink cap, and I'm not the kind of girl who would regularly hook up with someone like I’m describing here, considering where I first saw her.

I never go to McDonalds. Never ever, but since I was sick of meeting the same types of girls all the time I figured I would start going to new places. So when I heard that McDonalds now had wi-fi I figured I would meet a different class of women there.

The idea of the women I expected to find there, flatulent rednecks with bad teeth and farmer's tans, did not appeal to me at all, but I thought it would be nice to break out of my world at least.

So, on that day, instead of going to my regular cafe or deli, I went to the local McDonalds. I ordered their southwest salad, I had them leave the chicken off, and a cappuccino. The coffee wasn't that good, but the salad wasn't bad.

I had finished half my salad when I opened my computer, logged onto the wi-fi, and began checking my emails. I wasn't really paying attention to the other customers; I hardly looked up when two people seated themselves two tables down, just barely within my peripheral vision.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the smooth skin of an olive toned hand, smooth and petite yet adult, no ring on the ring finger, belonging to a woman giving her escort a napkin. It was the cutest little hand I had seen, I couldn't help but think that it would fit perfectly in mine. But it appeared she was both taken and straight. When I realized that I felt silly, More than silly - pathetic and desperate.

I wanted to look, but I didn't want to. I wanted to see the women who the hand belonged to, but I was afraid I would find she didn't match her hands. I looked down as though I were gazing at my keyboard but I was looking across the floor until I found her feet, the same color as her hands, nails a crimson red, petite and lovely little feet in black flip-flops,

I couldn't see her legs, if I looked up to see them I would be obviously looking at her. I suppose my senses came to life, I could hear her voice. She was asking her companion about what he did with his friends the weekend before. Her voice was smooth, rich, the kind of narrator's voice you can close your eyes and see colors in, and she had the slightest, sweet as molasses, southern drawl.

I stretched and rotated my head the opposite side so when I rotated my head towards her it would be as though it were because I was stretching. I turned to see her.

She was dressed in all black except for her pink ball cap. Her eyes were sharp blue, piercing and transfixing. To my surprise she was staring at me.

I must have been in a trance by her eyes because all I remember seeing was her face, I don't remember seeing anything of her body at the time. She had think eyebrows, nut brown like the hair flowing from beneath her cap, tanned skin, a petite little nose, the smallest little sliver of fat under her chin that usually indicates just the right amount of fat for a woman to be thin and curvy, She had a petite little mouth, she smiled at me and I could see her perfect teeth. I instinctively smiled back.

Shortly after our gazes locked, when I was trying to focus on responding to my emails, she turned and began sitting sort of sideways, half watching the counter and I thought occasionally glancing at me. I would glance at her occasionally. It was then that I noticed something unique about her.

Her tiny hands and feet, and her petite face didn't match her body at all, and yet they did. Her body was fat. Not just chubby or plump or thick, she was fat. Her hands and feet alone looked like they belonged to a petite curvy girl, not someone as big as she was. It was like the fat went from her neckline and tapered out to her chin, like it went from her elbows and tapered out to her wrists, and from her knees tapering out to her ankles. Her body between her neckline, elbows, and knees was as though it had been puffed up with marshmallows,

I doubted I would be able to get both my hands around her fat upper arms, and I have pretty long fingers. I could only see the skin of her calves arms and chest since she was wearing black capris with a black tank top. She had smooth tanned skin all over and despite the fat of her arms she didn't seem dimply or saggy in the least.

I had never been attracted to someone of her size yet her face was so pretty that even after I saw how big she was my heart beat faster when she smiled at me the second time.

I knew then that I had to talk to her, but how? I could only assume that the guy across from her was her beau, and most women are strange about flirting with other women in front of their male friends. If I talked to her now I might blow it completely.

I tried to send her a signal but I could never get our gazes to catch again. She was the complete opposite of partners I had been with before. She wasn't a skinny little vegetarian, or a snob too good for McDonalds, or a gypsy who only dresses in broom skirts and low cut tank tops.

She obviously wasn't a health nut like the girls at the gym, but one with an appetite as evidenced by the large shake and supersized fries that accompanied her two burgers. Her voice was soft like a woman's should be and not harsh like an angry dyke.

She was overweight and yet pretty. She obviously didn't exercise and yet I still wanted to be with her. But, how was I ever going to get to know her?

She and her companion left in an SUV before I worked up the courage to approach her.

She probably doesn’t even like girls, I told myself and dismissed the whole thing up to me being desperate and latching on to the first woman who smiled at me. Why else would my heart beat so fast because of someone so fat?

I tried to forget about her. I couldn't. No matter how many times I told myself I wasn't her type and she wasn't mine I couldn't get her off my mind. Perhaps it was because I knew no one like her that I was just curious about the way she was, so different from everyone I've ever known. Eventually I found myself waiting in the McDonalds for four hours checking emails and writing hoping she would show up.

There was also another problem. My lease was coming to an end, and though I liked my apartment I needed a change so I started browsing the housing section on Craigslist. I didn't find anything and was about to close the window when I saw a “missed connections” link. Out of curiosity I clicked it.

I must have stared for five minutes at a title about halfway down the page that jumped out at me. It read "Tall girl in brown tank, McDonalds on Monday in Durham."

I finally clicked on the link and read:

"Dear Tall Dark and Pretty,

I saw you on Monday, you were on your computer, you had a salad, but you never finished it.

I was with my brother and we were sitting near you, we smiled at each other; we caught eyes again when we left and climbed into my SUV. You had on cute bamboo flops, loose orange skirt, brown tank, your hair was pulled back in a ponytail, you had black hair, and brown eyes.

I've never felt this way for another woman before, but I thought we connected maybe. Message me, tell me what I had on, and tell me about your leg tattoo. I hope you get it right.​
"

I clicked the link to reply to the post. It took me awhile to write it, thinking what if it really is to someone else, what if I get the person wrong? What if it's not her?

"Dear McDonalds Girl,

You had on black flops, red nail polish, black capris made out of some sort of stretch material, a black tank top, and a pink cap with "USA" printed across it.

I'm glad to hear you were with your brother - I had other fears. I'm not sure of all of what you ate but I know you had a milkshake when you went outside.

My leg tattoo is a tribal abstract shark from midcalf to ankle. I hope I got it right. As far as the connection goes, I thought so too."​

I also sent her my email and name, and it wasn’t an hour later that I got home, checked my email again and had her response.

"Matilda,

You get an A! I was beginning to give up hope on you seeing that post! I'm so excited that you did. I'm Sarah Jayne. If you can, meet me at the same McDonalds tonight at nine, wear the same clothes, and hopefully I'll see you there. If you don't get this by then we'll have to reschedule."​

I replied that I would be there, I dug those clothes out of the laundry room, I had barely enough time to wash them but I did. I nervously took a shower, applied make-up. I probably overdid that because I was so excited. It was odd. I'm an adult and I've been with plenty of women but for some reason I had so many butterflies in my stomach I felt like I was in middle school again girl-crushing on Ms. Styles again. (But that's a whole 'nother story)
 

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