Fadflamer

She was so slender when you first met her; a tight little skirt hugging her hips, tank top squeezing a pair of plump breasts, high top shoes making a lame attempt at hoisting her above five-foot-three. She had nails painted black and ears pierced twice to match the display of gleaming jewelry draped along her slim nape and fingers. Her lips were soft and inviting, eyes deep pools of jade… but it is her oak brown hair that you notice first, more specifically her ponytail that bobs energetically, reaching up to just barely brush your chin as you stand next to her in the fast-food line. She looks up at you, waving and apologizing for bumping you. You take her apology and raise her one, offering to buy her a meal. Naturally, she rejects the offer, but you insist, your back and forth lasting until you reach the front of the line. When you get there, you settle on buying each other’s meals. The petite woman orders you a normal combo, more than you will probably eat. She turns around to