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Lesbian Stories
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Lesbian Female / 27
Finally I've Met My Woman, From The Cold And Harsh Winters
Well I'm no Emily in Paris. I am in Paris, thank God the Olympics are come and gone, and true to the French psyche, they are so in love with politics. I'm a student of the obvious, I don't much get into the whys and therefores. Who cares what you think, show me what you can do. I guess it's my American heritage, just shut up and do it. Well I'm here to learn the culinary art of French cooking.
I'm not small and skinny. And I think Frenchman are so full of themselves. No, what I like isa woman, who can handle a Stein or two of German beer, who wants to be made love to. Back home in Nebraska it was taboo to like a woman. Well a girl then, because I wasn't a woman myself. I left for college and discovered cooking. Not just meat and potatoes, but fine cooking. And I got accepted to a school here for foreigners like me who can and do pay the price for it.
The woman I found is German, from Cottbus. Like me she has a firm foundation, and her tits dance when I make love to her. I found out a lot of words from her, that are quite nasty, and can't be repeated here. She's got me into sharing nasty comments, about obvious anatomical features. It's a thing, liking a woman. I mean a woman. With hips and tits and therefores.
I suppose that in Emily's world she's hooked up with a tiny French woman (she's a lesbian by the way), playing titty poker and kissing French pussy. In my world, I've discovered my ancestors, who all came from the cold and harsh winters. Lots of padding, big tits to feed multiple offspring, pussies that can take a beating. It's no wonder to me that we have evolved that way, a man imprisoned all winter had nothing better to do with his woman. So women adapted, to take the pounding.
So forget about Emily and her pretty dresses and pretty French girls. It is us, the cooks in the kitchen, with broad hips and bit tits that are the real women, provincial women. The real women, not the fragile ones, women like us. I might just bring her back with me to Nebraska, and we can open a restaurant to feed the men to go back to pound their women. All we need is her visa, and that may require us to get married. We are thinking of getting married in Germany. In a biergarten.
I'm not small and skinny. And I think Frenchman are so full of themselves. No, what I like isa woman, who can handle a Stein or two of German beer, who wants to be made love to. Back home in Nebraska it was taboo to like a woman. Well a girl then, because I wasn't a woman myself. I left for college and discovered cooking. Not just meat and potatoes, but fine cooking. And I got accepted to a school here for foreigners like me who can and do pay the price for it.
The woman I found is German, from Cottbus. Like me she has a firm foundation, and her tits dance when I make love to her. I found out a lot of words from her, that are quite nasty, and can't be repeated here. She's got me into sharing nasty comments, about obvious anatomical features. It's a thing, liking a woman. I mean a woman. With hips and tits and therefores.
I suppose that in Emily's world she's hooked up with a tiny French woman (she's a lesbian by the way), playing titty poker and kissing French pussy. In my world, I've discovered my ancestors, who all came from the cold and harsh winters. Lots of padding, big tits to feed multiple offspring, pussies that can take a beating. It's no wonder to me that we have evolved that way, a man imprisoned all winter had nothing better to do with his woman. So women adapted, to take the pounding.
So forget about Emily and her pretty dresses and pretty French girls. It is us, the cooks in the kitchen, with broad hips and bit tits that are the real women, provincial women. The real women, not the fragile ones, women like us. I might just bring her back with me to Nebraska, and we can open a restaurant to feed the men to go back to pound their women. All we need is her visa, and that may require us to get married. We are thinking of getting married in Germany. In a biergarten.
