Take me Ronald you stud.” swooned Wendy. Taking Ronald McDonald’s hand, she rushed him into the backroom. The taboo was about to happen, and it was going to be sexy.

“I dont know Wendy” said Ronald in a deep, sultry voice that would swoon any underpaid fast food employee. “I’m not sure we can do this”

“Oh Ronald” she said, her lips quivering “I already said im over 18, we were established in 1969, well past the legal age. She leaned in, planting a slobbery kiss on the greasy cheek of the yellow clad hamburger clown.

Ronald shook like an aroused bowling pin ready to tip over. He liked it. He loved it. He wanted more of it, and he was about to get it. Even though Wendy was over 18, he somehow found himself aroused still, an unusual occurrence for the typically straight national icon. Slowly, Ronald J. McDonald removed his mustard yellow suit, tossing it to wendy.

“You keep for your collection” He hummed. Much to Wendy’s suprise, Ronald’s entire body was clad in white makeup; head to toe…every inch. It reminded Wendy of a 6 foot powdered doughnut with a sagging waste line. And very much like a powdered doughnut, Wendy could get down and dirty with Ronald, but have regrets about eating him later.

“I dont clown around when I make love” said Ronald as he high-fived himself for the excellent pun. Wendy shuddered as she became even more desiring of the red nosed stud muffin. She needed him now!

Wendy tore off her own clothes in a sort of primal desire. In an instant, she transformed into her true form: Wendy Thomas: a husky middle aged women. She let out a grin larger than the calorie count of a Bacanator meal, an amazing value at 8 dollars with fries and a drink.

Ronald McDonald was in shock, before him a pudgy 55 year old women, very much unlike his typical tastes. “Put your corn dog into my deep fryer” cooed Wendy Thomas, willing her powdered doughnut lover closer.

Ronald embraced his red haired bimbo “The McDonald establishment doesn’t carry corn dogs, we apologize for any inconveniences.” Ronald’s wave of pure lust rushed over him as he ignored the changes to his forbidden fruit’s apperance. At his words, they began.

It was quite a spectacle . It was steamier than a never frozen Wendy’s Patty on a searing hot grill. It was so hot Ronald had to wear a “Warning: I’m Hot!” sign to avoid any legal action.

The unspoken had happened: cross contamination of the rival fast foods. The beach ball and the powdered doughnut had finished, and in the back of a burger king no less. This act of love was juicer than the first bite of Wendy’s Dave double. Wendy was paid .06 cents for her services in accordance to the national minimum wage of 7.25 an hour, and she counted the 2 coins in her hand.

“Much longer than I expected” she said, wondering how she’d spend the extra nickel. Ronald only laid there, trying to catch his breath after such an amazing feat which impressed even himself.

The end.