flyingwho

*Logan* Call me a romantic fool, but I always dreamed of meeting my mate. I looked forward to finding the woman I'd share my life with, and start a family with. I daydreamed about carrying my bride across the threshold. I thought of possible kids' names. When I imagined my mate, her features always changed. There was one constant: she was fat (thick, curvy, chubby, plump... take your pick of phrase). A well-fed mate, in addition to being sexy as hell, meant you were a provider. I practiced my seduction and culinary skills on other women while I waited to meet the one. It was at an informal pack gathering, a barbecue, that I first saw her. She had dark brown hair and eyes, and olive skin. She wore a blue bathing suit with a skirt built in. The bathing suit hugged her curves alluringly. She said something to my cousin Hannah and dove into the water. She seemed to glow with serenity as she surfaced. “She’s not pack.” I said aloud, turning to the nearest pack member. “Who is she?”