Meat Between Buns

He was finally here. The Big Apple. The largest city in the world.

David had taken his first steps onto American soil. He'd dreamed of this day since he was a boy, and now he was here. Big buildings, a rainbow of cars packed down the skinny streets, people from every walk of life shuffling through on their own business, and people on bicycles going faster than either of them, flipping off everyone for unknown reasons. He passed an impressive large bank with deep stone steps and columns like the Maison Carrée. Based on all the imported TV shows he'd watched, he was surprised that the front doors didn't immediately fly open, a cadre of robbers in striped shirts and domino masks bursting out with bags emblazoned with dollar signs.

Unlike most of the people surrounding him, David walked with a smile on his face. He should look for one of those street merchants that sell the "I Heart NY" shirts to bring home... or maybe to wear himself. Maybe the high steps and the unheard tune in his ears might indicate him as a tourist, as everyone else seemed to be pushed down buy the overwhelming amount of... stuff surrounding them. So many people, such big buildings, so much noise...

David strode happily down the sidewalk, a large fenced-off park on one side of him. He saw a line of people waiting for something. He looked up the queue to see what people would be willing to wait for in this city, where time was money.

At the front of the line was a shiny, polished stainless steel hot dog cart. And perhaps his eyes were deceiving him, but the sausages were being prepared and dispensed by a nude woman.

David wiped his glasses on his necktie, as he often did when he saw something he couldn't explain. Maybe she was topless rather than completely naked, as her lower half was hidden by the cart. This could be in the American tradition of the topless car wash that somehow saves the community center at the end of the movie, right after the nerd decks the jock and takes his girlfriend.

He was a little peckish after getting off the plane, so why not? David normally questioned the cleanliness of street food, but in America, land of the lawsuit... maybe they had strict regulations that made them as clean as any five-star restaurant. He entered the queue and waited his turn.

Only when the line diminished to the point where he was next in line was David finally close enough to notice something. He had been politely keeping his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to gawk at the woman's nudity. He looked up at the trees, trying to spot a North American squirrel, as they were supposed to be different to the ones he knew from home.

But what he hadn't noticed until now was that the woman running the hot dog stand... had a penis. A substantial one, fully erect, and one that she was rubbing herself.

David looked away for a moment... but then looked back just in time to hear the woman moan as she pointed the tip of her penis at a hot dog... and squirted a yellow sauce in a perfect ribbon onto the hot dog.

Certainly, David was accustomed to the idea that something yellow would emerge from there. And he preferred mustard to... the alternative. David watched in a mix of astonishment and horror as the man passed a few bills to the woman as he took a bite from the end of the hot dog. He couldn't even wait for the transaction to be finished. He was that eager to eat this dog, decorated with something from deep within her.

"Thanks for coming! Oh, wait, that was me!" The woman pointed at the man as she joked. She was almost the archetypal American woman: golden blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail, sun-kissed skin, and large breasts that may or may not have been real. Maybe the stereotype of Americans would suggest that she'd be fat, but this woman was quite toned, with a flat stomach and shapely legs.

Of course, what really cried out "American" to David was her personality. Bold yet gregarious, with a sense of humor, even at work. And she was certainly... outgoing. He expected to see some woman walking around in one of those American flag bikini tops, but the only thing this woman had on between her slightly dusty Nikes and her red visor was a single disposable glove on her non-dominant hand. Maybe David would find himself more outgoing if he was in control of such a big... thing. He'd never heard any complaints, but jeepers...

The woman saw the last customer off as he continued his day, and her blue eyes fell on him. David felt a jolt of tension enter his heart. To suddenly be SEEN by the beautiful nude woman, as if the woman on his naughty calendar suddenly looked out to him.

"Hey, how are ya?" The woman shouted, as if David wasn't only a few steps in front of her. "Welcome to Fran's Footlong Franks! Wanna dog?"

It took a moment for David to find his voice again. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Comin' right up!" Her tongs were already in the cart, summoning a long sausage from within. She nestled it into a presliced bun with amazing precision, as she had doubtless done thousands of times before.

The woman (presumbaly Fran, but she didn't wear a name tag) took the hot dog and brought it between her legs. Before her other hand could reach her hard extension, David put up both hands.

"Uh, please hold the mustard." He asked. "Don't you have... ketchup?"

"Ketchup??" Fran sneered. "On a hot dog? What are ya, five?"

"I'm from Israel." David put up his hands. "I don't know anything about hot dogs."

She sighed. "If ya don't want the mustard, I ain't gonna make ya. It's fine." Fran handed him the undressed dog, shaking her head gently at the silly, naked, flesh-colored thing. How silly she thought that thing looked with nothing on it.

There was something fleshy and naked that David was looking at. It even sparkled with a patina of moisture like a freshly cooked hot dog, but it was not being sold for three bucks. He passed her a $20 bill. "I hope I'm not taking all your change. I just got those bills."

"If there's one thing a hot dog cart's always got... it's change." She made the change out of her cash box, again with one hand. She clearly didn't want to touch the money with the gloved hand that touched the bun and the paper tray in which the bun rested.

"Thank you." David accepted the change, dropping it in the pocket of his coat. He went to bite the end of the dog, but hesitated. "Is this beef or pork?"

"Do you stay kosher?" Fran asked.

David answered honestly. "...mostly?"

"You'll be fine." Fran waved him off. "Thanks for touchin' my weiner!"

David took a step back and almost took a bite.

"Hey, mac!" Fran called again. "If you want some ketchup, see if she got some across the street. But don't eat anything else in there! It's 100% rat."

"Across the street..." David mumbled as he looked at the building facing her. The corner of the nearest building was a restaurant with a red canopy standing off the brick. The neon sign said 'Patty's Burgers." There were a few external tables with umbrellas where people were eating hamburgers.

Of course. The only meal more American than the hot dog. In fact, the sausage had its origins squarely in Europe. But then again, so did America. Surely, any hamburger joint would have some ketchup for this dog... and while he was at it, he could try the national dish as made by those who knew it best.

David passed the front entrance and was faced with another line. The restaurant was bustling, most of the booths filled with patrons munching their burgers. Before the customers took bites out of them, they looked really good, with colorful vegetation and tall buns flecked with sesame seeds. He saw someone lick something pink-orange off the corner of his mouth, a sauce that he hadn't seen before. Was this that 'fry sauce' that was all the rage nowadays?

As he got closer to the counter, he watched as staff darted around behind the woman at the register. She occasionally barked orders to the back, trying to be heard over the sound of chopping onions and the ever-present sizzle of the giant griddle, where one overweight man stood in front of a griddle with several round lumps of beef sizzling away, watching over it like a shepherd watching over his flock.

The line slowly lurched forward. David tried to find the source of the loud 'ka-chunk' sound he was hearing. He finally caught it, as a young man put an unpeeled potato into a manual press that pushed it through a die, slicing it into fries. It reminded him of the handheld apple slicers he saw advertised on late night television.

What a production this was, David thought. This was like an assembly line for burgers, every staff member perfectly trained and doing their job to create a burger out of what was previously raw beef and intact veggies not three minutes before. This was just as American as the woman slinging hot dogs out of a stainless steel cart, the one who had somehow learned how to extrude mustard out of her urethra. He was so fascinated by the industry of this operation, he hadn't realized he had eaten his entire hot dog while in line, without ever finding the ketchup.

"Next guest, please!" Said the woman at the counter.

David approached her. "Hello, I'll have a... a..." His sentence got lost somewhere. The woman behind the cash register wore a black polo shirt with a red apron, curly brown hair tied into a sloppy bun... and no bottoms. She had socks pulled up halfway up her calves and comfortable black shoes. In between the two... was another giant hard erection, a few veins barely visible on the woman's fair skin.

"Staring is an extra two bucks, buddy." Her name tag said 'Patty,' so that seemed likely to be her name. She pointed to the electronic menu board. "Staring" was an option on the menu, at the price she had suggested.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill, some of the change he had been given by Fran. "Here. I might have another stare in me for later."

Patty accepted the bill and put it in the tip jar. "What can I getcha, pal?"

"I'll be honest." David scratched his head. "This is my first time in the States, having an American hamburger. What do you suggest?"

"We got the woiks. Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle and special sauce."

The special sauce. That magical elixir that fast-food burger-hawking clowns said made their burger the best among any others, the jewel around which the entire arrangement was set.

"Sure, let's do that." He said.

"One burger with the woiks!" Patty cried out behind her.

"Special!" Someone shouted as he set a plated burger and fries beside Patty, the top bun temporarily removed and set onto the fried potato. Patty took hold of herself and rubbed her appendage, pointing towards the burger.

"Excuse me." David interrupted her. "Before we continue, is special sauce going to come out of your thing?"

Patty gave him a look, as if he'd entered a sushi restaurant and asked for his meal to be cooked medium. "Yeah, why else do I got it out?"

"Could I get mine without, please?"

Patty groaned gently. "Change that last order! He wants it Wimp Style!"

The whole crew groaned, in what felt like a rehearsed moment designed to shame, the way some businesses rang a bell or broke into song when someone tipped.

David was not fazed by this. "I just want a hamburger. I only stepped in here looking for ketchup anyway..."

As he spoke, Patty cranked herself hard and sprayed the bun with her ejaculate... which was a pinkish-orange color...

'Special sauce' indeed.

Patty sighed and gingerly closed the burger with a nearby pair of tongs. "Whadja say, mac? I missed it."

"I said I only came in her looking for ketchup."

Patty blinked and inhaled through her nose. "I see." She took a moment. "Did you want anything else on it instead? Maybe mayonnaise?"

Mayonnaise. He was definitely in America. These gentiles and their mayo...

Even if he was in Rome, he would not do as the Romans did this time. "No mayo, please. If you think it needs ketchup or mustard, feel free. I leave these considerations to my lovely hostess... so long as it doesn't come out of... your thing."

She charged him for the burger, taking most of the remaining change from his hot dog. His burger arrived in a bag, wrapped up neatly in foil and still piping hot. Patty had not masturbated onto his hamburger, as he requested.

He thanked Patty and left the shop, continuing his walk. How American would he feel if he'd left some of the hot dog for now, so he could walk down the street eating a hot dog AND a hamburger? All he needed was that "I Heart NY" shirt and his tourist costume would be complete. Then, he could be certain that he would experience that other common big-city event: getting mugged.

Instead, with his free hand, he participated in that OTHER modern American pastime. He pulled out his phone and walked as he talked.

"Hey, honey. Yeah, I made it just fine. But you won't BELIEVE what these Americans eat!"

And David continued to regale his wife with stories of the Big Apple, searching for the Statue of Liberty... unaware that his flight had actually landed in New Jersey.

--

Across the street, Fran was doing what she did best: rubbing her large penis until she ejaculated mustard onto a hot dog while several hungry people watched, licking their chops, unsure which wiener appetized them more.

Being her own boss, making money outside in the sunshine and gentle breeze... and hundreds and hundreds of pedestrians, customers and drivers passing by, starting unabashedly at her nudity... she loved her job. When wrapped up in 'making the dogs,' Fran could barely think of a single aspect of this job she didn't like.

Fran looked across the street, still nestling a hot dog in a bun with the tongs purely by feel. Patty was standing at the other side of the crosswalk, holding the bib of her apron down with one hand, trying not let it flutter in the wind. The other side blew up briefly and revealed some bare hip. Clearly, she wasn't wearing anything underneath the apron.

Once the light changed, Patty marched across the street and up to Fran's cart.

She didn't look happy.

Fran pretended she hadn't noticed her approaching. "Line starts over there."

"What are ya doin' sendin' people into my shop for ketchup?" Patty shouted.

"What's the big deal? He ain't from here. He don't know you ain't s'posed to put ketchup on hot dogs." Fran didn't stop getting some mustard ready with one hand. "Besides, he walked outta there with a burger. I saw it! So I just made you a sale!"

"Alright, then we'll deduct that ONE from the hundreds of sales you cost me, workin' across the street from me!"

"You can keep sayin' that I cost you sales, but that's bullcrap and you know it. People either want a hot dog OR a hamburger. If they want a hot dog, they're not going to get your ratburgers anyway."

"We happen to grind our own meat here! You wanna talk about mystery meat, what's really what's in those tubes of goo? All the stuff that ain't good enough to get into a burger!"

"Oh, real original. You should write for Leno..." Fran had not stopped her jerking for a moment, supplying her latest customer with a line of mustard across a dog. "You ever wonder why I'm out here for everyone to see and she's in there, hiding?"

"I'm in there 'cuz I got a lease on that space! I doubt you even got a permit to be here."

Fran ignored that challenge, and began addressing the line of future hot dog eaters. "It's 'cuz... Patty knows she can't take... Fran's Footlong Challenge!"

With her free hand, Fran pulled a stainless steel ruler out from somewhere in her cart. She got a hot dog and bun ready and measured it with the ruler. The dog curved significantly, but if it could be coaxed to straighten out, it would be right around twelve inches.

Fran herself had no such curve, and was always too hard to be bent in that way. She set the ruler alongside herself. Both were the same size, and Fran's official listed length would be twelve inches on her title card. The line of wiener-loving customers and a small crowd of onlookers hooted and cheered.

Turning to face Patty, Fran held the ruler out like a baton. "How about you? Why not get that thing out from under that apron? Unless you can't measure up."

A sudden bolt of fear struck Patty's heart. Being nude from the waist down in a business she owned was one thing. But to do it out here, in front of strangers who might not be looking for a sandwich accented with flavored jizz...

With a soft scoff, Patty lifted her apron like a petticoat, revealing herself to the crowd. They cheered and howled even louder than they had for Fran. Patty tried not to blush, as she didn't want anyone to think that she was embarrassed. What was so embarrassing about a giant penis, one so big and virile that people quite literally pay for a taste?

Patty put the ruler on top of her erection. The tip was just past the end of the ruler, less than a centimeter. She'd call it twelve inches, but in some way... she had won.

"That's the spirit." Fran clicked her tongue. Patty found that noise intolerable, more annoying then the whine of a car with a bad fan belt.

"I want you to take this thing somewhere else." Patty pointed the ruler at Fran as she talked.

"When you pull out the deed for this public park, then I'll think about it." Fran said. "Until then, I think I'll sell my hot dogs wherever I like."

They stared at each other. Fran knew that Patty would not call the cops on her. Whatever infraction she might legitimately be committing here... it wasn't that much different than her own shop. To draw any attention from law enforcement of OSHA was essentially the nuclear option. Neither of them wanted to see that come to pass.

Patty broke eye contact first, storming off. Fran's attention was momentarily pulled away from her customer as Patty walked across the street, her round bum bouncing just a bit as she walked...

And a momentary peek at the flange of the implant that Patty wore in between those cheeks... the secret to both of their successes.

Fran blew out a soft sigh. She understood why people visited Patty's shop. Maybe they didn't know what a pill she was. If only she was nicer...

When dressing the next hot dog, Fran produced more mustard than she expected. It splatted out unevenly, like she had squeezed a bottle of mustard in her fist. Luckily, her 'dispenser' didn't make the undignified raspberry noise that a plastic bottle might have when it expels air instead of condiments.

The customer was shocked by her lack of precision, having bought many hot dogs before. "Whoa, Fran. You drinkin' this early? What happened? Normally, you're using that thing like a piping bag."

Fran self-consciously cleared her throat. "Sorry. Sometimes... it comes out faster than I expect."

-

Fran checked the time. Rather than touch her phone and risk cross-contamination, or wear a watch and ruin her nearly fully nude aesthetic, she kept track of the time on a battery powered LED clock that held fast to the stainless steel facade of the cart with a magnet. It had been set to 24-hour time when she got it, and she had thrown away the tiny slip of paper that came with it that would have told her how to change it. Even removing the battery didn't fix this.

The clock read 14:35. The afternoon was halfway gone, now closer to evening than it was to noon. Fran checked her supply of warm hot dogs. There were only two left, two wieners sliding slickly against one another in the water.

Looked like fun.

Fran peered up from the spectacle and saw a gentleman approaching her cart, a younger man with gelled hair, blue blazer and no tie. Maybe he was one of those dotcom millionaires that she had read about.

"Can I get a dog?" The man asked.

Fran set a bun in a paper tray with her tongs and opened the tray. Seeing those two lonely wieners floating there... how sad would one of them be to actually be completely alone, in the dark? Maybe they were just happy to have each other, to know there was someone like them...