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Rosie, with Ciderthis story is part of the FanClub (fm:oral sex, 2859 words)

Author: Chrissie Bentley Picture in profile
Added: Dec 01 2021Views / Reads: 1398 / 961 [69%]Story vote: 9.72 (18 votes)
Old time English village fetes always sound like they're so much fun. But if they're not, you could always make your own entertainment. Rosie and her friend Lawrence, a flagon of cider and an old hay cart... and that's just for starters.
 


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The fete was finally winding down, and the end could not come soon enough. There are only so many times you can stand and stare at a steam engine, dong whatever it is that steam engines do (beyond parp and burp and send out clouds of steam) before you get tired of agreeing that, yes indeed, the mighty iron pistons were "the marvel of the age."

Only so many times you can sample another of widow Woodmansey's home-made tarts and agree that they, too, are "the marvel of the age." And if I have to join the vicar in another chorus of "God Save the King," because there's a rumor that he's ill, I'll probably ... well, I don't know what I'll do.

I'm Rosie, I'm eighteen and I'm bored. And you would be too, if you were me. Ten miles in that direction, the town is full of life and people. Ten miles in the other direction, the railways can take you any place. And where am I? Ten miles from anywhere I might want to be, in a village that probably hasn't altered since the days of Mad King George, teaching at the local school because it was better than working on my father's farm, but knowing that everything I say to the children just floats in one ear and straight out the other.

And how do I know this? Because I was the same. Which means "teaching" is less a matter of telling them all I learned, and more a case of keeping them quiet so no-one comes over to find out what the noise is. ...

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