Family Biscuits.

 

Probably one of the last visits to the southern homelands. Once a vibrant village, now a ghost town. As a younger lass I remember the swims in the lake, the bustle of processions and dances in the square, going to buy a fuck ton on apple laces and cheeto pelotazos from the corner shop, watching the rest of the street dwellers natter and screech, leaving their mountains of sunflower seeds. But it was all good coz there were tourists, people had work and the bars were busting at the seams with the usual bandits, misfits and slurring ex pats. Once I emerged from my ugly stage, I’d even gotten optimistic about a summer romance with my first lust- although that daydream disappeared the day I discovered I had a substantial amount of pubic hair- sadly in front of this beautiful boy.  There I was- a blossoming teenager with no tits to show for it but in my favourite frilly pink bikini. Favourite meaning I’d worn it until the elastic had completely disappeared revealing my embarrassment. A few weeks later I could have sworn that was it, someone was going to kiss me!!-  thank the Virgin Mary my luck had changed!!! This other specimen reached to the back of my head and pinched my claw grip out my ( chlorine green ) hair and proceeded to stick it on his willy!

4 years later I ended up kissing my school beau in the back of someones car which was cut short as my ride home was up. It was sweet and tender and everything i imagined but better. I never encountered him again after that, but to my misery and heart break my other sibling had -as she exclaimed in her fog horn voice  “what a massive penis and good shag I bagged!”

 

 

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