Amélie
Copyright© 2018 by Bondi Beach
II. OXFORD
Fiction Sex Story: II. OXFORD - A family journal more than three hundred years old reveals romance, a journey, first love, skinnydipping, pirates, heartbreak, and a new world and new friends. The story contains explicit language and is written for adventuresome readers with a sense of humor and an appreciation of purplish prose. Written by a 17th century family matriarch who, it is safe to say, lived her life to the fullest, if her journal is to be believed. A bit of MM, oral, heads up. The violence is brief but explicit.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Fiction Group Sex Interracial Black Female Violence
“I liked knowing why things happened,” she explains, “and the order in which they occurred.”
—from Spring and Fall: To a Young Child, by Francine Prose
Your job is to sit there and make things up, so do it.
—from The Collectors, by Philip Pullman, Author’s Note
Chapter 11: It's Cold Here
[September, 1678]
Oxford, Oxfordshire
IT IS TOO fucking cold here, Amélie thought as she stepped through the mud down Oxford’s High Street. The mud was disgusting. It didn’t matter how careful one was, there was no way to keep it from sticking. And where are the fruits? A banana? Haven’t these people heard of a tomato? Or a mango? Meat. Bread. Onions. A carrot. A potato. That’s it. No wonder they look like ghosts. Unhappy ones. Of course they’re pale. Where’s the sun, anyway? And it’s not even winter yet.
She had hated London. Too many people. Too many horses and carriages. Smelly. Dirty. Noisy. Oxford, on the other hand, seemed to her to be just about the right size despite the mud and the cold and the food. Already home to almost two dozen or so colleges that made up the famous University of Oxford, its streets were full of students from all over the Empire.
Gérard was happy at B— College. The string of tutors Father brought from England as she and Gérard grew up had earned their pay and she and her foster brother had soaked up everything they could teach. He was ready for Oxford, had been ready even before their hasty departure with Antoine years ago.
Merle Heathcoate, Master Printer, read the sign board outside the shop where Father’s cousin had his establishment. His print shop occupied most of the ground floor. On the second floor were the kitchen and quarters of the printer and his wife Geraldine, plus an unoccupied room to be shared by Amélie and Sandrine. It would not have been proper for the two to live with strangers. Once inside, she cleaned her boots as much as she could and left them in the entryway.
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