Travelling Folk Series Pt. 02

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Travelling Folk Series Pt. 02: All the Fun of the Fair

Copyright 2000 by Paul. All rights reserved. All events and characters are fictitious.

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Part 1

Pat opened her eyes and for a moment almost panicked. This wasn’t her room. She looked down at the arm thrown protectively across her breasts then along its length to the tattoo of the heart and crow on its shoulder. Her eyes moved up to the shoulder-length long, untidy hair that could do with a wash and trim. The rather thin face with the thin lines at the corners of the eyes. The twinkling brown eyes that looked into her own.

Something hard and long was pressing against the top of her thigh. She reached down and held it. It felt warm and strangely comforting. She ran her hand up and down its length listening to the change in Crazy Joe’s breathing as she did. His arm moved and his fingers cupped first one, then her other breast. As she felt her nipples responding his hand moved down her body, feeling first her stomach then her pubic mound. She shifted in the narrow bed, opening her legs for him. His fingers massaged the lips of her pussy, opening her. His pushed one finger inside then worked in a second. She arched her back lifting her pelvis from the bed. Her own breathing was changing. She was becoming wetter as his fingers continued moving in and out of her. She squeezed his cock tighter and moved her hand faster.

Suddenly he pulled his fingers from her and moved on top of her. He had a serious look on his face as he pushed forward, his cock knocking at her entrance. She held her lips open with the fingers of one hand and guided him inside with the other. He filled her with one thrust, driving the breath from her body. He moved out, then back in again. She bent her knees and lifted her hips to meet him. He quickened, driving the breath from her body again. She started to pant. Something was building inside her. Tightening. She threw her head from side to side as she came. He was still moving. She was building again. She couldn’t come again, not twice in a row. This time she cried out as she came. She could feel him jerking inside her. Moving slowly in and out then stopping. She felt his cock slip from her as it shank. She smiled up at him, a look of disbelief on her face.

“I didn’t think it could be like that,” she said, lifting her face for a kiss.

He looked down on her face, and then her breast’s as he sat back on his heels, then her wide-open pussy. She moved to cover herself with her hands but he caught her wrists and held them.

She tensed, then relaxed.

Let him look.

He lifted his eyes to look into hers.

“I’m hungry,” he said, releasing her hands and standing up. “Go and see if Mary and Kelly have that van of theirs open yet. I’ve got to take Killer down by the canal. I’ll have an egg and bacon sandwich.”

He was already into his jeans and was buttoning his shirt before she moved.

This is a bit cheeky, she thought. I sleep with him, let him have me and now I have to get the breakfast. Though, if it was a choice between getting breakfast and walking that dog.

Pat climbed from the low bed and looked around. She felt strange. She was so used to seeing Chris, her sister. For a moment she felt very alone.

She pulled on her knickers and jeans and slipped on her shoes before putting on her blouse. She could hear voices coming from inside the rifle range tent and, lifting the rear flap, slipped inside. Killer sat three feet from her, hackles raised and teeth bared. She could hear a deep low rumbling from somewhere deep inside him.

“It’s all right Killer,” she said edging past him, “it’s only me. I have the key.”

Killer stopped growling and tilted his head to one side. Pat reached out slowly and scratched behind one of his ears. His hackles dropped and he trotted beside her as she walked to where the men were wheeling John’s motorbike out of the front of the tent.

“Good morning, John,” she said, “I’m going for breakfast, would you like something?”

“No thanks,” he replied, straightening himself and running his fingers through his hair. They stuck in some knots.

“I’ve some things to do and then I’ve to pick up Chris at ten,” he continued.

“Make sure she’s back here for six.” Joe said, sitting astride the bike and holding the twist grips. “Good machine this.”

“What did you ride?” John asked, opening one of the side panniers and taking out a helmet.

“A Suzy-Q 500.” Joe replied. Pat could see he was getting lost in his memories for a second.

Yes. She could see him as a member of a biker gang. Riding with his long hair flowing behind him. Getting into trouble. Raising hell. Then she thought of Mean Jim and the others and the romantic image disappeared.

“Will you be long?” She asked as Joe climbed slowly from the machine. “I don’t want your food going cold.”

“Only ten minutes.” He replied, reaching behind the counter for Killer’s lead. Killer sat silently, watching intently. “We can both take him for a longer walk later.”

He fastened Killer’s Bostancı Escort lead and walked off between the rows of stalls and rides. He waved and nodded to people he passed. He stopped for a few seconds and spoke to a woman with multicoloured hair they both looked towards her then he moved on in response to Killer’s tug on his lead. . She watched his back until he disappeared from view.

“I must be going.” John said climbing onto his motor bike as she headed towards the burger van. She could smell the frying onions from there. “See you later.”

Putting on his crash helmet he switched on his machine kicked up the stand and roared off between the rows of stalls and rides.

“He’ll catch it if the site manager catches him.”

Pat turned and looked up at Mary behind the counter of her burger and hot dog bar.

“Why?” Pat asked.

“Private vehicles are not allowed on site. Something about the health and safety regulations. What can I do for you?”

“Joe would like an egg and bacon sandwich, please.” She smiled up at Mary.

“And what would you like?” Mary asked taking two eggs from her fridge and moving some part cooked strips of bacon onto the hottest part of her hotplate. They sizzled.

“I normally have cereals.” Pat confessed.

“And orange juice?”

“Well, yes.”

“I think we can manage that.” She said, opening a cupboard beneath a row of boxed, toy cars and producing a bowl.

“I quite like a bowl of cereals myself some days.” She continued, taking an individual box of corn flakes from a cupboard to one side of the serving hatch and, opening it, emptying the contents into the bowl. “Sugar?”

“Just milk please.” Pat turned and watched the woman with multicoloured hair approach. “Oh, and two coffees please.”

“Two sugars if it’s for Joe.” The woman with multicoloured hair said.

Was there a sound of bitterness in her voice? Pat thought

“Hallo, Max.” Mary said, there was real warmth in her voice.

“Hallo, Mary.” Max’s tone softened as she replied.

Mary turned Joe’s bacon and cracked the eggs onto the hotplate. More sizzling.

“This is Joe’s friend, Chris.” Mary said, taking two slices of bread and spreading some yellow from a tub onto them.

“I’m, Pat.” Pat said, holding out her hand. “Chris is my twin.”

“I’m Max.” Came the abrupt reply.

Pat had the feeling she’d upset Max in some way. She couldn’t think how.

“You don’t come from around here?” Pat realised it was more a statement than a question.

“Max is from Quebec, in Canada.” Mary said, turning the eggs with a slice.

“That’s nice.” Pat said.

This Max was very difficult to talk to.

“What can I get for you, Max?” Mary asked.

“Just a coffee, please Mary.” Max said, handing up a battered tin mug she’d been carrying.

Mary filled the mug and handed it down. Max took it with muttered thanks and, ignoring Pat, turned and walked back towards her stall.

“Hey Max. Come around and party tonight.”

Pat turned her head to where the voice had come from.

There stood that horrible Mean Jim with his equally horrible henchman Harry and that even more horrible Lucy. They had two other, younger, men with them. If they were with them they must be horrible as well.

“Five burgers and five coffees, Mary.” Jim ordered.

He placed one of his arms around Pat’s waist and squeezed, tight.

“Hallo again, darling.” He leered into her face.

There was a smell of stale beer on his breath.

“What do you want?” Pat snapped at him.

He almost took a step backwards in response to her reaction. He did release Pat’s waist.

“Are you coming to party?”

“Get lost.”

“Come on. Loosen up. Be friendly.”

“She won’t want us if she’s fucking Joe.” There was a hint of something in Lucy’s voice that Pat couldn’t catch.

“I wonder if John’s fucked her sister yet?” Lucy continued, scratching the lips of her fanny through her jeans. All the men looked.

“Keep your language clean.” Mary admonished from her caravan. “You, Jim, are getting nothing else until you’ve cleared your slate.”

“Pay her Harry.” Jim said stepping closer to Pat. “We’re going to get better acquainted one day miss high and mighty.”

“Here’s your tray, dear.” Mary said, reaching down an old metal tray with Joe’s sandwich, Pat’s bowl of cereals, two mugs of coffee and a glass of orange juice.

“Where’s my breakfast?”

An Irish voice called from behind the caravan. The rear door opened and a thin faced man of average height and slim build climbed inside. A hand rolled cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you I’d bring it across when it’s ready.” Mary replied, writing in a book and placing the money Harry and given her into a pocket of her apron. “I’ve got customers to serve.”

He placed his arms around Mary’s waist and gave her a squeeze then he slipped a hand into the pocket of the apron and removed a twenty pounds note.

“Just some beer money.” He said, quickly stuffing it Bostancı Escort Bayan into his pocket before Mary could snatch it back. “Now, where’s my breakfast, woman.”

Pat felt she had had enough for one morning and turned away with a thanks to Mary and walked back to Joe’s stall. She was conscious of the eyes of the men, and for all she knew, Lucy, on her ass cheeks as she did. It was a relief to slip under the tent flap away from their sight and place the tray on the front counter.

The air inside the tent suddenly smelt warm and stale. She unhooked the front flaps and folded them back to allow some fresh air to circulate then, sipping at her orange juice, watched as the fair ground around her slowly woke to the new day. People were starting to move about, the lights on stalls were being switched on despite the bright sunshine. Generators were being fired into life to allow for the maintenance of rides. People cleaning, deliveries being made. A man walked by with a heavy bag over one shoulder selling newspapers to the stallholders. She called to him and bought a ‘Sun’.

Looking down to the far end of their avenue of stalls and rides she saw Joe and Killer returning. He stopped briefly at the Fortune Tellers tent and spoke to Max. He waved when he saw her watching and hurried towards her.

“Hi.” He said, unfastening Killers lead and letting him run loose behind the counter.

“Hi.” Pat replied, suddenly shy.

Should she kiss him or should she wait for him to make a move? Now he’d had her would it be a case of breakfast and goodbye?

Joe leaned across, and planted his lips firmly on hers.

Picking up the sandwich he bit into it.

“Thanks.” He said, yellow egg yoke running from the corner of his mouth.

His tongue flicked out and collected it. That tongue. That tongue that had taken her places she’d had only dreamed about before. Pat could feel herself becoming wet. She munched on her cornflakes casting glances at Joe as they ate. Joe finished first and Pat handed him the newspaper.

“I could get used to this.” He said, scanning the front-page headlines then moving to the sports pages at the rear of the paper. “I have to bank yesterdays takings later then we’re free until we open for business this afternoon. What would you like to do?”

“Go to bed.” The words came out before Pat could stop them.

“Why? Are you tired?”

Joe placed the newspaper on the counter and, moving closer to Pat, put his arms around her waist.

“No.” Pat sighed as their lips met.

Part 2

Chris opened the front door of her house at ten almost before he released the bell push. She felt strange. She could never remember having spent a whole night away from her twin before.

“Hallo, Chris,” John said, he looked as if he had slept in his clothes and his face was grubby. He held a motorcycle crash helmet and a pair of goggles in either hand.

“Hallo, John,” she replied, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek.

“Who is it Christine,” she heard her mother call, “is it Pat?”

“No,” Chris called back, “it’s a friend of mine. We’re going out for the day.”

“Oh,” her mother sounded disappointed.

“You look as if you could do with a wash,” Chris remarked, picking up her shoulder bag of food, closing the door and following him down the path to where his motorbike was parked on its stand.

“Have you seen Pat this morning?” she asked as he took the bag and stowed it inside the rear box.

“Briefly,” he replied, helping to fit the helmet over her thick, light brown hair.

He looked into her face when he had finished and wished he had the courage to kiss her.

“How was she?” Chris asked, looking at the ground then fitting her goggles.

“She looked fine.”

He climbed onto the bike and held it steady whilst Chris climbed on behind him. He could feel the insides of her thighs against the outside of his ass cheeks. He looked down at her legs, resisted the temptation to touch them and started the engine.

“Where too?” He shouted over his shoulder.

“Let’s go up into the hills,” she pointed to the Quantock hills, purple and green in front of them.

“Okay,” he said pulling away. “We need to go somewhere first.”

He felt her slide forward on the seat and rest her head against his back, holding her hands against his stomach.

He was sorry when she let go as he pulled up outside ‘Riders’ that Mecca for motorbike owners in the South West of England. He kicked the stand down and they climbed of. Placing their helmets, goggles and his gauntlets in the side panniers they walked to the front entrance, stopping to admire the bikes on display in front of the large, pane glass windows, on the way. He didn’t realise at first that she was holding his hand. He looked down at her round face with its short, turned up nose and something somersaulted inside him.

“Why have we come here?” Chris asked.

“I want to buy you something.”


“You can’t go around like that.”

“Like what?” She felt Escort Bostancı offended. This was her fourth change of clothes that morning.

In the end she’d decided to wear her white jeans and her thick, yellow jumper.

“You need a jacket.”

John led the way into the accessories shop at the rear of the building and stopped at a rack of black, leather jackets.

“Now,” he said looking down at the two mounds under her jumper, “let’s see. This should fit.”

“Have you seen the price of them?” Chris protested. “You can’t buy me that. It’s far too much.”

“I want to.”

They looked into each other’s eyes then he handed her a jacket that she reluctantly tried on. It squashed her boobs when she fastened it. She yelped slightly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, concern in his voice.

“I’m still a bit sore from last night.”

“Sorry.” He said helping her from the jacket and searching for a larger size. “I’d forgotten.”

He hadn’t. He just couldn’t find the words to ask her how her tit felt after it had been hit by a air-gun pellet whilst working in Crazy Joe’s rifle range the evening before. It had been sore the previous evening when he’d felt it. So sore she’d taken his hand from it and placed it upon her other one.

He held open another jacket for her to try on. She turned her back on him as she threaded her arms through the sleeves. She stepped back against him as together they fastened the front zip and studs. He could smell her hair. So clean and fresh in contrast to the smell of his own clothes and body. He could feel her ass cheeks as she pushed back against his thighs.

He needed a wash and change of clothes. Most of his things were still in his Jim’s caravan at the Wall of Death’s caravan. He’d have to get them back later.

The girl behind the counter was looking at them.

“You buying that?” She asked. “Oh, it’s you Chris.”

“Hallo Rachel.” Chris replied. “I haven’t seen you in months. How long have you been working here?”

“Only since they re-opened after the fire. A month or so now. How’s Pat?”

“Yes. I do want to pay for this.” John said, interrupting what had the signs of being a long conversation.

Chris huffed.

“This is Rachel.” She made the introductions. “We went to school together. This is John.”

“John?” Rachel queried examining the bank debit card John proffered for payment. “It says R J Whiting on this.”

“John’s my second name.”

“What’s your first?” Chris asked.

Both girls waited.

“It doesn’t matter. I like to be called John.”

Chris tilted her head to one side as she looked up into John’s face.

“Alright. It’s Royston if you must know.”

Rachel smiled at Chris as she swiped the card. The machine spewed out a length of paper.

“Sign here please Sir.” She said, offering John a pen.

John signed whist Rachel cut the tabs from the jacket with a pair of scissors.

“Royston.” Chris said as they walked back to the bike. “I like that name.”

“I don’t.” John said watching as Chris cocked her leg over the rear seat as he held the bike. “Only my parents call me that.”

He took the main road towards the coast then pulled off onto a side road in response to her tap on the shoulder.

They started to climb quickly. Through the narrow, twisting lanes with high hedgerows on either side. Past the occasional gaps with views of the levels, the coastline and in the far distance Wales.

Chris closed her eyes and clung to John as he threw the bike through the narrow, twisting corners.

Suddenly they left the shade of the trees and emerged into bright, late summer sunshine as they breasted the hill and started to descend towards Taunton. Almost immediately they were back amongst the trees again, then they came to a narrow bridge over a stream and John turned into the car park of a pub. He switched off the engine and held the bike steady whilst Chris climbed stiffly from the rear seat. Her legs wobbled slightly as she stood on firm ground and she held John’s shoulder for support until she regained her balance.

“Alright?” John asked, kicking down the bike’s stand and dismounting. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go any faster, it was those twisting roads.”

“That was fast enough for me.” Chris replied rubbing her ass cheeks to restore some circulation.

“Sorry.” John apologised again. “You forget what it’s like first time on a bike. You’ll soon get used to it.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Chris said.

“If you sold that bike you could buy a nice, second hand car.” She continued, teasingly.

John looked shocked. Sell his bike?

A middle-aged couple was coming out of the Churchyard a little up the hill. The women carried a wicker basket and the man a pair of garden shears.

“Let’s ask them where a good place to picnic is.” Chris suggested and, without waiting for John’s response, approached them.

“Excuse me.” She said, the woman looked familiar. “I was wondering if you could tell me of a good spot to have a picnic.”

The couple looked at each other then at Chris and John.

“If you do not mind a little walk.” The woman said. “Take the bridle path the far side of the bridge and follow it up. Fifteen minutes and you will be above the trees. There are lovely views from up there. And it’s so peaceful. Hardly anybody goes up there now. Do they, Paul?”

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