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The onset of puberty invariably brings with it the dawning awareness of sexuality, of a child’s inherent masculinity or femininity, and the struggle to put that sexuality into proper perspective.
For some, the transition occurs with relative ease. For others the change is marked by tension and anxiety, and a growing awareness that their world is changing much faster than they would like.
For the young farm girl in this book, the initiation into the world of sexuality is both a delight and a terror. Eager to explore the bounds of her femininity, she finds herself looking not only toward her boyfriend, but also her younger brother, who himself is just now experiencing his sexual awakening.
And then her world is turned upside down by events which are beyond her power to control. She finds that there is as much hate in the world as there is love, and she learns to distinguish between those who hate — her depraved sister and aunt — and those who love — her father, her boyfriend, and even a young clergyman.
THE FARMER’S DAUGHTER — the story of a young girl’s struggle to make her own, very personal transition into adulthood, a quiet struggle evolving behind the facade of her day-to-day existence, yet inexorably leading her onward into maturity. Her story is an intimate reminder of the pitfalls standing in the way of those growing up. It is a lesson for society.
For the third time in as many minutes she cursed her father for neither fixing the hot water heater nor the wheel on the small wagon. If she had to haul firewood up to the wash house, so the water could be heated for the chores, then the least her father could do was fix the wagon so she could haul it.
Perspiration ran in rivulets off her face, across her neck, and disappeared into the deep cleft between her tits. The tits themselves were barely contained by last summer’s halter. Pa had told her that things had changed this year. There just wouldn’t be enough money for new clothes. Consequently the silver-dollar-sized areolas around her nipples peeked out above the material if she moved to any position other than standing exactly straight up.
Kneeling beside the wagon, pushing with all her might to get the pesky wheel back on the flimsy axle, one side of the garment gave up and her right tit leapt free. Rather than lose the advantage she had gained on the wheel, she paid no attention to it.
“You need some help there, Alma Mae?”
She looked up. The blond-haired, handsome face stared directly down at her, the pixie grin belying the well over six-foot-two frame it topped. “What are you smilin’ at, Rafer Clooney?”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.
Note: This story is the same as catalog number AB-4013 in the original publications (a duplicate).