Labia Minora was the sort of woman who was not afraid to engage in explicit full-frontal marmalade contemplation, even in front of total strangers. Touching, fondling, each jar, holding each one up to the light in her long delicate fingers, for Labia, marmalade contemplation was almost an art. She would even - but only on special occasions when the mood took her - daringly read the ingredients list whilst still in the supermarket aisle.
Of course, such open, frank, sensuality even in this so-called enlightened age of full-on sexual openness, did far, far, more than raise a few eyebrows.
Labia Minora lived in the small village of Ignorant Bastard-on-the-Piss in a small cottage converted from a hole in the ground during the property boom of the 80s.
Ignorant Bastard-on-the-Piss was a traditional English village where such - seemingly quaint - photogenic rural customs as well-dressing, Morris dancing, bestiality, incest and an almost-paranoid suspicion of strangers was still very much the norm. It was generally accepted in the village that for anyone, especially single women, marmalade contemplation - if indulged in at all - would take place, discreetly, at home behind closed doors and drawn curtains.
But Labia thought herself beyond all that. She saw herself as too urbane, too sophisticated, too fashionable and far beyond such rural petty-mindedness - no matter how traditional - to be bound by such conventions.
So, one night, after Labia had, that same morning, once again engaged in public marmalade contemplation in the local shop, the villagers got together and - once the pub closed - took her down to the river where - in keeping with local traditions dating back to before the Norman invasion - they drowned her in a sack.
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