Der Brief warf aber weit mehr Fragen auf, als er beantwortete. Wer hat das Tagebuch geschrieben und wann? Wer hat es dem Museum gespendet und in welch...er Beziehung standen sie zu mir? Welches Museum möchte nicht ein Originaldokument aus dem 19. Jahrhundert besitzen, und warum könnte ein Tagebuch „weder zur Ausstellung noch zum Studium geeignet sein“?Der beste Ort, um diese Fragen zu beantworte, schien das in Leder gebundene Buch zu sein, das auf meinem Tisch lag, und ich löste mit ziemlicher. Hope you will love it.The story is narrated by 19 old son. Hey I am aneesh i am 19yrs old, I have a dad who is 49 years old and mom who is 43 years old (height 5.7” boobs 34c fair). We are live in a well to do family. My mom and dad’s wedding was a love marriage. Dad was in defense and mom was model. Yes a super hot model, even after I was born she used to model on ramps with big designers. She had a good friend circle all naughty. We always spoke like friends. Constant transfer made me spend. I was just staring at her not knowing what to say and what to expect. She just grabbed me inside before anyone could see and locked the door. There was complete silence between us. I could sense there was no one in the house. I just couldn’t control myself anymore.I just hugged her so tight and she said in a slow and soft voice. I missed you so much that made me more exited. I just hugging pressing her soft boobs against my chest and kissing her neck and shoulders. I kissed her on her lips. I. I asked at the Staples about him, weeks later. The manager told me he just phoned them and said he couldn’t come back.”“Fucking loser. You’re **so** better off without him.”“Why didn’t you tell me that at the time dad?”“Your mother convinced me that if I said anything, you’d attach yourself more to him.”“Fuck that bitch. I wasted too much time with that fucking loser. Dad, next time fucking tell me you don’t like. Okay?”I nodded, “sure.”“No, I mean it. Mom, she’s a fucking bitch. I bet she like.