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Plucked five fine fresh flowers to build my most beautiful bouquet of pink pretty tulip love lips.Philosopher Peter Poet meets Eve and her dear daughters and his meat meets all their cute cunnies.At age thirty-two, thirty-two years back, I travelled overland with a friend from Amsterdam to India.As a fresh Master of Philosophy I got on welfare, soon I found out in practise I could do as I liked.A friend talked me into his travel plan to Anna University in Madras, now called Chennai, south India.At first he wanted to go by his old car, luckily custom rules by Iran and India prohibited this plan.We took a bus to Istanbul, the gate to Asia and while waiting for a third travel-mate we saw the city.We got on a next bus to Teheran, had a long wait at the border with a rare clear view on Mount Ararat.We got as sad as all other passengers, students mostly, who feared their fate of becoming canon-food.We saw photos of martyrs above front-doors of almost every house in Kurdistan, died in the. Next, I proceeded to wear the salwar bottom and tied it to my waist. It was a little tight, which enhanced the shape of my ass. Finally, I wore the top and adjusted my bra from inside. The salwar top was form-fitting. I looked in the mirror and was taken aback. I finally had a feminine figure to match the girls in my class, and in my opinion, I had an amazing ass. I was apprehensive as I opened the door.“Would Akka like it?”, I wondered. “Would she hate me? Would she ask me to leave?”As these thoughts flew around in my head, I called out, “Akka! I finished.”“Come here, dear”, she called out and I went to the next room.As I entered, she turned to look at me, and said softly, “Pretty, so pretty”.“Really?”, I asked.“Come here dear”, she said and I went to her. “Sit down”.I sat on the bed. Divya Ma’am went to her dressing table, opened a couple of drawers and came back with a few things.“Be still now”, she instructed.She began outlining my eyes with a thick kajal pencil. Once that was.
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