The painting of knowledge changed from abstract, to impressionist, to realism, but it was only a portrait of understanding; I needed to sculpt it with my own hands. When can I join the world? I asked Mother. When you are ready, Child. Mother replied sweetly, her smile evident in the tone of her voice. I’m ready now! I insisted eagerly, I want to see the cities and the mountains! I want to talk amateur to people and love them all! Patience is a concept you’ve never seemed to grasp. When will I be ready? I asked, testing the strength of my growing body, pressing restlessly against the confines of Mother’s womb. Very soon, Mother said, calming me with her hushing whisper, easing my restlessness with the comfort of her warmth, there is someone very special I need to tell you about first. The other? I asked, The one you said helped make me? Yes, Mother said, let me tell you of her, while we still have time. Mother spoke to me of the one called Father. She told me Father was full of love, and her love was a perfect thing. Mother told me that Father would love me as much as Mother did, because every part of me that came from Mother, also came from Father. I asked her what she meant by that, and she told me Father would explain it. It frustrated me that there were answers Mother would not give me, but it made my eagerness to meet Father grow. Father was a different perspective from which to teach, a different heart from which to love. I asked everything I could think of about Father, and Mother answered with equal enthusiasm, the tone of her voice telling me more about Father than her words ever could. Then, her tone changed. The steady, calming cadence of Mother’s heart began to beat faster, louder; galloping instead of trotting, thundering instead of thumping, as though accelerating to some horrible destination. I felt fear for the first time. It was an emotion as instinctual as love, and just as powerful. It compelled me to seek the warm places of comfort, but there was something wrong with those places now. I asked Mother what was happening, and she told me that Father was in great pain. I didn’t understand pain; it was as foreign to me as fear had been until a moment ago. Father taught me her first anal lesson. Mother’s pain began to bleed through the cracks of her love, cutting through her Brunette voice like an off-key cello in a symphony, a dissonance marring the blissful melody. Mother was supposed to be perfect and eternal; Mother wasn’t supposed to feel pain. I screamed to her, begging her to make japanese it stop, desperate to return the world to what it was, asian to what it was supposed to be. She replied with fear in her voice, and it sung a discordant harmony with her pain. “Well, I would love to have the Dolce & Gabbana, but a couple of the gals told me to go with the Oscar de la Renta dress,” she tells me. The spring day shone out there. I swirl my tongue and lick at his balls. Did I even have a duty, or did I have to deal with… losing? “I anal think?” “Don’t listen to her,” Tera said to Astrid, trying to pull the Valkyrie away, japanese “c’mon, let’s go get ready for tonight. “What does horny mean?” Soon another great rain came and darkness swallowed the skies that filled with furious crackling and blinding flashes asian of light. He paused, then slowly withdrew with a groan, and let go of her shoulders, leaving his stiff cock waving in her disappointed face. I smiled wide at the sight of the light-colored bathrobe highlighting her dark, curvy body. I’m sure he explained that drunkenness or just being an Brunette asshole would get you booted. Bearing that in mind Clara asked Emma to go and get us some food for breakfast. amateur "Wow."