I liked many stories but some are not real, but mines are a true story. This is the story about my love to my Miru aunt and thanks for sending your co...ments and if possible please send your story to my mail address and let me intro myself am a great fan of this site and my size 8″ maximum And this incident with my aunt when I was in my vacation leave of 10th grade I had solid 2 months holidays. so I was planning to go to Nina aunt’s home but before going there I was simply roaming with my. If you have suggestions for improvement, please do so again privately. However if you are going to be all judgemental, misogynous, disapproving or blatantly obnoxious….then please do not read my stories.So let’s start with an introduction.I was born in Mauritius – so technically, that makes me a Mauritian and indeed I am proud to be so. But I am half Mauritian. My dad is Mauritian but mum is a South African of Indian descent. Hence my indian ethnicity from both mum and dad. They met in Europe. Neither of us cared. She cradled my jaw and whispered against my lips before they connected, “I love you, you know.” I answer her though the kiss, deep, passionate. We went on and proved her perfect fit theory right, completely oblivious to the pizza guy banging at our door. Lost in each other. Lost in the moment. That was all that mattered then.‘What happened to that part of us?’I’m brought back to the moment by another soft sigh coming from her direction. ‘What’s out there that’s got her. Given the size of the nineteenth century house, that number could easily triple. Even more remarkable was that they were all women.Women of every possible size and shape, ranging in age from their early twenties to even a few in their late seventies. Many of them were in military uniforms, something not really uncommon in wartime London, but interesting nevertheless.“What does the plaque outside mean?” Madeline asked as she remembered wondering about it.“Well the club had to be called.