Diary Of A Young Naturalist Novels & Stories

Nine years old, corresponding with professional naturalists about field observations that were contributing to the documented understanding of a rare species. Entirely, magnificently himself. As he had always been. As he would always be.

"Shall we move to the terrace gardens?" Avery offered no verbal response, merely shifting the weight of the heavy volume in her lap. Curiosity gnawed at him, and Hudson moved closer. He realized it wasn't a tactical manual, but a personal chronicle—a scent-worn diary, its leather binding cracked with at least a decade of age. Hudson reached out and opened a page, revealing the elegant, flowing script of a young female. Worried the jagged edges of his leather mask might unsettle her, he unbuckled the straps and set it aside.

But, The ones above were harder to reach, forcing me to stretch, my fingers roaming blindly across the upper shelves. Suddenly, something solid brushed against my fingertips. Frowning, I pulled it free. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. A black diary falls right at my feet. Frowning, I picked it up out of curiosity. Its leather cover was worn, its pages yellowed with age. My heart skipped as I picked it up, and curiously opened to the first page... A date stared back at me— it was 27th August, 2005. “A twenty year old diary in the bathroom cabinet? What the hell?”

I'll leave that for a future post if anyone wants to hear. I lived in the country, and was an only child, so no friends near or siblings to experiment with. So one hot summer day I walked the quarter mile down between the fields to the small creek. I wasn't supposed to go down there but mom never paid attention. So I went skinny dipping in the secluded creek. This particular day a rather large, but friendly dog was running around, a Lab mix of some sort. I went to high ground to see if someone was around, but nobody. I had already been jacking off in the creek when the dog came over, tail wagging. I noticed he had a dick like me. So naturally I started touching it and it grew. I started to s

I'm sure you'll know it's him when you cross parts with him* *If you find a girl or a boy(hopefully it's a girl hopefully she's lovable enough for you. You know what I mean) with the frequency, she will need the journal. Not this one. There's another journal. She probably won't be able to read it until she's ready, but when she is, the Harland collection has a companion text that describes the process. The companion text is called the Respondent. If the man has the collection, he may have the Respondent too.*

The family was right below completely unaware that their good girl was masturbating wildly to thoughts of a stranger touching her intimately. “Fuck Jax yes touch me harder make it sting and feel so good,” I moaned quietly in my mind as my body tensed and I came with strong waves my legs shaking and juices coating my fingers. It left me breathing heavily and even more determined. With trembling hands I filled out the consultation form requesting a delicate wildflower design with roots symbolizing growth after hardship placed on my lower back where it could stay hidden but personal. I hit send and waited for the thrill, making my body tingle all over.

It made no sense to go on dreaming of a life with her; Isabelle wasn’t his, she would never be his. The other night, he had gone out on the terrace to get some fresh air, and without realizing he had hit the basket filled with Frannie and Diana’s toys. The diary, strangely hidden among the stuffed animals and the dolls, had fallen to the floor and opened. Billy took it and read what was written on one of the pages.

The book he, her old bestie had bought for her. It was a simple gift for her 14th birthday, 10 years ago. It was the last birthday he had spent with her. Or rather, the last day. He left her a small note that she noticed a few hours after his family had left. They were celebrating her birthday with her family as they were like one family. Carmen never used to like diary books and thought that they were stupid, reminding you of the reality you want to escape from.

He should carve his precious friendship on the pages of his notebook. He took out his bag under the bed, dragging it out to look for his diary. He took out a diary, cherry blossom painted on its cover, which made it look a little girlish. A white ribbon wrapped around to keep it secure. His personal diary he wrote. He started writing this two years ago after a multimillionaire man, Mr. Dayholt, adopted him. He wrote about everything that happened in that mansion where he kept him for these two years so vividly that one could simply picture the moments as they read.

Also, the names of the characters are randomly selected and is entirely out of the blues. Welcome to Dynamic Diary of Tee. Enjoy the bumpy ride ahead!