I wanted to penetrate her mouth the moment I saw her. I wanted to feel those juicy pink lips closing around my cock and I wanted to fuck her in the ...outh right there and then until cum was shooting down her throat. But how could I? Me nearing retirement age, a balding old fart and her just a pretty blonde young thing at college. How tortuous to live one’s life not being able to act upon the strongest desires. Life was unbearable. She wore a very tight and short skirt. So tight it. She was the kind of girl that all the guys wanted to end up with. But luckily for me, at that moment in time, she was single. We were in a dragging English class. Annabelle was sat four or five diagonal places away from me in the classroom. I was what everyone called a ‘goody two shoes’, so I sat down sensibly and began my essay. As I looked up to gaze around the classroom, I caught Annabelle’s eye glaring at me. At first I thought she was looking at someone behind me, so I looked around,. Except that they hadn't seen what I hadwritten in my letter to Santa. Where would they have gotten the idea?And would they have used Christmas for such a tasteless joke? I didn'tthink that was likely.I kept opening boxes. More womens' clothes. Short, short skirts.Pullover stretch tops. Several boxes of shoes, none of them of anespecially practical nature--all 3-inch heels or more. And in one box,something I couldn't readily identify. Mostly white lace, but it seemedrather heavy for. Each step that we took down our private path brought more and more relief as Heather gently led us to the tent, where we disrobed and collapsed onto the comfortable bed, completely spent.Very quickly we stopped basing our lives on the cycles of the sun. Instead, it was the moon that drove us, since it was that heavenly body that consistently parted the sea and allowed us to reach into underwater worlds to harvest our silky catch. As the tides cycled and we started emerging from the initial fog.