"Come in." She stepped back and invited me in with a sweep of one hand. Melody chuckled and eyed me with her head tilted to one side.

At her offer of a drink I accepted a simple glass of water, taking it from Melody's hand with trembling fingers. "Just relax." Melody did her best to put me at ease and we chatted in the kitchen randomly for ten minutes while she drank her coffee and I studied her and pretended to listen.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to turn up," Melody continued as I stepped into her home. I heard the amusement in her voice when she replied, "Don't worry," she smiled.

It suddenly dawned on me that I didn't have a clue how to direct her. My penis was stiff inside my jeans, pre-cum dribbling from its eye, and I could hear my own heartbeat solid and thumping in my ears as I pointed and clicked, pointed and clicked. I wanted to feel them in my hands, test their weight and slide my cock between them.

"Fuck," I groaned when, eventually, Melody unbuttoned the blouse and stood in a corner, hands against the walls. An image of Melody's throat splashed with my semen came to mind.

I was too young and inexperienced for a start, at nineteen I didn't have to confidence to approach a woman in her forties, let alone one I thought was gorgeous and hot and so, so sexy. What would her tits look like there in swaying, three-dimensional reality?

Besides, I was meant to be working, stacking shelves in Sainsbury's supermarket -- a summer job before university started -- but nevertheless I still found an excuse to walk past her once ... A flare of something deep and primitive burst in my guts when finally, after all the ball-squeezing anticipation, Melody put her cup down and said, "OK, shall we get started?

She's a genuine, part-time model from Bedfordshire, England, similar to Melody to as I depicted in the piece -- although she doesn't take it as far as Melody does, this OK, in this scene a young man sees a woman he's sure is an internet model. " Seeing the ire in her eyes I panicked and shook my head. A skirt with a ruffled hem and floral pattern fell to a point a couple of inches above her knees, while white shoes completed the ensemble.

He approaches her obliquely and, when challenged, admits to perusing her nude pictures on her website. "Look," she said huffily, reaching out to grab my arm as I snuck by. John," she continued, peering at the name tag pinned to my orange polo shirt, "are you following me? As she chattered away, telling me about her family, modelling career and, surprisingly, her day job as an accountant of all things, I couldn't help but drift away on a reverie of the previous night's masturbatory delight.

Pretty tame stuff by internet standards, no hard-core pictures, just Melody on her own, apparently enjoying herself; but if I'd imagined she'd be shy about it, I was wrong. I think Melody probably had me sussed in that regard as my cheeks reddened and I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. She was an intelligent woman, that impression came across instantly, and Melody intrigued me and I'd wanted to spend a bit more time in her company, perhaps getting an idea for why she did what she did. When I nodded, Melody reached into her handbag and pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. I usually charge sixty quid for half-an-hour, but ..." She scribbled on the paper and handed it to me.

On her website Melody was in -- and out -- of a variety of costumes, sometimes naked and sometimes with a sex toy wedged inside her. How could I tell her I'd saved images of her and fantasised about spunking over her tits? I would've liked to have talked to her for a bit longer, sensing there was more to Melody than big breasts and a cheeky smile.

The blouse gapped open and I could see her big breasts bulging over the blue bra. Unbidden pictures of spunk sliding down those slopes, shivering ropes of gooey cum dripping from Melody's taut nipples flashed across the screen of my imagination. Melody laughed at me and reached down to her skirt.