"Stuart," she said, "I really need a massive favour."
I saw in my mind's eye Joanne, topless, her large breasts looking ripe and juicy.
"I've got this essay to finish tonight and I'm stuck on the conclusion. Can you help me?"
She was a mature student in her mid 20s, a single mother of limited intellectual abilities who had somehow found herself on one of the best faculties in England. What Joanne lacked academically she more than compensated by her girlish charm, kindness and easy going manner.
She had a small round face, childish almost babylike smiling little mouth and shoulder length brown hair which she often kept in a pony tail. Her little brown eyes had a kind of innocent joy in them whenever she was amused.
I was just twenty at the time and I did rather like her, as a person certainly, and I also had a strong sexual attraction to her feminine body. It was difficult for me to keep my eyes off her anatomy when she was in view and she was my chief masturbation fantasy at that time.
When I arrived Joanne gave me a warm welcome and took me directly into her lounge. It was nine-thirty in the evening. "So have you started your conclusion?" I asked.
"Shhhh!" she whispered. "I've just got Sarah off to bed. Read this while I make a cuppa."
I glanced through Joanne's essay with some dismay as it looked to me like a very poorly worked first draft and there were copious errors.
She was soon back and sat next to me on the sofa. Two mugs of tea and a plate of custard creams were on a small coffee table at our knees.
"What do you think?" asked Joanne with a hopeful roll of her eyes.
"It's good," I lied. "You just need a punchy conclusion to draw all your main points together."
We began to work out a conclusion on a large piece of paper but I kept losing my thoughts as Joanne was wearing a thin pink t-shirt and I could see her nipples bursting out.
"So where do I put the bit about Jakobson's critque of Levi-Strauss not being convincing?" asked Joanne.
"Sorry? What?" I was losing my concentration and not even hiding the fact. "When did I say that?"
"Stuart! Five minutes ago. What is wrong with you?"
A few minutes later she caught me looking at her breasts when she thought I was reading a paragraph of her essay and hit me lightly on the arm.
"Stuart! Stop looking there!"
"Sorry," I said.