By this time, in the real world, Biff's prick was throbbing painfully in his pants. He knew it wouldn't be long before he was unzipping his fly so that he could get his hand around his stiff cock. But the longer he waited, the longer he kept his fantasy alive, the better his orgasm would be.

As he dreamed on, Biff pulled his hand from the imaginary lady's ass. He slid his hand around her lithe body to her tits. Capturing one of her luscious tits, he thrilled to its size and suppleness.

Being a horny young kid with a very vivid imagination, Biff was having a wonderfully exciting time. In the back of his mind he knew it was only a sexual fantasy. But if this was only fantasy, how would the reality of sex affect him? He couldn't know.

Suddenly, though, reality broke into his daydream.

The phone was ringing. Biff had to answer. The imaginary woman began to fade. The Bahamian beach began to disappear. By the time the phone rang again, Biff was back in the living room, looking at the ad on the glossy page of the magazine.

His prick made it difficult for him to walk, but he struggled to the other side of the room where the phone was.

His hand trembled as he lifted the receiver.

"Hello," he said as normally as he could, even though be was slightly breathless.

"Is this Biff?" A woman's voice asked.

"Yes," Biff said.

"Hello, honey," the woman said. "You probably don't remember me. I used to live next door to you on Maple Street. Marge Berg. You used to play with my daughter, Sandy."

"Oh yeah," Biff said. "I remember."

Biff had been a little kid when they moved from Maple Street. But he would never forget Sandy Berg and her mother. In fact, those memories began to come flooding back to Biff.

"I got into a funny mood," Marge Berg said. "I felt like calling old friends and neighbors. I'm so glad you remember me."