Yes, it really is FM, not MF.
She passes my home every day on her way to college. She usually looks across to me, smiles or waves. I've watched her grow from a gangly teenager attending the local secondary school, through that delicious age where they have no idea of the messages they are sending, the skirt rolled up so it barely covered her bum, the shirt tied up beneath two small but perfect breasts, and the black tights. Always the black tights, over increasingly shapely legs too.
What made this day different, I have no idea, but it was hot, a glorious mid summer day. I noticed that as she walked back up the hill on her way home she was not wearing her tights.
When she got level with my mail box, she opened it and put something inside, and walked on.
In the mailbox were her tights and panties. And a note. 'I did this over you, now do it over me.' The tights and panties were wet. No doubt, she had rubbed one, or two, out at college.
I lost no time in doing exactly as she asked.
Over the next two months, little presents arrived in my mail box. Panties, photos of her pussy, even a couple of videos on a memory stick of her jilling.
Then without warning were the last pair. And a note. 'I'm moving away to Uni. I have loved the thought of you and my tights, and panties. You have given me lots of lovely cums. I hope I did the same for you. It's really horny thinking about an older man jacking over me. Thanks! Xx'
I never knew her name, and that was the last I ever heard from her. I still have a small collection of her tights and panties, although her delicious scent has long since gone.