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Headmistress Morgana Whitman discovered a journal holding the secrets of the Wilkinson School for Young Men and the Cavendish School for Young Women. She discovered it while watching workmen dismantle a bookcase so they could install high-speed internet.

"Ma'am, this looks like a really old book," a workman said as he picked it up off the sawdust covered floor and handed it to her.

In her temporary office, she opened it. Quickly realizing what it contained, she put it in her purse. She'd read it tonight at home; alone.

Headmistress Morgana Whitfield was a fifty-eight-year-old widow. They'd only been married four years when George was diagnosed with inoperable cancer. He hung in there for a few years. Morgana, at twenty-eight was a widow.

Their love life had been magical. Although, he was her only one, and to this day, one and only, she just knew that he had a big cock. A cock that satisfied her. A cock that on weekends satisfied her four or five times.

She was reluctant, and skeptical when he suggested that using his tongue would bring her unimaginable pleasure. He wasn't wrong.

There had been no one since.

The journal was started by Headmistress Frances Conway in the 1820's. Each of her successors added to it. It stopped in 1940. "Perhaps during the blitz. Much of the school was destroyed by Nazi bombs," she thought.

The Headmistress surmised that the post-war headmistresses knew nothing about the journal.

That night, reading it a home, Mrs. Whitman's panties were damp. She also realized that the journal could not see the light of day. However, she could not keep it from her dear friend, Allison Chatman, the nurse at the near-by Cavendish School for Young Girls.

As you might have guessed. Going back to the 1820's the headmistresses kept a journal of all the boys who tasted their quims, muffs, cunnies and pussies. IN DETAIL.

Shockingly, there were familiar names: politicians, even Prime Ministers, famous generals and a number of other people Mrs. Whitman had heard of.

When Allison Chatman read it, she was just as shocked. Like Mrs. Whitman she was a widow. She was a widow, also in her fifties. Lloyd Chatman had been a wonderful lover. When Nurse Allison thought of him, she thought of their wild sex life.

"Lloyd and I used to rock our bed. We broke a number of them, and like the kids say today, he rocked my world," she shared with Morgana. That was as much as she'd say. Allison didn't share that Lloyd thought she had the sweetest pussy. She didn't share, and still felt responsible, that Lloyd died of heart attack during one of those ‘rock my world' encounters. All her nursing skills could not revive him.

That was on his fortieth birthday. Like Morgana Whitman; she chose not to take another husband or lover.

"Morgana," Allison said to her friend, after reading the journal, "it seems like the tradition ended during the war. I know it may sound scandalous, but what if we revived the tradition?"

"Oh no, I couldn't. With an eighteen-year-old!!!! Allison, what are you thinking?"

"I'm think that it's been far too long, and it's almost far too late. I don't want to be too old to enjoy a man. What do you say, Morgana?"

"I haven't even thought about George in ages. If it wasn't for the picture of us I put on the mantle at Christmas, I wouldn't even

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