The rain poured down heavily outside, the pools of water on the field getting bigger and bigger. It was late November, and the football team were doing drills outside. The rain made their uniforms cling to their clothes, the soaked fabric showing off their hard muscles.

But one of these men seemed somehow sexier in the rain than the others, as if the cold rain was only fuelling an invigorating fire in his soul. The Coach's bald head was wet, and some of his black chest hair was poking out of the top of his royal blue rugby shirt.

But the voyeurism of Matt Clarkson were interrupted as his Math teacher slammed the text book on his desk.

'Matt!' she whined, 'You haven't been listening to me at all this lesson!'

'I know, Miss Jolan. I'm sorry,' he repeated, having vivid memories of having made the exact same apology at least twice today.

'What's up with you today? Is there something you need to talk about after school?' she asked, seemingly concerned.

'No, Miss Jolan. I'm fine. I just need to take care of something. Can I leave five minutes before bell? It's important.'

The teacher began to chew her pen again, a habit that always showed she was pondering something. 'Yes, I'll let you go,' she said calmly, 'If you promise you'll pay more attention tomorrow.'

Matt nodded, and packed up his things. He walked quickly from the room, preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have. He was feeling slightly nervous, knowing that this one question may get him all he wanted right now.





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