It was a hot June afternoon, and Wimbledon was in full swing. Those who wished were allowed to watch the tennis on the school television, set up in the Latin classroom due to its relative darkness.
Rachel had little interest in tennis, apart from a fleeting delicious fantasy she’d once had about being on court, playing with her usual energy and inaccuracy in front of a large crowd, and then discovering that under her brief little shift dress she’d forgotten to wear any knickers... and that the ball boys were big, meaty lads who’d proceeded to utterly lose control at the sight of her tight little buttocks, and had ravished her most thoroughly on the hallowed grass of Centre Court.
Now, however, she sighed as she picked up her Physics books, and headed off to the dusty, deserted Science Wing for a lunchtime tutorial with Mr. Brennan. Only three weeks until her ‘A’ level, and she was still very behind in her studies, he said; Rachel’s parents had protestingly agreed to pay for extra private tuition.
She trudged up the stairs to the classroom, wrinkling her nose at the smell of gas and formaldehyde that came from the Biology Room, feeling hot, sticky and annoyed that she couldn’t be out lounging on the grass with her classmates, chatting idly about boys, and how far they’d gone..... wicked Fiona of course said she’d done it all the way with Bomber Harris, but Rachel had her doubts. She was now eighteen, but thanks to a careful upbringing had never yet had more than a casual snog with a boy. Her full young breasts tightened and tingled at the thought of being caressed by a man, and her nipples stiffened, poking through her sensible cotton bra and uniform shirt. Defiantly hitching her short, straight skirt a little higher up her long, tanned legs, she went into the classroom and sat down in the front row.
Mr. Brennan was as usual untidily dressed, his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow, his tie loosened, and his trousers rumpled. Rachel smiled to herself - at least today he’d remembered to do up his flies.
They’d giggled for weeks after the time he strode into the room, his shirt flapping out the opening, but even eagle-eyed Fiona couldn’t say she’d seen anything else.... but Rachel felt a little squirming warmth at the way his face had flushed deep red when he’d realised, and had turned his back to do himself up.
Still, he was a good teacher, and some of the girls even had crushes on him, defensively pointing out that he was ‘dead hunky’ even if he wasn’t tall. His shock of greying blonde hair was usually messy, and on the whole Rachel thought that as a specimen of manhood, he was probably a bit sad.
However, today he was there, anxious and flurried, and launched into teaching her the details of something she’d missed months before, firing questions at her to make sure she understood.
