A trade in the locker room.

You tuck the card away in your backpack and try to put it out of your mind for the time being, as you head off to gym. The coach insists on having you play some flag football outside, despite it having just rained, and the other guys aren't as **** as you are to cut loose on the muddy terrain. Despite your best efforts (and your coach's half-hearted attempts to remind the other players this isn't a contact sport) you wind up getting the wind knocked out of you and pushed into the mud close to the end of the period.

"Ah, hell," the coach says, sending the rest of the players inside while he picks you up to take a minute seated on the bench. Once he's minimally assured you aren't concussed, he tells you to head back in and shower off in the locker room; that there won't be a class for another period, and that he'll be happy to write you a late pass to make up for letting you get sacked. Cynically, you imagine he's probably just trying to get you not to tell on him for sending kids out in the mud, but the ache in your back and the mud in your hair means you don't really mind as long as you get a few minutes under some hot water.

You walk into the locker room as the other students are filing out of the gym, happy to avoid too many snickers at your haggard appearance. You whip off your gym clothes and toss them into your locker alongside your normal outfit, and head to the row of shower heads further back in the locker room and around a half-wall for privacy. It feels kind of weird to shower at school, but with the room to yourself you actually kind of enjoy it, at least compared to heading off to your history class like usual. You push your luck a little and take your time, but eventually you realize a late pass is probably only going to spare you so much trouble if you go and miss half the class. With a contented sigh, you turn the water off, dry off and wrap a towel around your waist, and head back to your locker.

Only, when you get back to your locker, you find the door still wide open.

Did I leave it like that? you think. Your gym clothes are still there, and your shoes and socks, your t-shirt, jeans, and.... you realize there is something missing. Your boxers are nowhere to be found: not underneath any of your other clothes, not inside any of them, not even on the floor of what you thought had been an empty locker room. In turning everything over, however, a card falls out of your jeans, and you glance around nervously before you bend down and pick it up.

I know you might be mad at me, Sam, but when I saw you were alone I couldn't help myself. I wanted something to remember you by, in case you don't feel the same way I do. I promise I'll make it up to you soon.

Suddenly, the notes feel a lot less flattering and a fair bit more creepy than the first one did. How long was this girl in here with you? You couldn't hear anything over the rushing water, and you had your back turned or your eyes closed for decent stretched of time. If she had decided to take a peek, you wouldn't have known at all... Your skin crawls a little, despite the slightest, guilty twinge of excitement between your legs, and you turn to keep one eye out into the room as you re-dress in what clothes you still have. The coach doesn't seem to notice you acting any differently, and hands you the pass with a clap on the back without actually looking at you before heading back into his office. Still feeling a little strange, not helped by the feeling of denim directly against your ass and junk, you head towards your next class. If nothing else, you know some of the girls who signed that first note are there; if they hear how weird your secret admirer is getting, maybe you can convince them to give you some answers.