It's a mystery

You stand staring at the bed, trying to relate the vivid dreams of last night to the physical evidence in front of you. You were sure the marks on the bed had not been there when you got up yesterday morning, because you'd have seen them when you made your bed. You can't swear to whether they were there when you went to bed, because frankly you were just eager to put your head down.

Which means either that someone used your bed during the day, or that your dream was a twisted version of reality. The former seems improbable, the latter impossible. If some couple used your bed then who? One of the other three teachers were possible, but they all had their own rooms and if they had lured some virgin schoolgirl into bed they seemed more likely to use their own. Possibly one of the maintenance staff? You've heard enough stories about overheated students slaking their lust on the help. But that would seem to be belied by the evidence of virginity lost. Would a virgin schoolgirl let herself be deflowered in the Dean of Student's bed by a handyman? Each possibility seemed less likely than the last.

You strip the sheets off the bed, rolling them into a ball and putting them on the floor for the housekeepers to remove. You shake your head, worrying at the problem but unable to come up with an answer. With a grunt of frustration, made worse by the realisation you have forgotten your morning work out routine, you decide to go for a run around the lake, getting some exercise and hopefully letting the fresh air stimulate your brain.

With that thought you change into running gear and leave the building, stretching in the early sun before beginning an easy jog towards the lake, hopeful that exercise will clear your head and provide some clarity to events.