Educational Exchange: Pt. 01

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Big thanks to jaxjack1980 for helping this Irishman get some level of understanding for the world of High School football and his many suggestions while I was writing this.

Educational Exchange : Part One

Chapter One:

"Are you out of your fucking mind? I-I mean... seriously? Is this a midlife crisis or are you just going fucking crazy?"

To his credit, Principal Clark didn't allow himself to appear ruffled by the display of rage happening on the far side of his desk. Even when the large black man standing there leaned forward, bunched fists planted on the desktop so that the spittle from his incensed questions splattered across the High school principal's face, he retained a calm air.

Clark didn't answer at first. Instead, he removed the metal framed glasses he wore, reaching out to pluck some tissues from a box he kept on his desk. First, he patted down his face before wiping clear each lens of his spectacles. This demonstration took the wind from the sails of the other man in the office, Wayne Sanders grimacing in embarrassment as he subsided into the chair he'd leapt up from in his anger. Principal Clark gave it a further count of ten before he slipped his glasses back into place and regarded the now calmer man.

"Wayne, I know it doesn't sit well with you but it's a done deal," he said simply.

"For Christ's sake. I'm the head of the Booster club. I should have been consulted," Wayne said, his voice more restrained now but the anger still evident. "All the fundraising, the volunteering... we... I earned the right to have some input on this."

"Fair enough, I'll give you that but like I said, it's done." Principal Clark watched the jaw muscles on the big man's face clench as he clearly sought to remain calm. To him, this was a storm in a teacup, much ado about nothing. Then again, he saw himself as an educator first and foremost so he could appreciate his response might be different compared to parents such as Wayne Sanders.

The issue that had worked up the current head of the school's football team's booster club was the latest brainchild of the town's mayor. The town of Oakfield, Arkansas had seen better days. The boom the state of Arkansas had enjoyed when their governor had been elected to the White House in the mid-nineties had passed for the most part. Cities like Little Rock might still be prospering but small and mid-sized towns like Oakfield certainly weren't. Enter their new Mayor, Lorne Taylor, and his 'fresh' ideas. 'Education, Investment, Culture' had been the platforms of his campaign and credit where credit was due, the man was certainly trying.

Principal Clark couldn't object to the education stance. He'd seen too many former students having to leave the town and county in search of work, wholly unprepared in his eyes for the challenge of finding decent jobs in today's tech heavy market. So, when funds had been found to outfit a new computer lab for the high school along with the hiring of an extra full time teacher to educate the students in matters like basic programming, Principal Clark had seen it as a huge boost.

On the investment front, things hadn't progressed noticeably as yet although Principal Clark was aware that Mayor Taylor had been working hard to attract some start-up firms, some mid-sized enterprises to take a chance on the town and base themselves within its limits. The third 'leg' of his campaign platform, Culture, was something the mayor believed that, along with a better educated workforce, would attract investment. To invigorate the cultural aspect, the mayor had looked to improve public spaces, celebrate art, cinema and cuisine with mini festivals throughout the year and he'd even arranged to twin Oakfield with a similarly sized town in Southern Italy called Grembo. It was that last initiative that had led directly to the confrontation in his office.

Not content with just sticking a brass plaque on the side of the town hall declaring it's twinned status, Mayor Taylor had reached out to his opposite number in Grembo, Italy and between the two men they'd come up with a novel plan. A teacher from Grembo and one from Oakfield would exchange roles for a year, helping to cement relations between the towns and bring a taste of Europe to this small corner of Arkansas. At this point Principal Clark had been called in on the discussions and he'd added his caveat to the agreement. He didn't want to lose a critical member of his staff, feeling that a disruption like this could have knock-out effects with his students' schooling. However, he also knew that a flat refusal would get him nowhere either, so he offered a compromise, where the least valuable member of his faculty would take the opportunity to swap roles with an Italian counterpart.

Which led them to the parent simmering with anger in his office.

"I still can't believe the city council and Coach Adams would accept this decision without a fight," Wayne Sanders said. This was enough to break Principal Clark's composure, a dry chuckle escaping his lips and earning him a fresh glare from his visitor.

"Oh, come on Wayne, lighten up," Principal Clark said as the chuckle grew into a proper laugh. His blue eyes twinkled merrily as he realized Wayne didn't get the joke. "The city council will play ball with any plan that might boost the town's economy and even ones like this, that are more cultural than financial in gain, they'll always swing behind the mayor. As for the coach, Leroy Adams had his bags packed and his ass on the road to the airport about an hour after I told him about the chance to spend a year in Italy. I guess authentic pasta and fine wine in sun drenched Europe was a bit more appealing than another season leading our football team towards mediocrity."

"Now hold on there, that team is important to this school. It's a source of pride. A source of character building. It's a...," Wayne said in a passionate defense of a team on which his own son was quarterback.

"It's a team that hasn't won in its last seventeen games and where more than half the players already turned eighteen on account of them being held back a year at one time or another in the past six years of their time attending this high school. So, forgive me if I don't weep for the absence of Coach Adams. My purpose is to give these kids the best chance they can get at securing a job, or a place in college, basically getting a leg up in life. Now you can yell, arrange a protest, call for my resignation but you know what? Deep down you agree with me."

This time it was Wayne Sanders who took a pause before answering, clearly unhappy by what had been said to him and the manner of its delivery as well. He drew himself up out of the chair, pulling himself up to his full, impressive height. At six foot three, he was an intimidating figure but Principal Clark knew him too well to feel any apprehension. Besides, he knew that Wayne, for all his bluster, was as committed to improving the students' lot in life as he was. He just needed to calm down long enough to realize it.

"You know what, we're gonna be the laughingstock of the county, the whole damn state with a goddamn Italian coaching the team," Wayne finally spat out, stalking from the principal's office.

"Seventeen losses, seventeen!" Principal Clark called out through the door Wayne had left open. "You think they aren't laughing at us already?"

<<0>>

Spending his Friday evening in the arrivals area of the airport was not how Principal Clark liked to unwind after a school week but nobody else had stepped forward to volunteer to collect the new teacher arriving from Italy and so it had fallen to him. In fairness though, he found himself actually looking forward to the experience of this foreign exchange for all the hassle it had brought him from the likes of Wayne Sanders. His opposite number in the Grembo High School had thoughtfully sent him a brief bio on the man replacing Coach Adams and in Clark's opinion, the town of Oakfield was getting the better end of the deal.

From the bio, Carlo was twenty-seven, taught Philosophy, foreign languages, Italian Literature and Math. This Italian also coached Track and field and football as extracurricular activities back in Italy. Meanwhile Clark had sent them Coach Adams, an unsuccessful high school football coach in his early forties who could only handle substituting for teachers in American History or Social Studies so long as the lesson plan was in place and none of the student's asked questions. Clark grinned at the idea of Adams trying to handle a classroom full of Italians querying philosophical paradigms.

While the bio had been appreciated, an actual photograph of the man he was supposed to be collecting would have been far more useful in this situation. The lack of one meant that he was standing right up front at the arrivals area holding a sign with 'Carlo Modaferri' written on it, trying to catch the eye of anyone he felt didn't look American.

There was another rush of people exiting the baggage claim area and the high school principal turned to face them holding the sign aloft, scanning faces for a flicker of acknowledgement.

"Mister Clark? From Oakfield?"

He turned at the sound of his name, nonplussed at the source. A beautiful woman who was well dressed but with the tired eyes of a long-distance traveler stood before him. She was a little shorter than average height, maybe five foot three and with a voluptuous figure that even made a man with forty years of marriage like himself stand a little straighter in recognition of her attractiveness.

"Yes?" She swept her long dark hair back as he answered, her brown eyes flicking down to the sign he now held at waist height.

"Modafferi, from Grembo. You are here to meet me, yes?" Her English was good, her accent not so strong as to make it difficult to understand. What puzzled and annoyed him was that nobody had thought to mention a wife.

"That's right. Ah... your husband, he's still waiting on his bag?"

"Husband? I'm sorry, I don't understand," she answered.

"Carlo Modafferri... he's still collecting his bag?"

"Ah! No, no Carlo. Carla, Carla Modafferri. I am Carla." Clark's stomach sank even in the face of her sunny smile. Wayne Sanders had been a pain over an Italian coach, what the hell would he make of an Italian woman?

Surprised by this twist, Principal Clark nonetheless managed to recover his wits before his manners completely deserted him. He gave Carla a quick handshake of welcome before offering to take her biggest piece of luggage in hand. They walked towards where he'd parked up, Clark finding himself suddenly prattling away to the younger woman, asking her about her flight, if she was hungry, tired, had she been to the US before. A stream of enquiries without really giving her anytime to respond. Loading her luggage into his SUV, he realized how strange he was coming across, how unsettling it must be to a young woman just off a plane who was entering into a new country and new job. Before he could offer up any apology however, she impressed him by appreciating the situation.

"I think I am not who you expected, si? Please, I have been teaching for five years, my commitment to this position in your school is assoluta... absolute."

He delayed answering while he got into the vehicle, adjusting his seatbelt, starting the engine and pulling out before speaking.

"It's my apology to make, I expected a man and was just taken by surprise is all. Let's start over. Welcome to America and more importantly, welcome to the great state of Arkansas."

"Thank you so much," Clark couldn't help but notice the slight dimples in her cheeks as she beamed that big smile at him.

The conversation was a little stilted at first but just twenty minutes into the hour drive and Principal Clark found himself won over by the woman who sat beside him. She was articulate, engaging, and intelligent. If Wayne and the PTA had a problem, then Clark would meet them head on. Already he was thinking about offering some extracurricular classes to students who might benefit from exposure to European literature and the like.

"I really do need to ask, why accept this exchange? I mean I understand you were involved with physical education in Italy but this hardly seems a good use of your skills as an educator," Clark kept his eyes on the road as he waited for her answer.

"First, I wanted to see America. Not as a tourist, I wanted to experience it through living here. Second, Grembo is not a big town, so I thought to live in Oakfield would be exciting."

"You haven't seen Oakfield yet; exciting is not a word I'd use to describe it."

"Different then, not exciting but different, a change for me. That is probably the biggest reason I come; I like to explore. It is why I studied Philosophy in my university when I studied to become a teacher. I like to ask questions of life, of myself. To live in a small box, to draw lines and boundaries to exist inside. This is not a life. For you, Oakfield is not exciting, for me it is a line crossed, a boundary pushed back. Yes?"

"Si," Clark answered, earning himself a squeeze on his arm, the sensation of which lingered all the way to town.

It was late when they pulled up outside Coach Adams house. It was a modest single storied, two bed detached home. As part of the exchange, Carla would live here, drive Coach Adams' car etc. while he would stay in her home in Italy. Principal Clark lifted her bags from the back of the SUV, wheeling them up the short driveway. He pulled out a set of keys, handing them to Carla with a small flourish. She sounded off a small musical laugh at this, dropping into a mock courtesy before opening the front door.

He moved around the small house, explaining the in's and out's to her. The refrigerator had been stocked that day by his wife Nancy with some basics and he tapped a folder that sat on the kitchen counter.

"Some generic information, trash day, location of stores, the school, hospital... that kind of thing. Also class schedules, notes from Coach Adams..." he tailed off, noticing how Carla appeared clearly fatigued from her trip.

"Look, it's all there including a list of contact names and numbers. You settle in, I'll see you Monday at school. Between now and then, you need something, just call. Oh, and I nearly forgot, keys to the car," he placed a set of car keys on top of the folder and bade her goodnight.

He closed the door and walked back to his own SUV, ready for his own bed at this point. Starting up the engine he found himself filled with a mix of dread and anticipation for Monday morning.

Chapter Two:

Carla was up early on Monday morning, ready for her first day at an American high school.

She had to admit to a certain level of trepidation. The weekend had passed by quite quickly and she hadn't even scratched the surface when it came to understanding the American game they called football. That it was important to the school and the town itself had been made clear from the game films that Coach Adams had left behind. She hadn't expected the crowds that seemed to attend each game, regardless of the team's losing streak. She'd also noted that her presence and her new position was an open secret among the locals. When she'd left the house to familiarize herself with the town, driving the Coach's 2010 Dodge Charger, Carla had seen a lot of flat stares directed towards her.

For all that, she had confidence in herself. First, she would win over her students. Then the parents. After that, the rest of the town would follow suit. It was all about self-belief and having a strategy. She had both. She hoped.

It was the end of August and the temperature was similar enough to her home, that Carla didn't bother with any coat, just wearing her SSC Napoli tracksuit, black with red lettering and inserts. Walking towards the main building of the school from the faculty parking lot, she realized every eye was on her. She loved it, meeting as many as she could and delivering a full smile and a 'ciao' to each person who crossed her path. That earned her a broad assortment of reactions from pleased, surprised and corresponding friendliness all the way down to a contemptuous sniff of disdain. The new coach took it all in stride.

Near the front door she saw Principal Clark waiting, for her it seemed as he raised an arm in greeting.

"Ciao Principal Clark, it's a beautiful morning," Carla called out loudly, watching as the uptight figure waiting on her winced slightly. 'Americans. So rigid and proper,' Carla thought with a smile. Still, she toned down her exuberance until she was much closer.

"Good morning to you Ms. Modafferi. How are you feeling about your first day?"

"Very excited. When do I meet the team?"

"Well, there's a training session this evening. Last period. I thought it best to give you as much time to prepare as possible. When you are better settled in, we'll look at adding to your workload. Sitting in on some classes, perhaps taking a lead on certain subjects as well?"

"Perfetta, so perfect. Thank you so much for thinking of me," Carla said, hopping a little on the spot with excitement. She grabbed at Principal Clark's arm, trying to lean up and in to kiss his cheek. He however read her intent in time and side stepped to avoid her.

"Ah, you'll see that some customs in Italy don't... ahhh... translate as well over here. Let's stick to handshakes for the moment. Yes?"

"Ah, si. No problem Principale."

"Good, right. Well then, let's get you inside, I'll give you the tour and you can meet the rest of the faculty.

Carla found her morning completely taken up through meeting the other teachers and support staff, learning her way around the large school building and settling into her new office. While students and parents might not be pleased by her arrival, she got no sense of that from the other teachers. Everyone seemed genuinely pleased to meet her and she was inundated with offers to barbeques, drinks and anything she might need regarding settling in. All that meant that her extra preparation time before she met the football team amounted to just a couple of hours. Instead of confusing herself further trying to dig through the rules of the game, Carla instead went through the boys' files, determined to be able to match photos to names and names to positions before the training session began.

As she understood it from the previous coach's notes, the three key positions and therefore the three key players were the quarterback on offense, the right outside linebacker whose role in defense was to disrupt the other team's quarterback, and then the left tackle whose role was to stop the linebacker from disrupting the quarterback. Even as she repeated that back to herself, Carla felt it made no real sense. But it wasn't for her to judge the game, just to learn to coach it.

Oscar Sanders was the quarterback or QB. A handsome young black student, he'd already turned eighteen recently and this would be his last year at the school. She also saw that the coach had made a handwritten note in the margin, Oscar's father was head of the Booster Club.

Then there was Chris Dye, the linebacker. Carla noted the abbreviated ROLB as his position. Another young black man, this was something she'd have to get used to, he was also eighteen as well. While she could imagine Oscar having his pick of the female students for a date, Chris was more... in Italian she'd have said semplice, homely, plain. Those features that gave him an appearance that bordered on unattractive, though Carla was loath to describe any student in that manner. It also made him appear older than his eighteen years, a rough maturity to match his looks.

Finally, Matt Robinson III, the offensive left tackle. A blonde haired, dimpled face looked out at her from the photograph, big baby blue eyes that seemed to carry no hint of what she remembered from the game footage, one of the biggest players on the team, smashing into opponents like a juggernaut.

All three were eighteen, or just about to turn so in Matt Robinson's case. All were in their final year. They were the key to bringing the rest of the team into line. If she got them on her side, the others would follow. Carla closed her notes, checked the time and headed down to the school's football field from her office which was nearby.

<<0>>

She had been impressed during her tour with Principal Clark with the facilities for the team. The town itself might not have been rolling in money and despite the team having the worst record in the state by a long way, you wouldn't know by looking at the layout the football team enjoyed. Carla had her own office. At one time the coach had two assistants but there the cutbacks were evident, Carla finding she'd be working alone as had Coach Adams for the last two school years. Principal Clark informed her that members of the Booster club, a parent's organization, often volunteered to help out at games, many of them former high school football players themselves. Apart from her office, there was a locker room with good shower facilities, an equipment room that she had already put on her list as a task to be tackled... the stench of stale sweat had been quite overpowering. Attached to these was a small gym with a section devoted to sports injuries, a school nurse provided her help in this role on game days.

Then there was the football field itself. It had tiered seating on all four sides, a capacity of four thousand five hundred, floodlights for night games and an impressive scoreboard. Carla had seen nothing to compare it to with schools in Italy.

Stepping out, she saw the team gathered at the touchline. It had already been explained to her that the school had two teams, Junior Varsity and Varsity. The first was coached by members of the Booster club, the volunteering parents of student players. The second, the senior team, had fallen under the purview of the professional coach, which she supposed was now her. There were twenty-six students on the team, and as she walked towards them, they turned as one to watch her approach. From her limited understanding, Carla had learned that most schools for a town this size would have had three teams, a freshman team along with the other two. Between them, they'd have had a hundred players with others disappointed to not make the squads. Why was it different here? Principal Clark had offered his opinion on that as he'd given her the tour earlier that day. The factors he'd ascribed to the problem were the growing concern among parents of injuries to their children, the diminished population of the town as people left in search of work and finally, that both JV and Varsity had abysmal records when it came to wins. Seemed like many students didn't want to play for a team that only ever lost.

"Thank you all for coming and for being on time. I assume you all know the news by now... at least judging by the sad faces I see in front of me... Coach Adams will not be working with you this year, instead I will be in charge of the Varsity team." Carla began addressing them as she drew close, passing right through the ranks of players until she was through, turning to face them all. As she did so, she saw the tiered seats behind the assembled players were occupied by a large group of what appeared to be parents, all of them staring with mixed emotions at the foreigner who had taken over the team.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Carla Modafferri and from now on, you will call me coach."

"Fuck that." Whoever had cursed had done so quietly and from within the huddled group so Carla couldn't be sure who the culprit was.

"If you have something to say, perhaps speak up, let's be sure everyone can hear your opinions," she said loudly, suppressing a smile as she watched the players shuffle their feet, throwing sheepish glances back towards where their parents were sitting. "No? Okay so if there are no more comments on that, let me talk to you about where we go from here."

The fact that she found herself facing a semi-circle of tall young men made her feel conscious of her own height, so Carla invited them all to take a knee while she pulled over a three-legged stool, setting her lap top and notes on the ground beside her. Whatever these young men might have thought of her taking over as coach, she had to give them credit for turning up in their full kit, ready to train. It gave her hope that they could be open to working with her. She put the onlooking parents and members of the booster club from her mind, focusing instead on the fresh-faced teens arrayed before her.

"To start. I am a very... you would say, direct person, I think. I think it, so I say it. I will be direct with you always and I will not treat you as anything other than athletes, as people worthy of respect and honesty. So, I will ask you all to do the same with me." She paused but no-one spoke. Carla spotted Oscar Sanders the quarterback, front and center of the kneeling players and she locked eyes with him for the next part of her speech.

"This is the start of my honesty. I think that as individuals, you all have much to offer. As a team I am sorry to say, I watch films of you and was not impressed. There is a lot of work to be done here, work we will do together."

"No offence Coach but what do you even know about the game? You guys just play soccer in Europe, right? Not real football." She didn't recognize the speaker, a young man on the far left of the group. Learning everyone's name had to become a priority for herself. He'd put a fair amount of scorn into his use of her title but probably less than he would have only for his parents sitting in the stands behind him.

"You are right, bravo. I don't know your game. But..."

"Tony," he said.

"Tony, yes. But Tony, tell me now. How long have you played football, three years? Four?"

"I started when I was five. Started off playing flag football."

"Precisamente, precisely. You play for twelve, thirteen years now. All of you are the same?" Each player nodded, looking left and right as others did.

"Twelve years, twenty-six of you. Three hundred and twelve years of experience between you all. Why do I need to know the game? I have so much experience from you all to answer my questions and guide me."

"Then why are you here? What do we need you for then?" Tony didn't want to drop his objection to her as coach apparently.

"Because it is not just about strategy and tactics, there is fitness, stamina and conditioning to be addressed as well. I will make you the best you can be as individuals, then together we will work to become a team. Working closely with each other," she wove the fingers of her two hands together, clenching them before her. They were all listening now, doubts and stubborn derision still marking many faces but not all.

"Perhaps a demonstration. Oscar, yes?" The young black man nodded and in the stands behind, Carla noted a tall older black man stand up, clearly the player's father.

"So, Oscar, as I understand, you are key to the team's offence. This is a passing game; you make the passes." He nodded and she smiled, the young man automatically returning it, no more able to resist her directed charm than Principal Clark had been. Carla picked up her laptop, opening it and bringing up a series of clips from game footage that she'd put together over the weekend. All the young men peered at the screen as she ran the two-minute-long reel.

"You see, yes? You have power, precision. But you don't always get to use it. Your footwork lets you down. You need space to make a difference, to have options. We will work on this." He didn't reply but at least he looked thoughtful. She doubled down.

"Which one is Chris, ah I see you. Ciao Chris."

"Umm Ciao Coach," he said in a deep voice, self-conscious at the sniggers from those around him. He watched a second reel she'd prepared, flinching at the mistakes she'd highlighted across the game footage.

"No need to be embarrassed. Please. I saw so much wonderful play from you, this is only a small example, it's not meant to be negative," Carla said as she watched his face. "You are the same as Oscar, very important player, key position. What do I see? I see strength, I see stamina but I don't see the electric burst of speed that you need to... sorry I forget the word... ah, si, the speed you need to exploit openings to reach opponent quarterback. Again, this we will work on together." The big, plain faced youth straightened up at her words, giving her a short sharp nod of agreement. Carla felt her heart leap, it was working.

"Okay one more film, this is Matt Robinson Ill. Your name is ill?"

"No ma'am... I mean no, Coach," the huge youth said, pale features flushing in embarrassment. It's III, you know, the third, Matt Robinson the third."

"Ah, scuse, my apologies. We watch now...", she ran the last collection of clips, watching how everyone was now glued to her presentation, eager to see what she'd found. At the end of it, she looked at Matt and simply raised an eyebrow.

"I'm dropping pace late in the game, missing tackles by inches because I've slowed down."

"Perfect, and what else?"

"I get frustrated, make mistakes."

"Is wonderful you see this now, but what will we do?"

"We'll fix it Coach," he said with grim determination.

"Okay, enough with how you say, show and tell. Now we get to work. Please, if I didn't call you out it's not because you are one hundred percent genius players, everyone had something we must work on. I will talk to everyone over this week. Now though, we start on fitness. Please, take off equipment, we start with stretches, then we run."

As the team members pulled their helmets and pads off, piling the protective gear in a heap at the sideline, Carla pulled her tracksuit off, standing before them in just soccer shorts and top. The young men tried to avoid staring at her obvious curves, large breasts and toned legs. The act of not looking became almost farcical as they tried to stare in every direction but directly at her. Each of them was painfully aware that their parents were in the stands behind them.

She put them through a ten-minute-long stretching routine, making sure they were all limbered up before she set a brisk jogging pace around the field. After the first lap she increased the speed, repeating this then every lap that followed. By the twentieth lap the twenty-six players were strung out in a ragged line, the fitness levels of each marked by their position in the irregular column. By the twenty-third lap, Carla was half a lap ahead and any thoughts among the players that she didn't know what she was talking about when it came to physical fitness was no longer an issue. Slowly she dropped off the pace till they were at a gentle jog, completing three more laps to bring the distance covered to about five miles.

Carla watched as the last few players completed the run, noting the conditions of each youth. She then took them through another series of stretches, ignoring the groans and muttered complaints.

"A good start, thank you all. I will meet with each of you during the week, for now I think your parents are waiting for you."

Most of the team left without speaking, a few, including the key figures of Oscar, Chris and Matt left with a 'see you Coach'. It was only as the last few parents and students left that Carla noticed Principal Clark standing beside the tiers of seats. She walked towards him, not bothering to get her tracksuit first as the evening was still warm.

"I think maybe I owe you a bottle of good Italian wine Principal Clark."

"Who me?" He put a mystified expression on his face but the corner of his mouth twitched mischievously.

"The parents. You organized this. You knew their presence would keep the team behaving. To give me a chance to make an impression."

"Well let's just say I might have mentioned it to a couple of the mothers who are significant members in the PTA. None of the parents of the team were excited about a foreign coach taking over... but, not one mother was prepared to have a woman not given a chance to prove herself. You had your chance and it looks like you made the most of it."

"Forget just the wine, I must make dinner this week for you and your wife," Carla said appreciatively.

"Just remember. Wayne Sanders and a lot of other parents in the Booster club aren't going to be happy about you coaching Varsity while they coach JV. They'll be looking to take over both with Coach Adams gone, or swapping at a minimum. Now professionally I'd be happy if you didn't coach at all. It'd make my life easier and I'd sooner see you full-time in the classroom given your abilities. However, personally, I'm getting a kick out of seeing them all worked up and you know what, I think you could make a difference to the team. A win would be good for the school as well as the players. So, I'll keep backing you for the moment. Just so you know how the land lies."

"I understand perfectly. Now, important questions. Where in this town can I buy good pasta, fresh ingredients... nothing from a can...," Carla stooped to pick up her laptop, notes and tracksuit, bundling them beneath one arm before linking her other arm with Principal Clark. The two walked back to the school chatting, Clark blushing faintly at the proximity of the beautiful woman.

Chapter Three:

Later that evening, Carla was still on a high from her success with the first training session. There was more hard work ahead, individual conversations with each player, training schedules tailored to players needs to be created. All that before she tackled the problem with coaching a real game with limited knowledge. A lot of bridges still to cross but the first one was behind her and so she was in the mood to celebrate a little.

She'd picked up a bottle of wine, Californian not Italian, from a store Principal Clark had recommended and it was open now, a half-drunk glass of the white wine sitting on the kitchen table. Coach Adams had a large collection of music, none of which appealed to Carla so instead she'd popped in her air buds and was half dancing to one of her playlists on her phone while she got ready to shower. She'd stripped off completely, shimmying back towards the kitchen for one last sip of wine before jumping into the shower when an external noise managed to catch her attention in the slight gap between a song ending and a song starting.

It had sounded like a bell. "Minchia!" She swore in Italian. It had to be the front door. Carla hurried back to the bedroom, grabbing a sheer robe off of the bed and hastily throwing it on over her naked body. She was still belting it closed when she got to the front door.

"Scuse, one moment," she called out to whoever stood outside. Happy that the robe was in place, she opened the latch and pulled the door open. The man outside was both a stranger and yet familiar to her and Carla racked a mind dulled by the wine and the long first day at school as to the man's identity.

"Ms. Modafferri?" He asked it like a question but it was obvious he knew who she was. He was a tall, well-built black man in his mid-forties, goodlooking to her eye and annoyingly familiar.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I hope we can help each other. I'm Wayne Sanders." It clicked then, he was Oscar Sanders' father, head of the Booster Club, father of the teams Quarterback. His son's resemblance to him had been the itch in her mind she hadn't been able to scratch.

"Of course. Oscar's father. Yes, Principal Clark, he spoke to me about you."

"Oh, I bet he did," Wayne said in a bland tone. He suddenly seemed to notice Carla was in a state of undress, a flustered look and a half step away from the front door marking his discomfort at this realization. "I'm sorry, I didn't appreciate it was so late in the evening. Perhaps I should come back another time."

"No, please, come in," Carla said stepping aside. He walked into the hallway and she shut the door behind him. "You are the first visitor since I arrive in Oakfield, I have forgotten all my manners. Can I get you a drink? I only have wine or water."

"A water is fine. Thank you." The man seemed stiff and ill at ease, Carla thought he'd have been better off choosing the wine but she got him the water as requested, Wayne taking the glass with a weak smile, sipping it before setting it aside.

"Ms. Modafferri," he began.

"No, Carla. Please, I insist."

"Fine. Carla. I'd like to talk to you about the team."

"Of course, please go ahead, as I said to your son and the others at training. I prefer plain speaking and honesty. I don't like to waste time with anything else." Carla took a seat at the kitchen table while Wayne stood near the kitchen counter.

"I think we can both agree that the situation as it stands isn't ideal. As I understand it, you teach Literature, Math, Languages and other things. You aren't really a football coach. I, we, the Booster Club and the team parents, we think it would serve the team, the school and the town best if you concentrate on your strengths. Teach in the school and we will take up the role of coaching the Varsity and JV teams until Coach Adams returns." He looked at Carla at the end of that like he half expected her to applaud his generous offer.

Instead, he was met with a brief silence as Carla waited to see if he was finished.

"No," she answered simply.

"No?"

"No," she repeated.

"I'm sorry, maybe it's the language barrier. What do you mean when you say 'no'?"

"You said that we both agree. I don't, so I say no. No language barrier with this."

"But... but," he floundered a moment, picking up the glass of water, half raising it before sitting it back down on the counter top. "You're completely unprepared for the upcoming games. I heard you speaking to the team, well the first part, I didn't hear much after you began talking to Oscar, but you admitted that you know nothing of the game. I don't know what it's like in Italy, but here, in America, we don't like to lose and believe me, with you as Coach, we're going to lose."

"No," Carla said.

"I'm... okay, what was that 'no' about?"

"I am not completely unprepared. Please Wayne," he looked ill at ease with her use of his first name. "Understand that I will work hard... with the team... to prepare for each game. The team, they will come together as a, as a... as a unit, yes. They will bond together, grow in confidence and perform better because I will have them... my English, sorry, I forget sometimes when I get tired. I will have them invested... yes this is the word. We will be a team, stronger for that. I will see them grow as individuals."

"That sounds very nice but..." before he could continue Carla spoke over him.

"You say in America you don't like to lose. You think I like to lose? I know this team has lost. Many, many times. Did you come to this house when Coach Adams was here? Did you say to him, let us take over, in America we don't like to lose? No, you did not. So, you don't come here because you see me as having no experience. You came because I am a woman."

"Now wait a minute," Wayne said, "Are you suggesting..."

"I don't suggest. I told you, I feel in here," Carla grabbed her left breast through the robe, Wayne's eyes widening as her bosom heaved in response to her passionate movement. "I feel it, I say it. It is my way." She stood up, walking to within two feet of the tall black man, staring up at him with her brown eyes.

"I am the coach and that is all there is to say. Perhaps because you are an attractive man, you think you have the right to whatever you want? I can understand this, I do not believe in denying myself. Challenges and new experiences, they make life beautiful. La varietà dà sapore alla vita, variety gives life flavor as they say in my country. So, I don't take offence that you come here to make this demand, I understand. I hope your son has the same qualities, leadership, drive, desires. It will help the team win."

He was clearly having problems knowing how to respond. Seeing she'd outmaneuvered him; Carla thought it was time to end the visit.

"Thank you again for visiting," she took his arm in the same exact way she'd taken Principal Clark's earlier that evening. This time though she pressed her voluptuous body against Wayne Sanders side as she led him to the front door.

He was still trying to respond, jaw working from side to side as he chewed on words left unspoken. Opening the door, Wayne stepped through, turning to raise a hand, a pointed forefinger as he sought to rebalance the scales of the conversation.

"Goodnight. Wayne." Carla pulled the belt of her robe, the fabric parting, a brief glimpse of the olive-toned flesh beneath and then the door closed solidly, leaving a dumbfounded Wayne wondering what the hell had just happened.

He walked back to his car, sitting there for a minute, just staring out the windshield. If she could turn the tables on other teams the way she'd just managed with him, maybe she could get a win for Oakfield.

Wayne went to start the engine and noticed that he was hard as a rock, the sense of her curved body against his arm and side still lingering. Troubled now with thoughts that had damn all to do with high school football, he pulled out from the sidewalk and began his drive home.

<<0>>

"Holy fuck, that was your dad."

"I know, I'm not fucking blind," Oscar snarled at Chris.

"What do you think they were talking about?"

"How would I know?" Oscar said, shrugging.

The two of them continued looking towards Coach Adams'... or should they think of it as Coach Modafferri's house now? Chris had suggested after the training session that they should go check out where the Italian teacher was living, both of them half joking about catching a glimpse of her through the window. The sight of his dad walking out of the house had rocked Oscar however.

"So, we doing this?" Chris was bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxious to cross the road and see what could be seen through the window of the house.

"No. Not tonight anyway. I still got homework to do," Oscar said, his mind now on what his dad would have done if he'd caught his son peering through the window of a woman's house. Worse, what would his mom do to him once his dad had told her. Fear trumped desire and he stood up from behind the bush the two young men had hidden behind, dusting dirt from the knees of his pants.

"Fuck it man. We're so close," Chris objected.

"Up to you bro, I'm going home," Oscar said firmly, turning his back on his friend and Coach Modafferri's house and walking away.

Chris watched as his friend passed through a pool of light from a streetlight, the darkness swallowing him up.

"Pussy," he muttered under his breath. If Oscar didn't have the balls to go through with it, that was his problem. Chris didn't have the luck with girls that Oscar did. Typical quarterback, all flash, charm and good looks. Chris's own performances were as vital to the team as Oscar's, even one with their shit reputation, but that didn't translate into the dates he'd hoped for. Oh, he got some, but never with the girls he really wanted. This time at least, he'd leave Oscar in the shade.

It wasn't easy for someone of his build to sneak up on anything, but staying to the shadows as best he could, Chris managed to work his way up to the side of the Coach's house. He threw a glance about, a sudden thought of a neighbor calling the cops springing to mind. In Arkansas, a black youth outside a single white woman's home, if he got caught by the cops, he'd be dead meat.

All was quiet though, the nearest neighbors all having darkened windows in his direction. Moving to the rear of the house, he peeked through the window. Nobody about, though he could see a half-drunk glass of wine on the table. The window was cracked slightly open, a flowerpot with what looked like a weed growing in it, sat on the outside ledge of the window. He shifted the flowerpot slightly so it would break up the silhouette of his head as he settled in to wait for his new Coach to appear.

Through the window he could hear her voice all of a sudden, it sounded like she was singing though he couldn't make out the words. A few seconds later, Carla, stepped into the kitchen. She was wearing a robe and her dark hair hung down, wet from the shower she'd obviously just left. He'd been right, she was singing to herself, moving about the kitchen with a light step as if dancing.

He watched as she picked up the glass of wine, taking a sip. No sooner had she set the glass back on the table then she gave herself a mock slap on the head, swearing in Italian. He didn't need to speak the language to know she'd forgotten something by her actions. She disappeared out of the kitchen, returning a moment later with a large white tub, a silver lid on top.

'Makeup or cream,' Chris thought to himself. She unscrewed the lid, sniffing the contents with a smile. Outside Chris congratulated himself on his guess. Watching her put night cream on her face wasn't the story of legend he'd hoped to annoy Oscar with the next day, but at least he'd have a story, not like his friend who'd wimped out.

That was when Carla shrugged off her robe, standing utterly naked in her kitchen; both Chris's heart and cock lurched wildly at the sight of her.

The phrase, 'body built for sex' popped into his brain. One of those taglines he'd probably picked up from the porn he liked to watch on his laptop when his parents were out for a few hours and he knew he could jerk off uninterrupted.

In Carla's case the tag line was made to measure. He supposed she was of average height, 5'3, and when he'd seen her at the first training session running laps in her jersey and shorts, he'd already gotten a good idea of her curves. Seeing them revealed as they were now, he was able to appreciate them on a new level. Not that he was experienced enough to judge but he was running lecherous eyes over a 32H-25-40 figure, Carla's sun darkened skin showing not even the faintest trace of a tan line.

She dipped two fingers into the tub of cosmetics, dabbing it in small splotches across her body. Then she began to work it across her skin, coating her toned figure with care and attention. She paused, lifting the wine glass delicately by its stem to take another sip before continuing. Chris was mesmerized, watching as his Coach brought her hand over her flat stomach, the tips of her fingers almost touching the small, thin, triangular shaped strip of pubic hair. He moved as if in a dream, unzipping his pants to pull out his hard black cock. As Carla continued to rub cream into her body, the eighteen-year-old high school student began to vigorously jerk off as he watched her.

It was just as well that her nightly routine was not a quick one, Carla ensuring she got to every reachable part of her skin, because Chris wasn't a quick shot. His hand rubbed the length of his cock at speed, the young man desperate to finish before she disappeared from view or covered herself up. At home in the comfort of his own bedroom, he'd have had some lube to keep the friction down but despite the growing heat of his hand on his cock, Chris was too transfixed by the naked woman to think of even spitting in his own hand.

His coach was just about finishing, circular passes of her hands that worked the cream into her large firm breasts, when Chris felt he was about to nut. A stab of panic overcame him when he thought of leaving a wad of cum for her to find the next day. Desperate and desperately close, he snatched the flowerpot from the window ledge, stifling a grunt as his cock began to throb in release. Wads of cum shot from the tip, decorating the weed that filled the center of the pot. Strands of his sperm hung thick from the leaves, giving the whole mess a look of some midget Christmas tree.

"Hello?"

The scrape of the flowerpot on the ledge or perhaps his grunting ejaculation had carried to Carla's ears and he could see her pulling on her robe, trying to peer into the dark backyard. Flowerpot tucked under his arm like a football, Chris pounded around the side of the house, out into the street. He ran faster, longer and harder than he had in training that afternoon. He'd covered a mile before he had the sense to throw the flowerpot into a trash can.

Back home and in his bed, Chris killed the lights in his room after he'd reached for some lube and a wad of paper tissues. He had no need of porn, no concern of his parents hearing anything. With the image of Carla so fresh in his memory, he needed to jerk off again. Fuck Oscar, this wasn't something he was about to share.

Chapter Four:

Wayne Sanders swung his legs free of the bed, sitting upright. He rolled his head, hearing the soft cracks in his neck as he worked the stiffness from it. Behind him, his wife Donna slept on; she only muttered in sleepy objection to the sound of his alarm going off, falling back into a deep sleep as soon as he'd silenced it. He stood up and headed towards the master bathroom, scratching his chest idly as he did so.

Closing the door behind him so as not to disturb Donna, Wayne turned on the shower and took a piss while waiting on it to heat up. He always woke at six am, a habit he'd formed as a younger man. Starting out in life, Wayne had worked as a laborer on a construction crew travelling thirty miles to work. Now at forty-three, he owned his own construction firm and could if he wanted to take advantage of that with the occasional lie in. It wasn't in his nature though; he preferred being at the fore front of everything.

That was what had made him moderately successful in his business, working his way up from the bottom. It also made him a bit of a control freak at home. From buying a new bathroom mat all the way up to decisions on Oscar's college funds, Wayne took the lead on all decision making. He'd gotten involved with the Booster club for much the same reason, wanting to have a say in his son's athletic experiences in high school. He would have joined the PTA as well only except for its predilection for cake sales and the tendency for its ranks to be filled with gossiping mothers.

He stepped beneath the shower's spray, taking real pleasure from the feeling of the water washing across his still strong body. Wayne had played football in high school as a linebacker and had always had a powerful build. The physicality of working on construction after that had kept him strong; his wife's lack of skill as a cook had kept him lean as well.

He began soaping himself up with shower gel, his mind running over the tasks he needed to complete that day. There were two meetings with clients, a meeting with the bank regarding a parcel of land he was looking to develop, and Donna had asked him to make a run to the store before lunch to pick up supplies for the BBQ that afternoon. He had a lot on his plate, from a business perspective, but as he continued to wash, Wayne found his thoughts centering on the BBQ.

It had been a week now since Carla Modafferri had become coach of his son's team and Wayne had spent more time on that subject than any other. His preoccupation with it had even been noticed by Donna. She'd spent ten minutes over dinner talking to him about... something... and had lost her temper when it became clear he hadn't heard a word she'd said. Wayne had soothed her, citing business concerns. Had Donna not been so annoyed, she might have become suspicious; in their twenty years of marriage Wayne had made a point of leaving work behind when he came home.

It didn't bother him that an Italian woman was now the football coach... okay it did a little but setting aside his male ego and looking at the potential upsides, he couldn't fault the mayor or Principal Clark. Anyway, she'd impressed him at the practice he'd watched, forthright in addressing her limitations, but had capably settled into the role of leader while at the same time empowering every member of the team. She was indeed an impressive woman.

None of that was the reason he found his mind drifting to her, night after night. Wayne hadn't looked at another woman since marrying Donna... okay, he'd looked but never touched. There was just something about this woman though, the way she'd outmaneuvered him, flirted with him... challenged him.

Wayne caught himself, vigorously soaping his cock, the long black shaft as hard as granite now as he recalled the fleeting glimpse Carla had offered him, pulling her robe apart just as her front door had closed in his face. He shook his head, removing his hand from his own cock with an effort of will. He sluiced the suds clear of his body, taking his time over brushing his teeth as he waited for his cock to soften. Once it had, he returned to the bedroom, dressing quickly while Donna snored lightly on her side of the bed. Ready, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hey Pops," Oscar greeted Wayne from the kitchen table as Wayne stepped into the room.

"Morning son. You're up early."

"Figured I'd get a quick run in before heading to school."

Wayne liked what he was hearing. Oscar had been one of those kids who was blessed from the outset with speed, skill, dexterity, looks and brains. None of which would be an asset to him unless he developed a strong work ethic to go along with them. Fine, it was just a week, but he'd noticed a change in his son's attitude as regards the team.

"Get you some cereal?"

"No, I'm good thanks Oscar. Coffee will do for now." Wayne stepped to the counter to get his brew going, glancing over at his son who was munching through a bowl of Captain Crunch. "Hey, I didn't get a chance to talk to you. I heard David and Peter quit the team?"

"Yeah, they said they couldn't play for a woman... Assholes," Oscar said, mouth half full.

Wayne knew both boys' parents and as early as the start of last year's season, they'd been making noises about pulling their son's back from athletic extracurricular activities that would be better spent studying. With the team's performance, there wasn't much of an enticement for the players beyond a love of the game. It didn't strike Wayne as unusual that David and Peter had chosen to cover their parents' decision with the convenient excuse that Coach Carla's presence offered.

"Aside from that, how are things going with your coach?" For a moment Wayne thought his son had an embarrassed look on his face, though it might have just been the way he was swallowing his cereal before answering.

"It's good. I mean Coach knows nothing about tactics and plays but she's learning and a lot of us are good with running the plays on the field, Coach is backing us to make the right calls. Training's a bitch though, she is working us hard."

Wayne covered his brain's leap back towards the memory of Carla in her robe when his son spoke of her 'working us hard' with a sip from his coffee mug.

"When you say a lot of you are good with her taking a back seat on tactics... are there some of the guys not as open to it as you?"

"You know how it is, Pops, always gonna be some guys talking shit." Oscar picked up his bowl and spoon, carrying them over to the dishwasher.

"True but at the end of the day, she's the Coach and you be sure to respect her. She wasn't wrong about you being a key player. But remember that's on and off the field. Make sure those guys who are talking shit don't take it to the point of disrespect," Wayne said firmly.

"Sure thing. You and mom going to the BBQ this evening?"

"Yes, the PTA is putting on a welcome event for Coach Modafferri. I'll leave you some cash on the kitchen counter, order yourself a pizza or something. Or head out, it's a Friday after all." With that, Wayne bumped fists with his son and headed out to his car, leaving Oscar to get ready for his run.

<<0>>

Carla watched from the sidelines as the team practiced on the school's football field. She'd run training sessions every day this first week wanting to get to know all her players and for them to know her.

By and large things had gone well. Two players had quit after the second day but Principal Clark had assured her that it wasn't to be taken as a reflection on her position as Coach. There were still some players she knew weren't fully convinced that she had what it took to lead them but for Carla, that made the job all the more satisfying of a challenge.

She watched the offense and defense line out against one another with Oscar Sanders running the offensive play and Chris Dye the linchpin on defense. The ball was snapped back by the center to Oscar who immediately began moving back.

She nodded in satisfaction, already seeing a change for the better in the young man as he kept a wider focus, searching for the opportunity to pass while at the same time frustrating any attempt to be tackled by adding speed to his footwork.

His arm snapped forward, the spin on the ball lending it stability as it sped toward Tony Campbell, the wide receiver. Just as he was reaching out to snatch the ball from the air, a large figure thundered forward to place himself between Tony and the ball, leaping to pull the leather projectile into his chest.

"Eccellente! Well done, excellent," Carla called out, hands cupped to the sides of her mouth. "Very good Chris, very good turn around."

"Jesus Christ," Tony said loudly enough to be heard. "It's a fucking turnover." Clearly irritated, the young man pushed his helmet back, so that the sweat darkened blonde hair was revealed. He spat contemptuously onto the grass. "Stupid fucking bitch," he said darkly, those three words carrying further than he probably intended.

"The fuck you say?" Chris soon had a handful of Tony's jersey in a big black fist, forcing the slighter built young man to stumble forward.

"Get the fuck off me asshole," Tony said slapping ineffectually at Chris's arm. When Chris didn't let go, Tony tried pulling away with a similar lack of success. "The fuck is your problem? That's the third time she's managed to say the wrong fucking thing. It'd bother you if you weren't looking to suck up to her all the time. You that desperate? Think she's gonna open her sexy legs for you if you kiss her ass enough?"

By this point Oscar and a few others had drawn close enough to overhear the argument.

"Say that again, say that shit again and I'll show you who's the bitch around here," Chris said, real heat in his voice, the shake in it coming from a pent-up need to unleash violence.

Carla's voice carried over to them from the sidelines.

"What's happening? We are meant to be..." She paused to check her notes. "We are meant to be running plays, yes? Perhaps you prefer to run laps instead?"

"It's cool Coach," Oscar called out. "That's right isn't it. It's all good. Right Chris? Tony?"

"Yeah," Tony said quickly.

"Ugh," Chris grunted, slowly releasing his hold on Tony's uniform.

Oscar looked from his friend Chris's glowering face to Tony's ashen pallor. He threw a glance towards Matt Robinson III, the biggest player on the field. The big man caught Oscar's meaning immediately, turning to where Carla stood, removing his helmet so his dimpled fresh face could be seen.

"Coach, you said you wanted to quit early, right? You have that thing with the PTA?" Matt shrugged, looking around at the field of tense players. "This is early, yeah?"

"Grazie Matt, you remembered for me. Yes. Good work everyone. Remember we have just two weeks before our first game so Monday, we start talking about turkey for our game plan."

"Talking Turkey," Tony muttered. Chris took a half step towards him but this time it was Matt who stepped between the two teammates.

"Let it go. Both of you."

"C'mon Chris, let's get everyone picking up the equipment so Coach can get to her thing, kewl?" Oscar plucked at his friend's arm and reluctantly Chris allowed himself to be led away.

Matt punched Tony good humoredly on the arm, the rest of the team relaxing as the tension was broken, moving slowly to gather up the equipment, following Oscar's example.

"What was that about?" Matt looked at Tony, seeing the other young man was shaken by Chris's reaction.

"No clue," Tony spat again, cuffing away a trace of spittle on his lips with a hand that trembled slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through him. "I thought it was just our new Coach that got PMS."

Chuckling, the two of them went to join the others tidying up.

<<0>>

Carla wasn't sure what the dress code was for a PTA BBQ in Arkansas, but with the summer heat still lingering she opted to wear a white short sleeved casual long dress. It was backless, off shoulder with puffed sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that showed her cleavage off nicely without straying into unrefined territory. The dress had a split that allowed her toned leg to be seen as it swished about her when walking.

Principal Clark and his wife had collected her from her home so that Carla wouldn't have to arrive alone. His wife Eileen had chattered away on the short drive. Of an age with her husband, she had a motherly disposition that set Carla at ease.

The BBQ was being held at the home of one Nicola Simpson, the head of the PTA. Her home was one of the larger residences in Oakfield and had a large backyard; its manicured lawn sporting a tented pavilion around which a number of tables and chairs had been arranged. To one side, a huge brick BBQ station was set, the people around it all men.

Even as Carla walked into the party accompanied by the Clarks, she could hear these men arguing good naturedly about the quality and manner of the meat being cooked. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard someone speaking about 'fried pickles?

The next hour was a blur of new faces and names, some of whom she was able to commit to memory through an extended conversation with the people they belonged to, the majority however were lost to her.

The hostess, Nicola Simpson, turned out to be a woman in her forties with platinum blonde hair and a smile that screamed falsehood by way of its fixed position on her face. The attendees all seemed of an age, Carla at twenty-seven was probably the youngest there by a good ten years.

For the most part, the husbands' of the members of the PTA kept their distance, clustering in groups around the food laden tables, the BBQ itself or the keg of beer that had been set up beneath the pavilion. She couldn't swear to it, but Carla suspected this was by direction of their wives. The ladies themselves were friendly enough, bombarding the young Italian teacher with questions about her country, requests for anecdotes, seeking information on Milan, Florence, Rome as they bemoaned the lack of anything approaching style or culture in their own hometown.

Wayne Sanders showed up about thirty minutes after Carla's arrival with his wife Donna, another member of the PTA. Donna and Nicola appeared to be the firmest of friends and while Carla couldn't find herself able to find any real sincerity in Nicola, Donna came across as advertised. A handsome black woman, friendly if a little vacuous.

"No really, you have to tell me, why on earth would you want to come here? I mean... Oakfield, it's hardly New York now, is it?" Nicola, her husband George, Donna and Wayne were standing in a rough semi-circle before Carla, all five of them holding drinks. She'd been here about three hours now and it had felt more like six.

"For me it was a chance to see another country, to sample something of its culture. It is all new to me here and... ahh, new things have a beauty themselves, yes?"

"Oh my God, never... never would I believe someone would describe Oakfield as 'having a beauty'," Nicola tittered.

"For me I think yes, it has a... as you say, a quaint charm?"

"Beauty and charm, well you must be talking about my wife," George quipped quickly; Nicola patting him on the shoulder, pleased with his response.

"Well, all I know is Oscar is a huge fan of yours and for that boy to be excited about something... well that's a god given miracle," Donna said, giving Carla a pleased smile. "Coach said this, Coach speaks this language, Coach read this book. I don't know how you find the time to do it all."

"I think, if there is something you want, then you make the effort, si? Your husband, he will understand this I think," Carla said, turning her gaze to Wayne.

"Wayne? What do you mean?"

"Well, he wanted you clearly and he got you, si? This is how it should be."

Donna laughed, shaking her head and taking a hold of Wayne's hand affectionately. Wayne himself looked less at ease.

"This is how I wish to live my life. I... ahh, so many new idioms I have tried to learn since I got here. 'Sin in the game', 'John Hancock', 'touch base'..."

"Skin, not sin," Wayne corrected her.

"Scusi?"

"It's 'skin in the game'."

"Oh sorry, skin, sin, sin, skin. Now in my head it is a different conversation." Carla laughed as did George and Nicola. Donna didn't, not following, Wayne didn't, following all too well.

"Scusi, I went... off the track, yes? The new idiom I learned, to describe my new life here. 'To take a bull by his horn', si? This is right? I wish to enjoy my time among you all. We say 'Vivi la tua vita al meglio', live your life to its fullest. So, I will find this bull and his big horn and pull it hard."

"Oh my god, you are just the most precious..." Nicola said.

"No missing opportunity when it come, yes, you agree Wayne?" Wayne turned his face to Carla as she asked him, skin around his eyes tightening as he mentally begged her to drop the conversation.

"Oh hell, don't get Wayne started on missed opportunities. Damn, he'll be talking about the Razorbacks blowing a 21:7 lead over Oklahoma State in week two all over again," George chuckled, slapping Wayne on the back.

"Football?" Carla asked, head tilting.

"Yes," Donna said smiling. "If I didn't live with two men obsessed with it, I'd be like you, having to ask."

"Well, if we are talking about football then I think I need to say goodnight. I have a lot to do this weekend to prepare for the training on Monday," Carla said. She turned to Nicola, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Thank you so much for welcoming me to your home, for... for your generosity, a beautiful BBQ. The food... so good."

"You really must go?" Nicola looked genuinely sad, though Carla suspected only because she was losing her entertainment.

"Yes, I can maybe ask you to call an Uber for me?"

"I'll run her back," Wayne said.

"Don't be ridiculous, you've had four beers already," Donna said, slapping Wayne playfully on the stomach. "You aren't driving anyone anywhere. Poor girl only got here and you're showing her all manner of bad habits. Sheriff takes DUI's seriously around here Carla, don't you let my husband corrupt you now."

"Assolutamente, absolutely," Carla smiled at Wayne who wished he'd never spoken now.

"Okay, let me get you that Uber," George said, pulling out his phone.

Chapter Five:

Chris edged past the brighter lit areas as he approached Carla's home. He'd learned some lessons from his first night spying on her, dressed now in dark clothes and with a wad of tissues stuffed in his pants pocket to avoid leaving a mess.

The car that had dropped his sexy football coach home had departed five minutes before and he'd forced himself to wait that long before beginning his approach to the house. The night following jerking off to the sight of Carla smoothing skin cream across her body, the young man had been too nervous to return. He'd kept quiet about what he'd seen and done, even to Oscar who he normally shared everything with. Thankfully, the sight of his father leaving the Coach's house had meant Oscar hadn't brought up the idea of the two of them peering through the Coach's window again. That hadn't kept Oscar from talking about her, incessantly, and his admiration for Carla was sending spikes of jealousy not only through Chris but also through Oscar's girlfriend Lauryn.

The third night, a Wednesday, Oscar had returned to find that Carla's routine seemed unchanged, the gorgeous Italian woman enjoying a glass of wine in the evening while anointing herself with her beauty products. He'd jerked off with less haste, savoring each ripple of her firm flesh as she worked the cream into her skin. Thursday night had gone more or less the same way, except for a slight scare when a neighbor's dog had set to barking for no reason; Chris briefly panicking that he'd be discovered.

Now here he was again, Friday night, unable to stay away. Normally he'd be out hanging with Oscar and others, enjoying himself. Instead, he was doing the world's worst impression of a cat burglar, dressed head to toe in black, sneaking around a single white woman's house. Probably the dumbest thing he'd ever done and that was one high fricking bar!

The kitchen light was on and he slowed his approach as he neared the window. Since he'd removed the flower pot the other night, he had to be careful as he peeked through the window to not be spotted. Easing slowly around the edge, Chris could see there was nobody in the kitchen at that moment, though the glass of wine his coach typically prepared herself was already sitting on the table. He waited, figuring Carla was in her bedroom gathering her jar of cosmetics.

"Chris?"

The young black man managed to spin a hundred and eighty degrees while at the same time jumping clear off his feet at the sound of his name being spoken. With his heart hammering in his chest, he saw Coach Carla standing just a few feet from him, having obviously come from the front of the house and around the side to catch him. He needed to think fast and needed a good, solid answer as to why he was here at her kitchen window.

"Umm," Chris said, mind blank. Not a great start.

"I am surprised. With all the exercise you get this week. I did not expect to see you here tonight," Carla said.

"Uh. Exercise? Umm, here tonight?"

"Yes, I think to myself, I have made the team train so much, they will be tired. Now here you are, walking at my house so late," she said with a soft smile that made Chris wince as his cock grew hard at the sight of it.

"Yeah, uh, walking," he said, the words uncertain and far from ringing with sincerity.

"Brrr, cold to be walking," Carla said, letting herself shiver in her thin white dress. Chris shoved a hand into his pants pocket, pinching himself hard so as to curb his tongue; the sight of her flesh moving as she trembled with cold made him want to groan with desire.

"Come inside, too cold to talk here." Carla didn't brook or expect any argument, turning and heading back to the front of the house. She paused at the corner, looking back at the young man who hadn't moved a muscle.

"Avanti Chris, come," she said and walked on. Shivering now himself, with fear and adrenaline, Chris followed.

Carla continued talking once Chris caught her up, speaking about how cold the evenings got in Oakview compared to her home in Italy at this time of year. She closed the front door, still talking as she walked to the kitchen. All the still stunned Chris could add to the conversation was the occasional 'uh-huh'. In the kitchen, Carla moved to the refrigerator, starting to lift out a bottle of wine before stopping.

"Stupida," she said in exasperation. "I forget again. Here in America, you cannot drink until twenty-one, si?"

"Si, uh, yes Coach," Chris said.

"I get you a coke then," Carla offered, pulling out a can and walking over as if to place it in the tall, burly teenager's hand.

"I am correct, you are not twenty-one?" Carla asked.

"Uh yes coach, I'm eighteen." She nodded and passed him the can, turning and moving elegantly to where her glass of wine rested on the kitchen table. He could barely drag his eyes from her swaying form, the dress folding around her prominent, alluring rump. Chris broke the tab on his coke, slurping back a mouthful. He had no idea where this was going. That Coach Carla had a way of approaching things that was fresh and novel was a given; he could only assume this was another facet of her unusual take on life. He'd spent so many hours this last week lost in fantasies and dreams about this stunning woman that the urge to pinch himself a second time was quite strong; he felt he must surely be in bed asleep.

"Eighteen," Carla said. "In Italy you can drink at eighteen. I remember I was much younger when I would taste a little wine at dinner with my family. So strange to me, this rule in America. You already look like a man, but you cannot drink. You can work, si? Go to a war, drive a car. All this you can do now. You can get married, you can make love to a woman, but you are not allowed to sip some good vino. So strange."

The sound of Chris's big hand crunching dents in the aluminum can when Carla mentioned making love was obvious and she smiled once again at the embarrassed look on the young man's face. Chris pants felt a size too small as she turned that smile on him.

"You know this house?" Carla asked, waving a hand towards the interior of her home.

"Uh, no Coach. I mean, just from, you know, passing is all."

"So, when Coach Adam's lived here, you, the team, you do not come here to talk with your Coach?"

"No Ma'am. Never."

"Okay, so you don't come to... masturbarsi... outside Coach Adams' window when he was here?"

"Uh... mastur... uh... umm, what?" Chris had a good idea but he couldn't meet her eye at that moment, much less make the translation.

"You know, touching yourself, si? Watching, touching, giving yourself pleasure," Carla's voice was mild as she said this; Chris though, was too astonished by her words so he didn't pick up on the lack of heat in her voice.

"I... I... uh, shit, umm. You... you saw that?" Carla's laugh was rich in timbre spilling forth as she raised her glass to her lips for a sip.

"Chris. Please. You are a very... impressive in size... you understand? You think I will not notice the very big black man standing at my window?"

"Jesus, uhh, please, please don't call my folks. Or the cops. It... I... please Coach, I'm begging you," he felt close to tears at that moment. Humiliation, fear... if it got out, he'd have to leave town. Nobody would ever let him hear the end of it.

Carla took another sip of wine, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table, her forehead creased as if in serious thought. The large youth's boots scraped on the tiles of the kitchen floor as he shifted his weight, nervously waiting on her decision.

"La riparazione," she finally said in Italian, this doing nothing for Chris's anxious state as he blinked at her clueless.

"Ah... my English. I forget... wait... redress, si?" Chris shook his head slightly, not following.

"Balance, we need to make this balance, you understand?"

"N-n-no Coach," Chris stammered, though he was starting to understand he might get out of this without the authorities or worse, his parents, finding out. Carla gave him another of those pant straining smiles, her pink tongue then playing across the front of her teeth.

"You see me, so now, I see you," she said, watching as comprehension finally dawned on the muscular player.

"Wuh... uhh... seriously?" There was another crinkling sound of aluminum being distorted as Chris clenched his fists. His coach, however, remained cool and collected; taking a seat at the table, raising her wine glass in a salute. Aside from the normal misgivings about stripping naked in front of someone, the teenager had the added issue that he was still at least three quarters erect. He knew the right call was to just walk away, but Carla's unpredictability up to this point left him unsure as to how she'd respond to an outright refusal. He heaved a sigh and began to strip down.

<<0>>

As the young man began pulling his top off, Carla found herself leaning a little forward in anticipation. She'd been under pressure this last week looking to make a good first impression on everyone. Back home, she'd have gone out and found a man for a night of meaningless sex without a second thought. In this small town in Arkansas, finding herself already the lead topic on everyone's gossip list, that option just wasn't on the table. For a brief second at the BBQ, she'd felt sure that Wayne Sanders was going to cave, drive her home and fuck her. From the moment he'd turned up at her door, so self-righteous and confident, Carla had wanted him. There was something else beneath that public image of businessman, husband, father, pillar of the community. Something darker. She was interested in seeing it manifest. Having met his wife, she had grown even more confident that he'd fold eventually. But eventually wasn't going to satisfy her needs right now.

Chris showing up had offered her a different opportunity to get off. She'd been aware of him from the first night he'd spied on her; choosing to let him do so for the thrill she got knowing she was manipulating the situation and not him. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't think of being with a student. Not from any ethical reservations, but just because she didn't believe a young man like that would be able to remain discrete. However, she'd had more than a little to drink and so was willing to take that chance. Also, she'd never been with a black man before and was quite eager to give herself a new experience.

Chris had removed his top and Carla was impressed with his powerful upper body she saw him hesitating, hands hovering over his belt so she cleared her throat and waved a hand impatiently. Her eyes tracked the descent of his pants and widening as she finally saw what he'd concealed within them. The young man had unveiled what was easily the largest cock she'd seen in the flesh. And it wasn't fully hard. He was clearly uncomfortable, his arms moving in hesitant jerking motions as he fought the desire to cover himself up. Carla lifted her glass, draining back the remaining wine and stood up to move around the table to stand before him.

"Very good, Bravo. Balance, si?" Chris nodded silently.

"Good. Now tell me the truth. You came to my window, pleasuring yourself because you want me? Is this correct?" Again, the black youth could only nod in shameful agreement.

"Bene, good. Tell me one more thing, and answer with honesty. Are you able to be quiet about things? To keep secrets?"

Chris began to shrug, then figured his coach meant about what he'd seen when peering through her window this last week. He gave an emphatic nod, wanting her to know he had no intention of this story making its way into public.

Carla clapped her hands together in satisfaction. Then, watching as Chris's face moved through a number of emotions, settling into a gawking lust filled expression, she reached behind to unzip her dress, allowing it to fall to the floor. She stepped out of the circle of fabric, wearing just a pearl white bra and panties and the white three-inch heeled shoes she'd worn to compliment her dress.

Carla moved with the same lazy, swaying gait that had pulled Chris's eyes to her ass earlier, heading out of the kitchen and down the hallway to pause at the bedroom door. She looked behind her to where Chris still stood, his big cock swelling to its full size.

"Avanti Chris, come," she said, the same words she'd used to call him into the house to begin with. Dumbstruck, awestruck, cunt-struck... Chris broke into a jog as he followed his coach into her bedroom.

Carla felt the passage of air stir her hair as he sped through the door, skidding to a halt on feet still covered by his socks. She closed the bedroom door firmly and his head whipped around, looking his age with the mix of nervous eagerness on his face. Still, she saw him hesitate as thought no doubt crowded his mind.

"Umm coach?"

"Please, Carla, call me Carla for now."

"Sure, yeah, Carla. Is this... you know... should we be... doin' this?"

She let out a throaty chuckle at this question.

"Yes, of course. Unless. Chris? Dio mio... are you a virgin?" Carla laughed again at this thought, harder at the irritated look that displaced the nervousness on his face.

"Fuck no," Chris stated.

"Good," Carla said, stepping towards him quickly, sinking to her knees as she reached him. He gave the slightest of flinches as she wrapped a hand around his cock.

"Strong... big... hard...," Carla commented softly as she moved her fist along his length. "Is this what you were thinking about when you were watching me?" She held his cock at the base now, bringing her face close and running her tongue up its length.

"Holy fuck," he hissed, "Yes, yes coach... dis exactly what I was thinkin' of."

"Carla," she said in reproach, her tongue moving in a lazy circle around his plum-sized head. Carla hadn't realized exactly how horny she was until this moment. The feel and taste of this young man's extraordinarily big cock had her worked up already. As she lowered her mouth to take the tip of his cock inside, she moved her free hand to rest between her own legs, caressing her clit through the underwear covering it.

"Mmmmh," Carla said, sucking on four inches of his cock, heading bobbing slowly over it. She moved her hand that still had a hold of his shaft up its length till her fingers brushed over the part of his hardness that had been moistened by her mouth. In time with her head, Carla stroked her clenched hand up and down, bathing his cock with her saliva.

"Fu-fuck... I mean... Jesus... your mouth... fuck," Chris moaned. She swallowed a bit deeper, enjoying the sudden gasping intake of breath from the black youth. He might not be a virgin but he'd never been with a woman like Carla Modafferri either.

The blowjob was having as profound an effect on Carla as it was on Chris. She lifted the hand that had been rubbing with increasing need between her legs and had it joined with the other one that was stroking his cock furiously. Her mouth strained to take more inside, her hands pulling on his length, feeding hard black flesh into her warm wet mouth. A layer of her spit had now covered the entirety of his length and Carla marveled at its rigidity, texture and sheer size. He hadn't had Carla Modafferri before, but Carla had never encountered a penis like this either.

She took her mouth from it, giving a quick lick to the tip, then spitting on it, looking up into Chris's face as she pumped her hands along its length rapidly.

"What else did you think about? When you touch yourself outside my window, you think about more than this?"

"Uhhh, yes, yes Carla."

"Tell me, tell me what you think about," Carla said, kissing the tip briefly, her eyes not leaving his face.

"Fuck... thought about fucking you," Chris moaned, hips rocking forward slightly, trying to get his meat back in her mouth.

Carla pulled her face out of reach, her long hair fanning across Chris's cock as she smoothly rolled to her feet. Her hand moved to seize his cock and the twenty-seven-year-old teacher and coach led her eighteen-year-old star linebacker to her bed. At five foot three, Carla was almost a foot smaller than Chris's six-two but she had little difficulty in controlling him.

Reaching the bed, Carla put a hand on his gym sculpted chest, pushing with a soft insistence so that he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out towards her but, with a dancer's grace, Carla avoided his clutching hand.

Instead, she moved a little away, again taking enormous pleasure in watching his desire mount as she began to remove her remaining clothes. The strapless bra came loose with a twist of its clasp, the panties needing a tug to separate the fabric from the damp hold of her excited pussy.

He might have seen her nude before, but the difference between squinting through a grimy window and being an arm's length away was as deep and wide as the Atlantic Ocean Carla had crossed to reach Arkansas.

"You want to fuck me, Chris?"

"Fuck yes," he began stroking his own cock in need, her body remaining just out of reach.

"So, you tell me. In Italy, words can bring beauty, spark... ah, infatuation, between a man and a woman. Show me how an American student can talk, tell me what you think." She was teasing him, running her hands over her stomach, her breasts as she'd done each night, he'd thought he was spying on her unobserved. He didn't get it though, face creasing in consternation as he tried to think what she'd want to hear.

"Umm," Chris hated the thought that popped into his head, that Oscar would be doing so much better than him right now. Another thought then chased that recrimination from his mind. Oscar wasn't here and Oscar didn't just get his cock sucked by the Coach.

"Umm, you're beautiful. An'... an' you sexy an' stuff."

"Beautiful, sexy... more Chris, tell me more," Carla purred, fingers twitching across nipples that were hard, fat and long.

"Shit... uh, sorry Coach, I mean Carla. Uh, you beautiful an' sexy... an' you got an' ass like a Kardashian," he said, speaking quickly, hoping to move through this. When Carla didn't interrupt, he continued with more confidence if not eloquence. "Yeah, you got like a phat ass, a smokin' body an' fuck... I just want to fuck you so fuckin' hard, wanna make you cum on ma big dick an' shit."

Carla moved closer, closing the gap so rapidly he thought he'd overstepped somehow and she was about to land a slap across his face. Instead, she pushed him back with surprising strength so that his shoulder blades landed on the soft mattress of the bed. Before he could stir, she was climbing onto his lap, her silky-smooth skin rubbing against his feverishly hot flesh.

"Do it then, fuck me and make me cum on this big dick," she said, her hand guiding his tip to the entrance to her vagina. Carla had enough of teasing him, she needed to be fucked.

She set the head of his cock in place, sinking onto it with a soft hiss reflecting the size of what she was beginning to impale herself on. His cock was literally stretching her, Carla could feel the hard flesh pressing tight against the soft walls of her pussy. It felt glorious. She pressed back and down a little harder; slowly enjoying the new sensation of being filled to the perfect extent. Not just filled, this big dick was cramming its way inside the tightness of her body. A large, welcomed guest within her that was moving the furniture and basically remodeling the space it was occupying.

"Dios Mio," Carla said in a breathless sob as she took half his length, biting on her bottom lip as a wave of pleasure suddenly drenched her.

Chris, excited beyond belief and with the limited patience of all eighteen-year-olds, suddenly began jerking his hips trying to press more of himself inside her. The lips of her pussy, stretched wide by his girth, dragged themselves along a couple of inches of his shaft as he began to drive in and out quickly.

"Ohhhh," Carla said, falling forward, her big breasts mashing against his chest; her beautiful face pressing against his own cruder visage. Chris was short on looks but long on cock and Carla was well happy with the tradeoff.

"Oh, Ah, AH," Carla exclaimed as he picked up speed, caught off guard by his youthful power. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as an orgasm was pounded out of her, the Italian woman pressing her lips to Chris's in a passionate kiss as soon as the brief but powerful climax faded. She broke the kiss, pushing herself up on her hands and looking down at the younger man.

"Yes, good, so good. You made me cum so good," she said now taking over, riding him at a pace she dictated.

Chris groaned, Carla feeling her pussy sucking on his cock with tightening muscle spasms. She'd gone into this thinking it might be a distraction from Wayne, a pleasing way to relieve her stress. Pleasing wasn't the word for it though, the young flesh inside her sending ribbons of orgasmic energy fluttering through her body.

She came. Harder this time. Longer. Carla stiffened in place, wallowing in the sensations like a pig in mud, mouth agape once more with another mute scream of pleasure stretching her lips wide.

The young man beneath her wasn't oblivious to the effect he was having either. She'd knocked his confidence with the control she'd taken from the moment she'd discovered him outside her house. Now though, he was coming around to the fact that, like on the football field, he could take the initiative.

Chris grabbed her arms, stuffing them behind her back so that Carla slumped against his hard chest again, her nipples throbbing as they rubbed against his firm chest. He held her wrists crossed against each other and began driving into her. Faster, harder and deeper than before.

"Si, si, si, si," Carla gasped as the cock beat its way into her soft body.

"Yeah, cum again, cum on ma dick. Cum on ma black dick Coach," Chris grunted, driving his length into her with flesh slapping impacts.

"Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhhh," she wailed, giving voice to the energy that burst like white heat in her pussy. The force of his pounding sent her body inching up his, her large breasts sandwiched beneath his chin while she shrieked her orgasm against the top of his head.

"Shit Coach, let's do dis thing," Chris said, lifting her clear of him, taking charge now.

"Carla," she said.

"Nah, Coach."

He settled her on all fours, pushing his cock into her. Stroke after stroke, each one growing in force. Carla gripped the bed spread, manicured nails tearing and ripping at the cover as he beat the air from her lungs with the sort of tackling power, he normally unleashed when sacking a quarterback.

"Unngh, unngh, si, si, unngh, make me cum," she moaned.

"Fuck, yo ass, fuckin' sexy," Chris said, his hands full of her rounded butt cheeks. He delivered a slap to one, the burning sting as he smacked it leapfrogging Carla towards yet another orgasm.

"Si, uhhh, smack me again, do it, smack me again," she urged him, wincing as he did so but feeling the glow on her ass reflected a thousand times hotter in the burgeoning orgasm inside her.

He hammered away, big cock punishing her as severely as his open hand had; the orgasm expanding inside her, Carla not knowing how she could contain it.

"I wanna see... wanna see yo face when you cum," Carla heard Chris say from behind her. He pulled out, a sensation of loss as the big cock extracted itself from the wet grasp of her pussy. She was so close and an aching sob burbled from her mouth at the moment the head of his cock brushed free. Her long hair was wet from sweat and Carla plucked tendrils of it free of her face where it had stuck. She turned around to see Chris still kneeling on the bed, eyes burning like hot coals in his sweat-streaked face.

Carla, on her knees as well, skittered forward, kissing his thick, soft lips deeply. Her own gaze was as feverish as the young man's, the coiled energy of the climax still seeking its release made her feel like she was burning up from the inside out.

This time it was Chris who pushed her, Carla falling onto her back, expecting Chris to drop on top of her in a missionary position. However, he scooped her up, positioning Carla into a crab pose so that her feet were flat on the bed, her hands planted under her shoulders, the fingers towards her heels. Chris was between her legs and that big cock was once more inside her.

He held her, hands on the small of her back as they pounded against each other. Her breasts were flying about in wild abandon as her body humped onto his driving cock.

"You wanna cum? Chris grunted, staring at her.

"Si, si, uhhh, I want," she moaned, needing just a minute more, a final push, the climax torturing her with exquisite malevolence, so near, yet so far.

"Shit, oh shit, I'm fuckin' close Carla, Coach... Coach Carla, gonna nut soon," his teeth bared bright as he grimaced.

"Ohhhh, unng, si, ti prego, ti prego, you finish, I cum," she pleaded.

"Fuckin' cummin' now," Chris yelled, pounding his orgasm home; cock throbbing almost painfully against the sensitive nerve ending in Carla's heavenly sheath. It put her over the edge, her own wail joining his as she spasmed in his arms, multiple waves of pleasures sweeping through her and stomach muscles clenching as she hunkered over in his grip.

"Cummin' on, ma, big, black, dick." Chris punctuated his statement with four final hard thrusts.

"Si... big black dick," she quavered, strength leaving her arms as she collapsed back onto the bed.

<<0>>

"Okay, time for you to go," Carla said a few minutes later when she'd sufficiently recovered.

"Already?"

"Already! Pfahh," she blew out a teasing breath. Carla checked her watch, eyes widening as she saw they'd been fucking for close on an hour. Little wonder she felt exhausted.

"Si, already... go." She slapped his bare ass and watched him climb off the bed. 'An ugly young man with a beautiful body', the unkind thought flitted through her mind and Carla mentally slapped herself.

"You need to go home to your parents. It's late. I... I need to sleep; I have much to do this weekend. I need to study more for the practices. So much to learn." She spoke with a softer tone, trying to take the sting out of her brusque demand that he leave. Chris padded from the room in search of his clothes, Carla a couple of steps behind him once she'd found a robe to throw over herself.

Back in the kitchen, Chris was pulling his pants on when he paused.

"Uh Car-, Coach Carla. I'm sorry about... before. You know, spyin' an' shit on you."

"It's okay Chris but it stops, yes? I think you watch too much pornography to have stupida idea like this"

"Sure. Totally. But... uh, can I, uh, see you again?"

"Of course, I see you Monday. Team practice."

"No, I mean. Can we... do this again coach?" Chris had his top in his hands but he waited for her answer before dressing any further. Carla crossed the kitchen floor, a foot smaller than Chris but the serious look she levelled on him seemed to make the big youth shrink.

"Chris, if this was one of these porn films, then... the woman... the coach, she would say to you. 'You play amazing in every game. You help to win the championship. Then you get me, my body, to do whatever you want with.' Si?"

"I guess," Chris answered. Carla thought he looked like a young bull at that moment, nostrils flaring at the thought of 'whatever he wanted'.

"This is not porn," Carla poked him in the chest firmly and he hung his head dejectedly.

"I expect you to play well in every game. You understand this? When you play, you play for you." She poked him again.

"You play for your team." Another poke.

"For your school." Yet another stiff fingered poke.

"You do not play for pussy." A final jab on her finger into his powerful chest.

"Sure Coach, yeah... no, I get it." The confident teenager who had her screaming in bliss on his cock only minutes before was a miserable shadow of that same person. Carla then laid her hands on his crotch, fondling him through the front of his pants and Chris's head that had been hanging low in dejection now snapped up.

"This dick, it was good, very good. I needed it. So, I will answer your question and say yes, we will fuck again. But..." Carla wagged a finger in Chris's face before continuing. "You do not talk about it and no more with the hiding outside my home. You understand, I say when. I say where. You talk to your friends, I hear. You do that, then you go back to making love to your hand."

"You got it Coach," Chris beamed. He pulled the top over his head and walked to the back door. Carla let him out, turning off the lights as she made her way back to the bedroom. She could feel his seed oozing from her pussy and her body was still damp from her sweat and his. However, the energetic sex with him had wiped her out on the back of the long first week as Coach and the drinking at the BBQ. Instead of showering and changing the sheet on the bed, Carla just let the robe drop to the floor before falling onto the soiled sheets and falling asleep.