Displacement
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Displacement Activity free porn video
‘It is called “displacement activity,” I think, Charlie.’ Eva, my German friend was referring to tennis and she pronounced it ‘ectiffity’ with her beautiful accent.
‘Every time you hit the ball, it is Fran you are hitting, no?’
Fran was my former lover; very former. We, Eva and I were sitting on the verandah of the old, Victorian pavilion of our local tennis club, sipping a cooling beer.
‘You may be right. I think, though, I am over it now.
“It” was the unpleasant end to what had seemed a perfect relationship. Nothing, of course, is perfect. I’d come home from a long ten days in Singapore. I’d arrived at Heathrow on the Sunday morning, a day earlier than anticipated, at about 7 and taken a bus, train and taxi to get to the home we shared.
Sunday mornings in our household followed a strict routine. When we were both awake or when one of us woke the other with a little ‘hello pussy’ we would finish off that particular delight and then one of us would get tea, toast, papers and we’d sit in bed. Often enough there’d be a bit more of the mouth to mouth before we’d take ourselves to the shower and, clean and dressed, take a leisurely stroll to the little café run by Mrs Stripiss. She, an expatriate Greek, owned possibly the best café in town and served amazing Sunday lunches for a price that beggared belief.
I had arrived home about 10 and opened the door quietly, placed my suitcase and briefcase carefully in the hall and removed my shoes so I could creep up the stairs. I heard the sounds of sex and assumed Fran was watching one of her dirty movies as she often did when I was not there; sometimes when I was. As I ascended the staircase I shed my clothes. This movie was going to turn into the real thing if, as I suspected, she was having a good jill and would be ready for a little assistance in the orgasm department. I picked up my shoes and quietly opened the door and the world came crashing down.
I don’t think I screamed but maybe my shoes hitting the floor or something else had alerted them to my presence. The ‘them’ to whom I refer were Fran, of course, and a woman I did not recognise. She, the unknown, was kneeling behind Fran and administering a good old-fashioned fuck. I couldn’t see what she was using but the strap around her waist was wide and suggested something substantial. Eva’s face was almost buried in the pillow, almost but not entirely. Her mouth was open and little sounds of ecstasy were coming from it. The woman behind her had tattoos all down her back and, bizarrely, was wearing a black, flat cap. As she fucked, so her pendulous and flabby tits slapped against her belly. I took all this in. My shoes had hit the floor, not because I had dropped them but because I had hurled them in my hurt and fury.
There is of course nothing at all humiliating about standing naked in a doorway seeing your lover getting seen to by someone else, especially when that someone else is about 70 years old, hideous and clearly, judging by the cap, weird! I did scream then. I also ran down the stairs and almost tripped over my dress which was lying on them. I staggered into the kitchen and sat in a corner, arms around my knees barely aware of the wet on my cheeks but very aware of the pounding in my chest and ears.
A few moments later the capped head poked around the kitchen door and smiled a ghastly, gap-toothed smile. ‘Don’t take it to heart, sweets. Just a little fun with your friend while lovergirl is away. If you don’t like nasty surprises you should stick to your travel plans.’
I threw something, God alone knows what, vaguely in the direction of the sneering bitch who laughed and left. I heard the front door slam behind her.
‘Look, Charlie.’ Fran’s voice was sheepish as she stood in the doorway. I didn’t let her finish whatever she wanted to say.
‘Just go. Go now.’
‘But…..’
‘Go.’ This was delivered in a whisper but felt like a scream. She went and a little while later I heard the door close behind her too and I sat on the hard wooden floor and wallowed in my misery.
And so it was that six months later I was sitting on the tennis club’s verandah with Eva. Eva is as straight as a roman road. She is tall, Aryan blonde and has the legs of a model and the tits to go with them. She had been, she once told me, a lesbian but it had lasted for no more than two hours and then ‘I straightened myself out. Girls are OK but just not for me.’ This had not been a great disappointment at the time since Fran and I were well in love and very, very exclusive, except of course and as it turned out, when Fran wasn’t.
We watched as two girls played a singles match. They were a lot younger than us, probably in their twenties and had that coltish quality as they ran, clad in their shorts and shirts, around the court. They were good.
‘God, I wish I could play like that.’
Eva smiled. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘all you need to do is practice a lot and lose twenty years.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Why don’t you get some lessons, Charlie? You know Helen would be happy to help.’ Helen was another member, a sports teacher at a local and exclusive public school for girls and coached club members for a small fee.
Another girl of about our age wandered onto the verandah. Her deep black skin contrasted with the white of her tennis kit.
‘Hi Chuck, Eva.’ Lola is American and built like a Williams sister. Her nipples poked bravely through her shirt and her shorts were drawn to a very revealing camel toe which always had a significant effect on the male members’ members and both were a deliberate ploy she used to win mixed doubles games. She called it her biological tactical set. They also served to advertise her prolific libido which meant she was never short of men. She called me ‘Chuck’ because, apparently, that is a common name used for men called Charles in her home country. I sort of liked it.
‘Hi Lola. You playing or pulling?’
‘Both, darling,’ she drawled in her southern American accent and sat beside me. ‘Harry and I’ve been drawn against that dishy English guy, Jonathan and the pro.’
‘Helen?’ asked Eva.
‘Damn right. With her forehand she’ll expect to win but with my snatch and Hank’s power they’ll have no chance.’ We laughed, knowing it was almost certainly true. Helen might be almost 40 but she had the body of a twenty year old and played like a pro but Jonathan was known for being unable to take his eyes of Lola and she was dressed to win.
The other three players in Lola’s match arrived and I looked up, shading my eyes from the sun. The two men were fit, tall and handsome. Helen was lithe and supple and probably almost six feet tall. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and her skin was light golden and perfect. Cow.
‘Ah, Helen,’ said Eva. ‘My friend Charlie here was just saying she’d like some lessons.’ I could only look at Eva aghast since I had said no such thing. ‘I suggested you might oblige.’
‘Happy to. If you’re still here when we’ve destroyed these two we can talk about it over tea.’
The four wandered of to the court as the two girls ended their game. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because it will do you good. Let’s watch a couple of their games and then get changed and find some lunch? We can eat here and watch the end and then you can book your tuition.’ She had a warm, innocent smile.
Eva is totally uninhibited about her body. The communal showers in the pavilion were a leftover from the Victorian era and we stood under their spluttering streams. Eva soaped herself and I couldn’t help notice the attention she paid to her shaved puss and her medium sized but firm tits.
‘Don’t stare, Chuck,’ she smirked. ‘You’ll only get yourself hot and bothered.’
‘Bitch.’
We laughed and I turned my back on her and washed away the sweat and suds. Dried, I pulled on a white cotton dress over white knickers.
‘Tits like yours must save you a fortune in bras, no?’ This was a running joke. My 32a chest was a club joke but, unlike so many similar jokes, it was one I found amusing too.
I smiled. ‘I understand Lola’s once broke loose during the last game of the mixed doubles final. She claims it was an accident but I don’t believe a word of it. Her bras are reinforced concrete usually so I am convinced it was deliberate.’
Laughing together we made our way back to the bar, ordered some sandwiches and took two more beers out onto the verandah to watch the game while we waited for the food to be brought out. The club is posh and expensive and I’d joined after Fran. I had not joined to find a woman but to find something that would help me get a little more in shape and pass time without dwelling on the past.
Lola’s prediction turned out to be inaccurate. They lost 6-2, 6-3.
‘Damn,’ she said as she slumped in a chair beside me. ‘Either Jonathan’s gone queer or my snatch has lost its allure.’
‘Could it be they were better than you?’
‘You’re kidding right? Look at her.’ Helen was walking towards us and had not even broken sweat. ‘Flabby bitch. Well past her eat by date.’ She was laughing as were we.
We applauded as the winners climbed the four steps to the verandah. Jonathan smiled and said, ‘I think Harry might need a helping hand, Lola. He’s claiming he turned his ankle, thus allowing us to win. Lying git. He simply cant bear to lose.’ Harry was, it was true, limping theatrically. ‘You doing anything this evening?’
‘I sure am, honey and you are the thing that I am doing.’ She stood and the two of them wandered off as she looked over her shoulder at Eva, Helen and me with a wolfish smile.
I offered Helen and Harry a drink. Harry declined and limped pathetically off to the changing rooms. Helen thanked me and sat at our table as I went back into the bar to order her tea.
‘Well played, Helen.’ Every ‘w’ in Eva’s accent was a ‘v.’
When I returned to the table, Eva was standing. She had, apparently, a date and wanted to get home to prepare for what she called a night of fun and sin.
‘Vorsprung durch sexnik,’ I smiled as she left.
‘She,’ said Helen, ‘is a great loss to the lesbian community.’
I have to admit this surprised me. I looked at Helen.
‘Surely you’re not surprised, Charlie?’
‘Utterly.’
‘Why did you think Eva suggested lessons with me? She’s matchmaking.’
‘Well, don’t mind her. I just want to improve my game.’
Helen smiled. ‘It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? The lesbian sports teacher. True though it is it still annoys me.’
‘Well, I promise you I had no idea.’
She looked at me as if she was trying to assess my honesty. ‘Well, do you want some lessons?’
‘Please.’
‘Done.’
*
Three weeks later and I had had four lessons. She had said at the start that she’d work on one aspect of my game with a view to giving me confidence. My forehand was, she told me, quite strong so she wanted to work on my backhand and we spent the four hours relentlessly hitting backhand shots. She’d made a video of me playing one of the other girls and, in the gym at her school, she’d shown it to me and given me some constructive criticism. She’d stood behind me a few times, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering mine as it held my racquet and she’d shown me how to improve my stance and footwork. Her physical proximity didn’t seem in any way flirtatious or sexual, just professional.
At the end of the fourth lesson, this time at the club on a latish Friday evening, she’d said, ‘You’re doing really well.’
It felt true. I was hitting the ball more accurately and harder.
‘Let’s go and get a drink?’
We went to the pavilion and Helen sat at a table on the verandah while I went in to order drinks, tea for her as always and a beer for me. I returned to our table and sat beside her. The sun was doing its late evening thing of turning the bricks of the neighbouring houses to a rich red with hints of gold. The warmth of the day had a soporific effect.
‘Would you like to go out for a meal with me, Charlie?’
‘Are you…..’ I hesitated.
‘Am I asking you out on a date? You know what, I rather think I am.’
I laughed and she looked at me, her eyes asking me why I was laughing.
‘I just never, ever thought you were the tiniest bit interested. I’ve been hoping you’d ask for weeks.’
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘For goodness’ sake Helen, just look at yourself. You’re what, thirty-five or so, you’re about eleven feet tall and you have an athlete’s body. Now look at me.’
‘That Fran of yours has a lot to answer for. Did she hurt you that badly?’
That took me by surprise. It had never occurred to me either that Helen knew about Fran or that I might have lost some of my self-esteem. Ridiculously perhaps, I thought I’d got over Fran without much in the way of damage.
Helen took my hand gently in hers. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t know. I guess we never know, do we?’
Decisively, Helen said, ‘What about tomorrow night? Let’s meet here for a drink at 7? I’ve got a bit to do at school tomorrow afternoon. Then we can go on to that little Greek down by the canal?’
That ‘little Greek down by the canal’ was a well-known and rather posh place. I smiled and accepted.
And so it was that at 7 on that Saturday I was at the club’s bar again, my hair tied loosely back, wearing a soft cotton dress in a mix of white and blue with dark blue heels and bare legs. Underneath? Well, let’s save that for later, if there is a later. Eva had been playing and came to the bar. She was drenched in sweat, her hair sticking to her face where it showed, unruly, beneath her hat, her shirt clinging between her breasts.
‘I just got thrashed by that bitch from the States.’ She and Lola were great mates so this was a false anger. ‘She didn’t even use the camel toe ploy against me.’ We laughed and then, as if seeing me for the first time, she said, ‘Oh my God, Charlie. You have (pronounced ‘heff’) a date, no?’
Looking over my shoulder her eyes widened in surprise. I turned to follow her gaze.
Until now I had only ever seen Helen in shorts and a shirt or in long pants and a shirt, always with trainers and white socks and always with a sports bra faintly visible through the shirts. Her long blonde hair had always been tied back severely. This evening was a shock. Here was Helen, no question about that but a Helen I had never seen before. She was wearing a short, halter-necked dress in pale yellow. Her chest was loose under the dress’s bodice with a hint of dark nipples; not, I hasten to point out, that I was staring. Her long legs were emphasised by the dress and the heels of her strappy sandals. Her hair was loose and shone in the late sunlight. Breathtaking.
‘Hi, Charlie. HI Eva.’
‘She was carrying a bottle of Cava and two glasses. ‘I’ll get another glass, if you’d like some, Eva?’
‘No, no thanks,’ said Eva. ‘I need to stand under a shower for perhaps a year and recover. You two carry on.’ She patted my arm. ‘Enjoy yourselves, girls.’
I’d expected a leer or an aside but all I got was the briefest of kisses and I was alone with Helen who sat in her athletic way in the seat vacated by Eva, poured the wine and handed me a glass.
‘You look good.’
‘So do you. I’ve never seen you in a dress before.’
She grinned. ‘PE teacher drab is my default setting. But occasionally, I like to remind myself I am a woman.’
I didn’t need reminding! ‘And wine, too?’
‘I’m an athlete, not a nun, Charlie. I follow a pretty strict regime but now and then it’s time to let my hair down.’
‘I’d noticed that too.’ She smiled.
The wine frothed in the glasses, condensation running cold down the glasses. I lifted one to her and said cheers and thank you.
‘Have you played today?’
Helen lifted an eyebrow as if she thought there might be a secondary meaning to my simple question. Deciding there wasn’t she answered, ‘No. I had a bit of work with some of my sixth formers earlier. We’re getting close to A levels and so they need a bit of confidence boosting.’ So, I thought, do I.
We walked to the restaurant, heels clicking in unison. We talked and I found her increasingly easy to be with. During my lessons with her she’d been all business. Only once, when she’d told me to spread my legs wider to stabilize my body had I detected even a fleeting hint of mischief. This evening she was lighter, more with me if that makes sense. I realised that despite the elderly nature of the shower facilities at the club I had never seen Helen naked and also how much I wanted to. Pull yourself together Chuck. It ain’t going to happen.
The meal was predictably superb. We sat outdoors surrounded by other couples and groups. If anyone noticed us it wasn’t apparent.
‘I love it here. Little chance of meeting my students, less of my colleagues. What do you do, Charlie?’
I realised we’d never talked about anything but tennis so I told her about my job, travels and enthusiasms. The evening passed in a bit of a blur. I felt her hand touch mine a couple of times and also her knee against mine and I confess the heat of it was far more of my mind’s making than her leg’s.
Hesitantly, I asked if she’d like a nightcap at my flat which was pretty close. She smiled and accepted and so we left and, shortly after, her hand found mine and held it.
She lifted our conjoined hands and said, ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Not remotely, no.’
‘Good.’
The flat was cool. It has high ceilings, a Georgian legacy, and huge windows which were still partly open and not curtained. I turned lights on and drew the curtains and went to pour us a brandy.
‘Wait, Charlie.’ I turned and she smiled at me. ‘Come here.’ I walked to her and she placed her hands on my shoulders. Her face moved close to mine, she had to lean down, and stopped a fraction of an inch away from me. She seemed to be deciding, hesitant to kiss me. I moved closer but she pulled back, her eyes locked on mine.
‘Is this a good time?’ I knew what she meant and nodded. Apparently satisfied, her mouth tentatively touched mine and we kissed for the first time. My hands slid gently up her back and although I wasn’t touching her firmly I could feel the shape of her beautifully muscled back under the thin cotton of her dress. I tasted her; garlic and wine and herbs. I felt her hands on my shoulders and then they moved down my arms to my elbows in a gentle caress. The kiss grew firmer and then I felt her tongue as it gently pushed against my lips which opened of their own accord and then she was inside me.
It is, for me, always that moment, that first intrusion, that is one of the make or break times. I cannot explain why but when she, whoever she is, first enters me I know whether she will work for me or not. Helen’s tongue slipped into my mouth and seemed to me to be waiting for something. I tightened my hands on her back and let my neck arch back so she could penetrate me deeper. That was, it seemed, the correct thing to do because as her tongue moved to invade me more deeply, more aggressively, so her hand left my right arm and cupped, ever so gently, my right breast, her palm gently against my hardening nipple.
I stroked her back and maybe I moaned or made a sound because her hand moved, her palm stroking across my nipple, circling over it.
The disparity in our height was reduced when she kicked off her shoes and came down a little to be closer to me. With me in 3” heels and she barefoot we were much more able to pursue the development of our lovemaking. Her left hand left my elbow and traced my flank, her right hand working my breast, braless like hers, a little more firmly. Her left hand rested on my hip as her mouth closed ever tighter over mine. The kiss went on and on and I could feel the flowering of my pussy. I let my hands wander across her buttocks and up over her lovely back.
She pulled away and looked at me, her hands still in place. I reached up to stroke her hair away from her face and she smiled.
‘This is going to be good. Are you ever going to get me that nightcap?’
Reluctantly, I broke free and went to the cupboard where I keep my drinks. I selected two glasses and raised a brandy bottle to her, she nodded, smiling and sitting down onto my large, soft sofa. Her legs crossed and an expanse of delicious thigh was revealed. I steadied my hand and poured the brandy, offering her ice which she declined. I added water to my own and carried the two glasses to her, offering her her glass. She took it and patted the sofa next to her so I sat, placing my glass on a table beside me.
Helen sipped her brandy appreciatively and put her glass down, slid her arm across my shoulders and pulled me closer, so my face was resting on her shoulder. Her free hand traced my breast and her fingernail ran around my nipple.
She whispered, ‘Are we going to spend the night together?’
‘Please.’
My head went back, inviting her to kiss me and she did, firmer, more demanding. I felt her hand on my knee and then ascending up under my dress to stroke my thigh as her tongue explored my mouth more. I touched her breast for the first time and felt a gloriously hard nipple straining against the fabric of her dress.
‘I hope you realise this won’t get you a reduction in your tuition fees?’
I looked up into her eyes and laughed with her and her hand suddenly made the last dash up my thigh to cup my pussy in the soft silk knickers I had worn in the hope that she’d find them, like them and invade them.
If the moment a tongue enters my mouth is one where I know that things are going well, another is that first touch of the most intimate kind. If I feel uncomfortable I know it instinctively. This time I felt more than comfortable. As her finger traced my lips through the soft fabric I knew my legs were spreading in invitation. Helen’s free hand took mine and guided it to her lap. She was saying, wordlessly, you can too. I felt the shape of her through the thin cotton of her dress and, short as it was, it was no great journey for me to move my hand down her thigh then back up, under her dress and stroking her inner thigh, also spread for me until her lips were being stroked gently, tentatively. Our mouths continued to explore until we separated breathlessly and looked into each other’s eyes.
Helen stood then, holding my hand and said, ‘Take me to your bed, I want you, now.’
Her hand went under her hair at the back of her neck and the halter neck suddenly came undone and fell to reveal the most glorious, firm breasts with erect nipples that were much darker than the white skin where the sun rarely touched her. I bent to kiss each one and felt her hands on my shoulders, stripping the dress straps down off my shoulders. Two dresses fell to the floor and thus only in our knickers, hers yellow like her dress, mine pale blue, we walked, her arm across my shoulders, mine around her waist, the short distance to my bedroom. She kissed me, turning me into her embrace and her hands cupped my arse as mine explored her back. We lowered ourselves carefully onto the bed without breaking the kiss and our hands roamed over each other. I lay on my back and she was beside me, on her side, her hand across my belly. The kiss intensified and then she was sliding down, licking my chin, my neck, between my breasts. I stroked her hair and felt the wet of her tongue around my nipples where she dallied, sucking, biting gently and then descending further south. She teased my navel and I felt her pussy, hot in her knickers, as it slid deliberately pressed to my shin. I arched my back as I felt that first touch of lips on knickers, the silk wet between my legs. Her tongue traced me, explored me and then curled slowly under the leg of my knickers and at last and joyously found bare flesh, wet lips and my hard clitoris.
I didn’t feel the going of my knickers but I did feel the softness of her hair on my thighs and the heat of her mouth covering me as her tongue opened me and, with excruciating delicacy, entered me. My hands held her hair, gently, not guiding but welcoming, making her know, I hoped, how much I wanted here there.
It seemed to go on and on. I was disappointed when she stopped and looked up at me but my disappointment soon evaporated as she moved to kneel between my spread legs and leant down to kiss my mouth again. I cupped both her breasts and felt her hand first cover my pussy then slide down into my knickers and her finger curled slowly, decisively into me. My hips lifted of their own accord and she smiled.
‘Horny bitch.’
‘Sexy cow.’
There was a brief hiatus as we stayed like that, my hands motionless on her tits, her finger deep inside me. But then something changed and the lull before the storm gave way to the tempest. I’d love to describe it all but at the time and as I write, it was all just still-frame images: her mouth on mine, her nipples hard between my lips, her fingers in me. At some point we had changed position so I was over her. At another I was between her thighs, her legs crossed behind my back. The final act is clearer. We sat, our legs scissored, our pussies kissing. She had her hands on my shoulders and, her eyes locked on mine, we fucked. It was rough but not violent, serious and fun. She was a silent lover, mostly. No words, just sex noises as she moved her hips rhythmically in time with mine.
Her orgasm came first. Her eyes half closed, her head went back and she said her first coherent word for ages. ‘Charlie.’ But the ‘a’ was drawn out. I think it was that she uttered my name that did it for me. I went stiff, arched and tense and then my own exalting orgasm ripped through me. It was not a slow builder but a sudden, almost unexpected torrent. My mind went blank.
Later, I cannot say how much later, I lay on the tousled sheets entwined with a PE teacher. She was stroking my face.
‘My goodness, Charlie, you must have been saving that for me.’ Her smile was beautiful in the half-light of the bedroom. She was lying half across me, her leg between mine and I felt sweat and other moisture all over me.
I kissed her mouth. ‘Well, I think it’s always polite to save something for someone special, don’t you?’
‘Every time you hit the ball, it is Fran you are hitting, no?’
Fran was my former lover; very former. We, Eva and I were sitting on the verandah of the old, Victorian pavilion of our local tennis club, sipping a cooling beer.
‘You may be right. I think, though, I am over it now.
“It” was the unpleasant end to what had seemed a perfect relationship. Nothing, of course, is perfect. I’d come home from a long ten days in Singapore. I’d arrived at Heathrow on the Sunday morning, a day earlier than anticipated, at about 7 and taken a bus, train and taxi to get to the home we shared.
Sunday mornings in our household followed a strict routine. When we were both awake or when one of us woke the other with a little ‘hello pussy’ we would finish off that particular delight and then one of us would get tea, toast, papers and we’d sit in bed. Often enough there’d be a bit more of the mouth to mouth before we’d take ourselves to the shower and, clean and dressed, take a leisurely stroll to the little café run by Mrs Stripiss. She, an expatriate Greek, owned possibly the best café in town and served amazing Sunday lunches for a price that beggared belief.
I had arrived home about 10 and opened the door quietly, placed my suitcase and briefcase carefully in the hall and removed my shoes so I could creep up the stairs. I heard the sounds of sex and assumed Fran was watching one of her dirty movies as she often did when I was not there; sometimes when I was. As I ascended the staircase I shed my clothes. This movie was going to turn into the real thing if, as I suspected, she was having a good jill and would be ready for a little assistance in the orgasm department. I picked up my shoes and quietly opened the door and the world came crashing down.
I don’t think I screamed but maybe my shoes hitting the floor or something else had alerted them to my presence. The ‘them’ to whom I refer were Fran, of course, and a woman I did not recognise. She, the unknown, was kneeling behind Fran and administering a good old-fashioned fuck. I couldn’t see what she was using but the strap around her waist was wide and suggested something substantial. Eva’s face was almost buried in the pillow, almost but not entirely. Her mouth was open and little sounds of ecstasy were coming from it. The woman behind her had tattoos all down her back and, bizarrely, was wearing a black, flat cap. As she fucked, so her pendulous and flabby tits slapped against her belly. I took all this in. My shoes had hit the floor, not because I had dropped them but because I had hurled them in my hurt and fury.
There is of course nothing at all humiliating about standing naked in a doorway seeing your lover getting seen to by someone else, especially when that someone else is about 70 years old, hideous and clearly, judging by the cap, weird! I did scream then. I also ran down the stairs and almost tripped over my dress which was lying on them. I staggered into the kitchen and sat in a corner, arms around my knees barely aware of the wet on my cheeks but very aware of the pounding in my chest and ears.
A few moments later the capped head poked around the kitchen door and smiled a ghastly, gap-toothed smile. ‘Don’t take it to heart, sweets. Just a little fun with your friend while lovergirl is away. If you don’t like nasty surprises you should stick to your travel plans.’
I threw something, God alone knows what, vaguely in the direction of the sneering bitch who laughed and left. I heard the front door slam behind her.
‘Look, Charlie.’ Fran’s voice was sheepish as she stood in the doorway. I didn’t let her finish whatever she wanted to say.
‘Just go. Go now.’
‘But…..’
‘Go.’ This was delivered in a whisper but felt like a scream. She went and a little while later I heard the door close behind her too and I sat on the hard wooden floor and wallowed in my misery.
And so it was that six months later I was sitting on the tennis club’s verandah with Eva. Eva is as straight as a roman road. She is tall, Aryan blonde and has the legs of a model and the tits to go with them. She had been, she once told me, a lesbian but it had lasted for no more than two hours and then ‘I straightened myself out. Girls are OK but just not for me.’ This had not been a great disappointment at the time since Fran and I were well in love and very, very exclusive, except of course and as it turned out, when Fran wasn’t.
We watched as two girls played a singles match. They were a lot younger than us, probably in their twenties and had that coltish quality as they ran, clad in their shorts and shirts, around the court. They were good.
‘God, I wish I could play like that.’
Eva smiled. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘all you need to do is practice a lot and lose twenty years.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Why don’t you get some lessons, Charlie? You know Helen would be happy to help.’ Helen was another member, a sports teacher at a local and exclusive public school for girls and coached club members for a small fee.
Another girl of about our age wandered onto the verandah. Her deep black skin contrasted with the white of her tennis kit.
‘Hi Chuck, Eva.’ Lola is American and built like a Williams sister. Her nipples poked bravely through her shirt and her shorts were drawn to a very revealing camel toe which always had a significant effect on the male members’ members and both were a deliberate ploy she used to win mixed doubles games. She called it her biological tactical set. They also served to advertise her prolific libido which meant she was never short of men. She called me ‘Chuck’ because, apparently, that is a common name used for men called Charles in her home country. I sort of liked it.
‘Hi Lola. You playing or pulling?’
‘Both, darling,’ she drawled in her southern American accent and sat beside me. ‘Harry and I’ve been drawn against that dishy English guy, Jonathan and the pro.’
‘Helen?’ asked Eva.
‘Damn right. With her forehand she’ll expect to win but with my snatch and Hank’s power they’ll have no chance.’ We laughed, knowing it was almost certainly true. Helen might be almost 40 but she had the body of a twenty year old and played like a pro but Jonathan was known for being unable to take his eyes of Lola and she was dressed to win.
The other three players in Lola’s match arrived and I looked up, shading my eyes from the sun. The two men were fit, tall and handsome. Helen was lithe and supple and probably almost six feet tall. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and her skin was light golden and perfect. Cow.
‘Ah, Helen,’ said Eva. ‘My friend Charlie here was just saying she’d like some lessons.’ I could only look at Eva aghast since I had said no such thing. ‘I suggested you might oblige.’
‘Happy to. If you’re still here when we’ve destroyed these two we can talk about it over tea.’
The four wandered of to the court as the two girls ended their game. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because it will do you good. Let’s watch a couple of their games and then get changed and find some lunch? We can eat here and watch the end and then you can book your tuition.’ She had a warm, innocent smile.
Eva is totally uninhibited about her body. The communal showers in the pavilion were a leftover from the Victorian era and we stood under their spluttering streams. Eva soaped herself and I couldn’t help notice the attention she paid to her shaved puss and her medium sized but firm tits.
‘Don’t stare, Chuck,’ she smirked. ‘You’ll only get yourself hot and bothered.’
‘Bitch.’
We laughed and I turned my back on her and washed away the sweat and suds. Dried, I pulled on a white cotton dress over white knickers.
‘Tits like yours must save you a fortune in bras, no?’ This was a running joke. My 32a chest was a club joke but, unlike so many similar jokes, it was one I found amusing too.
I smiled. ‘I understand Lola’s once broke loose during the last game of the mixed doubles final. She claims it was an accident but I don’t believe a word of it. Her bras are reinforced concrete usually so I am convinced it was deliberate.’
Laughing together we made our way back to the bar, ordered some sandwiches and took two more beers out onto the verandah to watch the game while we waited for the food to be brought out. The club is posh and expensive and I’d joined after Fran. I had not joined to find a woman but to find something that would help me get a little more in shape and pass time without dwelling on the past.
Lola’s prediction turned out to be inaccurate. They lost 6-2, 6-3.
‘Damn,’ she said as she slumped in a chair beside me. ‘Either Jonathan’s gone queer or my snatch has lost its allure.’
‘Could it be they were better than you?’
‘You’re kidding right? Look at her.’ Helen was walking towards us and had not even broken sweat. ‘Flabby bitch. Well past her eat by date.’ She was laughing as were we.
We applauded as the winners climbed the four steps to the verandah. Jonathan smiled and said, ‘I think Harry might need a helping hand, Lola. He’s claiming he turned his ankle, thus allowing us to win. Lying git. He simply cant bear to lose.’ Harry was, it was true, limping theatrically. ‘You doing anything this evening?’
‘I sure am, honey and you are the thing that I am doing.’ She stood and the two of them wandered off as she looked over her shoulder at Eva, Helen and me with a wolfish smile.
I offered Helen and Harry a drink. Harry declined and limped pathetically off to the changing rooms. Helen thanked me and sat at our table as I went back into the bar to order her tea.
‘Well played, Helen.’ Every ‘w’ in Eva’s accent was a ‘v.’
When I returned to the table, Eva was standing. She had, apparently, a date and wanted to get home to prepare for what she called a night of fun and sin.
‘Vorsprung durch sexnik,’ I smiled as she left.
‘She,’ said Helen, ‘is a great loss to the lesbian community.’
I have to admit this surprised me. I looked at Helen.
‘Surely you’re not surprised, Charlie?’
‘Utterly.’
‘Why did you think Eva suggested lessons with me? She’s matchmaking.’
‘Well, don’t mind her. I just want to improve my game.’
Helen smiled. ‘It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? The lesbian sports teacher. True though it is it still annoys me.’
‘Well, I promise you I had no idea.’
She looked at me as if she was trying to assess my honesty. ‘Well, do you want some lessons?’
‘Please.’
‘Done.’
*
Three weeks later and I had had four lessons. She had said at the start that she’d work on one aspect of my game with a view to giving me confidence. My forehand was, she told me, quite strong so she wanted to work on my backhand and we spent the four hours relentlessly hitting backhand shots. She’d made a video of me playing one of the other girls and, in the gym at her school, she’d shown it to me and given me some constructive criticism. She’d stood behind me a few times, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering mine as it held my racquet and she’d shown me how to improve my stance and footwork. Her physical proximity didn’t seem in any way flirtatious or sexual, just professional.
At the end of the fourth lesson, this time at the club on a latish Friday evening, she’d said, ‘You’re doing really well.’
It felt true. I was hitting the ball more accurately and harder.
‘Let’s go and get a drink?’
We went to the pavilion and Helen sat at a table on the verandah while I went in to order drinks, tea for her as always and a beer for me. I returned to our table and sat beside her. The sun was doing its late evening thing of turning the bricks of the neighbouring houses to a rich red with hints of gold. The warmth of the day had a soporific effect.
‘Would you like to go out for a meal with me, Charlie?’
‘Are you…..’ I hesitated.
‘Am I asking you out on a date? You know what, I rather think I am.’
I laughed and she looked at me, her eyes asking me why I was laughing.
‘I just never, ever thought you were the tiniest bit interested. I’ve been hoping you’d ask for weeks.’
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘For goodness’ sake Helen, just look at yourself. You’re what, thirty-five or so, you’re about eleven feet tall and you have an athlete’s body. Now look at me.’
‘That Fran of yours has a lot to answer for. Did she hurt you that badly?’
That took me by surprise. It had never occurred to me either that Helen knew about Fran or that I might have lost some of my self-esteem. Ridiculously perhaps, I thought I’d got over Fran without much in the way of damage.
Helen took my hand gently in hers. ‘Well?’
‘I don’t know. I guess we never know, do we?’
Decisively, Helen said, ‘What about tomorrow night? Let’s meet here for a drink at 7? I’ve got a bit to do at school tomorrow afternoon. Then we can go on to that little Greek down by the canal?’
That ‘little Greek down by the canal’ was a well-known and rather posh place. I smiled and accepted.
And so it was that at 7 on that Saturday I was at the club’s bar again, my hair tied loosely back, wearing a soft cotton dress in a mix of white and blue with dark blue heels and bare legs. Underneath? Well, let’s save that for later, if there is a later. Eva had been playing and came to the bar. She was drenched in sweat, her hair sticking to her face where it showed, unruly, beneath her hat, her shirt clinging between her breasts.
‘I just got thrashed by that bitch from the States.’ She and Lola were great mates so this was a false anger. ‘She didn’t even use the camel toe ploy against me.’ We laughed and then, as if seeing me for the first time, she said, ‘Oh my God, Charlie. You have (pronounced ‘heff’) a date, no?’
Looking over my shoulder her eyes widened in surprise. I turned to follow her gaze.
Until now I had only ever seen Helen in shorts and a shirt or in long pants and a shirt, always with trainers and white socks and always with a sports bra faintly visible through the shirts. Her long blonde hair had always been tied back severely. This evening was a shock. Here was Helen, no question about that but a Helen I had never seen before. She was wearing a short, halter-necked dress in pale yellow. Her chest was loose under the dress’s bodice with a hint of dark nipples; not, I hasten to point out, that I was staring. Her long legs were emphasised by the dress and the heels of her strappy sandals. Her hair was loose and shone in the late sunlight. Breathtaking.
‘Hi, Charlie. HI Eva.’
‘She was carrying a bottle of Cava and two glasses. ‘I’ll get another glass, if you’d like some, Eva?’
‘No, no thanks,’ said Eva. ‘I need to stand under a shower for perhaps a year and recover. You two carry on.’ She patted my arm. ‘Enjoy yourselves, girls.’
I’d expected a leer or an aside but all I got was the briefest of kisses and I was alone with Helen who sat in her athletic way in the seat vacated by Eva, poured the wine and handed me a glass.
‘You look good.’
‘So do you. I’ve never seen you in a dress before.’
She grinned. ‘PE teacher drab is my default setting. But occasionally, I like to remind myself I am a woman.’
I didn’t need reminding! ‘And wine, too?’
‘I’m an athlete, not a nun, Charlie. I follow a pretty strict regime but now and then it’s time to let my hair down.’
‘I’d noticed that too.’ She smiled.
The wine frothed in the glasses, condensation running cold down the glasses. I lifted one to her and said cheers and thank you.
‘Have you played today?’
Helen lifted an eyebrow as if she thought there might be a secondary meaning to my simple question. Deciding there wasn’t she answered, ‘No. I had a bit of work with some of my sixth formers earlier. We’re getting close to A levels and so they need a bit of confidence boosting.’ So, I thought, do I.
We walked to the restaurant, heels clicking in unison. We talked and I found her increasingly easy to be with. During my lessons with her she’d been all business. Only once, when she’d told me to spread my legs wider to stabilize my body had I detected even a fleeting hint of mischief. This evening she was lighter, more with me if that makes sense. I realised that despite the elderly nature of the shower facilities at the club I had never seen Helen naked and also how much I wanted to. Pull yourself together Chuck. It ain’t going to happen.
The meal was predictably superb. We sat outdoors surrounded by other couples and groups. If anyone noticed us it wasn’t apparent.
‘I love it here. Little chance of meeting my students, less of my colleagues. What do you do, Charlie?’
I realised we’d never talked about anything but tennis so I told her about my job, travels and enthusiasms. The evening passed in a bit of a blur. I felt her hand touch mine a couple of times and also her knee against mine and I confess the heat of it was far more of my mind’s making than her leg’s.
Hesitantly, I asked if she’d like a nightcap at my flat which was pretty close. She smiled and accepted and so we left and, shortly after, her hand found mine and held it.
She lifted our conjoined hands and said, ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Not remotely, no.’
‘Good.’
The flat was cool. It has high ceilings, a Georgian legacy, and huge windows which were still partly open and not curtained. I turned lights on and drew the curtains and went to pour us a brandy.
‘Wait, Charlie.’ I turned and she smiled at me. ‘Come here.’ I walked to her and she placed her hands on my shoulders. Her face moved close to mine, she had to lean down, and stopped a fraction of an inch away from me. She seemed to be deciding, hesitant to kiss me. I moved closer but she pulled back, her eyes locked on mine.
‘Is this a good time?’ I knew what she meant and nodded. Apparently satisfied, her mouth tentatively touched mine and we kissed for the first time. My hands slid gently up her back and although I wasn’t touching her firmly I could feel the shape of her beautifully muscled back under the thin cotton of her dress. I tasted her; garlic and wine and herbs. I felt her hands on my shoulders and then they moved down my arms to my elbows in a gentle caress. The kiss grew firmer and then I felt her tongue as it gently pushed against my lips which opened of their own accord and then she was inside me.
It is, for me, always that moment, that first intrusion, that is one of the make or break times. I cannot explain why but when she, whoever she is, first enters me I know whether she will work for me or not. Helen’s tongue slipped into my mouth and seemed to me to be waiting for something. I tightened my hands on her back and let my neck arch back so she could penetrate me deeper. That was, it seemed, the correct thing to do because as her tongue moved to invade me more deeply, more aggressively, so her hand left my right arm and cupped, ever so gently, my right breast, her palm gently against my hardening nipple.
I stroked her back and maybe I moaned or made a sound because her hand moved, her palm stroking across my nipple, circling over it.
The disparity in our height was reduced when she kicked off her shoes and came down a little to be closer to me. With me in 3” heels and she barefoot we were much more able to pursue the development of our lovemaking. Her left hand left my elbow and traced my flank, her right hand working my breast, braless like hers, a little more firmly. Her left hand rested on my hip as her mouth closed ever tighter over mine. The kiss went on and on and I could feel the flowering of my pussy. I let my hands wander across her buttocks and up over her lovely back.
She pulled away and looked at me, her hands still in place. I reached up to stroke her hair away from her face and she smiled.
‘This is going to be good. Are you ever going to get me that nightcap?’
Reluctantly, I broke free and went to the cupboard where I keep my drinks. I selected two glasses and raised a brandy bottle to her, she nodded, smiling and sitting down onto my large, soft sofa. Her legs crossed and an expanse of delicious thigh was revealed. I steadied my hand and poured the brandy, offering her ice which she declined. I added water to my own and carried the two glasses to her, offering her her glass. She took it and patted the sofa next to her so I sat, placing my glass on a table beside me.
Helen sipped her brandy appreciatively and put her glass down, slid her arm across my shoulders and pulled me closer, so my face was resting on her shoulder. Her free hand traced my breast and her fingernail ran around my nipple.
She whispered, ‘Are we going to spend the night together?’
‘Please.’
My head went back, inviting her to kiss me and she did, firmer, more demanding. I felt her hand on my knee and then ascending up under my dress to stroke my thigh as her tongue explored my mouth more. I touched her breast for the first time and felt a gloriously hard nipple straining against the fabric of her dress.
‘I hope you realise this won’t get you a reduction in your tuition fees?’
I looked up into her eyes and laughed with her and her hand suddenly made the last dash up my thigh to cup my pussy in the soft silk knickers I had worn in the hope that she’d find them, like them and invade them.
If the moment a tongue enters my mouth is one where I know that things are going well, another is that first touch of the most intimate kind. If I feel uncomfortable I know it instinctively. This time I felt more than comfortable. As her finger traced my lips through the soft fabric I knew my legs were spreading in invitation. Helen’s free hand took mine and guided it to her lap. She was saying, wordlessly, you can too. I felt the shape of her through the thin cotton of her dress and, short as it was, it was no great journey for me to move my hand down her thigh then back up, under her dress and stroking her inner thigh, also spread for me until her lips were being stroked gently, tentatively. Our mouths continued to explore until we separated breathlessly and looked into each other’s eyes.
Helen stood then, holding my hand and said, ‘Take me to your bed, I want you, now.’
Her hand went under her hair at the back of her neck and the halter neck suddenly came undone and fell to reveal the most glorious, firm breasts with erect nipples that were much darker than the white skin where the sun rarely touched her. I bent to kiss each one and felt her hands on my shoulders, stripping the dress straps down off my shoulders. Two dresses fell to the floor and thus only in our knickers, hers yellow like her dress, mine pale blue, we walked, her arm across my shoulders, mine around her waist, the short distance to my bedroom. She kissed me, turning me into her embrace and her hands cupped my arse as mine explored her back. We lowered ourselves carefully onto the bed without breaking the kiss and our hands roamed over each other. I lay on my back and she was beside me, on her side, her hand across my belly. The kiss intensified and then she was sliding down, licking my chin, my neck, between my breasts. I stroked her hair and felt the wet of her tongue around my nipples where she dallied, sucking, biting gently and then descending further south. She teased my navel and I felt her pussy, hot in her knickers, as it slid deliberately pressed to my shin. I arched my back as I felt that first touch of lips on knickers, the silk wet between my legs. Her tongue traced me, explored me and then curled slowly under the leg of my knickers and at last and joyously found bare flesh, wet lips and my hard clitoris.
I didn’t feel the going of my knickers but I did feel the softness of her hair on my thighs and the heat of her mouth covering me as her tongue opened me and, with excruciating delicacy, entered me. My hands held her hair, gently, not guiding but welcoming, making her know, I hoped, how much I wanted here there.
It seemed to go on and on. I was disappointed when she stopped and looked up at me but my disappointment soon evaporated as she moved to kneel between my spread legs and leant down to kiss my mouth again. I cupped both her breasts and felt her hand first cover my pussy then slide down into my knickers and her finger curled slowly, decisively into me. My hips lifted of their own accord and she smiled.
‘Horny bitch.’
‘Sexy cow.’
There was a brief hiatus as we stayed like that, my hands motionless on her tits, her finger deep inside me. But then something changed and the lull before the storm gave way to the tempest. I’d love to describe it all but at the time and as I write, it was all just still-frame images: her mouth on mine, her nipples hard between my lips, her fingers in me. At some point we had changed position so I was over her. At another I was between her thighs, her legs crossed behind my back. The final act is clearer. We sat, our legs scissored, our pussies kissing. She had her hands on my shoulders and, her eyes locked on mine, we fucked. It was rough but not violent, serious and fun. She was a silent lover, mostly. No words, just sex noises as she moved her hips rhythmically in time with mine.
Her orgasm came first. Her eyes half closed, her head went back and she said her first coherent word for ages. ‘Charlie.’ But the ‘a’ was drawn out. I think it was that she uttered my name that did it for me. I went stiff, arched and tense and then my own exalting orgasm ripped through me. It was not a slow builder but a sudden, almost unexpected torrent. My mind went blank.
Later, I cannot say how much later, I lay on the tousled sheets entwined with a PE teacher. She was stroking my face.
‘My goodness, Charlie, you must have been saving that for me.’ Her smile was beautiful in the half-light of the bedroom. She was lying half across me, her leg between mine and I felt sweat and other moisture all over me.
I kissed her mouth. ‘Well, I think it’s always polite to save something for someone special, don’t you?’
Jeannie
- 25.10.2021
- 33
- 0
- Category:
- Lesbian
