Love Thirty

Thwack. Thwack. Our neighborhood tennis courts were being resurfaced so I had to come to the public courts in Smith Park to practice my serve. Soft toss, rotate shoulders, lean into the ball, follow through. I was focused intently on my form. In. In. In. A little wide, damn. In. In. In. In. In. Just out. Well, if I can serve at 80% in the city finals next week, I can hold my own against anybody, I told myself. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. I finished up a bucket of balls from the ad side and walked around the net to gather up the balls that have rolled to the fence. As I positioned myself on the other side of the net to try it from the deuce court, I noticed there was a guy sitting on picnic table bench just outside the fence surrounding the courts. Oh my gosh, I thought. That pervert's been sitting there watching me bend over to pick up balls. I wished I was wearing a skirt with built-in shorts like I usually do but it was laundry day and I was forced to wear my white pleated skirt with the little tennis panties. Usually I just wear that outfit playing mixed doubles. A girl's got to take an advantage wherever she can get it, right?

I nodded acknowledgement to the man on the bench and he smiled. I noticed he was wearing running shorts and had obviously been jogging in the park. He said, "If I were you I might get that toss a little higher." I was relieved to know that he knew the game, maybe he was watching my serve and not my ass after all.

"Thanks," I said. I tossed the ball a little higher, and got in 10 in a row.

"That's a nice kick serve you've got," he said. "I bet that drives people nuts."

"It's a new serve for me. I'm trying to get it perfected before City Finals next week," I said.

"Oh, are you going to finals? What team are you on?" We segued into the what level do you play, how many wins do you have, who do you know talk that tennis buffs all over town indulge in as soon as they meet a fellow player. It turned out that his name was Dave, and he had been a 4.0 player several years ago but wasn't playing currently.

"Do you want to play a set? You can use my backup racquet," I offered.

"Sure," he agreed. "As long as you promise not to embarrass me too much." He had sunstreaked blond curly hair and beautiful green eyes. His teeth were white against his tanned skin. I couldn't help noticing how his damp shirt clung to strong biceps and a flat abdomen. Those running shorts didn't leave much to the imagination, either. "Damn, girl, who's the pervert now?" I wondered.

We warmed up from the baseline for a few minutes, then he took a few practice serves. Although he was a little rusty, his form was good. He had a nice easy stroke and was patient, not trying to kill the ball at the first opportunity like a lot of guys do. I couldn't help wondering if he'd be as patient in bed.

"Ready," he said. I couldn't resist motioning him to the net, extending my hand and saying, "good luck and let's have fun", the familiar refrain at local matches. He grinned and shook my hand, holding it a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary.

He served and won the first game. It was close, though, and there were several deuces. We switched sides and it was my turn to serve. My first try went into the net. I looked at him and said, "Sorry about the grunts when I serve. I'm self-conscious about it but can't seem to stop doing it." He smiled and said, "Don't be self-conscious. It's sexy. Puts me in mind of Maria Sharapova. Besides, it shows you've got serious game and you're not just a country club hacker prancing around."

I was absurdly pleased at his response. Being petite and feminine, I often have trouble being taken seriously. I'm sure the southern drawl doesn't help either.

I won that game and we kept playing, trading games back and forth, each holding our own serve. Finally, at 6-6 we decided to play a tiebreak. On the first point, he kicked his own serve up a notch and aced me. I jogged to the fence to retrieve the ball, bending over, one knee bent, to pick it up. As I slowly straightened, I tossed flirtatiously over my shoulder, "When I first saw you sitting there I thought you were some weirdo trying to look up my skirt. But you were just checking out my new serve, right?"

"Um, no," he admitted, "I was looking at your ass."

Laughing, I took my turn serving and won the next two points. We traded points back and forth until it was time to switch ends. As we passed each other at the net, he accidentally brushed against me; passing so close I could see the damp tendrils of hair clinging to his neck and catch a whiff of healthy, sweaty male. He glanced at the front of my pink tank top, where my nipples were clearly visible from my exertion. I blushed and jogged to take my place at the baseline to deliver my serve. I tossed the ball high, snapped my wrist and delivered a perfect spin serve, short and wide. He stumbled forward but couldn't get to it.

"Turnabout's fair play," I taunted. "I'm gonna take you down, big guy." On my next serve, I tossed the ball but caught it as though it were a bad toss. I held the pose teasingly for a minute, breasts outthrust. When I caught him looking he said, "You're not playing fair."

"Playing fair is for suckers," I shot back.

I got the second serve in and won that point, then the next two. It was his turn to serve again, and set point for me. I stood at the baseline, ready to receive his hard serve, all business now. I executed a deep cross-court backhand, then aggressively rushed to the net to cut off his next shot. He tried to lob it over my head but it went short and I hit an overhead right at his feet. I couldn't hold back a fist pump and a "Yes!"

"You're pretty competitive, aren't you?" he laughed. "You have no idea," I replied.

We met at the net and strolled companionably over to the picnic table, sitting on top of it for a few minutes to catch our breath. He tilted up his sports bottle and grimaced when he realized it was empty. "Here, you can have some of this," I offered, "after all, the extra workout was my fault."

He took the bottle of fitness water and, eyes staring intently into mine, drank from the same spot my lips had been seconds ago. I found the gesture strangely intimate and couldn't break eye contact. Something sparked between us, and it made me shiver.

"Well, that was fun," I said, breaking the spell. "Hope you won't be sore tomorrow."

"Oh, I probably will be," he replied. "My elbow's hurting already. Now I remember why I quit playing."

I felt bad that my invitation to play had resulted in pain. "Here, let me rub it for you." I pulled his arm across my body and began to rub above and below the elbow, taking deep, slow strokes. His skin was warm and tan. His upper arm was brushing my breast and his hand was in my lap at the juncture of my thighs. Looking over, I noticed the stirrings of an erection beginning under those nylon running shorts. I kept rubbing gently but firmly, trying to work out the soreness in his arm.

"That feels good," he said softly. Then he reached over and touched my cheek. "I'm thinking of something else that would feel really good." He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. He tasted warm and a little salty. My eyes drifted shut and I enjoyed the simple contact. His fingers lightly caressed my cheek, my neck and a spot that's especially sensitive, my collarbone. Finally, Dave slipped his tongue into my mouth, still gentle and patient. "Mmmm..." I murmured.

I began to rub his shoulders and upper arms, running my hands over his chest, brushing his flat nipples with my thumbs. His abs were hard and well defined and I enjoyed rubbing them too. He returned the favor by turning more to face me and gently caressing my breasts. My nipples were hard and aching for his touch. He stroked them obligingly, staring at the hard peaks beneath my tank top and thin sports bra. We kissed again, a little more urgently this time. I could feel myself getting caught up in the heat of the moment. "This is not the most secluded spot in the park. The playground's right over there. And someone could come over to the courts any time."

"Let's take a walk," he said. Holding hands, meandering slowly in the fall sunshine, we followed the jogging path over toward the baseball fields. He led me to another picnic table shielded by trees and bushes from the playground and tennis courts. It faced the baseball field, but the season was over and it was deserted.

Dave lifted me onto the edge of the picnic table and stepped between my parted thighs. He gently rubbed himself against me and I could barely hold back a moan. He was big and warm and so very male. I looked into those green eyes and was mesmerized. He softly captured my chin and kissed me again, over and over until I was breathless. Raising my arms, he peeled my tank top and bra over my head. I glanced around nervously but he lowered his mouth to me slowly and I was lost. He lavished both breasts with attention, stroking the sensitive skin underneath, licking the areolas, caressing the nipples with his hands and mouth. He scraped a nipple with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue. With his other hand he reached between my legs, under my pleated skirt.

I was embarrassingly wet and I was sure he could feel it even through my panties. Almost desperate for his touch, I couldn't help thrusting myself toward his hand. He stroked me languidly, alternating between rubbing between my legs and the soft insides of my thighs. He drove me almost to the edge of orgasm, stroking me through my panties. He kissed me again, a little harder this time. Then he worked his way down my chest, worshipping each breast one more time. Slowly he dropped to his knees. I leaned back with my hands braced on the table, eyes drifting shut, face to the warm sun. I could feel his soft breath on me as he continued to rub my cleft with his thumb. I quivered as he drew my panties aside and gently dipped his tongue into my pussy. He made love to me with his mouth and his tongue, strokes maddeningly slow and light. My hips were bucking and I was straining toward his teasing mouth. One hand held my panties to the side while the other reached up and teased a rigid nipple. He continued licking me, making gentle circles around my clit, patiently loving me until I was almost out of my mind.

"Please," I begged. "Please what, darlin'?"

"Please make me come. I'm so ready to come."

He slowly withdrew and stood up. His erection was clearly visible through his shorts. I couldn't resist putting my hand on it, exploring the hard bulge, rubbing the hot length of him. Dave dipped his head and kissed me again. He lowered his shorts and, again slipping my panties to the side, rubbed the head of his cock against my aroused clit. It only took a minute and I could feel my orgasm building. Then he slid inside me. That was all it took to send me over the edge. I pressed my face to his chest as waves of pleasure rolled over me. He stroked smoothly and slowly, burying himself in me as if I were the center of the universe and he had all the time in the world. Amazingly, I felt myself ready to come again. I reached between us and stroked his balls. They were tight, ready to explode. "Come inside me, I want to feel you," I whispered. He sped up his rhythm slightly and his breath quickened. He pumped into me faster and faster and finally, with a groan, he emptied himself into me. The feel of his hard cock throbbing inside me triggered my second orgasm and I convulsed around him. We stayed like that for long minutes, joined together, until our breathing calmed. He slowly withdrew and adjusted first my clothing, then his own. Our eyes met and I couldn't help smiling.

"That was amazing," I said. "I'm really glad you stopped to try to get a peek up my skirt."

He grinned and said, "The pleasure was all mine."