London was cold and wet, which for the middle of July was not a great sign that the tennis tournament was going to go down a storm at all. In fact, it was a racing certainty that any event booked outdoors in July would attract a deluge of rain, no matter what the weather was like the day before or the day after. British weather just did that to you, slapped you on the back of the head and said donât mess with me by arranging anything more than 24 hours in advance. It was a bastard and it knew it.
Thankfully she wasnât playing, just watching, but watching nothing wasnât very exciting at all, and at least if there was play on it was a good reason to sit outside in the sun and have a drink. With no play the chances are she would be stuck in the bar with a bunch of white shorted men and women discussing the most appropriate string tension to use on a Slazenger 600P racket. Oh no, she couldnât face an afternoon of that. Please God, let it be sunny.
She was lazing in the bath, lazing as much as you could do when your five foot nothing and the bath is six foot four. Her boyfriend loved it because he was bath sized, she had to sort of wedge herself in and hope she didnât slide under unexpectedly.
Funnily enough she was thinking about sex. Well, she did about ninety percent of the time when she was in the bath, because thatâs what warm water and a naked body did for her. She couldnât help look at herself naked without thinking of being fucked, or to be precise, having been fucked.
And she thought about fucking most of the time because thatâs what she enjoyed doing most, well apart from drinking, but she couldnât quite place them in order, drinking first and fucking second, or the other way around. Either way, she didnât day dream of drinking in the bath that was for sure.
Contrary to popular belief she didnât get that much sex. Oh she talked about it all the time, and was as flirty as they come, but she didnât get that much sex. Her boyfriend had lost his sex appeal a long time ago, and her sex life was now confined to the odd drunken fuck every now and again. She had started planning drinking sessions away from home with the express strategy to get fucked by somebody. Some man somewhere was going to get fucked when she appeared in town, he just didnât know it yet; but somebody was going to fuck her when she wanted it, she always got her way.
The day dream this morning was about her recent trip to Bristol, âto see some college friendsâ as she had told her boyfriend. Number one plan on the trip was to get a fuck, and she had, and it was OK, nothing amazing, but it was a fuck after all. She was a bit pissed and his face was a bit of a hazy memory now but his cock wasnât and she held onto the feeling of somebody inside her because she knew her next fuck might be a while away yet.
It was time to get out of the bath anyway, she had to get ready and get down the club to watch the first match postponed due to the rain, so Amanda got up, and wrapped herself in a towel and headed for the bedroom.
As it was a sporting occasion she thought she thought she best go sporty looking, so decided that she would give it a bit of a tennis look and opted for the tennis skirt and white-shirt, which over the top she threw a sweat top. She wasnât playing but looking the part was all important and when she looked in the mirror she thought she had hit the mark perfectly. Sport, sexy and chic, difficult to manage in rain soaked London, but the members of David Lloyd would appreciate the effort she was sure.
Amanda left the house and drove to the club, planning to leave her car there over night in case she drank too much; well that was guaranteed.
The club was busy when she arrived and she headed through reception, passed the pool, and headed straight into the bar area, where the players were gathering, watching the rain sodden courts outside with anguish and longing. Tennis players really did get all emotional over rained off games.
Her boyfriend was already seated, pint in hand, not a good sign.
âWhen are you starting,â Amanda asked him and the group together.
There was much shaking of heads.
âNo fucking chance of any play today,â her partner responded dejectedly, âfucking going to rain all afternoon they reckon, so absolute wash out.â
The players all nodded and shook their heads at the same time. Amanda knew that this afternoon was going to be dull as dishwater.
âWell, I am going to get myself a large one then,â and she headed for the bar, not asking if anybody else wanted one, because she knew they all did and that was one hell of a round to get in.
âLarge Bacardi and Diet Coke please,â she might as well start as she meant to go on.
The drink appeared and she took a very large mouthful, swallowing it all down in one and then going in again for another swig. She was going to get pissed.
She rejoined the group and grabbed a seat opposite some of the men, the women all having retired to the changing rooms, deciding that they might as well go home or go shopping if no play was going to happen. Only the men seamed to want to hang around hoping the sun might shine and the courts dry up, men had that inbuilt ability to hang around waiting for anything even if there was only a 1% chance of it happening. Women were far too sensible and realistic.
Amanda now didnât give a fuck what happened because she had drained her first Bacardi and was onto her second large one.
The conversation was still on tennis and probably would be for some time. It was now nearly three and with all hopes of play abandoned some of the more sociable where planning what they could do next.
âWell I vote we keep drinking for a few more hours,â was Amandaâs contribution to the conversation. She was four drinks in now, and those who noticed that she was becoming more pissed and more flirty seconded her motion.
By five the air was blue, and the women had all departed apart from one, and it was six men and Amanda left, her boyfriend now extremely pissed and threatening to go home for much needed sleep.
Amanda was having none of it, and was already sending somebody off to the bar for another round, not sure how many they had already drunk but now to pissed to care and too pissed to stop.
Dave was trying to decide if they should all go for a curry, a Chinese, to a pub, or stay where they were.
Who was hungry?
Half of them!
Who fancied a pub?
The beer here was subsidised and they had a seat!
Who was hungry?
Shut up Dave!!
There was no consensus so the consensus was to not change anything, the bar was not quite as Saturday night was night a big drinking night down David Lloyd, and the far corner area by the television had been turned into their own private drinking club, and they had scared off anybody within about 40 feet. Julie got bored and decided enough was enough, leaving Amanda with seven men, well six now. Her boyfriend had got thoroughly pissed and Julie said she would drop him off at home if he wanted, he wanted to go, Amanda didnât care, so the total number fo men was now six. Six to One; Amanda fancied the odds.
âRight then,â Nigel wanted some entertainment, âwhat can we play!â
They all looked at each other, the middle classes not being experts at drinking games, especially the North West London variety.
Amandaâs mouth opened before her brain kicked in.
âTruth or Dare?â she suggested
Nods of approval all round, the odd here here, and of course, they all knew he was now going to have to go first.
âAmanda first then,â Dave decided, âTruth or Dare?â
Amanda had walked into it.
âTruth,â she didnât want any dares just yet.