This is literally the first story I ever wrote, back in 2001 (although I did a rewrite in 2004). It is more of a fun tease, as opposed to anything romantic. This is bluedragon storytelling "lite", so have fun with it and don't take anything too seriously.
PART 1: Tennis Match
***
I thought I had the match won. Up 5-4 in the final and deciding set, 40-15 in this game, plus I had two match points. I boomed out a great serve, the ball nailing the line and taking a huge hop out past the doubles alley. But the return was made, hard and fast, catching me off guard. The bright yellow-green ball ripped up the line, faster than I could react and I lost that point.
No problem, I was still up 40-30. I still had another match point. I slammed my first serve right up the middle of the court, throwing my opponent completely off balance. Only a weak little pop-up return was managed, a floater that would fall well-short of the baseline. Determined to finish off this match, I crept up and rifled a beautiful approach shot back into the corner of the court, my momentum carrying me forwards to the net. The ball should have been out of reach, but my opponent scrambled to track it down and flailing at the ball, kicked up a weak lob.
I grinned. Piece of cake. Now I knew I had this match won. I took careful aim and as the ball came down I stepped up and smashed it, putting all of my strength into my stroke and slamming home my victory with a bang.
"Out!"
Oh, crap. In my eagerness, I overhit the ball and sent the ball well behind the baseline. Deuce. My match points were squandered, but I could still close out this game and win the match handily. I've still got the match won.
I wish. It was all downhill from there. I wound up losing the game, and then the match. Dammit. When everything was finally over, I trudged up to the net for the ceremonial handshake.
"Great game!"
"Yeah, sure." Sigh. I'd lost to a girl. What were the guys going to think of me now? "You played well, Michelle."
"Aw, you're just angry you lost to a girl." Seeing Michelle's radiant smile was almost enough to erase the shame of defeat. Almost. Michelle had one of those picture perfect Asian faces. Inverted teardrop-shaped face, big almond shaped eyes. She was definitely what you'd call "very cute." Whenever she smiled, she lit up the whole room. The rest of her wasn't too hard on the eyes either. She had on a white visor that all the tennis girls loved, her jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Right now she wore the tiniest and tightest white short- sleeve blouse that hugged her upper-body assets tightly. Packed into her sports bra, her high-B-cup tits seemed just a little too large for her petite frame. Other than those, her whole body was trim, athletic, and well-toned, betraying no body fat whatsoever. I especially loved the short, black, pleated tennis skirt she wore, which afforded me a wonderful view of her toned legs. It was no wonder she was considered one of the hottest girls on campus.
We exchanged idle chit-chat before deciding to get off the court and go home. After all, we had class tomorrow. "See you later!" she said perkily. With a wave, she about faced and bounced off the court.
Some hormonal part of my body didn't want her to go, but I loved to watch her leave. So loitering on the court for a minute I watched her skirt bounce away, then plodded off to grab my bag and head to my car.
***
Psychology was boring. A good part of the hour and a half was an utter waste of time. The only interesting thing that happened in class was a particular section we covered on the hormonal differences between males and females. According to the text, men were genetically driven to "spread their genes" and procreate with as many females as possible, to promote the survival of their characteristics. Females on the other hand, seek to find the male most capable of providing for and protecting their offspring, even if that male already has a mate.
Well, that wasn't the only interesting thing that happened in class. Michelle was in the same Psychology course, and had been for the entire quarter. Normally she sat up front with the rest of the overachieving females of her crowd. They weren't nerds, they were just smart and hard-working. Makes you sick sometimes doesn't it. Balancing boyfriends (most were pretty good-looking and well- dressed), other social aspects, sleep, hobbies, and maintaining their high GPAs at the same time, these were the people you'd expect to succeed in life. And to top it off, Michelle and her roommates never settled on the cardboard boxes for TV stands and coffee tables, or stooped so low as to cook up ramen and soda. They found time to cook full meals with rice, meat, and vegetables, and even built some of their furniture with materials from The Home Depot.
Anyways, normally Michelle sat with her roommates, but today she came into class just a few seconds before the professor arrived, and slid into the chair next to me. She wore her hair pulled back into her standard no-nonsense ponytail. Perched on a dainty nose, her ultrathin glasses glinted reflections of the powerpoint presentation on the projector screen. She mumbled a quick "Hi" to me before digging into her bag to get her notebook out.
Perhaps that was the reason I didn't find the lecture interesting today. I'm not a Psych major (she is), and I never found the stuff interesting in the first place, but today seemed especially boring. Plus, the fact that I kept checking Michelle out the whole class probably didn't help. She had on these really tight ivory capris, and an equally tight pastel blue 3/4 top. I could make out the faint outlines of a somewhat lacy bra underneath. She wasn't wearing socks, and had these cute somewhat platformed canvas shoes on. In the middle of a particularly boring speech, her head swiveled towards me in the midst of my none-too-subtle observations of her body.
Reflexively, I jerked back to stare furiously at my notes. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the corners of her lips turn up in an impish smile. "Very good notes."
I looked down at the blank pages before me. I'd spent the last half-hour checking her out and not listening to a damn word the professor was saying. She didn't say anything more, and I made it a point not to stare at her any more for the rest of the class.
The lecture finally ended, and after collecting my binder into my bag, I stood up. Michelle had apparently beaten me to it, and my head bumped into her as I got up. I apologized profusely, but she laughed it off.
"Oh, it's alright."
"Sorry, I wasn't looking."
"You were before, why'd you stop?"
"Oh, don't play games with me, Michelle. You beat me in a tennis match. That doesn't give you the right to tease me for the next week."
"You're right. I could tease you whenever I wanted even if I hadn't beaten you."
