Anyone for Sex (Tennis)?

Alone in the big city, wishing to find a friendly face somewhere, Mandy took her curvy and quite slim body to the Featherstone Street Tennis Club.

Next to shopping, tennis was her passion.

A young man responded when she said, "Excuse me", dragging his lips off his companion's which certainly indicated they weren't brother and sister.

Bozo or whatever his name, wiped the back of a hands across his lips and replied. "Yes?"

"I wish to join and play."

"Tennis, or with us?" he grinned.

Miss Luscious Lips giggled.

"Tennis. Definitely tennis. Undisputedly tennis."

"Okay, I was just kidding. I'm Harry err Harry Tonks, he said. "And this is Linda my, um..."

Linda's face saddened.

"Kissing partner?"

"Yes. She's that, but we also go out a bit."

"Use the term girlfriend, Harry. It's not confirmation that you're having sexual relations with her or she's about to be asked to be your fiancée."

"Good for you, Miss. Don't men appear foolish when they become tongue-tied?"

"Indeed, Linda. I'm Mandy Reynolds, just arrived in the city from Fielding yesterday."

"Hi, Mandy. I'm Linda Goodchild and this hunky charmer is the club captain.

"Inside, you'll find a grey-haired woman Mrs Tonks, who's Harry's mother and club secretary. Throw her some dollars and she'll put you in one of the draws. Then come back at chat. You look in need of adult company."

"Thanks Linda, see you soon."

Miss Slim-line disappeared into the rickety clubhouse.

"Gawd, what a figure. There's not an ounce of fat on her, and legs from under her tennis skirt go on forever."

"Yeah," said Harry, his mind on the twin curves Mandy had below her chin.

Mandy found Mrs Tonks. She clucked around and found a club membership nomination form.

"Do you know anyone here?"

"Yes," said Mandy confidently.

She returned outside and had Harry and Linda nominate and second her application form for new membership.

Back inside the clubhouse, Mrs Tonks took the application to a couple of members of the club committee present, who looked at Mandy and approved of her as a member.

"You're in, love, as soon as you pay me $85.00 for the year's subscription."

"Half that amount, the season is half over," said Mandy.

"No flies on you, are they love. You are correct. Listen, our treasurer wants to vacate the position. With a sharp mind like yours you'll have this club back into the black again."

"No, sorry Mrs Tonks. Try me in twelve months from today. By then I will understand the culture of the club and will have established a rapport with individual members."

"Darling, with a body like that you'll know every male member in the club here today by the time you leave tonight and no woman is going to forget you, believe me."

"Even so," Mrs Tonks. "No decision inside a year, understand?"

"Yes dear, all right. But a warning, watch our predator of young things, Miles Jones."

"Predator?"

"My lips are sealed, love; just remember the name."

Mandy was not perturbed.

After all, it was only a game, and tennis club people were representative of society. Predators are always where one expects to find them, in bars, lurking around public toilets, walking fully clothed along a topless beach with very dark sunglasses and driving very hot motor vehicles.

The roar of a four-exhaust pipe Italian sports car announced the arrival of club president Miles Jones.

While waiting for the draw to be announced, Mandy removed the cover off her father's batter Dunlop wood-framed tennis racket. He'd donated it to Mandy eight years ago.

There were titters as some owners of the latest hi-tech racquets noticed Mandy's weapon but she didn't mind. Mandy had four brothers and these days she could knocked the pants off any of them, at will, and despite them having hi-tech in vogue rackets.

The draws for the day were announced, and Mandy found she was to face another late arrival, Miles Jones, in the least popular draw, mixed singles.

A white wine appeared in front of Mandy.

"Here, Miss Reynolds. Something to make you relax. I promise I shall go easy and just cruise to a win."

"Who are you?" replied Mandy, as if unaware who he was.

Miles's well-trained ego allowed him to take that unacceptable response with ease.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Miles Jones, club president."

"It's a great honour to meet you, Mr President."

Miles spluttered in his beer.

He took another look at his drawn opponent, satisfying himself there was no mirth lurking beneath her passive face. He licked his lips, looking at her lips, not used to seeing such absolute perfection. She thought that she must have had them injected.

"Miles will do nicely. The wine's crap here, but that's the top of the club range. Do you play tennis, err, well?"

"I like to think so," said Mandy, adding she'd been undefeated women's senior champion at her local tennis club since she turned 14. Yet she spurned playing in graded tennis competitions, only playing socially and against visiting clubs in friendly encounters.

Miles nodded thoughtfully and his gaze returned to her boobs.

They finally were called to a court.

In the warm up Miles became aware that she returned everything he tossed at her, but wasn't worried; it was only a warm up. If necessary, he'd shift up a gear or two and power her into the asphalt.

They were among three singles pairings on court before afternoon tea. Everyone else went inside to drink tea/coffee or something stronger.

The word went out: "The new bird is making Miles work."

Members drifted out on to the elevated deck to watch.

"She's good."

"Take a look at those legs, will you."

"Miles is getting pissed out. He'll blast her soon, he'll have to."

"Is she wearing a bra?"

The duo under scrutiny changed ends, and Miles said to Mandy, "Sorry babe, I'll have to wind up. People have come out and are looking at us. I've my reputation to consider."

Mandy smiled and shrugged at him, leaving him confused. What sort of signal was that?

He soon found out.

Mandy knew he'd beat her; he had the ability and horse-power to grind her down, quickly unless she was careful. Well, it seemed everyone was interested in a display and she'd do her very best and at least show she had grit. The club had a 'provincial' feeling to it, which made her feel quite a home. She must not disappoint.

But her good intentions were short-lived. Miles jumped into his serves and twice knocked Mandy's racket from her hand.

At the next change, Linda Goodchild was standing alongside the chair where Mandy was having the allocated brief rest, using it to wipe off sweat and have an energy drink.

"Here, take this, I'll look after your beloved relic," smiled Linda, handing across a Yonex Nanospeed RQ5 she'd found when searching through the club's cupboard storing loan racquets.

"You're a wristy player; it will give you more control, more spin. Go easy for a couple of games to get the feel, then go for it; Miles is susceptible to drop shots."

Mandy often played with her brothers' racquets and so was used to new generation technology. Soon she was getting more returns of service back, though not nearly enough of them.

But the noticeable difference was she was playing Miles all over the court and he was red-faced and sweating like a pig to make miraculous saves which brought applause, as did Mandy's crafty drop shots that had Miles playing at a double bouncer or over-stretching shots into the net.

Miles finally got there, winning 6-2, 6-4 and 9-7.

"You bloody beaut," he said, grinning, squeezing Mandy's hand in a bone-crusher grip. "No shelia in this club has stood up to me like that."

When back in the clubhouse, the wines rushed a little too fast into Mandy and she became very lively and everyone thought she was real fun until when Miles was about to leave, and in his usually boorish way, held up his car keys and said, "Anyone for sex?"

Not hearing the call correctly, Mandy thought he'd said "Anyone for tennis?" and although the light was fading decided to be a good sport and called out "Yes!"

Conversations halted mid-track and Mandy beamed at everyone, wondering why the smiles had gone. She stood up to find her racket but was pulled back on to her chair by Linda.

"For God's sake, Mandy. You're branding yourself as a slut. You're drunk. It's Mile's little joke. Trish is screwing him legless, so much so she claims he's not been able to get it up when he leaves home."

"Sex? He said tennis, didn't he?"

"Come on Mandy, Harry and I are taking you home. You can remember the address, I hope."

"Address, what address?"

"Oh Mandy, you best come home with me."

As usual, after a night of drinking excessively, Mandy awoke brightly and began singing a country song. The sweet singing stirred Linda, sleeping in the same room.

"Crickey," Linda said in surprise, sitting up and stretching. "You obviously have remarkable recuperative powers."

"It's only because I didn't mix booze and sex. If I do that, I wake up next morning a near-wreck."

"So, you don't get much sex?"

"Quite right Lindy, I like wine so I keep sex cutback to minimum maintenance level."

"Don't call me Lindy; I hate that name."

Mandy pulled off her top and began examining her boobs and said, "You're a natural Mindy to me darling. If you wish to continue with our fledging friendship, allow me the privilege of calling you Mindy, which means sweet Mindy to me."

"Omigod, you're prepared to drop me just over me saying you are not to use that name I don't care for?"

Mandy said she wasn't worried because she knows Linda will yield.

"Call me Lindy whenever you wish," Linda sighed.

"Thanks, sweet lady. I'll probably only use it when I feel it's really appropriate to use Lindy as a friendly endearment. Sorry for opposing you on this Linda, but I did try to be sensitive about it. Should I leave now or stay for breakfast and we plan to so something together today?"

"Stay, definitely stay. Mum and dad are probably waiting for us to join them for breakfast. I had to call mum to help put you to bed. God, you look like you don't weigh much but I had trouble lifting you from the floor where you collapsed. You appear to be mostly bones and well-developed muscle."

"Omigod, I'm so embarrassed."

"Forget it. Mum said you don't look like a dedicated drunk and in fact she thought you looked so cute."

"Hmmm, I'll try to show my best side at breakfast."

In the kitchen, Mandy saw an older version of Linda who obviously must be her mother and the newspaper concealing someone already seated at the kitchen table dropped and she was looking at the jovial face of a guy with a bushy moustache.

"Hi, Mandy with the lovely voice. I heard a bit of Neil Sedaka's 'Breaking Up is Hard to Do' as I was passing you girls' bedroom. Is that what's happened to you?"

"Gary! Dad!" cried mother and daughter.

"It's okay, guys," Mandy said easily. "I'm not hiding from it and sang part of that song without tears. I found my self-confessed devoted boyfriend on my bed in my family's farmhouse banging my married sister pregnant with her second child."

There was shocked silence.

And then Mrs Goodchild, sobbing, rushed around the table to hug Mandy.

"Mrs Goodchild, please don't be upset over me. I was practically over it within 12 hours as despite my facial mask, beneath that lies a hard bitch who had to battle the teasing and the humiliations heaped on me by my four brothers until I learned to fight back, often viciously."

"But I heard you singing, and you sounded so wounded."

"Yes Mrs Goodchild, and that's how the song is meant to be sung as your husband, in recognising the song, is probably into country music and will know that."

"She's right, Lillian. Stop mothering her and she has the signs of being a tough one, despite her almost angelic face."

"I apologise if I embarrassed you Mandy. Please call me Lillian."

"Is fine, Lillian. We all should appreciate an occasional hug, I certainly do."

"You're right about my association with country music, Mandy," Gary said, stroking his moustache affectionately. "Dolly Parton and Waylon Jennings are my two top favourites and my best-ever top song is 'Coalminer's Daughter' sung so spellbindingly by Loretta Lynn. And your's, Mandy?"

"It's pretty cut and dried for me, Gary. I don't necessarily go with how the mass views it. I go by what swings my heart. Clayton Walker is my top male country singer and my choice of best country song of the last decade is Clayton's 'Until I die'. My best female's album of modern times is Carrie Underwood's, 'Cry Pretty'.

"My current female singer, any category, is Beyoncé, and mum's is Taylor Swift," Linda offered.

"Wow, it sounds like we all as a group, are big into vocalists," Mandy said, causing everyone to beam.

"I can't believe how the drunk of last night has strummed up the tone of this household so easily," Lillian laughed and Mandy said it was the infectious side of music that was behind that.

The family urged Mandy to stay at least another night, and she accepted the invitation.

Later, wearing some of Linda's fresh clothing, she set off arm-in-arm with Linda to enjoy Saturday morning shopping,

They'd agreed to be at the tennis club by 1.00 to qualify for the various draws for the two club competitions for that day, beginning at 1.30.

Over their salad lunches, following by coffee, Linda said, "Let's compete only in female events until the mixed-doubles event starts soon after 5.00."

"Omigod, you want me to meet your Lesbian friends to induce them to fight over possession of the new girl in town?"

Linda practically snarled, said, "Don't be draft. I just wish to test my theory that you are the best female player in this club and if that proves correct, theoretically it would slot you in as No. 2 of the top five players in this club as our absent player Meryl Chambers occupied that position until she left on a scholarship to Oxford University in England and is not due back here until another two months.

"And she was Miles Jones' fuck sack?"

"Not so you disgusting wench," Linda said. "Meryl is the club's most-desired Lesbian. She beat Miles in last season's open club senior championship and at the finish Miles looked close is suffering coronary, such was his shock."

"Omigod!"

"No, don't waste your time being concerned," Linda said. "It's known as soon as he gets his dick into a new female conquest, his state of health and self-esteem soar. Um, I regret to say an hour after his downfall at the end of last season, Miles got a leg over me for the first and only time."

"Omigod, you disgusting slut," Mandy giggled, setting Linda into near hysterics of relieved laughter.

Linda had only just regained control when Mandy set her off into a laughter fit again by saying, "We unmarried adult females are free to make our choices of who to fuck, knowing we'll occasionally be left totally embarrassed at having made appalling bad decisions who to bed with."

Recovering from her excessive laughter, Linda blurted, "He didn't nail me in bed; we went under the clubrooms and noting no one else was around, we slammed together passionately."

"In a golf cart?" Mandy asked incredulously.

"Yes, Linda said. "The cart was a model that allowed the two sides of the divided windscreen to be opened forward and the seats to be tilted back. I got my feet out through the two open sections of the windscreen. That allowed that dipstick to lie over me and get cracking. He claimed that the manufacturer designed that more expensive model for coaches to get the undivided attention of some of their trainees."

Virtually picking herself up off the café floor from laughing without restraint, Mandy "dabbed her eyes and said, "Linda you have now totally erased my hidden heart-break."

"Oh-oh," Linda said. "I sense that you are about to proposition me."

"Gee, you have a nasty mind Lindy. Although I'm only in a room-rent temporarily and perhaps I could lure you away from home and we house-share."

"Omigod, yes. Let's do that. But your use of the word 'although' suggests you have something else in mind?"

"Yeah, good thinking. My proposition is we work together to warn every female in the club to stay away from Miles Jones sexually otherwise they will be blacklisted by the club's secret Sisterhood. Hopefully, through being denied a constant supply of nookie to choose from at the club, in despair he'll resign and join another club with a strong membership of females. That's my preferred choice."

"Ah, good thinking but you said choice rather that options, and choice is restricted to a choice of two. What is the second choice?"

"We blow up his car and castrate him."

"You sly bitch," Linda giggled. "You designed it that way so we'd all favour the first choice to avoid the risk of criminal prosecution. So, who's in this Sisterhood?"

"I can't say," Mandy smiled. "Membership is sworn to secrecy."

Looking incredulous, Linda said, "Does that mean the Sisterhood is non-existent?"

"Yes, but only you and I will know that."

They clung together in laughter.

The End