Game, Set, Match

Hello Readers! This story is rather a long one, so if you're looking for a quickie, this probably isn't your thing. If, however, you prefer a slow buildup with plenty of flirtation and teasing before sex, then this may be more your cup of tea. I hope you dig it and thank you for reading!

Part One

There it was. It was official. Angie had made the tennis team. Angie, now 18 years of age and a senior in high school, was going to tackle her fourth year playing the sport. She was beyond thrilled. She and her good friend Rachel had both made the team, and she was excited for her good chum to be along for the ride.

Both young women stood about 5'5", but Rachel was a little bit on the round side, though still very cute with her freckled face and glittering blue eyes. Angie was on the slim side with wavy blond hair and green/blue eyes. With Angie being on the slim side -- some might even say skinny side -- people often mistook her for being taller than her height. Their personalities also clashed occasionally, Rachel being the brusque and abrupt one, and Angie being a little bit more of the delicate type, although she was not afraid to hit on the boys or let her opinion be known when she felt it mattered.

Though these two girls got along like yin and yang, Angie was certain that she would not get along so famously with her new tennis coach so well. She was used to Coach Leonard, the guy who coached the girls the first three years of her high school career. Len was extremely demanding, but he got the results that he wanted, which was that of an outstanding girls' tennis team. Unfortunately, he was getting up there in years and not quite the whippersnapper that he once was and decided to hang up his gloves and retire.

Now there was a new coach, and Angie did not relish the thought of him.

This guy -- his name was Al -- was a younger guy, and she was not at all impressed with him when she met him the couple of times at the try-outs for the team. He did not look like a high school tennis coach. With his tanned skin and muscular physique, she was sure he had not suffered or dealt with reality a day in his life. He reminded her of the young jocks at school that she so desperately tried to avoid: the football quarterbacks, the baseball pitchers, the cross-country runners. In other words, all those young men who were all so aware of their physical perfection and reveled in the attention it brought them.

True, Al looked about twice the seniors' age; he was, in fact, 38 years old, but Angie did not consider that in her quick judgment of him. She never thought that a man could be both intelligent and beautiful at the same time. In her experience, it just was not possible. And she felt that the same theory could be applied to Al.

How wrong she would find herself to be.

Al, in fact, was everything that Angie assumed that he was not: he had a natural intelligence and intuition about him that made him weed out the undesirables and toxic personalities in his life; he could be extremely charismatic and romantic toward the opposite sex, often resulting in what he craved for; he had an extremely high sex drive, causing much frustration in his love life when it was empty, and, finally, he was a classy man and extremely respectful of those around him.

Furthermore, he had a different background than a lot of the men in the rural area. He had lived in Spain until the age of three, when his parents and himself moved to the United States. He remembered very little of the Spanish life he and his family had left behind, but his culture was something he embraced. Aside from his tall, muscular frame, his eyes were a dark brown and his hair was also a dark color, though it had been receding the last few years. He was as close to physical perfection as a man could get.

Still, Angie was not impressed by him. Not by his looks, not by his demeanor that seemed so standoffish and unemotional. The truth was that he was just a reserved, shy man who could be quite charming when the occasion called for it. Angie, with her typical skepticism, and Al, with his open mind and hearty laugh at a dirty joke, made the twosome an unlikely pair.

But a pair it eventually made them.

Part Two

The first two weeks of tennis week were astoundingly surprising to Angie and the others.

Compared to Coach Leonard, Al was as gentle as a lamb. He softly coached the girls with an authoritative but quiet hand. There was no yelling, no abusive language, no cursing. He was extremely respectful of their age and inexperience at sports, and if an obvious mistake was made during practice, well, he let it go. He didn't hang onto it like a bulldog like their former coach had done.

This approach made Angie appreciate her new coach. There were no otherworldly expectations. He simply wanted the girls to have fun and maybe learn a thing or two about the sport in the process. With this type of warm and encouraging attitude, Angie found herself drawn, maybe even attracted to this man who was more than twice her age.

It seemed that Angie's attraction was drawing Al to her and her to him. It was almost imperceptible. Al's eye seemed a little bit more focused on the young blond than it was on the other members of the team. His body seemed to draw closer and nearer to her over time, helping her correct her stance or where and how to grip the racquet. Their accidental touches sent an electric shock of teenage hormones from her heart, allowing her panties to become damp and then moist and then finally soaked with desire for him.

With the sunshine beating down on their tanned and athletic bodies, drops of sweat running down their arms and the sides of their face, the unlikely pair became close. Their physical proximity to one another made her heart race and her tummy flutter with butterflies. His reaction to her was much more prominent than he let on. He was always a gentleman with her, lightly touching the small of her back as they spoke, or shyly complimenting her on the things she excelled at, like her two-handed backhand, and quietly pointing out how she could improve getting behind the ball or making her serve more accurate. All his comments were taken to heart by the young woman, and, though she had been reluctant to accept him into her life, she was quickly beginning to see what a catch he was.

On this lazy Sunday afternoon, after Sunday dinner with her mother and stepfather, Angie went up to her bedroom and put her earbuds in and escaped into her fantastical world of dreaming and fantasizing about what young women often thought of: men and sex, relationships and dating, roses and a love-conquers-all type of romanticism. She pulled her diary out from a drawer in her desk. She sat down and began to scribble all of her thoughts in the tiny notebook, with one focus and one focus only: Al.

And so her diary entry went as follows:

Sunday April 7, 2019

Dear Journal,

There's something about him. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's almost as if, under that gentlemanly exterior, he is absolutely oozing with manliness -- and yet he rarely draws it towards himself. And that's what makes me notice him. I get the feeling he is attracted to me too, but he's too much of a gentleman, too kind to let it show. And yet, I feel something with him, as if he can hear every thought running through my brain.

I remember going out with Tom last year, and Zeke the year before that. Those have been the most serious romantic relationships of my life, and yet, Al is so much more of a man; he has this indescribable sexuality about him that is smoldering.

The weather was especially hot at practice on Friday, and all I could think of was how beautiful he looked. The sweat was pouring off his wet, matted hair, so dark and sexy (and balding!), the beads of perspiration running down the sides of his arms, as if he had just come out of a hot shower. I'd absolutely love to shower with him -- that thick, big body of his covering me as he held me, sweetly holding my face, his hard meat pressing against my tummy, both our bodies glistening under the showerhead. That is one of my favorite fantasies of him and I.

I notice that he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but he probably has a girlfriend. I hope not! I want him all to myself! I want him to seduce me like no man has ever done before. I want that man so bad. I can only imagine his body, so tanned and large, hovering over mine in a sea of tangled limbs as we fuck each other till we can't take it anymore, groaning and grunting and sighing, working towards our orgasm together. God, I'd love to cum with him. I'd love it if he came inside of me.

Part Three

Angie lied on the tennis court, her shin split, draining blood. She had fallen. Hard.

Al, along with a couple of girls from the team, ushered towards her in a fast walk. Angie had been trying to perfect her serve (one of the hardest parts of the game) to the girl on the other side of the net, but, as she soon found out, she was unsuccessful. Her footing and the swivel of her whole body had been way off, her foot fumbling beneath her miniscule amount of weight and splat! down she went on the cement.

The first person that made their way over to her was Al. He held his large hands out to her. She looked up at him, stunned by the gorgeousness of his eyes, despite the split she felt in her shin. As if in a trance, she sat there on the ground, one knee bent, and then came to her senses, accepting his offer of help.

"Thank you so much, Al," she said sweetly.

The girls crowded around her, feigning concern as young women do for one another.

"Are you alright, Angie?" he asked. He helped her to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright. God, my leg hurts though. I think I need to sit down."

She wished he could make love to his voice, the way he spoke her name and showed so such concern. Al urged the other girls to go back to their games, that the injured would be alright. He held his arm around her back and underneath her armpit, helping her jostle over to a nearby bench.

"You got to be careful of those serves. Those can be a killer, especially if you're out of practice."

She stopped for a moment and looked up into those dark eyes. "How'd you know I was serving? I mean, you were on a whole other court with Kelly and Janie," she said, resuming her hobble, mentioning a couple of other girls on the team.

It was his turn to stop. Even in the dark glow of his tanned skin, she could see he was blushing. "Well, uh, I like to keep an eye on all the girls while you guys are practicing. I just don't want you to think..." His voice faded off like a shadow.

"You mean you don't want me to think you were watching me and me alone?" Angie smiled and laughed.

He chuckled too, embarrassed by his obvious faux pas. "Do you mind?"

"No," she plopped herself on the bench. "No, not at all. I'm flattered, in fact."

He retrieved the first aid kit and knelt before her to tend to her wound. "Let's see if we can fix this up," he said, pretending not to notice what she had said.

She watched him lustfully. Her slim leg was completely vulnerable to his touch. She had shaved and lotioned her legs that morning; they were smooth and silky with a bit of tan that had touched them up these last couple of weeks, practicing out in the warmer weather.

Al delicately cleaned up the blood from her leg with a cloth. It occurred to her that he might be taking more time than was needed on her body, but she didn't mind a bit. She could feel her panties moisten with desire for this older man, this man more than twice her age. With this beautiful man at her knee, and her knees slightly apart so he could fix her injury, she wondered if he would dare to peek at the small white triangle that was hidden underneath her tight white tennis skirt. Maybe by accident or manly instinct, he might catch a glimpse, and it seemed that he had become distracted by her presence: the fragrance of her sweat and perfume mixed in one glorious smell. She began to swivel her ankle seductively, teasing him and giggling slightly at the blush that once again returned to his cheeks.

Finally, in a break of his staunch professionalism, a grin broke over his face, and he spoke in a low, deep voice, "Angie, don't tease me, darling." He paused as he gently dabbed a bit of disinfectant on her wound and she flinched, sucking in her breath with the sting of pain. He grinned once more. "That's what you get for taunting an old man." She thought of him as the most pleasant sadist she had come across. She laughed at his shy demeanor.

"I don't mean to taunt you," she said in her adolescent sing-song voice.

He applied a soft white bandage to the wound and patted her calf. "Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly what you're doing."

Although her injury was officially fixed and she was ready to go back in to play on the court, the two of them -- the oddest of couples -- hesitated to do so. Al remained at the young woman's knee and looked up her light, glittering eyes. It was then she saw something in them that she hadn't seen in them before: pure desire. He had always been friendly, maybe even a tad flirtatious, but she believed -- no, she knew -- she was now inside of him, as she dreamed of him being inside of her someday.

He sat beside her on the bench, setting the first aid kit on his lap. "Do you need some Advil?" He asked her. "I have the dissolvable kind if you think it'll help with the pain."

Angie nodded and playfully grasped onto his bicep, pressing her young tits against his bare arm. His biceps were large, muscular and she very much enjoyed teasing him (and herself) in this way. He tried to ignore her advances, but she saw the lump forming in his shorts. The two obviously liked and were attracted to each other, and, at this point, Angie didn't care if it looked wrong or forbidden. She liked the fact that the other girls may be viewing their displays of affection.

Al unwrapped two white dissolvable Advil tablets and handed them to her. She refused and softly extended her pink, small tongue outside of her mouth. She knew the pills melted in her mouth and she wanted this man to place them on her tongue for her. What an intimate and sexy act -- if she could persuade him to do it. Her big, beautiful eyes were closed in obvious ecstasy.

"Oh, so that's the way you want it, then?" he asked, playing a bit of cat-and-mouse with her in this game that had developed so quickly. "Alright," he laughed, slowly and sensually, almost throatily.

He placed one pill on her tongue and she very slowly, like a wet dream, closed her lips around it, her lip gloss shining in the sun, the little bubbles of saliva wrapping around one another and playing with one another. God, how he wanted to play with her. The urges he had felt before had been so subtle, so beneath-the-surface. Now they were full throttle, and his cock was throbbing. Her sweet, small mouth was heaven to watch, and she swallowed the dissolved bits with a cute swallow of her throat. He wondered to himself if anything inappropriate had slid down that throat at one time or another.

"And?" She asked, opening her bright eyes, and looking at him innocently.

He looked at her, confused. "Yes, darling?"

"Well, the other pill. You said there are two of them."

"Oh, oh!" he said clumsily. "Yes, of course, darling."

He placed the second pill on her wet tongue and relived the whole fantasy once more. He knew she was only 18, but that didn't keep him from wanting her. That innocent, pink mouth, oh, where had it been? Had it been on a man before? He couldn't help but dream about it wrapped around his tool, her bubbles of saliva coating his skin as this wonderfully talented and kind young woman turned into his tramp in nearly a moment's notice.

It finally registered consciously with him: he wanted this young woman. He wanted to commit all sorts of sins her mother had warned her against, especially with dangerous, older men. He smiled inwardly at describing himself as "dangerous," although that's certainly what he was, and that's certainly what he felt around this young blond: a dangerous, bad, naughty man who had his eye out for her. And she knew all this before he had.

It seemed that their teasing words had subdued for the time being, though she still hung onto his arm, which delighted him and made him rise. They spoke to one another as the sun set and watched the other girls playing their matches of tennis. The girls, almost unaware of the twosome's flirtatiousness, batted the tennis balls back and forth, flexing their athleticism with serves and forehands and backhands and slices.

After about ten minutes of chitchat, Al and Angie decided she should get back on the court to practice. They pretended it was to improve her skills, but they both knew it was to avoid anyone becoming suspicious of their long break and teasing behavior.

Angie rejoined the match she had been a part of and, as she jogged out to the baseline, he watched her cute little butt, wiggling back and forth with the fabric stretched across her ass, the hem of the skirt sitting tightly beneath the creases of her ass cheeks. Her legs, he thought, were her most beautiful asset. Slim but shapely and smooth, as he found out not too long ago when he had kneeled before her.

God, how he had been tempted to look up her skirt and see what lie hidden beneath that fabric. He had watched enough pornography in his life to wonder if this young lady did, indeed, shave that sweet triangle in between her thighs. It seemed all the youngsters were doing it these days, though he had no personal experience with extremely young women to prove or disprove his theory. As of right then, he could only dream of a sweet, tight teenage pussy all for himself. So pink and so pretty and so in need of attention from an experienced hand.

His cock grew so hard and erect that afternoon, practically watching no one else but her. He wanted her, and he knew she liked him too, with that special variety of teasing she had been so good at giving him. Damn, she was good. And he grew harder. If only he were twenty years younger. He sighed as he watched her practice, her pretty, bare legs springing into action with quick reactions during the points. The way the nipples of her breasts grew erect against the tightness of her stretchy, white athletic top.

His heart fell in disappointment when practice was over at 5:30 that afternoon and an older man picked Angie up in his car. He assumed the older man was her stepfather she had spoken of. He smiled to himself as he recalled her saying she didn't like him all that much.

Though Al was shy and reserved, he knew how to get women. And that little woman would be all his someday.

Sooner or later.

Part Four

Al lived in a beautiful but solitary house on Quigley Avenue. It had two floors and a basement and was dressed in hardwood floors, and polished carpeting for the more intimate rooms of the home. It was just him and his thoughts knocking around in this old dwelling.

His evenings after work were often in solitude. He cooked dinner for himself and then either watched TV or painted. With all the solitude in his life, one would think he would get lonely, but he rarely ever did. He occasionally had a lustful eye and a midnight romp that usually satisfied his desires. The older man enjoyed his freedom and independence and asked for nothing from no one.

Al sat his kitchen table, writing down his erotic thoughts in what he called his "erotic journal." He had just got done taken a shower and was feeling rather hot and bothered. He rarely ever wrote in his erotic journal when he wasn't feeling horny. All of his fantasies came oozing out of him during these times, and he could feel his cock dampen and extend when, that night, he finally admitted his obvious attraction for his young tennis protégée.