Just Keep Swinging

Today I'm yet again grinning through the stress whilst looking in the rearview mirror handing out sweets out of my handbag to keep them quiet whilst I concentrate on driving. The rain feels as if it's falling harder. Was I going back to where I belong?

Tennis was my teenage world. I lived, breathed, and reveled in the sport of tennis. I loved it. Spending time between the tramlines hitting ball after ball.

I sort of fell in love with my friend at the time, Rhiannon, she was the one who, much to my parents' disgust, led me astray. Much to my dad's frustrations. I should be chasing green fluffy balls not men, certainly not women. Playing tennis, not in the pubs.

Taking another large breath once safely parked up in the parking lot, beside us was something like an aircraft hangar sized shed. At least it would be dry inside. I ordered and helped get hoods up, seatbelts undone and get everyone dodging the Marianas trench deep puddles as we ran across to the front door.

The sound of shouting and screaming children, followed by that undeniable smell of stale sweat permeated the building. The same smell from your old gym bag that just makes you gag. We queued up. The children were soon disappointed it was not soft play.

I said it was just fun and games. Something I used to do when I was their age. That instantly got an eye roll. It's moments like that, you know they are yours. I was then extremely lucky that Timmy saw one of his school friends, and they were both off, shouting and running after each other with Jo in tow.

I spied the coffee counter and headed that way, there was a little viewing platform where the moms and dads were congregating along with bored siblings.

Grabbing a coffee, I shuffled over to the veranda and looked down at the four blue indoor courts. The bright white lines separating them were large white nets. However, on this occasion they were all pulled back. Giving the children the full run of the hall. The kids were loudly running around shouting and screaming as they moved in circles as the yellow balls flew and bounced everywhere and anywhere. Shivering, I slurped my coffee. They played games for a while. There were balls being hit everywhere and the children running around in circles. It all brought back memories of my youth. It was then I noticed that I was being waved at, my children beside the instructor as he beckoned me to come down. Just another five minutes of peace to finish my coffee, that was all I wanted. John was getting a whole two hours. He owed me big time.

Wincing after downing the coffee and heading down over to the side of the court. I first took in the instructor. I mean standing there taking a breather from jogging across, I couldn't do anything else. It was as if my feet felt as if they had been concreted to the spot. He was properly fit. Must have been at least half my age. His thighs were as big as mine. In contrast his were made of pure rippling muscle. Rather than my fat wobbling chocolate cake and biscuits variety. He was handsome and stunning. I contemplated that at that very moment my children were definitely taking up tennis. I would turn up every Saturday to watch him move. Even if the children didn't. His pert buttocks in his tight shorts were like a pair of tasty looking cupcakes.

"Your children have said their mom used to play." His smooth face and chiseled jaw were going up and down and there were words coming from his lips as he handed me a spare racquet. I was not really listening.

I was genuinely panicking, I was wishing that I put a sports bra on, rather than my old gray rainy day sitting on the comfortable sofa- one. It was perfect for standing there watching tennis, not playing it. I was worried if I bounced too much, would they fall out? My equally large, stretched panties were just about holding my excessive buttocks in place. I was grateful I had put my old sneakers on. I would not be doing this in heels. I was still trying to find an excuse. There were none coming. Could I pop outside for a quick smoke? No, I knew that would not look good. I had been planning on sneaking out when the children were distracted playing tennis. I was not meant to be doing this.

"Shall we see how good she was?" The overly masculine testosterone-fueled voice asked through a very pretty smile at the gathered audience. The children started clapping and screaming. I was practically crying.

Fuck this was going to happen. There was no escape.

The handsome lips grinned happily over to me, yes, he was fucking sexy. I found myself responding just looking at him. "Okay, I'm seriously rusty." I gave in. Trying to regulate my breathing, my lungs had already started wheezing. I was also trying to work out how to stop staring at his pectoral muscles that were bulging through his fitted t-shirt. Also trying to work out how to win.

My heart was thumping ten to the dozen. I could feel sweat trickling down between my breasts and all I had done was shuffle to the back of the court. I was now fearing my ability to breathe.

He was kind to start with, gentle hits of the net, back and forth, it was child's play, I could easily handle this. I could feel the adrenaline starting to flow, it was amazing. My long-lost endorphins were flowing. Lighting a cigarette had recently given me the same buzz.

I could hear the children clapping each successful rally. My focus was on the yellow ball flying over the net at me, the problem was it was at ever increasing speeds. I really should wear glasses now to see the ball. It was harder work than I ever remember. Each swing needed effort. As for moving, I used to easily spring across the court, l loved chasing down drop shots. People were amazed at how quick I was.

The instructor, I was annoyed that I had not clocked his name, I should have listened but at that moment I had been busy staring at his crotch contemplating what was under the shorts. He was teasing me, sending the ball and myself left then right. He was having fun, just by looking at me he would know how unfit I was. I had been enjoying it, to start with. The clapping was getting louder, I was getting cockier, I knew what I was doing. I could literally feel the years were rolling back. I was running and stretching across the court with ease. Noticing that I was breathing harder and harder, sweat was flowing down my forehead and over my eyebrows and annoying my eyes. I should have put my hair back more. It was a struggle to see the ball, let alone get to it. He was continuously talking. Explaining to the children what he was doing. I was finding myself listening to him more than watching the ball.

It was then that the excitable sexy bastard sent a looping ball behind me, I turned, I tried to move my feet as they should have done twenty years ago. It did not work. I stretched my arms out in desperation as long as I could, the last thing I remember was gasping in annoyance as the ball passed the tip of the racquet. He had beaten me. My eyes followed the trajectory as the ball hit the netting behind me, before I remembered to move my now tired legs any further. It was as if rigor mortis had kicked in. I yelped, then landed almost headfirst on the floor.

***

"Hello Mary, I'm Sarah, the first aider." Was the first voice I heard. It was sweet and calming. As I felt her hands tapping gently on my shoulders. I slowly opened my eyes, blinking hard before focusing on the young blonde girl's face. As it unblurred like something from a TV game show, it showed that she was rather pretty. A nice thing to open your eyes to. Compared to fat and hairy John, for example.

I couldn't have looked my best as I then screwed my face, and coughed my guts up as they helped me sit up. Briefly looking behind me there was a Mary-shaped sweaty patch glistening on the floor where I had just been lying. Someone handed me a cold glass of water. That was nice on the throat between lung hacks. My lungs have only ever been exercised recently running up the stairs because I had forgotten why I had come down, or more often than not repetitively having to stop World War three happening in the bedrooms with the pillows or toys. There were of course our sporadic sex sessions. He went on top after a while for that reason. My head, thighs, and arms were aching, I should have warmed up a little. I have not moved my legs that quickly for ages.

To great fanfare I am helped up off the floor. It was like I had won a shot, the applause that I was given. The strong supporting arm around my back must have been covered in sweat. I hear words like "your mom is fine" and "we will look after her."

I had forgotten in the excitement my children had just watched their mom spectacularly faceplant the floor. I was shuffled out the way, so the games could continue. I waved at my two. Putting a thumbs up. I was fine. Be good, carry on playing.

I was then steered and walked with the support of Sarah through a large white door with the large red sign that said, "Staff Only".

She sat me down on a cold leather bench, I could not help but shiver, I was now in an air-conditioned staff room beside the courts. I really needed to get my breath back. As a matter of urgency. I could also really do with a cigarette, that would have really helped. My lungs were getting itchy, and I could feel the agitation building. But I had to play the game here.

"I think I recognise you. Are you Mary Davies?" Sarah asked, her blue eyes sparking as she pulled a chair, so she was sitting opposite me, our knees just inches away I guess just in case I fell forward.

I smiled and practically snorted, "I was, I am Mrs. Mary Turner now." I studied her young, pretty face. Cute freckles on her nose and cheeks. No double chin with her. Very much gym toned. She was still in the prime of her youth. She was pretty enough to get away without wearing any makeup. I felt like saying to her- 'Please don't ever smoke, and don't get a husband and whatever you don't have children'.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Mrs. Turner." She shook my hand very formally.

I looked a little confused. "Mary is fine, but why?" I am not sitting in front of one of my children's teachers. Plus hearing the words Mrs. Turner instantly makes me think of the ancient mother-in-law.

"I saw your picture on the wall every day at college."

"What?" My eyebrow shot up all inquisitively.

"Was it you holding up a big golden trophy?"

"Oh, hell, yes, a lifetime ago. I think it was that far back it's almost in black and white. I did win that competition." I giggled nervously at my attempt at humor before I gulped my water. I really needed a cigarette.

"I am sure there is stuff you could teach us all?" She grinned.

I emphatically shook my head. "I couldn't do anything now. Plus, I wouldn't want you to follow my path." I involuntarily coughed again. Yes, that's what I really needed now. Something to calm me down. My eyes instinctively looked towards the door outside.

It was at that moment, a loud buzzing like a bee filled the space. I panicked thinking of my vibrator in the bathroom cupboard. Of course it wasn't, it was her mobile in her pocket, on silent. She slipped it from her black Adidas jogging bottoms. She smiled a wince at me as an apology to me before focusing on the screen. There were lots of huffs and sighs as her sparkling blue eyes studied every word intently. I couldn't help but look on with concern as she bit her bottom lip. Her forehead creased as you could read the concern etched across her face as she continued working her way through the message. I waited patiently until she had finished reading. It was clearly a long message.

"You, okay?" I asked and she slowly nodded with not a lot of conviction.

"Yeah, I am, it's my ex, she is being a real bitch at the moment."

"She?" I smiled as warmly as I could.

Sarah involuntarily chuckled. "Yeah. Izzy." She grinned at me then as more thoughts tumbled in her head frowned.

"Go on. I used to have a proper girlfriend, Rhiannon, back in the day. She ended up being my bitch too."

"Really?"

I smiled and nodded. "We have all been there." I forced a grin.

She relaxed a little and briefly explained that she had got together romantically with her friend Izzy. She was a couple of years older and still in medical school. They had moved in together, but Izzy wanted to make things official, get married. Whereas she was less convinced. Trying to have fun whilst focusing on her studies and her sport. This all culminated only last weekend when they had split up and Izzy had gone back to her parents. She was now demanding the dog, a little Cockapoo called Brian, and the collection of pot plants.

I instinctively reached out my hand and pulled her closer, she now sat within touching distance. The inner mom kicked in, I reached out and wrapped my arms around her and gave her a squeeze. Her body spray smelt delightful and sweet. I was probably smelling the opposite. Sweat and cigarettes. I was trying to be all motherly. It was equally scary that I could have been her mum if things had gone differently all those years ago. "We've got five minutes, no one is looking for us, and you are meant to be looking after me?"

"Yeah?"

I gently coughed to clear my throat. "So, is there somewhere dry around here that I can smoke?" I practically whispered. The question clearly flummoxed her. You could see the words being slowly processed in her eyes.

"What? Well, there is a shack around the back out of sight some of the guys use." She stuttered a little and looked on quizzically.

I smiled warmly at her. "Perfect. Can I ask you to go grab my large brown leather bag on the veranda?" I rubbed my sore thighs wobbling them in the leggings whilst looking for sympathy. Suggesting that I was not about to get up and run to get it. The routine worked at home with the eight-year-old with chocolate biscuits when I was being lazy, and it worked just as well here with the twenty two year old and my cigarettes.

"Yeah, on it."

***

That was how I was standing there shivering, smoking a cigarette just about sheltered from the rain under an old rusty, rather battered looking tin roofed lean to around the back of the sports center. I was polite and offered her the pack. She scoffed and laughed whilst waving her hand dismissively around. She was a good girl.

As such between heaves on my filter I ended up brain dumping all my woes about John and my family on poor Sarah. She was not expecting it. But we sat there hugging each other. Bonding over the failures of our relationships. The built-up emotions flowed out so much along with some tears, I was in such a flow that I instinctively lit a second cigarette.

"You are still pretty and attractive!" Sarah said to me as I sniffed hard, rubbing the back of my hand.

"Come on." I replied with disgust, feeling tears and snot swinging off on the end of my nose. I tried to breathe in my noticeable bulging stomach.

"You most definitely are. Plus, I saw you playing, you still knew what to do."

I laughed and coughed up snot and tears before loudly swallowing. "I don't!" I couldn't tell if she was cold, or if she was telling the truth about me being attractive. Her blue eyes were shining brightly, and her nipples were poking hard through her top as she delicately helped by moving some of my hair away from the tears on my face. Our lips were inches from touching and kissing. Neither of us made a move. At that moment I would have done, I really could have.

She slowly tilted her head back, so she looked across at me, the smoke twirling from my cigarette almost dancing in front of our faces. "Come back next week and show us what you can really do?"

"No, I can't, I'm too old now "

"Mary?"

I nodded, "I think I would like to do that." I finally smiled as I took one last drag on the cigarette. I exhaled and as the smoke drifted in the air, I looked through the opening of the tin shack. I wryly smiled. The rain had now stopped, the droplets were still falling off the roof. By the time we had gathered our thoughts and sneaked back into the fire exit, the sun had started to break through the clouds.

***

I stared once again at the green numbers on the bedside clock. 12:03. Beside me John was fast asleep, still busy snoring. He normally complains that it's me. Part of his whinging about me smoking. No, here I am listening to him like he is a pig snuffling around in shite.

There was no sex again this evening. He was at least partially sympathetic to the fact that I fell over playing tennis. He gave me a hug and kissed my bruised thigh. The children found it hilarious. Retelling the story over and over again. Recreating the fall on the sofa, over and over again. It was getting more and more exaggerated every time. They found it even funnier when he dug out of the cupboard of my old kit. They could never believe mommy could fit in that. It took a minute for myself to work out how I ever did.

At bedtime I practically jumped on him. The thoughts of the instructor and Sarah flowing through my body. He pushed me off. Too tired after doing his presentation all day. Just how much wanking to those sexy OnlyFans models had he done? Nothing was left in the tank I bet.

Staring through the darkness at the ceiling my thoughts jumped between the buttocks of the instructor and Sarah's beautiful blue eyes. I turned my head and looked at the bearded John peacefully grunting and sleeping away. I contemplated turning him around to spoon him. But the effort was greater than the reward.

With a shiver I slowly rolled out of bed, making sure that the duvet was in place for John. Wouldn't want him to get cold. In the dusky light I tiptoed as silently as I could. Annoyed with myself when my right foot hit the loose floorboard and it creaked. It always does. In the last six years, I should remember it as I navigated my way to our ensuite.

I had developed an itch. I think the thoughts of the rather sexy instructor and the delightful Sarah had got to me and my mind whilst lying in the dark in bed, and I knew there was only one cure, if John was not going to play ball and get his racquet out. I had to take things literally into my own hands. I quietly opened the bathroom cabinet and dug out my travel washbag. Inside was my smooth metallic friend. My very reliable and always there for me, normally on a Thursday, vibrator.

So, as to not look at my bed head hair and overly tired wrinkled face in the mirror, I sat on the toilet and turned it on. The humming almost echoed in the small bathroom. I slowly pushed the vibrator inside my large black panties. Leaving it just to the side of my clit. I even needed to warm up a little. However, with my panties holding it in place, it meant leaving my hands free to play with my own chest. I quietly moaned and then thought I heard a noise from the bedroom. I held my breath until I knew I was safe. It was just John still gwaffling in his sleep.

With my hand on my breast still under one of John's large old t-shirts, I adjusted the bullet closer and closer to my clit. I was already just so stimulated.

I just kept replaying just how close my lips got to Sarah as the vibrator slid deeper into me, pushed in firmly by the elastic of my panties. In my head I actually reached forward and touched her lips with mine and my fingers grabbed hold of her perfect pert buttocks. It was then my head jumped to the forehand twenty-two years ago. I swung my hand, the ball hit the middle of the racquet, the perfect amount of topspin. It clipped the net and she reached for it, missed and it landed perfectly on the white tram lines. I was so turned on, so ready for this, I moaned and dreamed of my tongue touching hers and I tightly squeezed my nipples between my fingers. It was then my building orgasm came in record time. I gushed and dripped through my panties and into the toilet bowl. As I sat there panting, my memory flowed on, I was victorious, my eyes scanned the sidelines. My mom and dad were there smiling and clapping away. But Rhiannon had vanished. The bitch hadn't stayed to watch me win.