Zest Lit Issue 2, October 2013 - Page 64

We shared a passion for playing tennis, though she was astonishingly talent-free, virtually forehandless, and bereft of any recognizable backhand. With years of dedicated practice, she may have been able to manage that tricky task of holding a couple of balls in her cute little pockets while she played, but that’s about as far as her professional career would have gone. She was, nevertheless, unbelievably stunning out there on the court.

I took great delight in watching the male population on other nearby courts, unable to focus properly on their game, bewildered, hypnotized by Jenny’s wildly spastic yet invitingly sultry form. The obvious lesbian players were clearly perturbed by the boys’ recurrent kicking of tennis balls onto our court just to get a closer look. ‘Please excuse me, sweet miss. Um, a little help please?’

But who could fault them? Embarrassment was a small price to pay, as they were caught gawking, pretending to discuss stocks or boating in an attempt to catch an eyeful of the exotic, erotic, jungle-kitten sweetheart, swinging blindly at balls a good three feet out of the reach of any racquet in this solar system. But she more than made up for it.

Her white silky chiffon dress with ruffles billowing free against tanned skin was completely adorable. Her pig tails – gorgeous, golden and radiant. To my youthful self, it was a game, set and match I longed to conquer; I imagined club members remorseful about their own unfortunate mistakes – selecting wives hastily back in the day instead of waiting for a catch like Jenny. But, she was mine, mine to teach and get all dreamy for our forty-five minutes of fitness and boy/girl finesse. Her eyes were on me. I felt like a king.

They imagined (I imagined) Jenny’s streamlined body – perfectly