Displacement activity

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‘It is called “displacement activity,” I think, Charlie.’ Eva, my German friend was referring to tennis and she pronounced it ‘ectiffity’ with her beautiful accent. ‘Every time you hit the ball, it is Fran you are hitting, no?’ Fran was my former lover; very former. We, Eva and I were sitting on the verandah of the old, Victorian pavilion of our local tennis club, sipping a cooling beer. ‘You may be right. I think, though, I am over it now. “It” was the unpleasant end to what had seemed a perfect relationship. Nothing, of course, is perfect. I’d come home from a long ten days in Singapore. I’d arrived at Heathrow on the Sunday morning, a day earlier than anticipated, at about 7 and taken a bus, train and taxi to get to the home we shared. Sunday mornings in our household followed a strict routine. When we were both awake or when one of us woke the other with a little ‘hello pussy’ we would finish off that particular delight and then one of us would get tea, toast, papers and we’d sit in bed. Often enough there’d be a bit more of the mouth to mouth before we’d take ourselves to the shower and, clean and dressed, take a leisurely stroll to the little café run by Mrs Stripiss. She, an expatriate Greek, owned possibly the best café in town and served amazing Sunday lunches for a price that beggared belief. I had arrived home about 10 and opened the door quietly, placed my suitcase and briefcase carefully in the hall and removed my shoes so I could creep up the stairs. I heard the sounds of sex and assumed Fran was watching one of her dirty movies as she often did when I was not there; sometimes when I was. As I ascended the staircase I shed my clothes. This movie was going to turn into the real thing if, as I suspected, she was having a good jill and would be ready for a little assistance in the orgasm department. I picked up my shoes and quietly opened the door and the world came crashing down. I don’t think I screamed but maybe my shoes hitting the floor or something else had alerted them to my presence. The ‘them’ to whom I refer were Fran, of course, and a woman I did not recognise. She, the unknown, was kneeling behind Fran and administering a good old-fashioned fuck. I couldn’t see what she was using but the strap around her waist was wide and suggested something substantial. Eva’s face was almost buried in the pillow, almost but not entirely. Her mouth was open and little sounds of ecstasy were coming from it. The woman behind her had tattoos all down her back and, bizarrely, was wearing a black, flat cap. As she fucked, so her pendulous and flabby tits slapped against her belly. I took all this in. My shoes had hit the floor, not because I had dropped them but because I had hurled them in my hurt and fury. There is of course nothing at all humiliating about standing naked in a doorway seeing your lover getting seen to by someone else, especially when that someone else is about 70 years old, hideous and clearly, judging by the cap, weird! I did scream then. I also ran down the stairs and almost tripped over my dress which was lying on them. I staggered into the kitchen bahis siteleri and sat in a corner, arms around my knees barely aware of the wet on my cheeks but very aware of the pounding in my chest and ears. A few moments later the capped head poked around the kitchen door and smiled a ghastly, gap-toothed smile. ‘Don’t take it to heart, sweets. Just a little fun with your friend while lovergirl is away. If you don’t like nasty surprises you should stick to your travel plans.’ I threw something, God alone knows what, vaguely in the direction of the sneering bitch who laughed and left. I heard the front door slam behind her. ‘Look, Charlie.’ Fran’s voice was sheepish as she stood in the doorway. I didn’t let her finish whatever she wanted to say. ‘Just go. Go now.’ ‘But…..’ ‘Go.’ This was delivered in a whisper but felt like a scream. She went and a little while later I heard the door close behind her too and I sat on the hard wooden floor and wallowed in my misery. And so it was that six months later I was sitting on the tennis club’s verandah with Eva. Eva is as straight as a roman road. She is tall, Aryan blonde and has the legs of a model and the tits to go with them. She had been, she once told me, a lesbian but it had lasted for no more than two hours and then ‘I straightened myself out. Girls are OK but just not for me.’ This had not been a great disappointment at the time since Fran and I were well in love and very, very exclusive, except of course and as it turned out, when Fran wasn’t. We watched as two girls played a singles match. They were a lot younger than us, probably in their twenties and had that coltish quality as they ran, clad in their shorts and shirts, around the court. They were good. ‘God, I wish I could play like that.’ Eva smiled. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘all you need to do is practice a lot and lose twenty years.’ ‘Thanks!’ ‘Why don’t you get some lessons, Charlie? You know Helen would be happy to help.’ Helen was another member, a sports teacher at a local and exclusive public school for girls and coached club members for a small fee. Another girl of about our age wandered onto the verandah. Her deep black skin contrasted with the white of her tennis kit. ‘Hi Chuck, Eva.’ Lola is American and built like a Williams sister. Her nipples poked bravely through her shirt and her shorts were drawn to a very revealing camel toe which always had a significant effect on the male members’ members and both were a deliberate ploy she used to win mixed doubles games. She called it her biological tactical set. They also served to advertise her prolific libido which meant she was never short of men. She called me ‘Chuck’ because, apparently, that is a common name used for men called Charles in her home country. I sort of liked it. ‘Hi Lola. You playing or pulling?’ ‘Both, darling,’ she drawled in her southern American accent and sat beside me. ‘Harry and I’ve been drawn against that dishy English guy, Jonathan and the pro.’ ‘Helen?’ asked Eva. ‘Damn right. With her forehand she’ll expect to win but with my snatch and Hank’s power they’ll have no chance.’ We canlı bahis siteleri laughed, knowing it was almost certainly true. Helen might be almost 40 but she had the body of a twenty year old and played like a pro but Jonathan was known for being unable to take his eyes of Lola and she was dressed to win. The other three players in Lola’s match arrived and I looked up, shading my eyes from the sun. The two men were fit, tall and handsome. Helen was lithe and supple and probably almost six feet tall. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and her skin was light golden and perfect. Cow. ‘Ah, Helen,’ said Eva. ‘My friend Charlie here was just saying she’d like some lessons.’ I could only look at Eva aghast since I had said no such thing. ‘I suggested you might oblige.’ ‘Happy to. If you’re still here when we’ve destroyed these two we can talk about it over tea.’ The four wandered of to the court as the two girls ended their game. ‘Why did you do that?’ ‘Because it will do you good. Let’s watch a couple of their games and then get changed and find some lunch? We can eat here and watch the end and then you can book your tuition.’ She had a warm, innocent smile. Eva is totally uninhibited about her body. The communal showers in the pavilion were a leftover from the Victorian era and we stood under their spluttering streams. Eva soaped herself and I couldn’t help notice the attention she paid to her shaved puss and her medium sized but firm tits. ‘Don’t stare, Chuck,’ she smirked. ‘You’ll only get yourself hot and bothered.’ ‘Bitch.’ We laughed and I turned my back on her and washed away the sweat and suds. Dried, I pulled on a white cotton dress over white knickers. ‘Tits like yours must save you a fortune in bras, no?’ This was a running joke. My 32a chest was a club joke but, unlike so many similar jokes, it was one I found amusing too. I smiled. ‘I understand Lola’s once broke loose during the last game of the mixed doubles final. She claims it was an accident but I don’t believe a word of it. Her bras are reinforced concrete usually so I am convinced it was deliberate.’ Laughing together we made our way back to the bar, ordered some sandwiches and took two more beers out onto the verandah to watch the game while we waited for the food to be brought out. The club is posh and expensive and I’d joined after Fran. I had not joined to find a woman but to find something that would help me get a little more in shape and pass time without dwelling on the past. Lola’s prediction turned out to be inaccurate. They lost 6-2, 6-3. ‘Damn,’ she said as she slumped in a chair beside me. ‘Either Jonathan’s gone queer or my snatch has lost its allure.’ ‘Could it be they were better than you?’ ‘You’re kidding right? Look at her.’ Helen was walking towards us and had not even broken sweat. ‘Flabby bitch. Well past her eat by date.’ She was laughing as were we. We applauded as the winners climbed the four steps to the verandah. Jonathan smiled and said, ‘I think Harry might need a helping hand, Lola. He’s claiming he turned his ankle, thus allowing us to win. Lying git. canlı bahis He simply cant bear to lose.’ Harry was, it was true, limping theatrically. ‘You doing anything this evening?’ ‘I sure am, honey and you are the thing that I am doing.’ She stood and the two of them wandered off as she looked over her shoulder at Eva, Helen and me with a wolfish smile. I offered Helen and Harry a drink. Harry declined and limped pathetically off to the changing rooms. Helen thanked me and sat at our table as I went back into the bar to order her tea. ‘Well played, Helen.’ Every ‘w’ in Eva’s accent was a ‘v.’ When I returned to the table, Eva was standing. She had, apparently, a date and wanted to get home to prepare for what she called a night of fun and sin. ‘Vorsprung durch sexnik,’ I smiled as she left. ‘She,’ said Helen, ‘is a great loss to the lesbian community.’ I have to admit this surprised me. I looked at Helen. ‘Surely you’re not surprised, Charlie?’ ‘Utterly.’ ‘Why did you think Eva suggested lessons with me? She’s matchmaking.’ ‘Well, don’t mind her. I just want to improve my game.’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? The lesbian sports teacher. True though it is it still annoys me.’ ‘Well, I promise you I had no idea.’ She looked at me as if she was trying to assess my honesty. ‘Well, do you want some lessons?’ ‘Please.’ ‘Done.’ * Three weeks later and I had had four lessons. She had said at the start that she’d work on one aspect of my game with a view to giving me confidence. My forehand was, she told me, quite strong so she wanted to work on my backhand and we spent the four hours relentlessly hitting backhand shots. She’d made a video of me playing one of the other girls and, in the gym at her school, she’d shown it to me and given me some constructive criticism. She’d stood behind me a few times, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering mine as it held my racquet and she’d shown me how to improve my stance and footwork. Her physical proximity didn’t seem in any way flirtatious or sexual, just professional. At the end of the fourth lesson, this time at the club on a latish Friday evening, she’d said, ‘You’re doing really well.’ It felt true. I was hitting the ball more accurately and harder. ‘Let’s go and get a drink?’ We went to the pavilion and Helen sat at a table on the verandah while I went in to order drinks, tea for her as always and a beer for me. I returned to our table and sat beside her. The sun was doing its late evening thing of turning the bricks of the neighbouring houses to a rich red with hints of gold. The warmth of the day had a soporific effect. ‘Would you like to go out for a meal with me, Charlie?’ ‘Are you…..’ I hesitated. ‘Am I asking you out on a date? You know what, I rather think I am.’ I laughed and she looked at me, her eyes asking me why I was laughing. ‘I just never, ever thought you were the tiniest bit interested. I’ve been hoping you’d ask for weeks.’ ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’ ‘For goodness’ sake Helen, just look at yourself. You’re what, thirty-five or so, you’re about eleven feet tall and you have an athlete’s body. Now look at me.’ ‘That Fran of yours has a lot to answer for. Did she hurt you that badly?’ That took me by surprise. It had never occurred to me either that Helen knew about Fran or that I might have lost some of my self-esteem.

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