Anyone For Tennis? - Sex Stories

Anyone For Tennis?

Chapter 1

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It is a regular session; Stan and I play tennis on public courts in the afternoon. Two old gits, trying to imagine they were still able to play a decent game. Stan, at seventy-six, is well past his prime, but we have a lot of fun and we get out in the open.

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One fine summer afternoon, we arrived to find a pair of girls on the other court. They looked to be late teens or early twenties with lithe bodies, tanned legs, and as pretty as any man could desire.

We started our games, but after a half hour, Stan needed a break, so we stood by the boundary nets to have a drink. Just after this, the two girls came off for the same reason, and as we sipped our juice, one of them came over to us and started to talk to me.

"Hi guys, would you like to make up a doubles game?”

I was struck by her beautiful Scots accent, the lovely soft, east coast version, not the harsh voice of a Glaswegian. Her blond hair was bunched up in a ponytail. I thought how lovely it would be to release those locks and run my fingers down the full length.

“I don’t know if we’re good enough for you two.”

“I’ve been watching your play and think it would work.”

“OK, who is the stronger player?”

Pointing at her partner by the other court, “She is.”

“Then I should partner with you; Stan is not as strong as me.”

She looked at me, nodded, and gave me a broad smile.

“Fine, I’m Kirsten.”

“Hi, Kirsten, I’m Stefan.”

Thus, an unusual age-paired doubles began. Kirsten ...

... won the toss, so I had the first service. As I prepared to serve, she bent down in front of me, her bum outlined below her short skirt.

“Concentrate, Stefan, concentrate.”

Just as I tossed the ball up, a breeze lifted her skirt and dropped it over her back. Now I could see a pair of white panties stretched over her cheeks. My concentration was destroyed, and the serve went straight into the net, as did the second.

Every time I served something similar occurred, sometimes she wiggled her bum at me, a real big wiggle, not the little just-getting-comfortable type. My serves are usually quite consistent, but not this time. I could not get her out of my mind. The inevitable consequence was that we lost the set, even though Kirsten was an excellent player.

As we packed up our bags, Kirsten kept giving me little glances; I could not understand why. My first thought was that she was wondering how I came to muck up my serves. Her friend left quickly, saying she had to get somewhere fast. Stan ambled off next, and as he disappeared around a corner, Kirsten put a hand on my upper arm, leaned against me, and whispered in my ear.

“Would you like to play with me?

I looked into her beautiful eyes and said, “Very much.”

"Och, aye, you take first serve.”

The double-entendre was so obvious, I was sure she had been winding me up, but you never know!

I walked to the far end, tossed the ball high, and made a perfect hit, landing the ball on the T. Kirsten didn’t expect ...