Love's A Grand Slam

I was speechless at the sight of the girl's black lycra shorts. They were so skimpy, and so tight, that in terms of what you could see of the shape of her butt-curves she might as well have not been wearing them at all. Her hair was long and dark blonde. When she walked, her boobs bounced distractingly in her green shoulderless top, and she'd also thrown her black tracksuit jacket thrown over that. All I could see, however, were those shorts. She was pretty in a snub-nosed, cheeky way.

The boy whose hand she was holding was already onto white tennis shorts, though he was also a lot younger than me. I squirmed to be seen as I was, wearing my white pleated boy-skirt, though I knew I'd squirm more if either of them saw my underwear too.

Secretively she rubbed his tennis racquet on her bum, and in those shorts she could really shove it deep into her little cleft. I watched in envy and longing. If only a girl like her would do that for me.

He hardy needed more good luck, but she gave him some anyway! For as I gazed she kissed him on the cheek, with one of her knees bent and her little toes pointing prettily back. It made me moan to imagine the smell he was getting.

Oh, please don't let me have to play a boy today who teases me! Obviously that was my hope every time I went to tennis club, but today that girl was going to be watching and it was the last thing I wanted her to see!

Anxiously, almost distracted, I tried a practice-serve. Whumph! It went straight into the net. My eyes darted fitfully to the girl, just in time to see an amused smirk on that cheeky face. Then with a swish of her dark blonde hair she looked away.

One prayer at least was answered though, because none of the more teasing boys from my grade were in today. I ended up playing a fair-haired girl with a tennis skirt like mine. Even so, by the end of the first set I was quite hot and bothered!

"Isn't it a bit provocative, wearing a skirt that short?" I complained to her.

She smiled smugly. "Boys can feel provoked if they like, it's not like there's anything you can do about it," was her reply.

I sighed, shivering a little from her nearness. "So what kind of boys are you interested in?" I asked her hopefully.

"You saw him," came back her sweet reply at once, and her eyes flicked to where the other girl and her boyfriend were playing. I felt a flare of jealousy.

"Er, from the looks of things I'm pretty sure he's not single!" I moaned aloud. "And what's so special about him anyway?"

My tennis-partner giggled. "He's got what I want, and that's why I'm saving my stuffy so he can be first," was the answer.

"Don't wear skirts like that, if you're saving yourself," I demanded, really indignant now. "It's not very nice to show off what boys like me want but can't have."

Why did girls like her always have to be like that? More of them than you'd think saved their stuffy, for a boy they liked of whatever other reason, but if we boys didn't have a chance then why show it off? It was just smugness, I decided grumpily. Their prettiness and figures and smell made us long for them, and they loved that! It was all just about having power over us. In fact you never met a single one who wasn't like that! They all flaunted, just to put us in a futile flurry. It made it sting all the more when they also teased like this girl did.

It turned out however that in her spare time she didn't just polish her silver virgin-pin, but also found time to practice tennis. Because she was really good at it, much better than me.

"I should wee on you!" the girl declared, having lost her patience. "All I'm asking is a little challenge!"

"Then give me a chance!" I begged her.

It was my serve. I tugged out the ball which was stuffed up the frilly back of my knickers and, trying hard, attempted a serve. Fwumph! The ball hit the net, just like before. My partner rolled her eyes, infuriating me.

"I'm just not as good at it as you!" I pleaded again, wanting to cry. It wasn't like it was much fun for me, losing to a girl!

She ignored this and prepared to serve. With one foot pointing in front of the other, and her bum in white pleats pushed out, she bounced the ball. The sight was so pretty she made my heart ache.

"Hit this one back or I really will wee on you," she said coldly.

Whack! Naturally it was way too fast for me to even move to it in time, and it left me feeling twice as silly as I already did.

"You're a tease, never hitting me ones I can hit back!" I cried, helpless.

She just walked to the other half of her court, tennis skirt bumping. She should have looked absurd, only she was a reminder of how I looked!

Her next serve, which I missed yet again, was what decided me.

"I just can't get the hang of this, OK?"