Home · Stories · New Tennis Affairs by Jim
CHAPTER 1 — The Professional Touch
The Har-Tru court was the color of seafoam, perfectly raked and waiting. My whites were crisp, my racket strung to the exact tension Kent had recommended, but my serve still betrayed me—breaking down at precisely the moment commitment was required. It was a flaw Rob found fascinating, this inability of mine to follow through under pressure, even in something as inconsequential as a club championship.
Kent moved behind me, his shadow falling over my stance. "Your elbow is flying again," he said, his voice low and close. "Here."
His hand covered mine on the grip, his other pressing gently against my upper back to straighten my posture. The contact was professional, instructional, but something in me responded that had nothing to do with tennis. I could feel the heat of his palm through the thin cotton of my polo, the strength in his fingers as they adjusted my grip. My breath caught, just slightly.
"Relax your wrist, Dalia," he murmured near my ear. "Let the motion flow through you."
I tried to focus on his words, on the mechanics of the serve, but my awareness had narrowed to the points of contact between us. The space between his chest and my back seemed to pulse with contained energy. When he guided my arm through the motion, I felt it not just in my shoulder but deep in my stomach, a slow curl of warmth that had nothing to do with exertion.
"Again," he said, his hand still on my back.
I tossed the ball, brought my racket back, and this time, the motion felt different—smoother, more connected. The ball sailed over the net, clean and true. I turned to find him watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"There," he said. "You had it."
The lesson continued, but something had shifted. Each correction, each adjustment of my form, seemed to carry an undercurrent of something more. By the end, my skin felt sensitized, my nerve endings humming with a quiet electricity that didn't dissipate as we walked off the court.
Rob was waiting by the clubhouse entrance, checking his phone. He looked up as we approached, his eyes moving between Kent and me.
"Good lesson?" he asked.
I hesitated, aware of Kent's presence beside me, aware of the lingering warmth where his hand had been on my back.
"He's... very thorough," I said.
Rob's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's what we pay him for, isn't it?"
But as Kent nodded and walked toward the pro shop, I wondered if thoroughness was really what I was paying for after all.
CHAPTER 2 — Unspoken Invitations
The text arrived at 6:47 a.m., just as I was tying the laces on my tennis shoes. *Court 4 is free at 7am if you want extra practice on that serve.* I stood in the middle of our walk-in closet, surrounded by Rob's neat rows of shirts and my own organized pastels, and felt a flutter low in my stomach. This was beyond professional. This was deliberate.
I didn't reply immediately. Instead, I finished dressing, choosing my shortest tennis skirt and a sports bra that hugged my ribs a little tighter than necessary. When I walked into the kitchen, Rob was scrolling through financial news on his tablet.
"Early practice?" he asked without looking up.
"Kent offered," I said, pouring coffee into a travel mug. "He thinks I need work on my second serve."
"Good investment," Rob said. "You were double-faulting too much yesterday."
His casual dismissal both relieved and irritated me. I wanted him to notice something—to ask why his wife was meeting the tennis pro at dawn, away from the usual scheduled lessons. But Rob moved through the world assuming everything fit into its proper box, including me.
Court 4 was tucked behind the clubhouse, partially obscured by ancient oaks. Kent was already there, hitting serves against the back wall, his grunts of effort echoing in the morning stillness. He wore a navy sleeveless shirt that showed the defined muscles of his shoulders and arms, sweat already darkening the fabric at his collarbones.
"You came," he said, turning as I approached. His eyes moved over me, appreciative but not predatory. "Good."
We worked in silence for twenty minutes, the only sounds the rhythmic thwack of ball meeting strings and our breathing in the cool air. His corrections were precise, his touch deliberate as he adjusted my stance, my grip, the angle of my elbow. Each contact sent a jolt through me, a current that seemed to pool between my thighs.
When he stood behind me again, his chest nearly touching my back as he guided my arm through the motion, I leaned into him slightly. Just enough to feel his solid warmth against me. Just enough to be unmistakable.
"Like that," he said, his voice rougher than before. His hand lingered on my hip after the serve, fingers pressing into the curve of bone beneath my skirt. "You're getting it."
I turned to face him, our bodies closer than necessary. "Thank you," I said, my voice softer than I intended.
His eyes darkened. He wanted to kiss me. I could see it in the slight parting of his lips, in the way his gaze dropped to my mouth. The space between us vibrated with possibility.
Instead, he stepped back. "Same time Thursday?"
I nodded, unable to speak, and walked away with my heart hammering against my ribs.
That afternoon, Paula found me by the pool, her sunglasses pushed up on her head like a crown. "Kent says you're a natural," she said, settling into the lounge chair beside mine. "He doesn't compliment everyone."
"He's a good teacher," I said, my skin prickling with awareness.
"Teaching isn't what I was talking about," Paula said, her hand resting briefly on my forearm. Her touch was lighter than Kent's, more exploratory. "He has that effect on people. Makes you want to... improve your form."
I met her eyes, realizing she knew. She knew everything.
CHAPTER 3 — After Hours
The pro shop smelled of leather and new tennis balls, of expensive equipment and the faint, clean scent of Kent's cologne. He had locked the door behind us, the click of the bolt echoing in the quiet space. Outside, the last light of day cast long shadows across the empty courts.
"Your shoulder's tight," he said, his fingers tracing the line of my trapezius muscle. "Let me work on it."
I lay face down on the massage table in the corner, the leather cool against my skin. Kent's hands were sure, kneading the tension in my shoulders with practiced expertise. His touch was professional at first, methodical, but as his fingers worked their way down my spine, something shifted.
"You carry all your stress right here," he murmured, his hands pausing at the small of my back, just above the waistband of my skirt. "Let me help you let it go."
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of my polo, tracing circles on my bare skin. I didn't stop him. Instead, I found myself arching slightly into his touch, a silent invitation that he immediately understood.
He rolled my shirt up higher, exposing my back to the air-conditioned room. His hands moved with purpose now, no longer just therapeutic but exploratory, mapping the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, the sensitive skin above my hips.
"Kent," I breathed, not quite a protest.
"Shh," he said, leaning close. "Let me take care of you."
His hands moved around to my stomach, then upward, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my sports bra. My nipples hardened instantly against his palms, a response so immediate and intense it embarrassed me. He seemed to sense this, to understand the conflict between my body's willingness and my mind's hesitation.
"Turn over," he said softly.
I did, my movements stiff with uncertainty. He stood between my legs, looking down at me with an expression that was part desire, part understanding. Then he leaned down and kissed me.
His mouth was warm and confident, moving against mine with a certainty that left no room for doubt. I kissed him back, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. When his tongue entered my mouth, I moaned softly, a sound that seemed to release something final in both of us.
His hands moved to my waist, fingers hooking into the elastic of my skirt and panties together. He paused, giving me time to object, to stop this before it went further. I didn't.
He drew them down slowly, exposing me to the dim light of the pro shop. I felt exposed and vulnerable, but also curiously powerful, knowing that he wanted me, that I had brought him to this point.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, his eyes moving over my body. Then he knelt between my thighs, lowering his head until I could feel his breath against me.
The first touch of his tongue sent a jolt through me, electric and immediate. I had been touched this way before—by Rob, by others in my past—but never with this combination of expertise and hunger. Kent seemed to know exactly how to read my responses, how to build the pleasure gradually, how to keep me suspended on the edge without quite letting me fall.
My hands found his hair, my fingers tangling in the damp strands as his mouth worked its magic. The sounds I made were unfamiliar to my own ears—desperate, wanting, completely unguarded. When his fingers entered me, curling upward to find that sensitive spot inside, I came with a cry that I muffled against my arm.
He didn't stop. He continued his ministrations, drawing out my pleasure until I was trembling and breathless. Then he rose, unfastening his jeans with quick, efficient movements.
I watched him, my body still humming with release, as he freed himself. He was thick and hard, larger than I had expected, larger than Rob. For a moment, I felt a flicker of apprehension.
"Easy," he said, reading my expression. He positioned himself between my thighs, rubbing the head of his cock against my wetness. "We'll go slow."
He entered me gradually, watching my face as he went. The stretch was intense, almost uncomfortable at first, but as he filled me completely, the discomfort transformed into something else—a deep, satisfying fullness that seemed to touch every part of me.
"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.
I nodded, unable to speak, and wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through me, building on the intensity of my first orgasm. I met his movements, my body responding instinctively, my hips rising to meet his.
The pro shop door creaked slightly, and I turned my head toward the sound. Through the narrow window in the door, I saw a movement—Rob's distinctive silhouette, standing in the shadows of the clubhouse porch, watching.
The knowledge that he was there, that he was seeing this, sent a fresh surge of arousal through me. I met Kent's eyes, then deliberately glanced toward the door, letting him know we were being watched.
"Harder," I said.
Kent's response was immediate. He thrust into me with renewed intensity, his hands gripping my hips as he drove into me again and again. The sounds of our bodies meeting—slap of skin against skin, my cries, his groans—filled the small space, knowing they carried beyond the door.
When I came again, it was with his name on my lips, my body arching off the table, my eyes fixed on the window where I could still see Rob's shadow, motionless and watching. Kent followed moments later, his release hot and deep inside me, his face buried in my neck as he shuddered against me.
We lay tangled together for a long moment, our breathing gradually slowing, the reality of what we had done settling around us. Outside, the last light had faded, leaving us in the dim glow of the pro shop's single lamp.
"I should go," I said finally, my voice unsteady.
Kent nodded, helping me sit up, his touch now gentle, almost tender. As I dressed, I could feel his eyes on me, no longer just desire but something more complex—satisfaction, perhaps, or possession.
When I stepped outside into the cool evening air, Rob was gone. The porch was empty, but I could feel his presence still, like an imprint in the space where he had stood watching.
CHAPTER 4 — The Championship Weekend
The championship suite was all glass and chrome, perched above the center court with a view of the city lights beginning to bloom across the horizon. Six of us, dressed in the remnants of our tournament whites, drinking champagne that Selma had brought from her private collection. The day's competition had left us all thrumming with energy, the kind of restless charge that sought an outlet.
Rob stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette sharp against the darkening sky. He had been quiet since our encounter on the pro shop porch, watching me with an intensity that was both unsettling and thrilling. He knew. He had seen, and he hadn't turned away.
"Tomorrow's semifinals will be brutal," Daniel said, swirling the champagne in his glass. "The draw was unkind."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it," Kent replied, his eyes finding mine across the room. "You play who's in front of you."
The subtext was thick as the humidity hanging over the outdoor courts. We were all playing who was in front of us, just not on the tennis court.
Paula rose from her seat, moving with the fluid grace of a natural predator. She stopped behind Selma, her hands resting on Selma's shoulders, thumbs tracing circles against the tense muscles there. "You're carrying too much tension," Paula murmured, her voice low enough that only those nearby could hear. "Let me help you with that."
Selma leaned back into Paula's touch, her eyes closing as Paula's hands moved down her arms, fingers lingering at the sensitive skin of her inner elbows. The air in the room shifted, thickening with awareness. Daniel watched, his expression unreadable but his body still, focused.
Kent crossed to where I stood, taking my champagne glass and setting it aside. "You played well today," he said, his voice pitched for me alone. "Your backhand was particularly... aggressive."
I laughed softly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
His hand found my waist, fingers pressing into the curve just above my hip. "I call it like I see it." He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "And I see someone who's finally letting herself enjoy the game."
His mouth covered mine, the kiss confident and demanding. I responded immediately, my body remembering the pro shop, remembering his hands and his mouth and the way he had filled me completely. As we kissed, I became aware of the others watching—Rob by the window, Daniel on the sofa, Paula and Selma near the bar.
When Kent pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire. "The bedroom," he said, not asking but stating.
I followed him, aware of the others following us, aware of Rob's eyes on me as I walked away with another man. The master bedroom was dominated by a king-sized bed with a pristine white duvet, the room bathed in the soft glow of bedside lamps.
Kent undressed me slowly, his hands lingering on each newly exposed patch of skin. My polo, my skirt, my bra and panties—each item removed with deliberate care, his mouth following his hands, tasting and exploring until I stood naked before him, before all of them.
Paula and Selma had joined us, their clothing similarly discarded. Selma's body was lean and athletic, small breasts high and firm, while Paula's curves were generous and confident. Daniel and Rob stood in the doorway, watching, their expressions a mixture of arousal and anticipation.
"Come here," Paula said to Rob, holding out her hand.
To my surprise, he moved forward immediately, taking her hand and allowing her to draw him into the room. She kissed him with the same confidence she had shown with Selma, her hands moving over his body with practiced ease. Rob responded, his hands finding her breasts, his mouth opening to hers.
Kent guided me to the bed, laying me back against the cool sheets. He entered me slowly, watching my face as he filled me, and I gasped at the familiar stretch, the satisfying fullness. As he began to move, I became aware of the others joining us on the bed—Selma positioning herself beside me, Daniel moving behind her, Paula guiding Rob to kneel near my head.
The sensations were overwhelming, a symphony of touch and sound and sight. Kent's cock moving inside me, Selma's hand finding my breast, Daniel entering Selma from behind, Paula's mouth on Rob as he watched Kent and me together.
Then something shifted. Paula released Rob and moved to kiss me, her mouth soft and skilled, her tongue exploring mine as Kent continued to thrust into me. At the same time, I felt Rob's hand on my cheek, turning my head toward him. His eyes were dark with an emotion I couldn't quite name—desire, yes, but something more, something deeper.
"Watch him," Rob murmured, his gaze flicking to Daniel. "Watch how he looks at Selma."
I turned my attention to Daniel and Selma, to the way Daniel's face contorted with pleasure as he moved inside her, to the way Selma's back arched with each thrust. The sight sent a fresh surge of arousal through me, and I gripped Kent's shoulders, pulling him deeper.
"Like that?" Kent asked, his voice strained.
"Like that," I confirmed.
Then Rob did something that surprised me. He leaned across me and kissed Kent, a brief but intense meeting of mouths that was both intimate and charged. Kent responded immediately, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before resuming with renewed intensity.
Paula noticed the exchange and smiled. "About time," she said softly, before capturing my mouth again.
The moment hung in the air, charged with possibility. Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been reached, Kent withdrew from me and moved toward Rob. Daniel, seeing this, pulled out of Selma and joined Kent, the two of them positioning Rob between them.
"Is this okay?" Kent asked, his voice low.
Rob's answer was a nod, his eyes meeting mine across the bed. I watched as Kent entered him slowly, Rob's face contorting with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Daniel positioned himself behind Kent, entering him in turn, creating a chain of bodies that connected all of us.
The sight was the most erotic thing I had ever seen. Rob, always so controlled, so contained, now open and vulnerable between two men, his body accepting Kent's even as Kent accepted Daniel's. Paula and Selma had moved together, their mouths locked, their hands exploring each other's bodies as they watched the men.
I moved closer to Rob, taking his hand in mine, my free hand moving to stroke his cock, which was hard and leaking against his stomach. He turned his face toward me, his eyes dark with pleasure, and kissed me, a desperate, hungry kiss that was nothing like his usual controlled embraces.
Kent began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence. Each thrust pushed Rob forward onto Daniel, creating a rhythm that was both complex and hypnotic. I could feel the tension building in Rob's body, in the tightening of his grip on my hand, in the desperate sounds he made against my mouth.
"Let go," I whispered against his lips. "Let yourself feel it."
His response was a groan, deep and guttural, as his body began to convulse with release. Kent followed moments later, his face buried in Rob's neck as he shuddered against him. Daniel was last, his cry muffled against Kent's shoulder.
For a long moment, we remained tangled together, breathing heavily in the dim light of the bedroom. Then, slowly, carefully, we began to disentangle ourselves, moving to find partners again, to find comfort and completion in the aftermath of intensity.
I ended up with Rob, his arms around me as we lay side by side on the bed. His body was still trembling slightly, his skin damp with sweat. I could feel his heart hammering against my back, a frantic rhythm that gradually slowed as he held me.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
He turned me to face him, his eyes searching mine. "I didn't know," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't know it could be like that."
"Like what?"
"So... intense. So freeing." He paused, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "I've always been so controlled. So careful. With you, with everything. But tonight... watching you with Kent, being with him... it was like something broke open inside me."
"Something broke open in me too," I admitted.
He kissed me then, a kiss that was different from any we had shared before—deeper, more honest, more vulnerable. As we kissed, I became aware of the others around us, of the various configurations they had settled into—Paula with Selma, Daniel with Kent, then shifting again until all six of us were connected in some way, a web of bodies and desires that seemed both impossibly complex and beautifully simple.
The night continued like that, moving through various combinations and configurations, each new arrangement revealing something different about ourselves and each other. There were moments of intense passion, moments of tender connection, moments of raw, unfiltered desire. And through it all, there was the awareness that this was something special, something that might never happen again in quite this way, with these people, in this place.
As dawn began to filter through the windows, we found ourselves back in our original pairs—me with Rob, Kent with Paula, Daniel with Selma. We lay tangled together, exhausted but satisfied, watching as the sky lightened over the city.
"We have matches today," Selma said eventually, her voice soft in the quiet room.
No one responded. We all knew the matches didn't matter, not really. Whatever happened on the courts today would be just a game, a performance for others. The real competition, the real victory, had happened here, in this room, between the six of us.
CHAPTER 5 — Love, Match
The drive home was silent. Rob kept his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel with an intensity that made the muscles in his forearms stand out. I watched the familiar streets of our neighborhood pass by, each house a testament to a life that seemed suddenly foreign to me.
When we pulled into our garage, the automatic door closing behind us with a final thud, Rob turned off the engine but didn't move. "We need to talk," he said, his voice flat.
"I know."
Inside, the house felt too large, too empty. We moved through the spaces we had shared for eight years as if seeing them for the first time. The living room where we entertained clients, the kitchen where we ate our quiet dinners, the bedroom where we had slept side by side, night after night, without ever truly touching.
"I saw you," Rob said, standing by the fireplace, his back to me. "At the pro shop. That night."
I nodded, though he couldn't see me. "I know."
"Why didn't you stop?" he asked, turning to face me. His expression wasn't angry, just curious, as if he were genuinely trying to understand something that had previously been beyond his comprehension.
"I didn't want to," I said simply. "For the first time in a long time, I didn't want to be careful."
He crossed the room to stand in front of me, his hands moving to cup my face. "And last night? When you were with Kent, when you were watching me with him... what were you feeling then?"
"Everything," I said honestly. "Desire, jealousy, arousal, love... all of it at once."
"Me too," he admitted, his thumb stroking my cheek. "Especially when you were watching me. When I saw your eyes on me while Kent was... while we were... it was like you were seeing me for the first time. Like you were seeing all of me, not just the controlled version I show the world."
"That's what I felt too," I said. "Like you were finally seeing all of me."
He leaned down and kissed me, a soft, tentative kiss that gradually deepened as we both relaxed into it. His hands moved from my face to my shoulders, then down my back, pulling me closer until there was no space between us.
"Take me to bed," I whispered against his mouth.
In our bedroom, the room where we had slept together for years without ever truly being together, he undressed me slowly, his hands relearning my body as if for the first time. Each piece of clothing removed was like shedding a skin, revealing something new and vulnerable beneath.
When I was naked, he laid me back on our bed, his eyes moving over me with an intensity that made my skin flush. "I want to know everything," he said, his voice low. "Everything you felt, everything you did."
So I told him. As he entered me, as he began to move inside me with a newfound confidence, I described the pro shop encounter—Kent's mouth on me, the way he had filled me, the moment I had seen Rob watching from the window.
"He felt like this," I said, my breath catching as Rob shifted slightly, changing the angle of his penetration. "But thicker. And he tasted different—sweeter, somehow."
Rob's rhythm faltered for just a moment, then resumed with renewed intensity. "And last night?" he asked, his voice strained. "When you were watching me with Kent?"
"He was behind me," I said, my words coming in gasps as Rob's thrusts became more forceful. "And you were kneeling right there, right where you are now. When Kent entered you, you made this sound—like you were surprised, like it hurt but in a good way. I came just watching you."
"Like this?" Rob asked, his movements becoming more deliberate, more purposeful.
"Exactly like that," I confirmed, my hands gripping his shoulders as the pleasure built. "And when Paula kissed me while you were watching, I felt like I was splitting into pieces—like there were too many sensations for my body to contain."
"Show me," he demanded, his mouth finding mine, his kiss demanding and hungry.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm with my own upward thrusts. "I want to try everything with you," I said against his mouth. "Everything we did with them, I want to do with you."
His response was a groan, deep and guttural, as he increased his pace, driving into me with an urgency that bordered on desperation. I met him thrust for thrust, my body arching to accept him, to welcome him, to become one with him in a way that we never had before.
When I came, it was with his name on my lips, my body convulsing around him, my fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave marks. He followed moments later, his release hot and deep inside me, his face buried in my neck as he shuddered against me.
We lay tangled together for a long time, our breathing gradually slowing, the sweat cooling on our bodies. The afternoon light filtered through our bedroom windows, casting familiar shadows on familiar walls, but nothing felt familiar anymore.
"What happens now?" I asked eventually, my voice soft against his chest.
He shifted to look at me, his expression serious but not worried. "We figure it out," he said. "Together. We talk about what we want, what we need, what boundaries we're comfortable with. We're honest with each other in a way we haven't been before."
"And if what we want is... more?" I asked carefully.
"Then we find a way to have more," he said simply. "Not necessarily with them, not necessarily in the same way. But whatever we decide, it's a decision we make together."
I nodded, relief washing over me. "Okay," I said. "Together."
He kissed me then, a slow, deep kiss that was full of promise and possibility. As we kissed, I realized that what had happened over the past weeks—the lessons with Kent, the conversations with Paula, the championship weekend—hadn't been about breaking our marriage open. It had been about breaking ourselves open, about discovering parts of ourselves we hadn't known existed, and then bringing those discoveries back to each other.
EPILOGUE
Six months later. The club championships again. The same suite, the same view of the city lights, but different people this time—just me and Rob, plus Selma and Daniel, who had become our closest friends in the aftermath of that weekend. Paula and Kent had moved to Scottsdale, a promotion at a prestigious club there, but we exchanged occasional texts that were friendly but distant, acknowledging without explicitly stating what we had shared.
The conversation flowed easily—tennis, business, travel plans. The air was comfortable, familiar, without the charged tension of six months ago. We had all moved on in our own ways, integrating the experiences of that weekend into our lives in different configurations.
"Remember last year?" Selma asked, swirling her champagne. "That was... intense."
Daniel laughed, taking her hand. "Intense is one word for it."
Rob squeezed my thigh under the table, his touch warm and reassuring. "Everything okay?" he murmured.
I nodded, smiling at him. "Everything's perfect."
Later that night, in our own bed, in our own home, Rob showed me just how perfect it could be. We had explored together in the months since the championship weekend, trying new things, pushing boundaries, discovering that the intimacy we had found with others could be magnified when brought back to just the two of us.
"I love you," he said afterward, his body still tangled with mine, his breath warm against my neck.
"I love you too," I replied, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "More than I knew was possible."
We lay in silence for a while, the familiar comfort of our shared space enveloping us. Outside, the city lights twinkled, each one a story, a life, a possibility.
"Do you ever think about them?" I asked eventually.
"All of them," he admitted. "Sometimes. But mostly, I think about us. About what we found, what we became."
"What did we become?" I asked, turning to face him.
"Honester," he said after a moment. "Braver. More ourselves."
I smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "I like that," I said. "I like us."
And as we made love again, slow and sweet in the quiet of our bedroom, I realized that the championship weekend hadn't been the climax of our story at all. It had been the beginning—the beginning of a new chapter, a new way of being together, a new understanding of ourselves and each other that would continue to unfold in the years to come.