I don't often write true tales because real life, at least my real life, is not as exciting (or horrendous, depending on your point of view) as the stories I write. But a reader asked me if I had any real experiences to relate. My first inclination was to refuse, but there was one incident, now sufficiently dated that I feel comfortable writing about it. It's not a first time story, nor the greatest sex I've ever had, but it comes close.
Many years ago when I was still a graduate student at UofT, I was a regular player in the faculty social badminton club. The club was nominally for staff, but graduate students often helped make up the numbers and provide a little spice to the competition. And although the club was deemed social, nearly every game was a contest and games were closely fought. Well, that's fairly typical I suppose, I've never played at any club where competition wasn't fierce. But we were also there for fun and mostly everyone got on. Sure we had our favorite partners and combos for games, but we would mix up the pairs throughout the night. And we did mostly play doubles, because the Uni gym only had four courts. While there were slightly more male members, there was also many of us girls and a good range of ages from fairly young students (I was twenty at the time) through to professors overdue for retirement.
Sometimes there was a little bit of light hearted flirting but never anything serious. In fact, one of the things I liked about the club was it felt safe and the guys were friendly but not continually trying to hit on me. Discussion mostly centered on how research was going or what latest crazy bit of bureaucracy the Uni officials had dreamed up.
I often partnered a man I'll call Joe. Joe was a fiftyish lecturer in one of the sciences, I forget now exactly which. We worked well together on the court, his experience coupled with my younger speed meant we won more than our fair share of games. He had a knack for placing the shuttle right where he knew the opposition would end up playing to where I was waiting to clinch the point.
One particularly busy week I forgot to wash my usual badminton clothes and ended up having to wear something else. I normally wore a plain black shirt with a Lycra sports bra underneath. I found another sporty top to wear, but the real problem was I couldn't wear my usual Lycra sports bra and had to settle for something a bit looser and lighter.
That night as we were walking off the court after another win, Joe said he liked my top. I had to agree it was quite nice in black with a tasteful iridescent dragon curled around some flowers running across the front and onto the sleeves. Anyway, I twirled around laughing, then stood facing him so he could have a better look. I realized my nipples were rock hard and no doubt making erotic dimples in the front of my shirt. The ordinary bra was to blame. The whole night, my nipples had been rubbing against the material with every lunge I made. I was horny as hell.
Joe smiled, patted me lightly on the shoulder, again saying it was nice shirt and we sat down with the conversation moving on to other things. Like I said, it was a safe place for me to be. That night I masturbated myself to sleep - thinking of Joe.
Several weeks went by, but I didn't forget Joe's compliment about my shirt. If anything my fantasies got worse and worse - and you'll already know I've got an overactive sexual imagination. I dreamed playing badminton naked with Joe, sucking him off on the sidelines, feeling him deep inside me, with dragons watching on. All sorts of stupid stuff like that. It was quite confusing for me actually, how could I be physically attracted to someone as old as Joe.
In my saner waking moments, I knew Joe's compliment about was shirt was just that. He honestly liked the shirt, he didn't see me in a sexual way. After all he was thirty years or so my senior, if anything he probably only thought of me as an athletic student.
One night I decided to wear the dragon top again. There was no reason not to, Joe would like it, and there was nothing wrong with wearing the shirt. But then in a moment of madness, recalling how horny I had gotten last time I wore the shirt, I decided to go along without any bra.
Why? Why? Why? Or more like Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!
Every game was sweet agony, my breasts would swing around with each movement - and you move a lot in badminton. Every bounce caused my nipples to rub on the material of the shirt and they soon swelled up rather painfully. The whole episode was detracting from my play and I missed a lot of easy shots.
In one of the earlier games of the night I was paired with someone whose name I forget against Joe and a woman called Michelle. I'm sure every time I reached up to hit above my head, that Joe and Michelle got a good view of my boobs lurching upwards and bouncing around.
A couple of games later while Joe was on the sidelines, I caught him watching me, and damn if I didn't feel myself moisten down south.
