I'd never joined a gym before; I'm really not the sporty type, but Judy said it's full of a load of fit blokes, and maybe I could meet someone there. So, on a cold and rainy Monday evening I dug out my shortest, whitest tennis skirt, grabbed my racquet and sports bottle, and off I went.
Judy was right. Standing by the juice bar I noticed a variety of good looking men in all shapes and sizes, but the one that caught my eye was the best of the lot. Tall and dark, he had that smouldering look, bit like Mad Men's Don Draper. I wondered if he worked in advertising. "Waiting for a court?" He smiled, eyeing the racquet handle poking out my bag.
"They're all taken," I replied, in the sexy voice I've been practicing since my divorce. "And as it's my first time here, I didn't know you have to pre-book."
"Tell you what, come play with me." He had a certain gleam in his eye, but I had already clocked the wedding ring on his left hand. Still, it was only a game of tennis, no harm in that.
The individual courts are set out at the back of the sports club, overlooking lovely grounds on a sunny day. But tonight the moonlit glass wall provided a reflection, so whichever way I faced I could see his muscular, tanned legs and broad shoulders. We started off chatting while we played, but as we picked up speed I became breathless. His ace shots had me running all over the court, and I made sure as I picked up the ball he had a good view of my white lace thong. But it had been a long time since I'd exercised and I was starting to regret playing with someone as hot as 'Don Draper.'
I stepped aside to swig some water, offering him the bottle and feeling a bit surprised when he accepted. There's something quite intimate about sharing a bottle with a stranger. I smiled at him as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "It's so hot in here, shall we get a breath of fresh air?"
As we stepped through the glass doors the chill hit us and, if I'd been alone, I'd have gone straight back inside. But I braved the biting wind and rested my hands against a wrought iron chair.
"Cold?" He asked, closing in behind me and placing those strong, powerful looking hands on my shoulders. "Actually, I'm still feeling quite hot," I whispered, although as his hands stroked slowly up and down my arms he could feel the goosebumps. "That's nothing to do with the cool night air," I confirmed as I turned into his arms and kissed him hard.
As his tongue explored my mouth I wove my fingers into his hair, and his hands running up my spine made me moan softly against his lips. Pushing the chair aside, he grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the small garden table. One hand wandered along my bare thigh, the short tennis skirt pushed up below me, while the other caressed my neck as his lips moved leisurely down, kissing my throat and forcing me gently back against the cold iron table top.
His hands were under my t shirt, caressing my skin in small circles, and my hips began to mirror his movements, stirring slowly and yearning for his touch. But he kept moving upwards, pushing my plain cotton sports bra up so that my breasts sprang free. I momentarily wished I'd worn something sexier, but with the cold air and his expert touch my nipples jumped to meet him and the bra was forgotten. As he grasped one hard nipple between his lips I moaned loudly, arching my back to push my body into his face. I tried to direct his other hand back down my body, desperately needing his touch between my legs. I couldn't keep my hips still and the small of my back was rubbing painfully against the wrought iron, but the pleasure from my tits was overwhelming as first one nipple and then the other was sucked and nibbled until I couldn't take any more.
Wrapping my legs around his waist I pulled him closer to me and gasped as his hand finally stroked its way along my flat stomach and across my thong -- now wet and sticky. Two fingers pushed aside the delicate lace and my hips rose up to welcome them deep inside me. I'm not a quiet girl, and the feel of his knobbly fingers twisting inside and walking along my fanny walls, pressing against my g spot -- God, I couldn't help crying out. His thumb rubbed over my clit, over and over, round and around, applying just the right amount of pressure -- It was pure heaven and I couldn't believe my incredible luck in hooking up with this Don Draper lookalike on my first visit.
