This is my first story.
Please be give your feedback... but perhaps be gentle? I would love to hear from you - I think the real pleasure is from getting a reaction from others.... that, and I actually get quite aroused while writing and reading.
Happy
As soon as I said it... I regretted it. In the scheme of things it wasn't a big mistake and anyone looking on would not have noticed anything unusual. As it was, no one else was there as we approached each other at the neutral point...in the middle. We were initially about 20 metres apart when I apologised. He was smiling, I dipped my head demurely but I knew, he was aware of my guilt and the associated feelings.
We shook hands, his hand firmly pulled me toward him. We kissed gently before his arm released my hand and slid around my waist, pulling me toward him. "You fucked up!" he said with his low tones directly into my ear.
Our sweat drenched bodies pressed together. I bowed my head and smiled. "Mmmmm, um yes" I gasp whispered back.
The sexual power play in our relationship had always ebbed backward and forward. Mostly he was the dominator and I was the receiver but not always and the variety adds spice...We play by rules and we love each other deeply By now, we know our boundaries and limits through fun and easy communication.
We've been married long enough and as I understand it, some drift into repetitive bedroom familiarity. We never did... or to this point at least we both share an adventurous spirit that keeps us on edge and smiling. We are not conservative sexually but by the same token are quite private. There are occasionally times we let others into our play... but very rarely and always with our anonymity intact. Don't mess in your own nest!
We met when he was a dynamic software developer with no reputation but a massive work rate, determination and a will to succeed. He had an idea ten years ago that he evolved into something banks wanted. The latest versions of his inspired idea are used on phones by hundreds of millions of bank customers if not by billions and his small commission leaves us not wanting for anything at all really.
Let me put it this way.... a very tiny percentage on a very large number of continuing sales... is a lot - as a form of income. There are numerous charities we support and while we don't spend recklessly, we do spend large. The truth is, the money from my man keeps pouring in and we would struggle to spend it all if we tried... and then it would re generate all over again.
We have been with one another for the whole process - from surly unappreciated graduates when we were scraping beans together and then from his fledgling, non paying idea and my bank employee wage. I had graduated with honours in economics having done business and law and decided I liked the thought of high finance. So began the process of working my way up... to and through the glass ceiling. It has to be said the normally limiting factors might not apply so greatly to a sharp and determined, ambitious mind.
Combine this with my long legs, toned and shaped through almost two decades of high level tennis. Also combine this with a chest and cleavage I am very proud of. "Proud," is not the word I suppose as I have done little to attain them. "My tickets" as I refer to them are definitely an asset in my looks and I like to accentuate them. They are not heavy but firm and shapely. My work tops are always cut to offer a fleeting glance and often there is a glimpse of the light frill at the top of a bra. Sometimes even a temptation to be drawn into my tanned cleavage.
Many many times while I have been going over a document with a colleague or have glanced back from looking elsewhere to find a bedazzled male's eyes drawn down into the valley. "The Tickets" paying their way again usually by way of an embarrassed rapid eye avoiding movement, left then right.... anywhere else. Sometimes a mumble apology or even on one occasion an admission "I can't tear my eyes away," from Ted Gimbles the old Chief Exec. The dirty old coot was seventy five. He died of a heart attack in bed six months later and the rumour was... it wasn't his bed... nor was he alone.
Betty his wife, twenty years younger, handled it with dignity and never spoke of any dalliances that Ted may or may not have made. A job made easier by having majority custody of his 20 plus million dollar estate slip in her direction. It must have been real love.
After endorsing my role at the bank she left town and is happily living the dream on a West Indian island, wanting for nothing. We stay in touch via email, but rarely now.
Yes, right through, "the tickets" have been a valuable career asset. Bless them. I suppose it would be best to describe myself as looking quite like Robin Wright. Less like the Robin Wright in "Princess Bride" than the more worldly street smart version playing the first lady in "House of Cards."
I am into my mid thirties so quite younger than her but others often make the likeness... and I don't mind. My hair is short blond, I have very blue eyes and our physiques are very similar. I carry very low fat from my continued love and frequent playing of tennis.
That brings me back to our present situation. My silly apology.
We were playing on the court at our weekend coastal house. The court is situated near the sea side boundary. It is one of my favourite locations in the whole world... and I have seen a few of them. The house itself is large but with a lot of open plan rooms where dining rooms ease into large lounging areas. The house is laid out with beautiful but unpretentious furnishings, the decorating is all light coloured and the art, while modern and tasteful, is of course extremely rare and expensive. It mostly lends toward an erotic or sexual bent but in a subtle manner. Stamens and natural curves, not penis and vagina. Much of the floral work requires another glance for example. Nothing is in your face but many a conversation has been prompted from the pictures on our wall. Depending on the company we have at the time, this drives whether we plead ignorance or extensive leads on what the artists might, or was intending to display in their efforts.
Anyway, Dave and I had been having one of our epic tennis matches on our own court. Having played so much and indeed attaining a tennis scholarship at Brown University, while doing well in my studies, I excelled at the sport. Upon completion of my masters I was encouraged to turn pro but decided instead on my banking career. Obviously things paned out financially but I do sometimes wonder how far I could have taken my tennis.
Agh, no regrets!
With my tennis history I always beat Dave. He is very athletic. Broad shouldered and lean waisted. His game was football and he was a high school quarterback before his academic skills got him into Brown as well. From there he focused on his business degree and went on to apply it brilliantly in terms of developing an idea into something real, incredibly viable and successful.
He is still athletic having never let himself go in any sense - balancing work with the gym, running and he loves to row, which he does still with various periods of intensity and practice.
As mentioned he has never once beaten me and I was comfortably winning our game when I slipped up. It was in fact match point, I had served and I had him on the ropes easily controlling him from right to left. He was doing well as he does, fighting to return the angled, heavily hit, top spun balls.
Deep to his back hand, he sliced the ball back to mine.
Down the line to his forehand, he scrambled and hit a short lobbed stretched shot to mid court.
I knew I had him as I lined up to hit it. I could choose either side and I elected to hit the ball inside out to put it away on his back hand side. I went through the process to achieve this knowing only a miracle could save him now. I was smiling internally as i unleashed. I hit the ball high on its arched bounce, hard flat and angled, toward the corner. He had guessed correctly and was tearing as fast as he could manage in the correct direction. It would still take a miracle for him to return it.
As I landed on my left foot though, completing the shot and the follow through, the ball hit the net. It was one of those rare anomalies where the ball sat still. Its energy for a moment absorbed by the net. It seemed like forever as the game froze and we looked. He came to a halt from his full sprint and the ball fell to the ground....
On his side.
The point went from being very likely mine to an absolute certainty. He changed direction and had lunged forward briefly in a fruitless hope before stopping in a look of disbelief.
I raised my racquet above my head and gasped.
"I'm sorry Dave." That was my mistake, right there. Brought on by a moment or unusual events at a crucial time. Not the net cord winner on match point, but the apology.
Daves head lifted almost instantly and from giving the look of frustrated male who can not match his partner at her chosen endeaver... again.... to a look of disbelief at his partners mistake and subsequent instant swapping of position in terms of positions of power.
I had won the tennis match but lost the balance of our sexual game... in a matter of a few quick-fire seconds.
This rule is that we never ever apologise for success. It has been established as a rule over a long period of development. It is a rare event now when it ever occurs and the last time was probably a few months ago when he apologised to me for dinner being late. It was a contentious issue and there was some debate, but then, as now, there would be consequences.
It may seem a trivial thing, or ungracious to never apologise for your success but think about it. We had both strived and worked and succeeded based on always wanting better. Getting something wrong is an opportunity to learn and grow and get better. Damned if I am going to be sorry for it.
