I'd spent the weeks after high-school finished soaking in some of the Melbourne sun, and relaxing with friends. Schoolies had been a blast, a handful of us camping down in Wilson's Promontory for a full week was a great way to bring to a close the teenage years; our last chance to be irresponsible eighteen year olds before we all started university or full-time jobs. I had decided to take a year out, grab some part time work and save up to go travelling. But all of that could wait for a couple more weeks, as I had volunteered at the Australian Open tennis tournament that started in a few days.
My parents bought me my first junior racquet at the age of three, and I have been a massive tennis fan since. Despite loads of lessons growing up, and not for a lack of talent, nothing ever came of my gift. Perhaps it was a lack of effort, or more a focus on friends and school that prevented my progress beyond local lawn clubs. Yet my enthusiasm for the game never dampened. I still play once a week with my best friend Amanda, and have been a ball-girl at many tournaments around the city. But this was the first time I'd been chosen at the major, and I was really excited. So excited, that as had been happening often of late, I was laying on my bed staring at the ceiling, picturing all the stars I might get to meet.
I was stirred from my daydream by mum's shouts from downstairs. She and dad were heading out to Auntie Ruth's for the day, so I would be left to my own devices. I decided to get up and take a shower. Amanda was coming over to watch some movies, and I still had loads of tidying to do. I entered the shower room, and undressed in front of the mirror, deciding whether I could get away without washing my hair and doing my make-up. As the clothes dropped to the floor beside me, I gazed at the reflection in the glass. I guess you would describe me as petite, 5ft 2inches with a slim frame from my years of tennis. My auburn hair tumbled down past my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face. I'm not what most people would call sexy, but I have been told I have a natural beauty. A few freckles on my cheeks and big brown eyes got me plenty of attention at school, most of it unwanted. My eyes took in the rest of my body, my B cup breasts and my cute, tight behind. I smiled as I slid behind the shower door.
The minutes flew by as they always do when the hot water runs over my body; I lose track of time and enjoy the feel of the water caressing my skin. I'd taken great care not to burn while we were camping, and although my skin was a little red, I was confident the sun had done no real damage. I decided to wash my hair, and quickly wrapped myself in towels as I heard a knock at the door. I threw on some track pants and a singlet and went to greet Amanda.
I opened the door to see my best friend pretending to scowl. "Took your sweet time didn't you Nathalie? I was just about to give up and leave." She playfully barged past me, and walked right into the kitchen and poured herself a drink.
"Sorry, just got out the shower," I replied.
"I can see that, and you didn't have time to put on any clothes," she joked, staring at my chest. I followed her eyes, and my hands instinctively covered my nipples poking through my singlet, as we both giggled and went into the lounge room. Amanda had been my best friend since the age of eleven. We met at a tennis club, and had been inseparable since. She is what you would call gorgeous; A couple of inches taller than me, with beautiful olive skin and stunning C-cup breasts. Since she transferred to my school when we were fourteen she always had a string of guys after her. She loved the attention too, but couldn't find a guy she really connected with and so one after the other, she grew tired of them. I had always been attracted to Amanda, but she had never given me any indication she was interested in girls in all the years we had been friends. My feelings now were almost completely platonic, and only rarely did I picture her in my fantasies.
Today though, she was not helping the situation. It was already 30 degrees outside, and Amanda was wearing a summer dress that was hard to take your eyes off. Unfortunately, I had that problem big time, and I constantly found myself gawking at her small hips, and huge cleavage. I could feel myself start to blush. If Amanda was aware of my gazes, she didn't seem uncomfortable. Despite our closeness, I had never shared the fact that I was attracted to girls with her. We often talked about boys, and she was always pestering me as to why I had never so much as even kissed one. I always used the same response, that I just wasn't interested in them yet. Truth be told, I had fallen hard for Amanda from the age of fourteen and had only last year resigned myself to the fact she just wasn't interested. In spite of my best efforts at sleepovers to garner the courage to tell her of my feelings for girls, and more specifically, for her, I had never quite managed it.
It was on her birthday party last year that I had consciously decided to give up the pursuit of my friend. We had spent the whole day together after she dumped her latest boyfriend on the morning. As was her way, she didn't show any emotion, and was already gossiping about her next potential challenge. It suddenly hit me, yes she was gorgeous, and I loved her as a friend; but she was not into girls, and she was not the type of person I wanted to be attracted to. Amanda is fleeting, egotistical and self-centred, I didn't mind that in a friend, but i couldn't sacrifice those qualities in my partner.
And so here we were, nearly a whole year later, with our friendship stronger than ever. Sure, in my private moments when the need for satisfaction became too much to withhold, it was Amanda's face and body I pictured as I rubbed myself into my pillow. But those instances were far less frequent, and far less intense than years gone by. I suppose my lack of sexual experience, and lack of interest to date in anyone but Amanda, meant my needs were far fewer than that of most eighteen year old girls. So, having her round to my house, the two of us alone, was no longer the nervous, potentially sexual atmosphere it used to be. When she suddenly farted as we sat on the couch, I giggled as all of this was confirmed. She laughed too, and we sat for a few hours, aimlessly talking and watching movies.
My parents got home in the late afternoon, and Amanda and I moved up to my bedroom. Mum had invited Amanda to stay for dinner, so we sat on my bed, and she started talking about boys. I'd heard it all before, and my mind started to wander to thoughts of the tennis tournament. I would get to see Sharapova, Williams, Ivanovic and all the top players battling it out. My love for the game had prevented me from even considering these women sexually; I was always too focused on their backhand technique to consider how pretty they were. As I lay there, the feint sounds of Amanda's voice continued in the background, always muffled until one sentence stood out loud and clear.
