From as early as fourth grade it was obvious that sports and I did not get along. I was either too slow or not coordinated enough. Team after team would either cut me, or only allow me to play the minimum amount of time that was required. When teams were picked in gym class, I was almost always chosen last. My uncle observed my frustration, and took it upon himself to help. He was concern about the long-term effect of my low self-esteem, so he introduced me to the world of racquetball. When my Uncle was younger he played on his college team, and had won several tournaments. Today his bookshelves are lined with trophies has proof of his accomplishments. But it wasn't his trophies that made him special to me, it was his ears. When I was just a little girl, I learned that he could wiggle his ears, and ever since then he has been my favorite Uncle, and I was honored that he wanted to share his time with me. So with only a few exceptions-we played racquetball three times a week until I went to college.
I started off slow, learning the rules and just trying to enjoy myself. It was several months before I was even able to return the ball with any regularity. But I was still too slow. I can remember my Uncle saying, "Don't worry about speed, that will come with time. Just be deliberate in your moves. Remember, it's better to take one slow step in the right direction then to take a fast one in the wrong direction". Although I doubted his words at the time, I later found them to be true.
Years past and I got better, good enough to enter local tournaments, capturing a few trophies of my own. During the summer of my senior year, before going to college, I was good enough to beat my uncle about 50% of the times. I was so proud of myself. Although this was a big accomplishment for me, I needed to remind myself that I was an 18-year-old girl in her physical prime, playing against a 53-year-old man. But it really wasn't about winning or loosing, it was about life. Not only had I learn to focus my mind, but I had grown strong and fast, and most importantly, I had learned to be confident. My Uncle gave me all this, just by sharing some of his time-I will never be able to thank him enough.
In college I joined a racquetball club and played in the women's league. One of the girls I met was Linda. Linda was half African-American and half Italian, about 5'10" weighing around 130 pounds. A wonderful by-product of her parent's love. The only odd thing about her was that none of the girls in the league seemed to care for her. No one talked to her, or wanted to play with her-she was an outcast. Because Linda was one of the few non-white members, I wondered if her forced isolation was due to racism. Personally I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't play with Linda, so I did, and we quickly became friends. It wasn't till later that I learned why the other girls kept their distance.
A few weeks after I started playing racquetball with Linda, a redhead named Lilly told me during Physic class that I had better watch my ass around Linda.
"What?" I asked, knowing I couldn't have heard Lilly correct.
"I said you had better watch your ass around Linda", Lilly told me again. "She's a dyke-a lesbian-a rug-muncher. Do I need to draw you a the picture?"
"But..., but..." I stutter.
"She's always hitting on the girls at the club. She's hit on me several times. She's even hit on that fat cow Penny." Lilly informed me.
"That can't be". I said in denial.
"Mark my words, she is only being nice to get into your panties. Watch yourself, unless that's what you are looking for." Lilly warned me with a snarl.
I would like to say that Lilly's words hadn't bothered me, but they did. I had felt the hands of a woman before and I had liked it. I liked it so much that I didn't trust myself. I was in college to become great, a source of pride and joy for my family, not to become a dyke. I grew up in a Catholic family where homosexuality was wrong, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint them. So for these reasons I made myself believe that I shouldn't play with Linda any more. We were schedule to play again tonight, and I desperately wanted to cancel. So with a strong conviction in my mind and the phone in my hand I dialed Linda's number. I was ready to give her some phony excuse about too much schoolwork. With each unanswered ring, my heart beat a little faster, and my breathing became more labored. Lying was never easy for me and I was dreading the discussion I was about to have. For better or worst, no one answered the phone. Thus, not wanting to be rude, I was destine to play one more game with Linda. But I was determined that it was going to be the last game we ever played.
Have you ever been in the position where someone says, "Don't look down!", or "Don't look now, but...", and you then can't help but to look? That is how I felt. Lilly told me Linda was a lesbian and I couldn't stop myself from staring. It has always been difficult for me to keep my eyes to myself around women, and this latest bit of news didn't help. While changing out of my street clothes, I found myself stealing glances of Linda. Her back was to me has she faced her locker. She was wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton panties that beautifully contrast her dark olive skin, and a white "scrunchy" that held her long, dark, curly hair. Linda had large breasts, so large that when she raised her arms to slip on her sports bra, they spilled to her sides for me to see. Seeing Linda in this new light captivated me, and my thoughts began to wander. I imagine that I had the courage to walk up behind her and cup both of her breasts while grinding myself into her. I could almost feel the softness of her panties, and warmth of her back on my chest. My eyes lingered a little too long, for when I snapped out of my trance I noticed that Linda's reflection was smiling at me through the mirror in her locker. I was so embarrassed. I felt like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
After this incident, the last thing I wanted to do was lead her on any more then I might have already done. So I deliberately dressed down. I wore a plain white T-shirt in stead of my normal sport top and I traded in my soccer shorts that hung close to my thighs for a pair of baggy blue shorts which weren't the least bit flattering.
Linda came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder and asked, "Are you about ready? The court is ours in a few minutes... We should get going?"
"Sure, just let me fill my water bottle." I struggled to say why trying to act normal.
Playing racquetball with Linda was now different. It wasn't her fault, it was mine. Linda had done nothing wrong. It was my perception of her that had changed. A short conversation with Lilly had made me thinking that every move or jester made by Linda had a sexual undertone. I felt like a "Homo-Phobe", and I hated it. Needless to say it was difficult for me to concentrate.
