Prologue
The pub wasn't far away from where he lived but he'd never been in there before. It was near the tennis club and called Centre Court. Champagne and fine wines were all well and good, but he hadn't tasted a decent strong cider in ages. And he'd recently heard that this place made its own, so he decided to try it. He wasn't disappointed so he tried their lunch menu too. A chopped up baked potato smothered with chili con carne, and topped with sour cream went down a treat. It was about time to leave, and he was wondering if the landlord had some way of getting his draught cider into bottles. It would be the icing on the cake if he could take some away with him. Then there was a noisy commotion from a group of lads across the bar. They looked like rugby players; not the kind of crowd you would expect in here really - and were all laughing - all but one of them.
Of all the different ways of dying, he had often thought choking to death must be one of the worst. Not necessarily because of the pain; more the circumstances where it might occur. Imagine being at your dinner table, or in your favourite restaurant. Then suddenly you're dying amongst family and friends, and your last memory is of them all laughing at you. They're smiling and saying things like 'Must have gone down the wrong way' and they slap you on the back. Too late they realise how serious it was. Their laughing will become their last memory as well.
By the time he got to their table the choking guy was starting to turn blue and the laughter was dying down. They parted and let him through. He was aware you can do the Heimlich Manoeuvre with the victim sitting down, but this guy was huge. He hauled him to his feet and got him in a bear hug, pinning his arms against his sides. He pushed the thumb of one fist just above where he estimated the belly button to be. Grabbing that fist with his other hand, he thrust in and up as hard as he could. For a moment it looked like they were pretending to have sex. The victim was a very big man and nothing came out till the third attempt. It was a large piece of burger bun.
The aftermath became a bit embarrassing. He wasn't comfortable with being treated like a hero. The guys all thumped him on the back, continuing even after it began to hurt. Then they stood around looking sheepish; realising they hadn't had a clue what to do. The big man's name was Sven which somehow seemed appropriate for such a giant. Phone numbers were swapped and there was an offer of more cider; politely declined as our hero was driving. He was also offered lifelong thanks -- which he accepted with a smile. Sven was looking fine now, but his friends were persuaded to take him to hospital for a check up. It was doubtful he'd been done much damage, but he had been without oxygen for a while there.
About a week later Sven called his saviour and they met for a drink; just the two of them. The hero didn't really want to go, but thought he might as well get it over and done with. The conversation was mainly along the lines of 'Anything I can ever do for you.'
And at last it was all over.
*** *** ***
It seemed a great idea to start off with. My wife Judy had played a lot of of tennis at university and was good enough to represent the county. Now she wanted to take lessons again at the local club; there was always room for improvement and I could see no reason why she shouldn't; I'm the boss of my own company and its doing very well thank you, so she's never needed to work. And our son Neil is away at college now. So she has plenty of free time on her hands and I paid for a month's lessons. It would do her good to get out of the house.
"I'll be going in every Tuesday morning Colin. They have different entry levels and want to start me off in the intermediate category. But it shouldn't be long before I get to the top level and attract a better quality of coach."
"Go for it." I said. "It'll keep you out of mischief!"
Now Neil has flown the coop, it would be good for her to develop other interests. I don't know how she could stand the endless round of coffee mornings and hanging out with 'the ladies that lunch'.
That first Tuesday morning, Judy smelled the coffee brewing and came down to see me off to work. This was a good start; she usually lazed around in bed for far too long. She was wearing a baggy old T-shirt and equally baggy shorts. She looked down at herself.
"I'm not as fit as I should be so I'll be sweating buckets for the first few lessons. It's not a fashion show."
"You look fine."
Clearly she'd showered when I got home but presumably hadn't expended enough energy at the club. That night our love making was wild -- well worth the price of a few tennis lessons. Near the end, the head of the bed began thumping against the wall. The noise made me smile and we collapsed after our joint orgasms. Judy whispered in my ear.
"You need to move the bed farther into the room again. That noise almost puts me off -- only almost!"
"I know," I said. "The damn thing keeps creeping back towards the wall; I can't imagine what makes it move so far! I'll see to it tomorrow."
Wednesday morning I fixed the noise problem. It was an old iron bed which once belonged to my granddad. I don't know why I was so attached to it really -- it was an ugly old thing. The culprit making the noise was a brass knob right in the centre of the bed head railing. There was an indentation in the plaster on the wall from all the thumping it had put up with. It was time to do something more permanent than keep pulling it out of harm's way. The knob unscrewed but that just made it look stupid. Anyway, some other part of the bed would make contact if I left it off. Then I had a brainwave. In the kitchen I found what I wanted. It was small enough to fit in my hand. There was an inch or so of yellow sponge with a green scourer part on one side.
"What do you think babe?"
"What is it?"
"It's one of those things for washing dishes. The rough part is against that brass ball. And the sponge part is squashed up against the wall. It's held in place with sticky tape. Problem solved!"
"You're an old skinflint. Why don't you just buy a new bed? Get us something more modern; it's not as if we can't afford one -- you're rolling in money."
"I got rich by not wasting my money. Anyway I love that bed. My mum was conceived there."
"Sorry, but I find that a bit creepy."
"But it's comfortable, and now when we bang it against the wall it won't make a sound."
"Where's the dent gone?"
"I filled it Polyfilla. Want to try the bed out?"
"You have to go to work."
"I'm the boss.I'm allowed to go in late."
We fell onto the bed and fucked in relative silence - the sponge worked.
Just one week of tennis lessons and Judy was upgraded to to the highest student level, and we re-booked her lessons with a different instructor; more expensive of course.
"His name is Edward and he's only teaching here for the two months of summer. Then he's going to Wimbledon where he'll be the top coach at All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club!"
"I thought it was just called Wimbledon; I didn't know they played croquet."
"Well you do now."
"And is the new outfit because you're a top student? Or is it strictly for the benefit of this Edward bloke?"
She was now wearing a thin tight T-shirt over a seamless sports bra. Her nipples were not discernible but the natural shape of her breasts was. The top was not very long and showed her navel. Her shorts were also tiny -- not unlike those worn by track and field athletes - except theirs are not usually white. Her camel toe was evident.
"It's not for him silly. Soon I intend to be their best student. The others will look up to me. I'll be expected to turn out looking more professional than the others."
(And you said it was not a fashion show!)
I started to get suspicious the following week, when Judy booked Thursday mornings as well. But this extra session was not a club lesson. This was to be private tuition, paid by the hour. Apparently Thursday was usually the new coach's day off so he could charge what he liked. The fee was outrageous - he must be making nearly as much money as me. I decided I needed to get a look at this Edward character -- just out of curiosity you understand. But, free as I usually am at work, a problem cropped up on Thursday morning and it really needed my input. The team and I took over four hours to sort it out so I bought them all a late lunch. Watching Judy's Thursday lesson wouldn't happen now, and there was little point in trying to observe her next Tuesday as that lesson was not a private one. Observing Edward would have to wait another week.
Judy had told me she was booked with him from nine till ten. No work issues this time so I took the following Thursday morning off. I went to work as usual but transferred to one of our company cars. Then I drove to to the tennis club and waited outside where I could see the courts. Judy arrived at eight fortyfive and got out of her car wearing a baggy jogging outfit. She was carrying a large sports bag and went inside to get changed.
There were several courts available and she came back out to the one on my far left. She was prompt at nine and all in white again, but this was no cropped T-shirt. She had changed into an outfit I'd never seen before. The top part had thin shoulder straps and was almost backless. It was made from thicker material than a T-shirt but not thick enough to conceal the fact she was no longer wearing a bra. It was doing its best to prevent her breasts from wobbling about, but not really succeeding. Once she started serving and volleying she'd be lucky if her breasts stayed in there. Even from this distance I could make out where her nipples were. And to match with the top she'd bought a white pleated skirt which barely covered her tiny white panties. They were not exactly a thong but certainly cut very high up to her hips. There couldn't be much more than an inch of material between her legs. As I stared at her, she half turned away from me and bent over to re-tie a shoe lace, showing me everything; I wondered if she did this a lot. And now I changed my mind about her outfit; she might even be wearing a one-piece swimsuit - under a skirt that a ballerina would be proud of.
As if my suspicions had not already gone up a couple of notches, I was equally taken aback as her coach arrived. Edward looked like a Greek god. His soft blond hair fell in cute waves, just covering his ears; darker designer stubble made me wonder if if his head hair was dyed. His skin was well muscled and golden brown. And his teeth almost flashed when he smiled -- and he smiled a lot. If the Greeks had a god of seduction, here he was in the flesh.
Judy wore a little lipstick and looked gorgeous. Even scraped back in a ponytail, her dark brown hair looked good flying around in the sunshine. And her slim toned legs have always caught men's eyes. Even more so today, as she flashed her camel toe and the crack in her buttocks started to darken with sweat. There was little chance of her spotting me but I didn't need to watch the whole lesson. So I went and found the club's entertainment rooms after half an hour or so. There was a good selection of fruit juices and other healthy drinks but I settled for a coffee and found a complimentary newspaper. I had just started my second cup and was engrossed in an article on corporate finance when I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten twenty. I said "Oh!"
