Double Fault

John's first serve is strong, but I get to it. My return is in but weak and Hannah has to take one reflex shot and another, but she manages to play a good ball into their corner. John sends what should be a middle-distance sitter into the unoccupied space on our side. Both Hannah and I barrel towards it then each realizes the other is also running. We both pause and the ball bounces in and away from us.

"Fifteen love," John announces.

John serves to Hannah, noticeably slower than he served to me. She has no problem returning it, but Tamara lobs it over Hannah's head and my racket whiffs it.

"Thirty love."

John's next service is an ace all day long. I barely twitch before it's past me.

"Match point."

John sends another gentle ball to Hannah. When he gets it back, he hits it a lot harder at me. I'm able to return it, and Hannah gets to Tamara's next drop shot handily. The ball is in the air for a long time, enough for John to plan his next shot. He sends it middle-distance and to the opposite side of the court again. Aware of what happened last time, neither of us have any hesitation in running straight for it. We end up with our bodies tangled together on the floor.

"Game, set, and match," John says.

I pick myself up, offer a hand to pull Hannah to her feet, and join our opponents at the net.

"Good game," John says, giving me a firm handshake. He's bigger than me, not quite taller, but wider around the shoulders and more muscled. That gives him an advantage on the court but not as much as two decades extra experience does. His wife is a good half a foot taller than Hannah too. We, supposedly, have youth on our side. That hasn't been much help today.

"You're being polite," says Hannah. "I'm sorry. It must have been a real waste of time for you. What was it? Six two, six one?"

"Honestly?" John says. "Your fundamentals are solid enough. The problem is Ben has no idea what you are going to do next and you never rely on Ben to be where he needs to be. You're just not on the same wavelength."

"We are...generally," says Hannah. "I mean, okay, maybe not so much for tennis, but we're learning."

John checks his watch. "I have a suggestion. In truth, yes, we did rather storm through that game, but we've still got time. Why don't we play either another full set or until five o'clock, whichever is sooner? Only we swap partners. Tamara, you'd play with Ben, right?"

Tamara nods, but Hannah is skeptical. "What? Spreading the suck around?"

"Language, Hannah," I say. It was her after all who insisted we enroll at a proper members club instead of just knocking a ball around on the local courts.

"I think you'll be surprised," says John.

He's right. Tamara doesn't make every shot but her movements match where I instinctively feel she needs to be. I'm able to stay at the back and make the big shots. Hannah has improved as well. She knows John is a better player than me and doesn't try to steal the balls that are his as they whizz past her. The first set alternates between deuce and advantage three times in a row before John and Hannah take it. The second set Tamara and I win with them on thirty. We're still on the third set when time is up.

While Hannah and I are getting some water, John goes and has a quiet word with Tamara. As we're walking back to the changing rooms, he strikes up the conversation again.

"You're both serious about tennis?" he asks.

"We're serious about losing weight," I say. "Tennis seems like as good a way as any."

"There's the annual club tournament starting in five weeks," he says. "You fancy taking part?"

I shrug. "Well, after today's performance..."

"We were thinking with the switched sides," says Tamara. "You register with me and Hannah plays with John."

"That might be less embarrassing for us, but what's in it for you?" Hannah asks.

We stop outside the doors to the changing rooms.

"We've been playing at this club now for decades," John explains. "We've even won the cup two or three times over the years, but not for a while now. We enter together again and it'll end up feeling exactly the same as last year except we're both another year slower. So, new partners, new challenges. Giving something back to the club by training up the next generation."

"You don't need to say yes now," says Tamara. "Why don't we play a full match same time next week with our new partners, see how we feel and then you can decide from there."

"Okay, we'll certainly think about it," says Hannah.

We split by gender.

"Remind me," John says while we're both showering, "Hannah is, what, your wife? Girlfriend?"

"Fiancee," I say.

"You set a day?" he asks.

"Not quite," I reply. "Sometime in November most likely. Oh, and if we do become regular partners, you'll be invited once in due course."

"Lovely," says John. "You've picked yourself a real firecracker there."

We're coming out of the showers now. I was aware of his physicality on the court. Naked next to me, I'm suddenly not sure if I want him playing with Hannah. Then I decide I'm being stupid and paranoid. It's just tennis.

"I know," I reply.

"Yeah, a real firecracker," John repeats.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's the same time next week and we've been at it hard.

We come off the court soaked in sweat. John and Hannah are the winners but only after three fiercely contested sets.

"Fancy the pub?" John asks once all the four of us are out of the changing rooms.

"That's kind of counterproductive," I say. "Hannah got a dress fitting next week and she's been on the scales every day this week."

"Right, the wedding," Tamara says. "How's that going?"

"You know," says Hannah. "We're at the agony of indecision stage with everything."

Hannah has never been a girly girl. Delivering a practical and cost-effective wedding is basically a point of honour for her. But she's also a fantasy artist as a hobby and I've noticed the dresses on her princesses getting more ornate and her castles getting more baroque this past few months. She's definitely got wedding fever, however much she wants to deny it. I'd be concerned about the cost ballooning if I wasn't absolutely certain about her ability to nail it.

"Tell us about it over a drink," Tamara says.

"It doesn't need to be a heavy session," says John. "A Pimms and lemonade on the grass. There's a lovely gastro place that backs onto the river and has peacocks in the garden. Have a salad and a slice of quiche."

"Well, let's face it, we probably were going to weaken and order a takeaway when we got home and discovered our muscles are too stiff to move," says Hannah. "The pub probably still puts me ahead, calorie-wise."

It turns out that the Rutherfords are really nice people. It doesn't take much for two women to bond over wedding talk. John chats with me about sport but with enough humour and insight that it doesn't bore me as much as it usually does. He makes a series of well-reasoned points that I file away the next time I have a conversation with my dad. The peacocks are nice as well.

Just as we're leaving, John checks his phone. "Ah," he says. "I hope you don't think I'm talking liberties, but I put some feelers out for next week. I was thinking me and Hannah could play with Robert and Susan and you and Tamara can play the Vishwakamas."

"Wait," says Hannah. "We're not playing as a four again?"

"If you always play the same people, you'll get thrashed at competition," explains John.

"Right," Hannah replies. "I didn't really think of it like that. We started out just playing for exercise and fun."

"Oh, it's more than just exercise," says Tamara. "There's a real social network here. Mostly nice people. You'll get to meet all kind of people if you become regulars."

"Yeah," says Hannah. "It's just that we're not really social, Ben and I. We tend to keep ourselves to ourselves."

"Sport is a great way to get to know people without having to actually make much conversation with them," says John. "Besides, you don't strike me as the shy type. Ben maybe, a little, if you don't mind me saying."

Hannah smiles. "No, it's not shyness as such, just as a couple we're into the same things, both like our evenings in and don't feel a whole need to have other people around. No offense"

"That's okay for now," laughs Tamara. "Trust me though - find and keep good friends. Don't just get trapped spending all your time together because you feel you have to. After a decade of marriage, you'll be driving each other mad if you don't both have other outlets."

Hannah smiles. "When I said we should get fit, Ben suggested an exercise bike. I think this will be much better."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We are in the middle of thrashing the Vishwakamas. After the first game, they spend the break having what can only be only described as a polite society lovers tiff, all exaggerated manners and passive aggression towards each other.

It feels pretty good to be winning for a change.

Victory comes with its own risks though. My blood is flowing with testosterone. The good testosterone of the alpha wolf rather than the bad testosterone of the cornered weasel.

I've been finding myself staring at Tamara's arse between points.

It's a good arse. For someone forty-plus, it's a great arse.

There's a point in the match where she slips and as I help her up, I see right down her top. I don't mean to but my gaze lingers. She gives me a smile when she's back on her feet.

Then in the final set, we collide together. Whereas with Hannah this happened nearly every set, it's the first time that this has happened with Tamara in several games. Her racket bounces right off my wrist and as I go down I scrape my inner thigh.

We take a break as I sort myself out. I'm checking out the movement in my wrist when she comes over and takes my hand. I instinctively pull back.

"Don't be such a big baby," she says, mistaking my reasons. She inspects it and does some rotations with it. I'm going to be fine.

She gets a wipe and some antiseptic and then kneels to attend to my leg, which is not quite bleeding. At first, I try to tell myself that her touch is purely medicinal. When that doesn't work, I try to convince myself that it's merely motherly.

And then she does it. Just as she's getting ready to stand up again, her hand moves up and just brushes my cock lightly over the fabric of my shorts.

It's over in a flash, but it happened. It sure felt intentional, but if I try to explain it to anyone it's going to be really hard to convince them that it wasn't an accident.

"All better?" she asks when she's back on her feet. "Let's play!"

We lose the next two sets due to my lack of concentration, but that's the extent of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Regular tennis turns out to have an effect on our sex life.

Not at first. The first few weeks we're too sore to fuck Sunday through Tuesday. By the time the competition starts, we start to see changes in the bedroom too.

Tamara and I won our first-round match today easily. Hannah and John won as well but struggled more against tougher opposition. Tamara and I went and watched their final set and final victory.

After dinner, I suggest a movie. Instead, she drags me into the bedroom. At eight o'clock.

I think we're going to start with the usual round of kissing, hugging, and more, except tonight Hannah is supercharged. Foreplay is over practically before it's started with Hannah telling me she's ready. We both shed our clothes, and Hannah gets on all fours on the bed.

"I want you to fuck me roughly from behind."

"Can we start normally and then do this right before the end?" I ask. Hannah knows doggy is my nemesis. Fantastic but unlikely to last a satisfying duration for either of us.

"Ugh, no," she says. "Just try. This once."

What the lady wants...I pull her to the edge of the bed and, still standing, I enter her.

I try to set a maintainable pace, but within seconds she's telling me, "Fuck me harder."

I fuck her harder. It's quickly apparent that I'm going to have the age-old problem.

I've never developed any of those mental techniques that are supposed to help you last longer without impacting performance. No listing the prime numbers or thinking of Charles and Camilla in bed has ever worked for me. I do draw my attention away from Hannah's impeccable backside and stare at the wall, hoping it will be enough.

"Remember our match today," Hannah says suddenly. "Did you see that smash I hit to win the first set?"

"Er, yes," I say. "That was good."

"Damn right, it was good. It was fucking epic. How about that ace I served to Matt at breakpoint?"

"Also fucking epic?" I say uncertainly.

"And how about the way John wrong-footed Rachel that one time? Made her think it was going all the way across court only to drop it at where her feet had been seconds ago."

Taking pride in her own sporting achievements was one thing. Bringing John into our bedroom was quite another.

"Hannah, are you getting off on tennis?"

"No!" she says. "Maybe? It just felt really, really good. I felt alive."

Another thing which feels really, really good is me emptying my balls into her.

Slightly less good is my partner saying "Is that it?" before my last spurt has even finished.

"I told you," I say.

"Get the strap-on," she says.

"We don't...I mean, I don't..."

"Get. The. Strap-on. Now."

I feel it unwise to argue more. I end up fucking her for so long with the strap-on that eventually I'm ready for round two without, from her perspective, any further interruptions.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John and I are sitting outside the changing room after our mid-week practice session. The four of us ended up playing each other again. The scores have remained more or less the same, but there's a noticeable improvement in the standard of play. I've really been enjoying it. We got changed way faster than the ladies, as always, so we're sitting shooting the breeze.

We've now passed the second round. John and Hannah through sweat and Tamara and I through luck. We were playing one of the strongest pairs in the competition but halfway through the first set he pulled up with a hamstring and they had to retire.

John tells what he knows about our respective third-round opponents. He doesn't seem to be worried about any of them. When the ladies still aren't done, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. "Hey, I wanted to show you something." He unlocks the screen and navigates to the picture gallery. He flicks through a few of their garden and lands on a professional-looking shot of him and Tamara in evening wear standing against a neutral blue background.

"We got these taken for our twenty-fifth anniversary," he says. "There's a place in town. I was going to recommend it to you."

As he talks his finger slides through a set of the photos -- variations of them holding, looking lovingly at one another, and walking arm in arm. They're nice enough, if a bit sterile.

"That's really Hannah's forte," I say.

"Yeah, sure," he replies. "But let me give you some advice. Women love this stuff. Arrange a proper photo shoot before the wedding as a surprise gift. It's romantic without the risks that come with having to choose exactly the right flowers or exactly the right piece of jewelry. She'll tell them what she wants when you get there, but you'll still get the credit for having the bright idea."

His hand dances over the screen and a new photo emerges.

It has still been taken against the same abstract background but this time it's just Tamara. She's completely naked. She's adopted a classical pose, almost balletic with her arms high above her head and standing on the tip-toes of one leg with the other stretched out behind her. I look away immediately I see what it is, but not before I've seen the size of her areolas and that she's fully shaved where it counts.

John is slow to lock the screen. "Ooops!" he says. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...Don't tell Tamara."

"Sure," I say. "I didn't really see anything anyway."

"Right, right," says John. "Of course, that's the other thing. I wasn't going to mention it, but they are also experts in the more spicy stuff as well. Take it from me, taking a set of really good nude photos while you're still young would really be something to treasure."

It's not actually a bad idea.

Hannah notes that I'm quiet in the car. Honestly, I'm thinking of what great shape Tamara is in for a woman who is nearly forty.

It must be all the tennis.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hannah is bending over the net and lifting up her skirt, her racket, and tennis balls at her feet. She's looking back with a cheeky grin.

It's a great recreation of a classic naughty photo.

John was right. Hannah did know exactly what she wanted. I'd assumed she'd want to dress up as one of her fantasy characters, instead she's got us in our white kit on a green background and we're exuding sporting prowess. We have both lost weight and we've also put on some muscle at the same time. We probably look as good now as a couple as we're ever going to.

Victoria, the photographer, is exactly the kind of respectable-looking middle-age woman who you would never expect to be making a living taking mucky pictures, but when she opens her mouth it all makes sense. "Hint of pubes, darling, just a hint...Bumhole, sweetheart, we're either seeing it or we're not, but it's neither coming nor going right now...You're cupping wrong, keep those knockers level. We don't want you turning out like a Picasso painting."

And so on. It's been great fun, although less so when her attention has been turned on me. Hannah has gotten down to just sports socks and a headband, using her racket as a prop to balance on or highlight. She's done breast shots and arse shots and shots on her knees. She's been really getting into it. She even attempted, momentarily, to do something with the racket that even Victoria had to hastily tell her went too far.

I've managed to remain fully clothed, mostly. After an early attempt to encourage me to bare all, the photographer changed tack and started to try to make clothed male, naked female work and mostly it has. Especially in that photo where she's waiting for a return and I'm strategically positioned behind her arse. Some of these photos are fire.

Victoria doesn't rush us out until it gets really ridiculous. We end up back on the high street, still in our tennis kit, at just after eleven. As we start the walk back to the car, Hannah snuggles up to me.

"Let's fuck," she says.

"I thought that was a given," I say with a grin.

"Let's fuck outside," she says.

"We can drive out to the woods?" I say. Somehow I already know she's going somewhere else with this.

She takes a playful swing with her racket. "Let's fuck on the tennis court."

I roll my eyes. "You don't think that place is loaded with security cameras?"

"Yeah, but, I mean we could have a quick reccy, see where the blind spots are."

"Hannah, I'm not fucking anywhere I happen to know the security guard by his first name. That's just awkward."

"Come on," she says. "Live a little!"

"We get caught and we don't get to play tennis there ever again," I tell her. That slows her down.

Momentarily.

"The community courts!" she says triumphally as I unlock the car. The ones five minutes from our house.

It's a better terrible idea. The gates will be shut, but the fencing is ropey down by the stream. I'm going to regret this.

We get in easy enough and it's eerily quiet. Everything is far enough away from the local housing that we might be okay. We get to the first court and I point to the chain.

"Oh, well, nothing to be done," I say.

Hannah checks it. Then she goes to number two and checks that. Finally, she picks up the chain for number three, slides it around a bit and a moment later she's got it loose. These courts really aren't in great shape.