Posted tagged ‘Tennis Legends’

Tidal Wave

July 25, 2010

(Warning: The following tale has been nominated for a bad sex in fiction blog award. Reader discretion is advised as the plot is not much better)

It was a great afternoon session. Pints after pint of Furstenberg’s were going down the hatch in the lusty bar that soaked with Teutonic testosterone. Boris was enjoying this lunchtime tipple and had held fast to one of his father’s dictums: Go to the loo only when it’s really due. The reasoning being, your first visit is a starter for ten. Everyone else had relieved themselves bar Boris when it was time to leave.

Some of the party made a detour into the bookmakers for a quick punt. Boris gambled on Leek Soup in the big race. The gelding pulled up lame as the basin that was Boris’s bladder began to irritate. He willed away the notion to urinate as one pee will lead to another and he had no time for a flood as he had to go back to work in his office block.

The friendly doorman always conversed with Boris and today was no different. The guard spoke about the dribbling skills of Littbarski as Boris hopped from one foot to the other in a fake impersonation of the bow-legged footballer, then he reminisced of the swimming ability of Michael Gross.
“He splashed the water like an albatross.”
Boris crossed his legs and gripped his flies anxious to be relieved of any more small talk. At a stroke the postman arrived and Boris seized the advantage to flee.

Now encumbered with bulging bladder and bursting appendage Boris bounded to the toilet to be greeted by an out of order sign. At that moment he heard the noise of a floor cleaning machine being switched off. Turning round the corner in the desperate throes of agony he saw the cleaning lady, Minnie in a pinny, and a startling metamorphosis took place in his loins. For ages he had wanted to get this woman alone and have a rally with her. He knew she knew he wanted her and she knew that he knew that she knew this. This was their chance for consummation.

A broom cupboard happened to be situated on this landing and they entered with their tongues locked in a stringed saliva kiss clinch. He whipped off her pinny and she whipped out his racquet. The engorged Boris was caught in a cataclysmic dilemma and wondered if it were possible for one type of fluid to bypass the other as his urinal tract screamed “man the lifeboats”.

“I don’t want a love child. Take this.” Minnie handed Boris a rubber cleaning glove. “Pick a finger.”

While Boris mulled over the choice of thumb option or forefinger Minnie wrung out a wet mop that was in the cupboard. The trickling water pushed Boris to breaking point and he seeded a bright yellow stream into the mop pail. Boris’s biblical starter for ten was unrelenting and put the pinniless Minnie in a Paxman mood. “Hurry up.” Soon bored with waiting Minnie went back to buffing the floor.

Chibber at the Court

April 16, 2010

(Taken from The Chibber Papers)

From the street anybody passing by the indoor tennis court would have heard the squeaking of rubber shoes and the curses of the players. Inside the heat was stifling as the battle raged on. On one side was the British challenger, Harry Chibberson, Chibber to his friends. He had crossed the channel to duel with the French Champion: Henri Thierry LeCount.

Le Count had miscounted the score a few times and Chibber was thinking of knocking Henri’s cheating head off. The two combatants were locked in a pulsating game of real tennis. Although as Chibber was wont to say, well it’s not going to be dummy tennis, now is it?

The scoring system in place was the same as for today’s more cultured lawn Tennis. Even though LeCount had stolen a few points, Chibber was serving for the match and the game was tied at 40-40, more commonly called deuce, but there was no time for drinks. (more…)