Lawn tennis. What sport could be more associated with summer? Surfing, baseball, cricket, beach volleyball, Track and field. Quite a few actually. But it’s definitely more of a summer sport than ski jumping. So, tennis is by no means last on the list.

If you don’t know your pass from your tennis elbow this isn’t for you at all. Don’t even try to go on. Scratch now.

But, if you enjoy tennis and have started to read this because it’s in the ‘Humour and Satire’ section, you may have struck gold. As in the Olympics. The summer Olympics. I’d like to think it’s a highly sophisticated and witty piece of wordplay.

Try a few lines. You may decide it’s far from being a highly sophisticated and witty piece of wordplay but more a series of loosely grouped and rather feeble tennis puns. If so, it would be advisable to call it a day after the Margaret Court bit.

In reality, which it’s not, this is another piece of work that’s designed to develop your role-playing skills. As lockdown drags on your sex life may be worse than ever. If you haven’t read one of these before, there follows a script provided free for you and your partner to use as you will. You will need outfits.

As it’s the height of summer and the grass court season, it’s time for the lady to root out her extra short white tennis skirt and knickers, the frillier the better. If you possess a vintage wooden bat and tennis racquet press, you’ll practically be able to smell the grass on Centre Court. If you don’t and can’t be bothered to find one on eBay, you’re bound to be able to source a modern era version from somewhere.

The lady, Eima Pushova is a fantasy figure. There’s no such player. I imagine her as a sort of Chrissie Evert meets Anna Kournikova meets Dolly Parton figure. Let me make it clear. Your musicianship is purely incidental. You’re a beautiful, long legged, over-endowed athlete. An absolute knock out.

As far as the gentleman is concerned, who wouldn’t want to fuck such a vision of gorgeousness? And what lady would be able to resist you, the umpire. An authority figure, a man of power, and one with a great big microphone.

The setting is not Centre Court, so you don’t have to search out your slacks, blazer brogues and boater. It’s the evening before a first round game in 1983 and the umpire has changed and is relaxing in his magnificent hotel suite. (No need to break out the Amex for one though, your house and a bit of imagination will do nicely.) He’s wearing a standard issue hotel dressing gown. Be honest, you know you’ve got one you nicked previously. The young female tennis pro’ knocks on the door. “Play!”

Miss Pushova: “Good evening. Am right to assume that I’m addressing Mr Ball the famous umpire?”

Dennis Ball: “You are Sir. I’m Dennis Ball. Can I be of assistance?”

Miss Pushova: “It’s Miss, but yes, I believe you can.”

Dennis Ball: “Then you’d better come in. I’ll fetch my specs.”

Miss Pushova: “Thank you. Is it alright to sit on your couch?”

Dennis Ball: “Be my guest. Yes, I see clearly that you are indeed a Miss. Now what are you looking for, tickets for tomorrow’s match?”

Miss Pushova: “You mean the Navratilova/Pushova game?”

Dennis Ball: “Yes, I’m in the chair.”

Miss Pushova: “I believe so, but I already have a very good seat for that. Let me introduce myself…Eima Pushova.”

Dennis Ball: “What a co-incidence. Just like the tennis player. Are you her sister?”

Miss Pushova: “No, I’m the tennis player.”

Dennis Ball: “I see. Then you shouldn’t be in my room the night before I umpire your match.”

Miss Pushova: “I just thought I could help you relax so that you’d be at the peak of your powers tomorrow.”

Dennis Ball: “That’s very kind of you, but the LTA would probably take a pretty dim view if you attempted anything like I think you’re planning to try.”

Miss Pushova: “Exactly what I was thinking you could do. Take a pretty dim view on some close calls.”

Dennis Ball: “Young lady that would be highly irregular and very unfair on poor Miss Navratilova.”

Miss Pushova: “There’s nothing poor about Miss Navratilova. And have you seen her physique? I need all the help I can get.”

Dennis Ball: “But Miss Pushova, you’re asking me to cheat.”

Miss Pushova: “Alright, let’s go to plan B. What if you were so tired that you made a series of shocking line calls?”

Dennis Ball: “It could happen, but this is a very comfortable and quietly situated room. I expect to sleep like a log.”

Miss Pushova: “Then what if a glamorous young woman spent the night making sure your log got no rest whatsoever?”

Dennis Ball: “Are you trying to make a pass at me?”

Miss Pushova: “I’m suggesting a mixed doubles.”

Dennis Ball: “But surely I’m far too old for a smasher like you.”

Miss Pushova: “Far from it, I love thirty.”

Dennis Ball: “It’s a long time since I saw thirty.”

Miss Pushova: “Good. I love forty even more.”

Dennis Ball: “You cannot be serious.”

Miss Pushova: “I’m in deadly earnest. (Earnest Renshaw won Wimbledon in 1888. OK, his name was Ernest, but remember, this is your script. It works when spoken. Believe me.)

Dennis Ball: “There’s many a good tune played by an old fiddler.”

Miss Pushova: “You mean there’s many a good tune played on an old fiddle.”

Dennis Ball: “I know what I mean!”

Miss Pushova: “You could be right. I don’t know if Arthur Gore fiddled, but he won Wimbledon when he was 41.”

Dennis Ball: “Yes, in 1909. But I couldn’t possibly take advantage of you.”

Miss Pushova: “Look let’s have a shot and talk it over. Now what do you have in the mini bar?”

Dennis Ball: “No alcohol I’m afraid. Just juice.” (Deuce. See the Renshaw reference above.)

Miss Pushova: “That’s probably just as well; I’m too young to drink.”

Dennis Ball: “My God! You’re not fifteen, are you?”

Miss Pushova: “Of course not. I’m nearly 21, but that’s the legal age to drink in a hotel. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to get caught.” (Court. See the Renshaw reference above again. As in tennis court, but also from the name of the prolific Australian Grand Slam winner Margaret Court.) OK, I’ll admit that that one was really bad. But stick with me. I’ll regroup. In fact, I’ll rally.

Dennis Ball: “I can assure you that not a single detail of this match up will ever get out.”

Miss Pushova: “So you’ll let me service you?”

Dennis Ball: “That would be smashing.”

Miss Pushova: “Then just a couple of ground strokes.”

Dennis Ball: “Ground strokes?”

Miss Pushova: “I mis-spoke. I should have said ground rules. Before you lob it in, you’ll have to put on a rubber.”

Dennis Ball: “Haven’t you got a cap?”

Miss Pushova: “No, I wear a headband.”

Dennis Ball: “And you’re not on the pill either?”

Miss Pushova: “Eima. And no, it would be too risky with all the drug tests. And I don’t want to get knocked up.”

Dennis Ball: “I’m flat out of contraceptive devices. They didn’t have any XXXL condoms in the chemist. But I promise that before I start to cum, I’ll withdraw.”

Miss Pushova: “Are you sure you won’t follow through?”

Dennis Ball: “I guarantee that my performance will be faultless.”

Miss Pushova: “So I won’t be seeded?”

Dennis Ball: “I’ll toss off over your knockers.”

Miss Pushova: “Then I’ll have to remove my top. Spin around for a moment.”

Dennis Ball: “Why? Have you got pre-match nerves?”

Miss Pushova: “Yes. I’m a bit concerned about the battering that my box is about to take from your big serve.”

Dennis Ball: “Have no fear. You’re a rookie, so it’s only natural. Gut it out at the start and you’ll soon warm up.”

Miss Pushova: “You’re right. Lie on your back and I’ll be all over you briefly.”

It’s now time for Mr Ball to reveal himself.

Dennis Ball: “Is this going to cause you a problem?”

Miss Pushova: “Absolutely not. I’m getting very wet.”

Dennis Ball: “No! Don’t say that rain’s going to stop play.”

Miss Pushova: “It won’t, but I’m going to have to take my frilly knickers off.”

Dennis Ball: “Wow! You’re a genuine strawberry blonde.”

Miss Pushova: “Yes, but don’t cream yourself.”

Dennis Ball: “Don’t worry, I won’t, even though your lady garden is ace.”

Miss Pushova: “Thanks. I had one of the groundsmen work on it before I came up.”

Dennis Ball: “Are you leaving your sports bra’ on?”

Miss Pushova: “Not if you still plan to finish yourself with a few strokes and send a volley over my cans. I’ll take it off. Then play can commence.”

Dennis Ball: “Christ! That’s an incredible double bagel!”

Miss Pushova: “A somewhat backhanded compliment to pay a tennis pro’, but I’ll receive it with good grace. Now we can’t have anybody finding out about this, so I’ll have to have quiet please.”

Dennis Ball: “I can assure you that I won’t make a racket.” (Racquet. Surely you don’t need me to tell you to refer to the Renshaw reference above again?)

Miss Pushova: “And have you got any special requests?”

Dennis Ball: “No. Straight sets will be fine. Sorry, I meant sex. Just broaden your stance a bit.”

Miss Pushova: “How’s that?”

(Miss Pushova is also a cricketer which is definitely a summer sport, though it involves two umpires and is therefore an entirely different role play.)

Dennis Ball: “You’re wide open. I can’t miss!”

Miss Pushova straddles Mr Ball to enable him to penetrate her saturated cunt. It’s now up to you to proceed or seed the pro’ in any way you see fit. You don’t need a script for that do you?

However, as a postscript, I would like to take the chance to assure you that no ex-Czech ex-tennis players were harmed during the production of this piece. It’s pure fiction! In fact, in 1983 Ms Navratilova thrashed Beverly Mould 6-0, 6-1 in the first round. So even if a number of decisions went against her, justice prevailed. She marched onwards without conceding a set before crushing Andrea Jaeger 6-0, 6-3 in the final. This was the fourth of her record nine Wimbledon titles.

Leave a Comment