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The red tennis knickers part 1

I am twenty-four and my name is Josy. I relocated a few months ago. It was a job offer I couldn’t refuse. I am finally making the money I wanted. I am an accountant at the only bank of a lovely market town. I sold my London studio, and for its price I bought a house in a picturesque neighboring village and a convertible Mini Cooper.

Monday morning at the bank, there was a very athletic young woman wearing short shorts. She was asking our cashier if she could leave brochures in our waiting area, “It is the new magazine of our tennis club.”

I chimed. “Oh! Please let me have one. I used to play in college.”

She chimed back. “Sure, and you may want to try for the team!”

She had said that tongue in cheek with a challenging smile. That imp reminded me of the last time I had spanked my young sister…

The brochure was superb,
Birchwood Women Tennis Club
1921-2021
One hundred years of tennis stardom!

On my way back home, I stopped at ‘Wheels’, to buy a bike. The manager was dishy. He helped me load my new bicycle into the Mini. “The name is Jeremy. Give me a call if you have problems re-attaching the front wheel…” I took his card and thanked him. He looked great. He could be a change from my wimpy ex boyfriend.

For the rest of the week I rode my bike to work, and every evening I hit a number of balls against my garage’s wall. When Saturday came, I felt great and pulled up a pair of shorts which weren’t as short as the ones of the imp at the bank. I would never dare wear such shorts. I am far too shy.

With a backpack for my tennis racket, I rode to the Birchwood Women Tennis Club.

I discovered an old fashion club offering a comfy lounge with wood paneling, Indian rugs, leather chesterfield sofas and comfy chairs. One could smell the polished parquets, and sensed the century-old traditions. There was an impressive mahogany scoreboard with name cards for all the players.

It wasn’t a cheap club, but I was told that I would be refunded if I cancelled within the first month. Miss Registrar handed me a navy T-shirt and a white pleated skirt. “They are fifty pounds, a second set is forty, non-refundable. You will wear your own white knickers, socks and bra.” A card with my name was inserted at the bottom of the scoreboard. I was offered a test game with a coach.

“Court number 4 in twenty minutes, don’t be late!”

The changing room was amazing, with antique wooden lockers. I frowned as it was communal, but my shyness wasn’t challenged, as it was deserted when I changed into the club’s outfit. The tall mirror confirmed that the skirt was shortish. I closed my locker with the key I was allocated and reported at the assigned court.

The coach had me running about my side of the court, left and right, back and forth. I didn’t lose my footing and hanged on. I even scored a lucky point, only one. Her conclusion was, “Not bad, not bad at all!”

She paired me with a girl named Nancy. She had made a great choice. Nancy was a good player, better than me, but I could pull a few fast ones by her. We had a couple of exciting games and befriended. She said that she owns the Frivolity Boutique across the square from the bank.

Showers were next. They were communal showers. I hadn’t shared showers since I was in school. All the girls were naked, and I was still wearing a towel when Miss Imp, who had delivered the brochures at the bank, chanted, “Lets see your birthday suit newbie!” I felt my ears tickling and knew I was blushing as red as a tomato.

A few more girls chanted, “Show us what you have, newbie!” Nancy was real nice. She gently released my nervous grip on my towel. It dropped to the floor, and I was revealed. Miss Imp applauded, “You shouldn’t be shy, you’re a beauty, my name is Michelle.” All the girls, one by one, gave me high five, and mentioned their name. I recovered my natural color and beamed. I was adopted.

Under the showers, two girls had a cat fight, and the coach on duty called, “You girls will settle that on the court with a strip tennis duel.” They were back in their tennis outfits.

Nancy led me, and we trooped behind all the girls to a discreet tennis court. The two feuding girls were evenly matched and had quite a fight. They first lost their T-shirts. Then one of them lost her skirt and was quite embarrassed. She struggled and eventually had to take off her bra. She had lost, but she didn’t stand red face in her white tennis knickers for long, her opponent gallantly refused to take her bra.

Michelle teasingly mentioned, “She’s lucky, the coach could have ordered a knickers off duel.”

I again blushed.
Josy

To be continued….

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