Message-ID: <26566asstr$970236606@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: extra.newsguy.com!newsp.newsguy.com!edrn From: Lane Boyd X-Original-Message-ID: <8r1bnc02l7b@edrn.newsguy.com> Subject: {ASSM} Waiting to Receive (MF) <*> Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2000 10:10:06 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, RuiJorge, IceAltar Waiting to Receive (MF) By Lane Boyd laneboyd@newsguy.com 27 September 2000 "There's your Dream Girl," Jonathon MacArthur's wife said dryly, pointing to the sports magazines. His eyes followed her pointing finger to the cover on one of the more salacious Sports-cum-Men's mags. It was a typical shot of Anna Kournikova, taken head-on as she leant forward to meet the serve, showing tantalising glimpses of her swelling, muscular breasts and the fine, long legs running up to a skirt which was so short that it didn't deserve to be categorised as clothing. Even more tantalising was her golden skin and the long, long plait of golden hair. He dreamt sometimes of seeing that hair unbound and tumbling down over her naked body. He changed his train of thought immediately - it inevitably gave him an erection and the newsagency definitely wasn't the time or the place. "Waiting to Receive!" screamed the magazine's head-line. God, yes! thought Macca desperately, but she's receiving someone else. Why not me, Lord, why not me? He groaned theatrically, put his hands over his heart and pretended to stagger past the magazine rack. The teenage girl behind the counter of the resort's newspaper giggled, then blushed as they both looked at her. The name-badge on the resort uniform identified her as Annette. `Don't worry, my dear," Marjory added in a long-suffering voice. `One day you'll be married, too, and you'll have the rewarding experience of being a full-time carer to an adolescent male for the rest of your life. Men never grow up." Marjory was tall, large-breasted and wide-hipped. But not really fat, Annette decided, just large all over. And her hair was sensational; long, dark and lustrous, it hung almost the full length of her back in a loose pony-tail. Her eyes were a deep, lustrous brown and the effect against her fair skin was striking. Gee, I hope I look as good as that when I'm that old, Annette thought, unthinkingly consigning the forty-five-year-old Marjory into nearly-nursing-home status. Marjory looked at Annette. She had been born with thin, fair hair and clearly didn't know how to manage it to her own advantage. Part of it hung limply down the sides of her face, although there was clearly more under the baseball cap which proudly proclaimed Emerald Resort as "the jewel of the north". How original marketing people were, Marjory mused. Annette had also been afflicted with acne at the same time as braces, and the combined affect was unfortunate - although on closer scrutiny the girl was pretty enough, Marjory decided. Marjory put her cross-word books on the counter and looked around the newsagency. A sea of supermodels' faces stared back at her - the make-up flawless, the images perfect. She sighed mentally. No wonder young girls have no self-image, she thought sadly, surrounded as they are by this manufactured rubbish. None of those women looked like that in real life, but you won't get on the cover of Vogue if you're having a bad hair day! Macca bounced up to the counter and put his daily newspapers down. Marjory knew there were no point in asking why he had to read the same news in three different papers. He called it keeping across the news, she called in wasteful. It seemed to be a boy thing. A number of her friends had husbands with the same irritating habit. She looked at him thoughtfully. He was still a good-looking man, even in his mid-forties. Tall with black hair and moustache which were becoming increasingly grey. But he was tanned and had kept himself fit, even as he'd climbed the corporate ladder. I just wish he wasn't so damned energetic, she thought a little desperately. My idea of relaxing is reading a book by the pool, he wants to have sex on every beach in northern Queensland! Marvellous, he gets to feel like primitive man and I feel like I've been sand-blasted. And he seems so surprised every time I say no. `Where's your magazine?' Marjory asked him in mock astonishment. Macca laughed ruefully. `You know me, dear, I don't need a magazine to have day-dreams.' He went on in mock grandiloquence, `The image will live in my memory until I die!' `Well, if you keep lusting after young sports goddesses, your death won't be very far away," his wife said acerbically. `Honestly, Jonathon, you're over forty. I thought you'd grow out of your crush on Anna Kournikova when she turned eighteen.' `Oh no,' he assured her sincerely, `that just means I don't have to worry about being called a paedophile any more.' Marjory sighed loudly. The girl behind the counter laughed again. She folded the newspapers into a plastic bag and handed it to Jonathon. `Thank you, sir. Have you been at the resort long?' `No, no,' he replied, `we just got in last night. Decided to get out of the city for a couple of weeks. What I really need is a couple of hours out on the tennis court. Marjory won't play with me at all these days.' `If you think I'm going to get all sweaty and tired while you tell me all the things I'm doing wrong, you are sadly mistaken,' Marjory said sweetly. `Why don't you ask if the resort has a tennis pro, or whatever you call them? Maybe there's a competition of some kind?' `There's no pro here, but I'd be happy to give you a hit this afternoon,' said Annette. She blushed again as both of them turned to look at her. God, the innocence of youth, thought Marjory. She smiled at the girl to reassure her. `You play tennis, my dear? Jonathon rather fancies himself - especially with a racquet in his hand.' Ignoring her husband's muttered squawk of protest, Marjory continued, `And I wouldn't want you getting all hot and bothered just to satisfy his male ego.' Annette smiled back at her. `Thanks, but it's okay. Really, I'm ... quite a reasonable player, really. I'd love to have a game ... if you don't want to.' `My dear, my idea of exercise is watching a good British comedy on television," Marjory replied. `Jonathon, on the other hand, likes to run around like a maniac. Something to do with testosterone, I believe. I should be delighted if you would knock some of the energy out of him.' Annette turned to Macca. "I finish my shift here at four o'clock. How about then, or would that be a bit hot for you?' That's right girl, give him a challenge, thought Marjory happily. How do women learn to manipulate men from such a young age? Now he'll run himself to exhaustion in this humidity while I have some peace and quiet. She watched, smiling, as her husband's chest visibly inflated and he rose up on the balls of his feet. `Too hot? Never!' Macca said stoutly. `I'll be ready to roll at four at the tennis courts. And the name's Macca. Only Marj - Marjory - calls me Jonathon.' They wandered back to their room along a paved walkway surrounded by tropical plants - red-flowering hibiscus with variegated white and green leaves, lush gingers and helliconias, golden cane and sealing wax palms, and glorious crotons in swirls of red, yellow and green. The rooms were built in Spanish style clusters of two or three around the central hub of the resort. The white-painted rendered walls were almost too bright to look at in the brilliant light and the hum of split-system air-conditioning was pervasive. Marjory realised with some alarm that it really was very warm in the early afternoon sun and the humidity was well above anything they had experienced lately, especially in Sydney or, as Jonathon liked call it, "Sleet City". "Sleet" was interchangeable with "Shit" if he was having a bad day. Having manoeuvred her husband into this situation, Marjory wondered if she should try to talk him out of it. But she knew it would be an affront to his maleness - he had every expectation of being able to show his superiority on the tennis court - and to force him to cancel the game would ruin their next week at the resort. And they were supposed to be relaxing, `getting back together' as Jonathon put it - by which, she knew very well, he meant having a lot more sex than they managed while they were both working. She wondered why were men so incapable of dealing with the onset of age. Oh well, I just hope the girl really can play. Marjory's misgivings returned as he left their suite later that afternoon. In his white, Nike tennis clothing and shoes, she had to admit he looked like a well-preserved John Newcombe. But when he slid open the glass door, the influx of heat and moisture felt almost like a physical blow. `Are you sure you want to play tennis in this weather?' Marjory asked. Macca chuckled and ran his hand through her hair and down the side of her neck. `Not only am I ready to give young Annette a lesson on how to play competitive tennis, but I'm going to come back afterwards and make passionate love to you, my sweet.' She flushed a little; her body always roused to his bravado. `Well don't take too long, or you'll have to wake me up. At least I know you're not going to meet Anna Kournikova.' She heard him chuckle deeply, the sound abruptly cut off as the sliding door closed between them. He's just a big kid, really, even after all these years, she mused as she stretched out in bed with a crossword puzzle. After about twenty minutes, her eyes began to close and she drifted off to sleep. Macca scanned the tennis courts as he approached, looking for Annette. There was noone around except a young woman hitting a ball against a concrete wall at the back of one of the courts. His lips pursed in a silent whistle. Not bad, he thought, not bad at all. Tall and slim - very slim - with blonde hair in a plait mid-way down her back. Her short tennis dress left little of her legs to the imagination. All that and she can play, too, he noted as she crisply returned the ball to the same point on the wall - forehand to backhand, then back again and again. Hell, he thought, I think I drew the short straw with the Newsagency Girl - wherever the hell she is. He hated people who weren't on time. Maybe she'd stood him up; Marjory would love that. His thoughts abruptly came back to the present as he realised that the woman he was admiring was in fact the Newsagency Girl, who had stopped hitting the ball and was now gazing levelly at him. He panicked slightly until her name came back to him. `Uh hi Annette, I...' He paused, feeling off-balance and foolish. She completed the sentence `Didn't recognise me? I thought you liked the Anna Kournikova look?' She smiled a little, to let him know she was letting him off the hook. Oh hell, he thought, go with it. `I do. Very, very much. I'm just sorry I'm too old to carry off the Pat Rafter image. Maybe John Newcombe - on a really bad day. Now, what other surprises do you have in store for me?' Her laugh was surprisingly mature and Macca looked at her again, even more closely. `Just how old are you?' he demanded suddenly. Her smile back at him was impish. `Eighteen. You have to be to work in the resort,' she said. `I can look about 15 when I want, so I generally do. Otherwise you get harassed by every bloke passing through.' I'll bet, Macca thought, damn shame about the pimples and the braces. `So why make an exception for me?' `Well you're the only guy whose wife asked me to play tennis with him. And I haven't had a real game for weeks - ever since I came up here to work during the Uni holidays.' The reference to Marjory broke through his fantasy. He marched across to the far side of the court and unzipped his racquet. `Let's see how rusty you are,' he called, hitting the ball across the net. It came back to him almost before he was ready, and the avuncular advice he had prepared for her died in his throat. She didn't miss a shot during the warm-up. Not an overhead smash, a volley at the net, a first serve, nothing. By the end of the warm-up, he was perspiring freely. From where he was, she looked cool as a cucumber. More than that, the shyness of the Newsagency had been replaced by a steely-eyed gaze that reminded him of Jelena Dokic at full intensity. He could see her cleaning out a nest of Muslims with a machine gun, then sitting down to a three-course meal with her family. `Let's get this show on the road,' he called abruptly, `best of five okay by you?' Annette looked quietly at him across the net. Bloody men! Why do they always have to be so fucking superior? She had liked his cheerful, outgoing approach at first, his man-of-the-world persona, but at the first hint of things not going to plan, he had turned into a mirror image of her dad. Very well. Time to put him out of his misery. `You're talking to last year's Australian Junior Champion. Five sets are fine. I'll serve.' Macca didn't argue. But he took a good pace inside the baseline to receive. Women can't hit as hard as men, he told himself, knowing he was behaving like a juvenile. On the other side of net, Annette's eyes narrowed. Right, you bastard, no mercy. Afterwards, Macca realised that he hadn't seen that first serve leave the racquet. The ball didn't reappear in his sight until it curved brutally back towards him and clipped the hair above his right ear. He'd barely got the racquet out to the side, never mind trying to hit anything. When he looked across the net, Annette was already waiting to serve for the next point. `I guess that's fifteen-love,' he called cheerfully, moving across. What he thought was, Oh shit! He desperately wanted to touch the side of his head where the ball had brushed past, but masculine pride wouldn't allow it. Annette smiled inwardly as she saw him move two paces behind the baseline to receive. That's better, she thought, now how well can an old guy like you run? The serve was wide to his backhand side, but he managed to get it back to centre court. Annette casually returned it to the opposite side of his court and watched as he scrambled across to hit it back. In desperation, Macca went for the drop shot, but it carried a little to far and she was already there waiting, almost casually putting back over the net - to the opposite side and watching him put it into the net after it had bounced twice already. Macca looked down at the trail of sweat on the Rebound Ace surface and realised it was going to be a long, long afternoon. The sun was almost down as the game came to a close. Macca was drenched and panting. His left knee was scraped and bleeding from an attempted dive volley back in the second set. But it wasn't his knee that hurt most, it was the knowledge that he'd made almost no progress towards the ball. He'd managed to get himself horizontal, true, but the damn ball had zipped past the end of the racquet like it had eyes and he'd flattened himself onto the court with a thud that had jarred the breath out of his body. She'd won that one to love, too. Well, most of the set to love really. It wasn't until the third set that the humidity and heat had taken some toll of her lithe body. He'd used all the cunning and gamesmanship he remembered from his youth to take the third set and salvage some pride. But as the fourth set started, he knew he'd reached the end of the line. He castigated himself for not being able to give up. Jesus, Macca, just let her win. It won't hurt you. But even though he couldn't give up, Macca recognised the game had changed as it went on. The animosity had ebbed away to become a contest between friends. They'd congratulated each other on good shots, commiserated on the close misses and he realised, exhausted as he was, that he admired her not just for her long legs and fair hair, but for her skills and fitness. She was about to serve for the match when he called to her across the net, `What do your friends call you, Annette?' The question left her nonplussed, she stood back from her serving position and looked at him. He could see she was examining him as a person, not an opponent. She considered her answer and then said, `It used to be Annie, but it became Anna because of the whole tennis thing, you know? Better than Venus, anyway.' Macca laughed. He felt light-headed, as though his physical exhaustion had taken away his emotional constraints. `Thank God you weren't Venus - you might have killed me! Anna, it's a pleasure to have been beaten by a superstar. Take me now, I'm ready to receive!' The phrase from the magazine made her laugh. Well, well, she thought, not such a macho bastard after all. She gave the serve everything; his attempt down the line hit the tape and went wide. `Game, set and match,' Macca said. `Thank God for that!' When they shook hands at the net, Annette felt a shock at his touch - like a small trickle of electricity through her body. It was unlike anything she'd felt since she parted with her boyfriend when she went to university - her body's acknowledgement of attraction to a man. `What are you going to do now,' she asked abruptly. Macca considered her carefully. She had gone from complete confidence to totally defensive - her body stiff, arms folded in front as if to protect herself, eyes looking downwards. Now is not the time to tell her you're going home to fuck your wife in six different positions, he thought. `Well, since you've given me such a terrible flogging, and I'm totally drenched in sweat, I thought I might go and throw myself in the ocean. There's no one else around anyway.' `There's hardly anyone here at this time of year,' she agreed, `it's too hot with the Wet Season coming in. And those that are here, usually head over for the barbecue around now.' They stood there quietly for a moment, the strengthening sea breeze rippling their hair and clothing. Annette realised that he was leaving the decision on what happened next to her. She'd sometimes wondered about having a fling with one of the men who passed through the resort, but she'd never expected to find herself attracted to a man old enough to be her father. It's because he looks like John Newcombe, she realised. She'd idolised him since he'd taken a tennis clinic in her home town at the age of ten. Oh well, she thought, I was never going to score Pat Rafter anyway. She smiled suddenly. `Listen, I don't think I can see you as Rafter, but I think you might make it as Newcombe. What say I show you where we can jump in the ocean together?' The implications of her statement took his breath away. He thought briefly of Marjory, but clamped down savagely on the thought. It was her bloody idea, anyway, he thought. For once in your life, just go with it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. `Lead on Anna,' he replied. Annette put their racquets on a bench beside the court, then led him out of the court and across the lush grass towards the beach. They walked in silence and Macca noticed she was leading him diagonally towards the edge of the resort property. A small jetty ran out from the beach almost opposite the fenceline. The scrubby bushes and spear-grass on the other side of the fence were radically different to the manicured lawns and introduced vegetation of the resort. Annette quickly walked him across the sand and down behind the far side of the jetty. `This is where the staff go swimming when they want to skinny dip,' she told him. `Once you're in the water, no one can see a thing through the shadows under the jetty.' Annette sat down and slipped off her shoes and socks, then lifted her dress over head, folded it and placed it on her shoes. She was wearing a sports halter and stretch pants underneath and Macca realised she meant to go into the water in them. Fair enough, he thought and followed suit. As he reached the water's edge, she was already up to her thighs. The water was warm, but he could see the goosebumps up her body and through the halter top her nipples looked as hard as cherry stones. Christ, you can see every muscle in her stomach, he thought, bad luck about mine! Macca could feel himself hardening and knew she could see it as he approached her. Annette looked him over clinically. Not bad, she thought, he's looked after himself, pretty well hung by the looks of things. We'll see about that in moment, she thought, and realised she was in complete control of the situation. Deliberately, she took ties out of her hair and released the plait. With a fluid movement, she lifted the sports halter off and tossed it onto the jetty. Then she bent down and removed her stretch pants. Macca stood motionless in the water. When she straightened up again, his breath caught in his throat and he was instantly, massively erect. She was magnificent. The fine, fair hair which had looked so straggly in the newsagency now blew lightly around her shoulders and down to her small, firm breasts. Her stomach was ridged with muscle and her pubic hair was blonde, wispy - almost non-existent, he thought - and her vagina was beautifully neat. Standing up to her thighs in the colourless tropical sea, Annette's body inflamed him. The effect was more like Venus the Goddess rather than Anna the dream - he knew he had to have her and nothing would stop him. Paedophile indeed, he thought helplessly, he couldn't stop now whether she was fifteen or eighteen or any other age. His breath escaped with a choking gasp, and Annette chuckled. `Bewdy Newk, take those off and come here. We haven't got all night - and I'm waiting to receive.' The reminder of reality had absolutely no impact on his erection and his jockettes came off with difficulty, getting him soaked in the process. He walked to her slowly and she reached out to take him into her arms, sliding his penis between her legs and closing her legs around him so he felt the head resting between her buttocks. They stood together for a minute, feeling the taughtness and strength of each other's bodies, skin alive with intensity from wind, water and desire. It was Annette who took control. Holding the embrace, she drew him towards the jetty, reaching up to catch a cross-bar with one hand. With the other she took his penis, rubbing the head on the lips of her vagina to lubricate it, then guiding him into her. She crossed a leg behind his back and lifted the other hand to support her weight on the cross-bar. He started slowly, trying to match the rhythm of the waves, but as she began to moan he reached around with both hands to feel her buttocks and run his fingers along the lips of her vagina as he penetrated her faster and faster. She lifted herself then drove her weight back against him, feeling him sink deeper inside her, while he licked her nipples and gently nibbled her breasts with his teeth. He was closer than her, Annette realised, but when he orgasmed inside her, gasping with the intensity, she refused to let him go. She tightened her leg around him and drove down against him, bringing guttural moans from him as his penis became over-stimulated. He lent forward and bit her breasts hard, and again, and she screamed as she reached her own climax. She shuddered again and again as he stayed inside her, feeling the weight of her arms grow like lead until she released her hold on the bar and draped them over his shoulders. They stood still for a moment. Annette realised her senses were at heightened intensity - she could hear her heart, his breathing and the water lapping against their bodies as though it were at maximum volume. The wind and water against her skin felt like giant hands on her body. The effect when Macca suddenly sat down in the water was shattering and she squealed before she could help herself. `Newk, why did you do that? You ruined a beautiful moment.' Macca didn't answer immediately and she suddenly saw he was having difficulty speaking. She had a sudden flash of perception. `What's the matter. Did I just stop being Anna K to you?' Macca sighed. `Why is it that women of all ages have the kind of perception which lets them see through men at a glance? It must be in the DNA, or something.' There was no answer, but he had not been seeking one. `Yes, that's it. I just came back to reality with a thud and realised I was a forty-five year-old man in the process of having sex with an eighteen year-old girl in the ocean a few hundred metres away from his wife of twenty years. And I felt as guilty as sin - excuse the pun.' They stayed in unmoving silence for a long moment. Then Annette sighed and lifted herself off him. He saw the glint of tears on her cheek and would have spoken, but she put a hand on his mouth to stop him. She ducked under water and swam a couple of strokes away from him. When she stood up again, the water cascaded down her body in the silvery light of the dusk and he could feel himself becoming aroused again. `You are magnificent, Anna,' he said quietly. `Yes,' she said firmly, `that's who I was and you were John Newcombe. Annette and Macca didn't exist just then. They have to come back now ... I know that. But let's have no guilt. Never.' He nodded his acquiescence. `Anna, you were wonderful. I want you to know that this was the most sensational experience of my life, no matter who I am.' She laughed a little shakily and moved towards the jetty to reclaim her underwear. `Thank you, Mr Newcombe, now it's time for Macca to go back to his wife and Anna to become little Annette from the newsagency again.' They dressed in silence apart from Macca's curses about wet, sandy jocks, then walked back towards the tennis courts to reclaim their racquets. It was almost dark and the lights of the resort seemed to grow brighter as they approached. Suddenly, in an almost accusatory tone, she asked, `What's it like to be married for that long. How do you stay ... interested ... in each other after all that time?' Macca gathered his racquets and covers while he collected his thoughts. `It's not easy to explain. Many marriages don't survive, certainly not for twenty years. I guess with us, and those of our friends who are still together, it's because the marriage evolves into a strong friendship. Marjory is an academic, I'm in business - a glorified computer salesman, really. But we both still love each other, we like to go out together, we share similar senses of humour, the same interests in arts and entertainment. The sex isn't the same of course, nothing like ... Anna and Newk enjoyed. But it's still good. I've only strayed once before and I got over that quickly. I don't know if Marjory knows or suspects, or even if she's strayed herself. I like to think the relationship would survive anyway. To put it simply, I guess we both get comfort and support from the marriage.' Annette was very still as he spoke. When he finished, she turned and picked up her tennis gear. Then she quickly turned back to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. `Goodbye, Mr Newcombe, I've enjoyed the experience.' Then she was gone, walking swiftly away from him towards the far side of the resort where he guessed the staff quarters were. `And goodbye to you, Anna. I'll never forget you.' He laughed ruefully at himself, `Especially, when it comes to tennis lessons. I know who was `ready to receive' - it was me and I copped it!' Marjory was still asleep as he let himself into their suite. She yawned and rolled over to look at the clock. `Goodness, Jonathon, you've been away for hours, it's nearly seven o'clock. Don't tell me she could play tennis that well?' Then, as her eyes focussed, `Jonathon, why are your clothes wet? What have you been up to this time?' As Macca pulled his shirt over his head, he thanked God that Annette hadn't been a biter or a scratcher. `I'll tell you what I've been up to, my love, I just went and jumped into the Pacific after being flogged off the court by an eighteen-year-old girl who turned out to be last year's Australian Junior Champion. She made me look like an old man, Marjory, nearly bloody killed me.' Well that's true enough, he thought ruefully. Marjory looked at him intently and it moved him to realised she was concerned, not suspicious, about him. `Are you alright, darling?' she asked quietly. Macca sat down on the bed beside her. He smiled at her and let the tension drain out of his body in one long breath. `You know, I actually feel great. Maybe I've needed a work-out like that for months, instead of building up stress about productivity figures?' He felt her dark, lustrous eyes examining, measuring his mood. `Well, I hope you're not feeling too much like an old man. You're on a promise, remember?' When he looked puzzled, she reached out and ran her fingernails firmly down his chest, scratching over his left nipple and down his side to his shorts, then tucked her fingers into his waistband. Macca's sensitised body responded immediately - his nipples hardened and he felt himself hardening. As he watched, Marjory's eyes began to dilate and a red flush climbed up her neck from the neckband of her t-shirt style nightie which he belatedly realised she must have changed into for him. Almost reflexively, Macca cupped her breast and lightly rubbed the material across her large, firm breast. The nipple came erect immediately and she gasped slightly. As Macca leaned over to run his other hand through her hair and bite the side of her neck, Marjory whispered into his ear, `I'm waiting to receive, darling.' ends -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+