Stuart Woods: Choke

Chuck nodded. “I’ve noticed, but you’ve never seemed interested in any instruction.”

“I’m interested,” she said.

Chuck grabbed a cart of practice balls and led her onto the court. “Let me see you hit a couple,” he said.

Clare picked up a pair of balls and began serving.

Chuck was content to just watch for a couple of minutes. She was wearing a tank top and very short shorts, and every time she reached up for a ball, her buns peeked at him from beneath the white material.

She stopped. “Well?”

“A couple of problems,” he said, “starting with your grip. You’re too far around on the racquet, so all you can hit is a flat serve. Bring your grip around a bit, like this, and you’ll get some spin on the ball, make it harder to return.”

She tried a couple more serves. “Better,” she said. “What else?”

“You’re dumping too many serves into the net; you have to watch the ball until the racquet strikes it. Keep your head up, and you’ll send more over the net.”

He worked with her for a full hour, and by the end she had improved noticeably.

“Thanks,” she said. “I enjoyed that.”

“So did I,” he said.

She put down her racquet and mopped her face with a towel. “Come to dinner tonight,” she said without preamble.

Chuck took in a quick breath. “Love to,” he replied, trying to sound casual.

She gave him the address. “Seven?”

“Seven’s fine; can I bring some wine?”

“A good red would be perfect.”

“A very good red.”

“See you at seven,” she said. “Don’t dress up.”

“I won’t.”

The house was only a block from Key West Bight, a big, three-story Victorian on what seemed to be a double, even triple lot, if the fence was any indication. The door was open, but he rang the bell anyway.

“Come on in!” she called from somewhere.

Chuck opened the screen door and entered the house. There was a short hallway that stopped at a stairway. To his right he could see a large swimming pool.

“Up here!” she called from upstairs.

He climbed the stairs and emerged into a large living room, with the kitchen to his left, separated by a bar.

Clare was rummaging in the refrigerator. She turned toward him, and there was a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in her hands. “Some champagne?”

“Sure.” He set his gift of wine on the bar.

She looked at the label. “Very nice,” she said. “It will go well with dinner.”

“The best the Waterfront Market had,” he replied, accepting a flute of champagne. They clinked glasses.

“New friends,” she said.

“I’ll drink to that.”

She came from behind the bar and took a stool next to his. She was wearing a short, sheer dress that buttoned down the front. Two patch pockets covered her breasts, and he could clearly see her panties through the material.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” he said.

She laughed, showing even white teeth. “It’s my job,” she said.

“Your job?”

“It’s how I earn my keep.” She shrugged. “It’s how most women earn their keep if they don’t have children and don’t keep house.”

“You make marriage sound very businesslike,” Chuck said.

“Harry is a businesslike kind of guy.”

“How long have you been married?”

“A little over a year. Harry’s first wife died the year before we met.”

“Where you from?”

“We’re both originally from the coast-Harry’s from L.A., I’m from San Diego. You?”

“Small town in Georgia, called Delano.”

“How did you get to be a good enough player to turn pro, starting from a small town?”

“I had a high school coach who was very good. He got me a tennis scholarship to the University of Georgia, where I had another good coach. I turned pro right out of school. What did you do before you met Harry?”

“Oh, lots of things-secretary, receptionist, manicurist, masseuse.”

“I’ll bet you were a wonderful masseuse.”

She smiled again. “I was, as a matter of fact. That’s how I met Harry. I was working at a hotel in Vegas.”

“You’re far too elegant a woman to hang out in Vegas.”

“I thought so, too. When Harry asked me to marry him I made one condition-that I would never have to visit Las Vegas again, ever.” She poured them both more champagne.

“You’ll get me drunk, feeding me champagne on an empty stomach,” he said.

She uncrossed her legs. “Don’t I have to get you drunk to fuck you?” she asked.

Chuck set down his glass and tried to control his breathing. “Nope,” he said.

She stood up, moved to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him lightly, playfully.

Chuck slid up her dress, put his hands down the back of her underwear, and held her cheeks, pulling her crotch to his.

“They come off, you know,” she breathed in his ear.

He pushed them down.

She stepped out of the panties, moved back a pace, and started unbuttoning the dress.

Chuck kicked off his moccasins, peeled the polo shirt over his head, and shucked off his shorts. He was fully erect.

She reached out and took hold of his penis. “Come with me,” she said, backing across the living room, leading him by his member. They reached a thick wool rug, and she pulled him down on top of her. “Now,” she breathed. “No more foreplay.” She guided him into her.

Chuck rested on his elbows, watching her face. Her eyes never left his. They moved together slowly, then faster.

Her eyes began to glaze over, and she reached down and held his testicles in her hand, squeezing gently. “Now,” she said. “Right now.”

Chuck rose to the occasion. He came right behind her, moving as fast as he could, groaning with pleasure. They stopped gradually, wound down like a clock spring.

“So much for safe sex,” Clare said.

“You look pretty safe to me,” he replied, rolling off and lying next to her on the rug.

“Don’t you believe it,” she said, then she got up, went to the bar for some paper towels, and returned. She mopped him gently, then herself. “That was very quick,” she said. “Next time you’re going to have to last longer to make me happy.”

“Making you happy is why I’m here,” Chuck said.

“I hope so,” she replied. “In a minute, after I’ve rested a bit, I’m going to cook you the best steak you ever had, and then I’m going to let you make me very happy.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you feel guilty? About Harry, I mean?”

“Not really.”

“You shouldn’t, you know. Harry looks great, but he’s not a healthy man. He had bypass surgery a year and a half ago, but he still drinks a lot and eats lots of fatty foods. Then he’ll go out there and swim fifty laps in that pool like there’s no tomorrow.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“I know. He’ll drop dead one day. I’ll go out there and find him floating facedown.”

“Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, but in the meantime, there’s practically no sex. He had prostate surgery last year.”

“I’ll do what I can to help.”

She laughed. “You’re sweet; only thinking of me.”

“You think Harry knows what we’re doing?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“How often does he go away on business?”

“Two or three times a month, usually.”

“That’s not often enough.”

“We’ll manage.” She turned and looked at him seriously. “How old are you, Chuck?”

“Forty-four,” he replied.

“Mmmm,” she breathed. “It’s time you were thinking about your future, your security.”

She got up and, still naked, began to prepare dinner.

Chuck watched her move about the kitchen and wondered how he’d gotten so lucky.