Pickle Ball Pt. 01

So, I thought my writing days were over. I was dried out. But you pick up things and your mind begins to run with them and before you know it, here we are. Contrary to what Baba Ram Dass said, you never know what’s next nor what’s around the corner. There’s a few more chapters cumming. Enjoy it and maybe drop me a line.

They just opened twenty new Pickle Ball courts in the park across the street from where I live. I was curious about the popular game and, considering that I used to be pretty good at tennis, racquetball, badminton, ping pong and squash, I thought I’d give it a try. At my age (seventy-three), I wondered if I could still run around a court, however small, but it was worth a look see. Besides, my doctor said that I needed more exercise.

As I was a senior, I became a free member of the park and its many amenities, like the lockers, the indoor pool, the fitness room, etc. I signed up for a couple of free Pickle Ball lessons. There were ten other people in my class all around my age, give or take a few years. The game seemed pretty easy and I became quickly familiar with the rules and the techniques. The Fila Graphite paddle felt odd in my grip. It was somewhere between a ping pong paddle and a small tennis racquet and it had a funny sound when it hit the wiffle ball. The sound it made was closer to hitting a ping pong ball – gnip-gnop, gnip-gnop. It would take a while to get used to. I thought that the paddles were just the right size for a dominatrix to spank the bottom of her sub, but I pushed that thought aside.

The game was actually simple: underhanded serves from the baseline, hit after one bounce, no balls in the kitchen (an area seven feet from the net on either side) and a few other rules. Like I said, easy peasy, lemon squeezee. Also, I felt pretty good running around and fielding lobs. By the end of the lesson, I played a twelve-point game and felt accomplished. The game was okay but I needed more action.

I returned a couple of days later for another lesson. A few people had dropped out and been replaced but I was more than ready to play. The lesson reviewed techniques and tips and by the end of the lesson, I was in a doubles match. My partner was pretty woman named Beth. Fortunately, she was agile and athletic. We quickly made fast work of our more out-of-shape competition. As we strolled to the locker rooms, Beth asked me if I would join her for a cup of coffee afterwards.

We met at the park snack bar. Sitting outside in the beautiful park, we chatted amiably. I soon learned that she was a widow, lived around the corner from me, was lonely and lots of other tidbits. Her friend had told her that Pickle Ball was a great way to meet other senior singles. It suddenly occurred to me that most of the other people in my class were female, were single and were looking for a new way to hook-up. And Beth fit that description. In fact, I discovered that I naively had fallen into a wealth of possible new lovers. Gee, who knew Pickle Ball had friends with benefits? Suddenly, I began to look at this game in a different way.

After coffee, we walked back to our neighborhood. I found Beth to be refreshingly blunt and a bit crude which increased our familiarity. We agreed to meet for another game the next day and we exchanged numbers. She called me early the next day and told me that she had reserved a court. We met on the way to the park. We played two sets that were pretty active but in the third set, Beth slipped and fell, hurting her shoulder. Fortunately, it wasn’t her racquet hand. I volunteered to get my car to take her home. When I pulled up, I could see that she was in pain as it was a nasty bruise. As I drove back, I offered to roll a joint and to ice and massage her shoulder to which she quickly agreed.

She changed into a long terry robe and got some coconut oil. We sat outside on her screened-in lanai, which included a small quarter-lap pool and a hot tub. I lit the joint and gave it to her. She toked up a few times.

“This is good grass,” she said. She pulled her robe down over her shoulder. I oiled my hands and began to rub her neck and shoulder. She winced and I eased off, rubbing her more gently. “Oh, that feels so good. Nice and soft.”

I noticed that her shoulder blade was showing signs of the fall and was turning black and blue. “You’re going to turn black-and-blue, Beth. I should put an ice pack on this.” She told me to get one out of the freezer and I was gone but a minute. When I returned, I draped a towel over her shoulder and applied the ice pack. She groaned. As I held the pack, I began to really observe this woman. She had a nice body. It was very trim with curves in good places. Her robe was hanging down enough for me to check out the top of her tits. “Nice cleavage…maybe thirty-sixes,” I thought. My little head responded in kind.

“How’s your shoulder feel now?” I held the ice pack on it.

“It feels like ice on my shoulder. Maybe a little numb. I liked the way your hands felt. Massage me again, please.”

“I can’t, Beth, not until the swelling calms down. Maybe you should lay down and let the ice work.”

She got up and lowered the back of the chaise. She lowered the top of her robe and stretched out on her stomach. I couldn’t see more of her as her back was turned to me. I applied the ice to her shoulder and again, she groaned. “Could you rub my lower back, please. You seem to be good with your hands.”

“That’s just one of my many assets, Beth.”

“I bet, wiseass. Where’s that joint?”

I began to gently knead her back muscles. She was all knotted up but, with oil, I, with deliberate strokes, gently rubbed them out. Several times, she lifted up to take a toke and delightfully, I was treated to some side boob. Nice. A handful. Still, I wanted her to relax.

“Are you nice and high? Do you need something to drink?”

“Oh, good idea. I have cotton mouth.” She directly me to her fridge where I poured two glasses from an open bottle of chardonnay. “You read my mind,” she said as she sipped it. Then she lay down. “Now, do me, Ray.”

“Sssh. Close your eyes. Think about something good…like maybe your kids, grandkids…or maybe on a beach under palm trees…put a calming image into your head. Ssssh.” I took a drink and a toke. I replaced the ice pack and then I oiled up my hands.

She was quiet. Closing her eyes, she relaxed. I started at her good shoulder and gently moved over her back. I went down as far as her tailbone. I worked my fingers up and around her sacrum. She groaned again and whispered, “That feels good…so good….don’t stop.” I continued to lightly massage her back. It was more like a caress as I didn’t want to bring her any more pain or discomfort. This went on for about a half hour until she was in a deep slumber. I covered her up and quietly made my way out the front door.

At about six, she called. “I just woke up. The ice pack was still on my shoulder but it was all melted. My shoulder feels good, though. But I was out cold. I woke up buzzed, too. Thanks for leaving the joint. So what are you doing for dinner? I feel like I want to return the favor.”

“No, Beth, you don’t have to repay me. I’m just glad that we iced it in time and you’re feeling better.”

“Jesus, Ray. It’s not that. I just thought that if you didn’t have dinner yet, then maybe I could call a restaurant to deliver. And then maybe, you could continue that massage. What do you say?”

“Wow. Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. When shall I come over?”

“I’m going to call that Thai place down the block. You be here in a half hour, okay? And bring a bathing suit. And be prompt.”

I was not used to being barked at but I let it pass as I chalked it up to her enthusiasm and perhaps, a loose filter. And, yes, I was prompt. When I rang her bell, she yelled, “It’s open. I’m in the back.”

I walked into the lanai to find her in the hot tub. “You shouldn’t be in the hot tub. The heat is no good for you right now.”

“I have to heat off and I’ve got my shoulder against the jet and it feels great. It’s set on ‘low whirlpool’, so don’t worry. Dinner will be here in about a half hour. Hop in.”

“Okay, okay. Chill on all the orders, okay?”

I went into the house and got some more wine. I pulled a joint out, too, and returned. I set both down next to her.

“Sorry. I’ve been a little bossy lately. It’s the living alone, I think. But it’s also me. I’m a brat. Always have been.”

“A brat, huh? That’s a bit different. Cool.” I said this as I stripped down to my bathing suit. I slid into the tepid tub. Beth was good-looking, with short blond hair, a big broad smile and wearing a two-piece that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her full tits filled the bra top and her bottom was little more than a frilly thong. I was boning up under my boxer suit, which was something I know that she observed.

She smiled mischievously, “You fill out that suit well.”

“Can it, brat.”

She giggled. “I don’t usually wear a suit. But then, I hardly know you. But then again, you are my knight in shiny armor.”

“Not only are you a brat but you’re a horny brat.”

She laughed, “You should only know!”

We sipped the wine. “Beth, give me a one-minute bio. Who are you?”

“Okay. Married twenty-five years…widowed six years. He was a big sweetheart. Gave me two kids, now grown, married and with lots of grandkids. We had a music publishing business that I sold a few years ago. Lived in Connecticut…he left me cushy and I retired down here five years ago. Now you.”

I gave her a Cliff’s Notes version of my background. She liked my musical background and my hippie sensibility. As we drank and smoked, things seemed to get looser.

“So, let me ask you why you have no girlfriend?”

“That’s blunt. I could ask you the same thing. The answer is that I had a girlfriend but she moved back to Michigan and I’ve been single the past three years. I like being single.”

“Do you have any sex?”

“Wow! You sure get to the point. Ease up a little!”

She laughed, “I’m sorry. I told you I was a brat. I can never seem to hold myself back. Forgive me.”