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Displacement activity

Date: 9/16/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: monica3, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

we. We applauded as the winners climbed the four steps to the verandah. Jonathan smiled and said, ‘I think Harry might need a helping hand, Lola. He’s claiming he turned his ankle, thus allowing us to win. Lying git. He simply cant bear to lose.’ Harry was, it was true, limping theatrically. ‘You doing anything this evening?’ ‘I sure am, honey and you are the thing that I am doing.’ She stood and the two of them wandered off as she looked over her shoulder at Eva, Helen and me with a wolfish smile. I offered Helen and Harry a drink. Harry declined and limped pathetically off to the changing rooms. Helen thanked me and sat at our table as I went back into the bar to order her tea. ‘Well played, Helen.’ Every ‘w’ in Eva’s accent was a ‘v.’ When I returned to the table, Eva was standing. She had, apparently, a date and wanted to get home to prepare for what she called a night of fun and sin. ‘Vorsprung durch sexnik,’ I smiled as she left. ‘She,’ said Helen, ‘is a great loss to the lesbian community.’ I have to admit this surprised me. I looked at Helen. ‘Surely you’re not surprised, Charlie?’ ‘Utterly.’ ‘Why did you think Eva suggested lessons with me? She’s matchmaking.’ ‘Well, don’t mind her. I just want to improve my game.’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? The lesbian sports teacher. True though it is it still annoys me.’ ‘Well, I promise you I had no idea.’ She looked at me as if she was trying to assess my honesty. ‘Well, do you want some lessons?’ ‘Please.’ ... ‘Done.’ * Three weeks later and I had had four lessons. She had said at the start that she’d work on one aspect of my game with a view to giving me confidence. My forehand was, she told me, quite strong so she wanted to work on my backhand and we spent the four hours relentlessly hitting backhand shots. She’d made a video of me playing one of the other girls and, in the gym at her school, she’d shown it to me and given me some constructive criticism. She’d stood behind me a few times, one hand on my shoulder, the other covering mine as it held my racquet and she’d shown me how to improve my stance and footwork. Her physical proximity didn’t seem in any way flirtatious or sexual, just professional. At the end of the fourth lesson, this time at the club on a latish Friday evening, she’d said, ‘You’re doing really well.’ It felt true. I was hitting the ball more accurately and harder. ‘Let’s go and get a drink?’ We went to the pavilion and Helen sat at a table on the verandah while I went in to order drinks, tea for her as always and a beer for me. I returned to our table and sat beside her. The sun was doing its late evening thing of turning the bricks of the neighbouring houses to a rich red with hints of gold. The warmth of the day had a soporific effect. ‘Would you like to go out for a meal with me, Charlie?’ ‘Are you…..’ I hesitated. ‘Am I asking you out on a date? You know what, I rather think I am.’ I laughed and she looked at me, her eyes asking me why I was laughing. ‘I ...