Panting, breasts heaving in her tennis whites, thighs gliding, moist with sweat across each other, Hillary threw the tennis ball, executing a perfect serve which Nigel returned with a studied nonchalance.
Beside him his wife Mary stood twiddling her skirt, waiting for a chance at the ball, that never came; Hillary and Nigel faced each other down, ignoring their partners, grunting, sweating, straining in the afternoon heat, eyes locked, tension palpable.
Shyly, Mary smiled across the net at Hillary’s husband Roger who, flustered, pushed his spectacles up his nose and dropped his unused racket. Mary gestured to the side of the tennis court and Roger, looking around nervously, followed her. They sat side by side on the grass watching their spouses. Roger didn’t look at Mary.
“You know they’re screwing?”
“Does everyone know?”
Mary watched Hillary bend slowly down to fetch the ball, legs apart, eyes on Nigel, who’d broken out in a sweat. She nodded again. Hillary served the ball with another orgasmic bleat. Roger looked miserably at his daps.
“You know” said Mary “if you wanted, we could…” She gestured. Roger looked confused, then horrified, before finally resigning himself and nodding unhappily. He followed Mary around to where the bins were at the back of the resort.
They faced each other awkwardly. A bee flew past and Roger watched it intently until it had gone and he was forced to return to the task in hand. Even then he stared over Mary’s shoulder, fascinated by an unusual cactus in a window.
“Right. Well. Maybe put your hand here?” Mary put Roger’s hand on her breast and he held it, not knowing where to look.
Growing impatient Mary launched herself at Roger, ramming her tongue between his lips. Roger panicked, stumbled, fell. Mary was on her back, thrashing, moaning, skirt round her hips, Roger on top of her flailing helplessly.
“Oh!” She cried “Yes!” Finally - passion, excitement, lust, everything she’d been waiting for! Roger squirmed and Mary pushed his face into hers. They struggled together on the path as Mary held Roger’s head in place with one hand and worked frantically to remove his shorts with the other.
Suddenly a shadow fell over them. Mary released Roger in shock and he sprang to his feet.
“You bastard!” said the shadow, as it turned and fled, weeping, down the path.
“Wait” called Roger, distraught “Nigel, wait - come back, it’s only ever been you - you know that!” He ran after him, struggling with his shorts.
Mary sat disconsolately for a moment, before standing, brushing off the dust and straightening her clothes. Slowly she walked around to the tennis court. Hillary was sitting on a bench looking defeated. Mary sat beside her.
“Did you know?”
Mary shook her head.
“But he’s your husband!”
“Does everyone know?”
Mary looked across the holiday resort. Nigel was gesturing hysterically, Roger, pleading. Mary nodded and put a hand on Hillary’s shoulder.
“You know” said Mary “if you wanted, we could…”