Eighteen #2
Too well could I imagine it, sitting there with my eyes closed, stroking myself to the rhythm of his heavy breathing. The weight of him astride me. The curve of his arse in my hands. He would be so glorious naked in the sunshine, his blond hair shining and his cock bouncing as I pounded into him.
“God,” he groaned. “I fucking love it when you wreck me.”
And I fucking loved doing it. Everything about him was so intoxicating, but nothing more so than how comfortable he was with the desires and joys of his body – a beautifully-filthy sensuality that made me want to be the only one who could make him moan.
And which had brought us so easily to this moment of heat shared across the greatest distance.
“Fuck,” he said, every breath coming short and sharp against my ear. “Come inside me, Mat, please!”
“Yeah, I’m going to. I’m fucking going to.”
I could hear him getting close and it was driving me wild. Nothing else mattered. A herd of elephants trampling through the house could not have stopped me, and certainly not the argument still sounding through the wall.
“Come with me,” Miles gasped out, and giving full voice to his pleasure, he came with a glorious moan against my ear that could have gotten me halfway there all on its own.
As it was, it needed to do hardly any work as I bit my lip and came hard, hating that I could give him only the ragged hitch of my heavy breath in return.
“Fuck,” I hissed, laughing as I looked down at the mess I’d made on my shirt.
“So much for can’t even get hard,” Miles said, smug as fuck and having thoroughly earned it. “That was hot. Though maybe next time you should sneak away somewhere so I can hear you moan.”
“Next time I’m going to be there fucking your brains out in person.”
He hummed appreciatively. “That’d better be a promise.”
“You whistle, I’ll come,” I said, all too aware just how much truth was in those words.
“What a service,” he laughed. “Can’t wait.”
I WAS WORRIED going in. Aside from the added expense, taking on a new coach would mean learning to work and travel with a stranger. And what if I chose poorly? Danny hadn’t been the coach I needed and maybe Tomas wouldn’t be either, and how long would it take to figure that out?
Nico came with me to the courts, his joy in being my hitting partner equalled only by his joy in getting a day off school. Benji had complained and begged to join us, but Mum had been firm that we didn’t need a ballboy, especially one who wouldn’t take his nose out of his phone.
We went early for a hit, and I was giving Nico advice on his serve when Danny arrived, accompanied by a stylishly-dressed man on the younger side of forty who had one of those square jaws that could crack rocks.
“You’ll make a fine coach yourself one day,” Danny said, greeting me with a back-slapping hug. “Good to see you, Mat.”
“Hopefully, not my coach.” Nico rolled his eyes. “He would be insufferable.”
“Unfortunately, I think that’s half the job,” the man who was obviously Tomas Cheverall said in an accent trapped somewhere between British and Australian yet managing neither.
“Being insufferably right about things because it’s easier to see what’s going on from the outside.
” He held out his hand to me. “You must be Matteo. I’m Tomas. It’s good to meet you.”
I could have said, ‘yes, I know, when Danny suggested you, I looked you up’, but sometimes honesty sounded creepy, so I said, “Hi, good to meet you too,” as I shook his hand.
I introduced Nico, and for a few minutes the conversation was general and icebreakery.
Until Danny asked Nico how he felt about making the jump from under-twelves to under-fourteens and I took that as my cue, casting an appraising glance at Tomas.
He had very little coaching record to speak of, though given his age that wasn’t surprising.
As a player, he’d had one of those solid but short careers – two titles, one amazing run at the US Open, a career-high ranking of thirty-two, and an early retirement due to injuries he couldn’t shake.
I’d dug up some old match footage and articles about him, scoured his practically non-existent social media presence, and asked Miles what he knew about the man.
His very helpful reply had been, tomas who?
you’d better not have found a new charity case for your pre-match railings.
“So,” I said. “If being insufferable is half a coach’s job, what’s the other half?”
He grinned a little ruefully, realising he’d walked face first into what was essentially a job interview with that opening line.
“I think the other half is a lot of things, but I suppose if I had to sum it up, then it’s player management.
You’re the one who has to go out there and make the magic happen, and perfecting the skills is only half the battle.
The rest is in your head. And your heart.
You’ve got to want it and you’ve got to believe you can take it. ”
“And how do you achieve that?”
“That depends on the player, of course, but, well, if we’re talking about you, then I think working through what your accident left you with will be an ongoing process. This streak you’re on is great, but you need to build long-term resilience and confidence.”
God, that sounded like exactly what I needed. I didn’t want to say so though, at least not yet, so I just nodded.
“And, uh, while I’m diving right in with my opinions and all that,” Tomas went on, flicking a glance at Danny and Nico as though to be sure they weren’t listening. “I want to admit that I’m one of those guys who made your life harder.”
“What do you mean?”
Tomas shrugged, smile apologetic. “I mean that I could have come out when I was on tour and I didn’t, because it was easier.”
“Oh. Well, I appreciate you being upfront about it, but I can hardly blame you,” I said. “Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t, though mostly I’m glad I did. And glad I did it when I was young and stupid and fearless.”
“It’s pretty meaningless at this point, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did too.”
I glanced Danny’s way, wondering whether this had been a happy accident, or whether he’d realised in the years he’d coached me that as much as being gay had nothing to do with tennis, the tennis world made it into a problem – one only I had to manage, and which he was ill-equipped to help me with.
It was harder to be objective after that, because the prospect of having a coach who understood how shitty the little microaggressions were on top of all the rest was extremely appealing.
At the beginning of the day, I hadn’t been sure I was ready to take on a new coach so quickly and certainly not sure I was ready to travel with one, but by the time we finished the session, a small bubble of excitement had grown in my stomach – a feeling of possibility, like I’d been given a glimpse of a future I could actually grasp.
Danny grinned at me once Tomas had departed. “You like him.”
“Yeah, I like him.”
“Good! What you need is going to change with your career, but for now you need someone bold and energetic who’s good with the mental side of the game, and I think he’s your guy.”
“So, you didn’t pick him because he’s gay?”
That earned a sheepish shrug. “It wasn’t the reason, just one of many.
I know I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth many times and you deserve better.
Like I said, that won’t always be important, but maybe it’s important now.
” He tilted his head, a smile growing. “Now, how about that physio? It’s short notice so I’ve only found a few and most are pretty recent graduates, but—” He pulled out his phone.
“I had a chat with a guy yesterday who’s been doing great work with one of the footy clubs – already forgotten which. The Bears, maybe?”
“Pretty sure they stopped existing before I was born.”
Danny waved this off. “All one to me. Sport needs a racquet. Anyway, he’s ready to walk due to disagreements with the S and C coach.
Doesn’t think player safety is being prioritised.
Likes the sound of travelling around instead of seeing only the inside of the same stadiums. If you want him, I think I can get him.
” He handed over his phone, on which he’d opened a list of qualifications.
Taking on a physio as well as a coach would be a big change, but I had to believe. Had to say fuck you to that damn fear.
Although, I could still do with a little push.
Miles C
Hey, was my streak at Wimbledon just a one time thing?
no and you know it, idiot
Tell me to hire the new coach AND the physio for this swing
HIRE THE NEW COACH AND THE PHYSIO, IDIOT!
You’re calling me an idiot a lot
you’re deserving it a lot. unless the physio is hot, then no. i’ll get jealous when he’s touching you all the time
Right, I’ll find the hottest one I can
fuck you idiot
“HEY, GET OUT of it, both of you,” came Dad’s voice from the kitchen. “I haven’t finished that yet. Go make a nuisance of yourselves elsewhere, huh?”