Squash. Sweat. Showers. Sex.

Just a quick one - both the writing and the story. This is an entry in yay-team-sex-and-sports-story-challenge-2025-coming-soon.

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I'm not your sporty girl. Always last to be picked for teams at school, no idea which pro teams are top of their leagues, you get the idea.

Like everybody else, I'd had to endure school PE lessons. At one point, the staff desperately trying to get fewer of us to skive off, we got to do various activities down the leisure centre instead. Trampolining was fun - not that I ever managed to get up again after bouncing on my arse! Short Tennis was mildly less frustrating than the normal version, constantly chasing after balls in between failing to hit them. Ice skating. I can lurch around a rink, now. That might be useful, one day? Then, one week, we were made to try playing squash.

It didn't go well, trying to manipulate a racket of a longer length than the tennis and badminton ones I was already bad with. Only one in ten serves connected, if that. But at least the ball always bounced back towards me, thanks to the four walls around us. Predicting where the small rubber ball would return to was quite mesmerising. It meant I at least got my racket to touch it, if not do anything useful.

At the end of the session, the centre worker called me over. "Hey, love! You're good at predicting the ball off the walls." I supposed a childhood playing Pong hadn't been totally wasted. "Why don't you stay for an hour or so, mastering serving? Then hitting it back?"

This was when I realised the huge superiority of squash over tennis: you don't need a partner to practice. Yeah, I know, there's tennis walls - I spent many a summer's lesson being told just to serve balls against them for hours - but they only bounce back in the obvious direction. And a good serve will rocket behind you, too far to hit back.

The guy gave me the half-dozen balls we'd been using. I didn't have anything better to do for the next hour, so I gave it a bash.

Half an hour later, three in four balls I served worked. After an hour, I was puffing, scarlet in the face and arms, but making a decent stab at returning balls - and at least half of them went where I wanted. Result!

So I played squash a bit with friends until I left school, and then at college. For some reason, tennis is a socially-desirable sport to enjoy. Tennis clubs are generally very upmarket, darling. Meanwhile, squash has a total lack both of posh people and Pimm's; the only stereotype being of City workers proving themselves and having heart attacks. But a couple of the college guys - similarly self-conscious about playing sports badly in public - were intrigued, mostly once they found out our college owned a dilapidated squash court close nearby.

Of course, once they got the hang of it, they beat me hollow, with their long arms and male power. I'm tall with a solid build, but my muscles still couldn't compete with men. We adjusted to decide that if I got seven points - before they got the usual eleven - I won.

Which made things closer, but I still never won. I didn't mind. It was good exercise, fun working to place the ball so it ricocheted in cool ways, and getting to see Ben or Nathan in short shorts, sweaty and showing off their legs, was quite the bonus! The hot day when Nathan ripped his top off, showing gleaming bright pink skin round his hairy chest, was even better. I was starting to rather appreciate Nathan's looks.

Ideally, the building would have had showers, so we could rinse and get clean after. It did have plumbing for them, but we were assured no water had come through in at least thirty years.

It was a real shame. Given the rarity of anyone else being in the building, I might have persuaded Nathan we could have had a long leisurely shower together, under the four shower heads in a row...

Sometimes other people were there. There was only the one squash court, but there was also a 'Real Tennis court', next to it. Ever wondered why normal tennis is called 'lawn tennis', even when indoors or on clay? It's because 'real tennis' still exists. It's kinda like squash, only with extra shelves and sticking-out buttresses. And played pretty much only by guys who had a court at their fancy boarding schools. I think there's one at Eton.

Obviously Nathan and I had to give it a go, probably lowering the class of the niche sport significantly all by ourselves. It's fun, actually, but the extra ledges and angled sections just add unpredictability. And some of the floor was loose, which was just a hazard. We stuck to the squash court, which might be a peeling grey rather than white, with the odd missing chunk of plaster, but it was functional.

The next year, Nathan bet me his body if I could beat him. "Just seven points, Nessa!" Sort of joking, sort of not.

By the end of the year, I was super fit. That would have shocked all the school PE teachers who'd always accused me of laziness: 'You're just not trying, Vanessa!' Of course, after a few years of that, my only effort had been in making excuses to escape classes, so it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I wasn't just playing squash; I went running by the river to reach my lectures, and living on the fourth floor with no lift was a genius measure for enforcing a stairs-based fitness regime upon me. But Nathan and I played squash a couple times every week. We were getting closer, and our scores were getting closer...

"Ha! Seven!"

"Fuck," Nathan panted. "I wasn't going to let you win for another two points!"

We'd known this moment was coming. Our flirting had grown and grown; Nathan had split from his ex. It was only a matter of time. Ben, our mutual friend, had told us to get a room already. "Or a squash court."

I reached to shake Nathan's hand. I must look a sight: my hair pulled back into a Croydon facelift and all moist with sweat, my face flushed red. I tried to forget about that, given he was shiny and scarlet-faced too. Another advantage of a shit sports building - no mirrors to make you self-conscious. He knocked back a swig of water and pulled me into a kiss.

His hot damp body pressed against my vest top. It was good. I liked his stubble against my cheek as he held me. The regular exercise had been good for him, too. No longer the slightly tubby shy lad he'd been at the start of first year - he'd blossomed in both looks and personality. I liked to think I had, as well. His strong thigh forced itself between my legs and I sagged onto it, enjoying that touch and pressure. I kissed back as enthusiastically as I could, loving the salty wetness of his face, but my arms, looped round his back, were slipping.

"Want to go somewhere more comfortable?" I asked.

"Your place or mine?"

"Yours has showers on the same floor."

"Let's go." We went, holding hands, fast as our exhausted legs could carry us.

Even standing in adjacent shower cubicles, peeping around the curtains as we passed each other shampoo, seemed romantic at the time. Wandering back to his room, wrapped in identical towels, I looked forward to what would happen next.

Lots of sex, a nice relationship, then getting separated by graduation, was what. I moved to one city, he to another. Could long distance, seeing each other on weekends, work?

In some ways, I missed the regular squash games as much - or more - than him. Challenging both my mind and body, squash had worked perfectly for me. I tried joining various 'all welcome' circuit classes and running groups, but they all made clear they meant 'all welcome who meet our minimum standards.' And you don't. I had stamina, after getting fit during college, just didn't have fast-moving muscles, nor coordination. A fun run when they dismantle the course before you finish isn't fun. I did the odd run-walk-run alone, instead.

I also filled my evenings by starting a language class at a college near my work. One night, in halting, half-remembered GCSE Spanish, I'd answered the classic "My hobbies are..." and managed to explain that I didn't play squash any more. The huge city centre sports centre had a court, but it cost a fortune, even if you could book a slot less than a week in advance, not to mention trekking there and back. Nathan and I did play a game there a few times. Either we'd separate for our showers, so he'd have to wait alone for me while I finished washing my hair and getting dressed, or we'd not be able to get clean for an hour until we got home. Neither option was pleasant.

"Did you know this college has a squash court?" a classmate asked. I did not. "It's at the back of the industrial estate. Ten minutes walk away. It's kinda basic, but it works. I think it was meant to be changing facilities for the rugby pitches next door, before they built their new pavilion."

I enquired at the college office. "Studying here? Sure, an evening language class counts. See this book? Write your name to book a slot. Oh, go on, have a couple hours. £50 deposit for the key. Bring it back before the next-but-one booking, or else. There's only the two keys." I reserved the second-to-last slot, at four in the afternoon. "So drop it off any time on Saturday night - we're here until midnight."

I told Nathan I'd booked the court for when he was down on Saturday. Plenty of time to play with my boyfriend, and then to go out for a meal.

"Shit, I need to get back into shape!" Nathan, getting used to the 9-5, and driving to work, wasn't as fit as he had been. I couldn't complain. I had the same problem. The lack of convenient stairs was affecting my muscles severely. I vowed to take the spiral staircase at Covent Garden a few times, all 193 steps to reach the surface from the platforms. It was gruelling, especially due to fighting the tide of tourists coming down, forcing me to the centre of the spiral. I'd have to work up to Hampstead station. There's 320 steps, there.

On the Friday night, before going to meet Nathan's train, I gave Hampstead a go. Given zero tourists, it wasn't too bad. I managed to plod up the whole way without resting.

I might be a bit flushed in the face still, when I met Nathan, but hey, he liked me out of breath. Ideally caused by him fucking me to screaming point, but a good squash game worked, too. We'd adjusted to me needing nine points to his eleven. He had the extra reach and strength, but I was sneakier with my shots, hitting down towards the metal, or to the side wall before the front, and managing to catch him out.

"Hey, gorgeous!" He ran a finger down my hot cheek. "Have you been cheating on me, playing squash with someone else?" It was a joke.

"No. I fought the stairs at Hampstead tube. Building up to playing with you tomorrow!" He whistled, impressed.

"Best take it easy tonight, then," he warned.

"Not too easy, I hope."

"Are you saying you're easy, sweetheart?" He pulled me to him with my ponytail.

"For you, I'm guaranteed!"

It was nice cuddly sex, feeling close to him again after being separated since last Sunday. Being long distance wasn't so bad - I could concentrate on my new job, chasing promotion, during the week, without feeling I ought to be getting home. We also chatted by phone most days, but there's nothing like cuddling your partner.

Or like getting properly fucked.

On Saturday, we enjoyed a very leisurely brunch, then wandered to the college to collect the squash court keys for our four o'clock session.

"Here you go, love. You know where it is? Now, unless someone comes along for the five pm slot, you've got the place to yourselves for the rest of the day. I know it's not the best facility in the world, but keep it as clean and tidy as you find, eh?"

We wandered through the industrial estate and through a metal gate clad in chicken-wire. Behind was another cheap breeze-block building, with a sloping corrugated-iron roof. Almost as hidden in brambles as our college squash court had been. Behind it were the rugby pitches.

I unlocked the heavy padlock. No-one was around. The electric light worked. So far, so good.

"Wow. Are there three courts?" Nathan asked.

"Only two. Why?" We looked through all the doors. Besides the two squash courts - their white walls spotted from green rubber ball marks, otherwise in decent condition - the third large room was a changing room, complete with lockers, benches, and a male symbol on the door. Of course, it had been used by the rugby teams until their pavilion had been built. The changing room also offered a couple toilets and, behind, a group shower room, where three walls had multiple shower heads pointing down. Eight sprays, all together. For one or two people, it was a large facility, though if eight guys were showering in there at once they'd risk brushing up against each other. I supposed rugby lads didn't mind that kind of thing. The building also included a tiny room containing one toilet and single shower, marked 'Ladies'. A cleaning cupboard next to it was the same size.

"Come on, get changed with me," Nathan suggested. "I'll bring your stuff out if anyone else turns up. Mmm! Nice shorts!"

I'd brought stretchy cycling shorts, rather than anything more structured. I supposed they did show off my backside more than Nathan was used to seeing. My strappy vest top showed off my shoulders, too. And my breasts, which stretched out the fabric. He wore a faded loose T-shirt and white shorts, robust enough to keep spare balls in the pocket. The gear looked good on him. We filled our water bottles and went to the court.

We knocked up for a while, warming up the ball which I'd brought in my trouser pocket. A squash ball only bounces predictably when properly warm. The requirement to reach into my pocket and play with my balls always amused me, not having balls of my own. Squash balls come in various levels of bounciness, indicated by a coloured dot. This ball was a yellow dot; it wouldn't bounce back to us too quickly, making us have to run for it more. Competitions use white dots, slower balls, but mainstream shops only sell yellow or the 'easier' red and blue dot versions, which kindly bounce back to you at high speed.

Slow running, easy shots to each other. We were warming ourselves up, as well as the ball. Thunk. Slam. Thunk-thunk. Slam. Pleasant noises of the ball bouncing off the walls and floor, then off our rackets. Occasionally we'd misjudge and there'd be a clank, as the ball hit the metal ceiling or the metal strip, a foot high, which ran across the front of the court above the floor. Sometimes the ball bumped against the metal, then rolled along the floor.

Mostly, though, once both ball and we were in our stride, we got an easy rhythm going, moving freely. Nathan and I worked well together, watching the level of force applied to the ball, moving forwards or backwards as needed to continue a smooth rally.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Eh, let's take it easy a bit longer," I suggested. We stepped it up a little, now knowing what to expect of the ball, but didn't deliberately try to make it ricochet out of reach.

Some time later, I nodded. "Game?"

The game was on. We'd often play three games, depending on how long they lasted. Today, we were in no hurry. We'd go out for dinner, somewhere, eventually. First, to work up that appetite!

"Left or right?" Nathan held out his fists.

I guessed the wrong hand. He waved the ball cheekily, then served it, without waiting for me to get ready.

I leapt back just in time to slam my racket wildly onto the ball. It curved back towards the front wall, and touched just above the metal, dribbling to the floor. Ha!

"My service," I told him, waiting calmly for the ball to roll back towards me. "Serves you right."

He shrugged. I made a point of waiting for him to be crouching, ready. Then I served the ball as hard as I could, hoping it would intimidate him or at least make him have to step back rather than forward.

It didn't, of course. I tried not to be disappointed. Even when I'd seen rare bits of squash on TV, it's like the difference between mens and womens tennis: the women have to concentrate on rallies and positioning, because they don't have the sheer power to whack the ball all the way to the baseline.

He returned it easily. I waited, then hit to the edge of the front wall so it bounced off the side wall and back to me. "One-nil," I told Nathan.

"Early days," he replied sweetly, swapping sides for me to serve again.

I won the first game, nine to his ten. He was more flushed than I was. It looked like I'd done better at keeping up my fitness, now we were both working. Nathan drank deeply from his water bottle, exposing his masculine throat, the top part shaved with care that morning. All the better to rub over me. Then he tugged off his white T-shirt, already limp rather than crisp.

"Trying distraction tactics already?" I teased.

"Just hot. You know what I look like. Only getting a bit podgier," he poked his slight paunch sadly.

"Like I don't have one!" Larger, even, and thunder thighs, and a large wide arse...

"You're beautiful. Powerful." I opened my mouth to object. "A worthy opponent. And you don't get to tell me my opinion is wrong! Come on, gorgeous, let me make it one-all. And if I don't, we may need to re-think our scoring system!"

I laughed. "I'm stuffed, either way! Either I lose just because you're a bloke, or we create a level playing field and then dispute that it's fair if I win! I'm screwed!"

"You're a woman. That's how life's meant to be, see. You get screwed over." I knew he was being sarcastic. "Besides, you're definitely going to be screwed..." He ran his hand down my back and pinched my bum, before moving away to start the next game.

Both of us were panting, now. We sprinted, pivoted on the spot, jumped to reach sky-high balls, and were being as nasty as possible with our returns. Nathan wasn't as devious as me, but his superior long arms enabled him to win that one.

I was really getting pretty puffed. I drank most of the rest of my water. Then removed my vest top and wiped my dripping face with it. I knew I was scarlet all over my head.

"Definitely distracting," Nathan said, admiring my tits. Or impressed by how well my industrial sports bra held them in place. Probably both.

"How sad. Pass us the ball." My black sports bra offered good coverage, but it was, technically, playing in underwear.

Both of us took this third game more gently, not wanting to wreck ourselves for the rest of the weekend. Even if we were way too young for heart attacks.

Until it reached seven-nine to him. Two more points for either of us to win. And it was my service - in squash, only the server can score points. We'd had to ditch the dastardly official rule that someone needs to be two points ahead to win. Too often, it added an extra half an hour to a game.

All bets were off. Both of us sprinted and spun and twisted to get to every shot. Match point.

I puffed, but managed somehow to poke the ball back towards the front wall. It touched! It trickled downwards! But then Nathan lay down in order to whack it back to the side wall. The angle was good. It bounced sideways and scraped the front wall as required. I returned it near to him with a forehand, thinking he'd need time to get up. I'd run out of both physical and mental energy for anything more.

Nathan somehow rose to his feet, wobbling, but vertical. The ball rebounded from his racket to near the corner of the court, and fell to the ground, ten feet away from me. I had no chance.

"Good game," I panted to him. "God, I'm going to collapse!"

"Come collapse in the showers with me! I hope they're warm!"

"What if someone comes in?" I slumped on the changing room bench, reluctant to strip off when a whole rugby team might come to invade us. That was the sort of fantasy that I'd only enjoy in my head, not in reality!

"There weren't any more bookings. It's gone way past five. But I'll see if I can secure the door from the inside. Stop you fretting."

A moment later I heard a "Ha!" I roused my exhausted body to investigate.

"See. Fuck-off huge bolt." He shot it across. "There! This is all ours, now! No-one can disturb us! We could play naked!"

"Not today," I groaned.

"True," he agreed, as worn out as I was.

"And you don't have breasts." I wasn't doing any running nor jumping without a good structured bra.

"No. But will be lovely to see yours, anyway." He helped me undo the sports bra which held my top half firmly, restraining all attempts by my tits to bounce or jiggle. It was soaked in sweat.

"Oh, wow..."

All I could feel was the wetness as my heavy sweaty breasts fell against my hot and equally sweat-covered chest.

"Come on. Let's get you naked and in that shower!"

"I just hope they work..."

We were in luck. True, the pipes up to the shower heads were corroded metal, but the water soon ran hot and cascaded strongly out of them. And didn't switch itself off for several minutes. I hated modern leisure centre showers, always turning off every few seconds, so you need to keep one hand on the button and only have one to scrub with.

"Oh, this is so good!" I purred, feeling fresh and clean again.

"It's even better, if you tilt the next shower head so it hits you as well." Nathan was enjoying sprays on each side of his body, as he massaged shampoo into his scalp and all his chest hair, his brown cock hanging down and swinging gently.

"Oh, yeah." I bent over to enjoy water on both my bum and my neck, as I got my hair properly soaked and rubbed my shampoo into it.

"Man, you look so good there..." It was nice to know Nathan appreciated my body. Even when it was the opposite of scrubbed up well for him. I suspected he particularly liked me red-faced and breathless.

The compact room filled with steam, which felt so good on my tired body, I decided I wasn't going to move for hours. Besides, I knew Nathan liked looking at my arse. And fondling it.

As I let the warm moisture ease my muscles, helping me move more freely again, I watched Nathan. His tall naked body dominated the room impressively. He stretched his arms up over his head as he scrubbed his forearms. White lather nearly hid his light brown skin and the dark bushy hair under his arms. To me, he looked like a god, rising from the water, bathed by foamy nymphs. Or was I the goddess, being worshipped by the waters which caressed me lovingly? Nathan stepped across the room's slippery tiles, turning two showers back on again and also pressing the buttons for the ones raining down on me, so they wouldn't stop soon. Enough kindness to make him a god in my eyes.

He returned to his spray. Nathan rinsed off his hair, slicking it back between his fingers. Then, lacking any hand-held shower head, he stood still while the water washed the rest of the soap away. His eyes focused on me.

I knew I was the only thing to look at in the room, but being watched and wanted? It's always a turn-on for me, seeing someone lusting after my body. There wasn't any reason not to respond to his gaze.

While my deep conditioner soaked into my hair, I ensured I washed the rest of my body very carefully. I ran my soapy hands all over my chest, my bottom, and then slowly up each leg, from my toes all the way up to where I wanted Nathan to be thinking about.

I took one breast in my palm and smoothed foam over it, making a perfect ball, with the other. Then my other breast. Each of them were grapefruit-sized and round, and now looking even bigger. Avoiding his eye, I then soaped all over my belly, and then further down. My trimmed pubes had never been so clean! Lastly, of course, I had to spread my legs, to ensure every last fold round my labia was squeaky clean, rubbing myself, then swapping fingers.

I stood tall and stretched my arms up, then leaned back so the downpour could rinse my front. Showing off my tits was a mere side benefit, honest.

Then I turned around. I could see Nathan out of the corner of my eye. He had been about to finish showering, but suddenly felt the need to wash his cock more thoroughly. He rubbed it up and down, concentrating hard, then held the foreskin aside to rinse his head again.

I pretended to ignore him, and let him watch my arse instead. A token soaping up of my bum cheeks, followed by my bending forward. I lathered up my crack and my hole very thoroughly indeed, before holding my buttocks apart so the shower water could rinse me all clean there.

Nathan responded as I'd hoped he would, to his girlfriend flaunting herself in front of him. He carefully came to stand behind me, holding onto me with his fresh scented body against mine. He leaned in, his face on my shoulder, and massaged my breasts again. "I think you're clean now. Me, too. Wanna get sweaty again?"

I pretended to misunderstand. "Another round of squash? I really can't, love."

He slapped my big arse cheek. "Don't be daft. We're all alone, naked, and it's already hot and steamy." He hugged me close, so I could feel his warm wet chest on my back. "You're gorgeous, all naked, and I want to take you, right here." He shifted his groin up and down against my backside. I could feel his cock getting stiff.

I twisted to face him. He appeared slightly cloudy in the humid room, which was helping my breathing recover from the exertion. I might manage a little more exertion, now... We kissed, both reaching out on autopilot to press for more hot water. The waterfalls all around us muffled any other noises, but we knew the sounds the other would be making. Nathan always made the best gasps when I gripped his cock and rubbed it up and down. He claimed I made 'adorable' squeaks when he pressed my nipples between his thumb and finger. I definitely moaned when he gripped my bum in both hands.

When he wriggled his fingers into my pussy - obviously I was soaking wet, but the water had washed my natural lube away - I know I groaned loudly. Suddenly I was gagging for more.

"Yeah? Like that? You want it?"

"Just fuck me already," I retorted, needing him desperately.

"God, yeah."

That was when we realised the room was under an inch of water, and slippery as hell. Warm and sultry, but hazardous. We didn't want to leave the wonderful steam and hot water flowing over us, but equally we didn't want to become an ambulance crew anecdote.

I tapped the water pipes on the wall, confirmed some weren't too hot to hold, and shook them. They didn't budge. Nathan tried the same, applying all his weight. Still solid.

"Right, I'm going to hold on tight," I told him. I grasped two vertical pipes, stood between them facing the wall, took one step back and bent over. Presenting my bottom perfectly, for my man to fuck me.

I faintly heard his 'fuck, yeah, babe!' as he reverently stroked over my arse. And then he massaged the insides of my thighs. Finally, he teased my lips apart with both hands. I let my thighs drop, waiting to feel the touch of the tip of his cock.

"Nathan..." I wailed. "I want you inside me!"

"On it. Just want to be careful. There!"

He'd placed his cock perfectly, dead centre between my legs. I moaned at the delicate pressure. Just what I needed, if he'd just thrust, now. He wasn't moving, damn him!

Nathan reached round me to hold the same water pipes, his hands just above mine. Then, finally, he slowly pushed his cock into me.

A damn good start. I squatted down a bit, to help him. Oh, yeah! Deep, firm cock inside me, while the warm water continued to rain down over us. A perfect combination.

It was possibly my best sex ever. I was open wide for Nathan, who fucked me deeply up and down, a leisurely pace he could keep up for a long time while the hot steam wreathed all round us.

I joined in the rhythm, squatting down so each one of his thrusts met my counterthrust. The regular thump, thump, thump against my cunt got me even more wound up. "More!" I howled, desperately.

He tried to do more, but standing isn't the best position for deep penetration. "Get on the floor," he told me.

Normally, you wouldn't want to touch the floor in a sports centre changing room, nor in the showers. Today, however, this floor had been flooded for over half an hour. The beige-with-flecks tiles were as clean as they'd ever get. Honestly, though, they could have still been filthy and I'd still have dropped to all fours, desperate for Nathan to ram his cock back inside me.

He whacked all the shower buttons again. Then he knelt behind me, fondled my tits for a minute just because he always found that fun, then tickled round my clit. At last, he buried his entire shaft deep in my pussy, just before I shouted abuse at him.

It was so good.

My hot, wet man impaled me with his long hard cock, as I arched my arse up for him. I lay on my forearms, giving myself a rest and making it as easy for him as I could, welcoming being impaled by him. His panting confirmed he loved it as much as I did. My pussy felt everything even more strongly than usual. My whole body did, in fact. Probably thanks to the boost to my circulation, from getting my heart pumping. See, exercise is good for you!

I relaxed. All I had to do was just angle my arse up for my man to drill into. Acting like a perfect sex object for a guy who loved both using my body, and treating me as a person afterwards. What more could a woman want? Apart from more sex, of course.

This was so good, having him hold my hips and hammer into me. Like I'd tried to do with my favourite vibrator earlier in the week, only this really hit the spot properly, and didn't wear my arm out. My arms were worn out already, today, but now all I needed them for was to lie on, holding my face out of the water. The odd splash washed over my flushed face, cooling me pleasantly.

My breast stroked over the bumpy floor. You know the tiles they always have around municipal swimming pools, with a grid of square bumps? These were they. Twenty-five inch-square raised sections on every tile, over which my nipple bumped back and forth. When I shifted so there wasn't a corner digging into my wrist, the other breast got the bumpy edges poking in and out, too.

I honestly didn't care. The mild discomfort was a contrast which only enhanced the wonderful feelings in my cunt, where Nathan, bless him, was somehow finding the energy to fuck me senseless. I guessed the exercise had helped perk him up, too.

I screamed out encouraging words for him. "Oh, yeah! You're so good, love. Yeah! Take me! Fuck me hard! More, babe, more, please..."

He must have realised there was no-one to overhear, too. We didn't need to suppress our noise, unlike when we were at college, or in our shared houses now. I'd never heard Nathan talk particularly dirty, but now he let rip: "Yeah, Nessa. I've got my cock so deep in your cunt! I'm gonna fuck you so hard! Ah man, you're so tight, you're so good, you feel so good, yeah. You make me feel so good, babes... Love your arse, love your tits! Love fucking you. Love you... Aah..." Totally animalistic and wild. I loved him.

All good things have to come to an end. I couldn't blame him. I collapsed with my head on the floor and let him give me a final thrust, deep and hard and sadly the last.

The water above us cut out. We sat for a minute, getting our breath, watching the other six sprays slowly dwindle and stop and the steam drifted away. Then we scraped ourselves together, turned one shower on for each of us, washed quickly, then ventured into the changing room for our towels.

"Your face!" Nathan pointed. "Let me massage that out. I suppose your tits and arms don't matter."

I looked in the mirror. I had a pink imprint of the squares from the floor tiles on my cheek. And crimson lines on my knees and arms. As soon as I was warmly dressed, I tilted my head for him. He massaged my face until the pattern faded.

We faced each other and laughed. "Wow. We're so doing that again," Nathan declared.

"Next time, I'm putting a towel under my knees," I agreed.

Only we never did. People had already booked the last slot of the day for the rest of the year. We tried booking before them and hoping they'd leave quickly, but each time the later players lingered, clearly waiting for us to go away. And a few weeks later, the college finally realised the effect on their energy and water bills, so fitted all the showers with knobs needing pressing every five seconds, and flow limiters, reducing the rate of the water to barely more than a dribble. Totally unerotic.

So we didn't play squash so often, after that. Just shagged in my bed, as exercise. Until Nathan booked us a spa weekend for my birthday. Scented steam rooms, saunas, ice room, outdoor Jacuzzi, the works. Don't worry, we behaved ourselves in public. Well, almost...