The joy of sport
How horny is sport?
Especially at the elite level.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shape-ist, and if a woman knows how to have fun naked, I’m really not so fussy what shape or size she is.
This week I’ve been watching Wimbledon, and I’ll nail my cock to the wall if tennis isn’t sexy.
We’re all familiar with the Tennis Girl poster of the 1970s …
… but it doesn’t take a naked arse to make tennis erotic.
Tight white miniskirts over white panties.
Tanned, toned thighs.
The pertest arses bent over, bobbing from side to side on the baseline waiting to receive a serve.
And the pert, bent over, bobbing arse that particularly caught my eye was that of Alison Riske in her match against Maria Sharapova.
I could watch her arse all day … or at least until I’d ejaculated three or four times.
Speaking of sex and Miss Sharapova – one of the gruntiest players to set foot on the hallowed turf of the All England Club. Can you imagine what she must sound like when she gets a vigorous pounding? I’m quite sure that when she cums, her neighbours can be in no doubt at all! But I digress a little.
Competative sport is always going to result in athletic bodies, and I doubt there are many red blooded women who haven’t looked at the likes of Mark Foster, Roger Federer or Tim Tebow and thought I’d like to tackle his tackle! I’ve certainly had some sporting crushes in my time, not least, when I was still at school, the stunning Sharon Davis …
… and that was just in a swim suit. Had I seen Ms Davis in PVC and FMBs, or better still, delisciously kinky rubber, I think my prepubescent mind would have probably melted.
Of course sport isn’t just sexy when you get to watch hot athletic bodies in limited clothing. Taking part can be horny too, or at least the endorphin rush can fire up your loins pretty well. Occasionally even for someone as libidinously challenged as my Wife. Many, many years ago, before we were married and had descended into sexual dysfunction, late in the evening, I got a text message from Her after we’d parted company at the end of a training session. It referred to my sexy, post training, sweaty look. One of the few sexy things She has ever said to me. (I should say that is the only sexy text message She has ever sent me, and on the occasions I’ve sent Her anything remotely flirtatious She has backed off very quickly. But that’s a different issue.)
And having produced my best performance for decades at a local sports championship recently, I felt hornier than a buck rabbit with a fresh set of batteries and soaked with rhino horn. (Inevitably I was brought back down to earth by my Wife’s complete disinterest in how the competition had gone when I got home. But that’s a different issue too.)
I concede not everyone is of an athletic disposition, and some people prefer to get sweaty without competition. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find something sporting with which to titillate yourself. You just have to think laterally.