I admired their diligence
And how hard they trained.
Success is ninety nine percent mental,
The other one percent physical.
So many things I can’t understand fully,
And here we have this sport
Where beautiful women spend hours
Playing with sticks and balls.
Their hair fluttered behind them like wings.
Those legs seemed made of silk.
That way the players moved
Tennis is a great metaphor for life.
The tight outfits hugging fit bodies,
And the bouncing, firm tits,
They just added to it all.
Their backhand topspin,
A perfect shot
Right into my groin.
My dick became numb,
Making me faint.
I tried to follow other sports,
But I found them boring,
Or not that sexy.
They didn’t give me
That little bit of feeling.
As the players reached to their bosoms,
They talked of the time spent with friends,
And what they dreamed of:
Honeymoons at the beach,
Kissing their lovers,
Watching the sunrise,
Fucking on a balcony.
I found the spirit of the game very erotic,
Especially when the slavic girls
Uttered such moans.
They said that after a perfect game,
They wanted to make love.
Sweat dripped down their naked backs.
I needed to lick it up,
And suckle on those smooth shoulders
To drink from the source of their bliss.
The way they played,
The tips of their fingers
Would get very hot.
I hoped to be beaten off
By some female tennis players.
I tell myself all sorts of stories
About the nonsense I grow attached to,
But I was obsessed with tennis for months
Because those slavic girls made me twitchy.
If I didn’t have the brain of a minotaur,
I would be a single dad.
I would be building my home on the moon.
I would live on my farm with my beloved wife.
Oh well.‘If Only My Penis Were a Racket’ by Jon Ureña
No one could love me
The way I am.