The Secret Life of Virgin Tennis Balls

Balls just wanna have fun !

(re-posted from July 30, by request)

In tandem they wait--a hard core trio or foursome of premium beauties, holding their breath until the plastic lid comes off; then the pop top.  Pshzz-ah.

That is the sound of virgin balls sighing in unison.  Free at last.  Tattooed party girls (Dunlop, Wilson, Penn) with boundless energy; wearing only fuzzy sweaters the color chartreuse, parakeet green.  Sweaters that show off their curves--roundness for bouncing to and fro.  Harder, faster; left, right; shallow, deep.  Top spin, pleeease.  And rally, volley, slice, lob.  WHEE!

They experience the exhilarating momentum of play leading to downright giddiness for all this frivolity; arcing, teasing, kissing the flat, white lines that wait in anticipation.  They flick the net tape flirtatiously with fickle desire.  "Hmm, this side or that?  I know, this one now, the other later."  True to neither, but ever eager to gain on-court privileges again and again in constant pursuit of love-love.  And, eventually, followed by match point.