Donald and I were out of practice. We missed balls or hit them too hard. Jorge’s strokes were accurate. He stood on the baseline and lobbed balls to us. He was patient. Even when we were knocking up, however, Pablo was aggressive and made no allowances. When Jorge told him to take it easy, this wasn’t Wimbledon, Pablo suggested that we start the match. We spun a racket and we won the spin. Donald would serve first. I stood at the net and watched Pablo’s fierce concentration, his nervous movements, even though it was not his turn to receive the service.

Donald’s serve was not difficult to hit back. Jorge drove the ball across to Donald’s backhand. He barely managed to reach it. The ball rose softly and Pablo stood at the net waiting for it, his eye carefully inspecting the court in front of him to see where he would place it. He raised his racket as though he were going to smash it toward Donald’s backhand. Instead, he chopped the ball hard to his right and it hit me on the shoulder. He turned around and walked back to receive the next service as though nothing had happened. I rubbed my shoulder; it was sore. Jorge shrugged as if to say it had nothing to do with him. Pablo turned and rolled his racket in his hand, and stood stooped and alert as he awaited Donald’s serve. I stood at the net in front of Pablo, aware how easy it would be for him to hit me again since Donald’s serve, once more, was weak. This time he did not try to hit me, he merely sent the ball past me, flying down the line like a bullet.

“This guy takes no prisoners,” Donald shouted.

They won easily; in the last set, Donald and I gained points only when they became too confident and made mistakes. We were exhausted. Pablo remained obsessed with the game and with the score, which he called out in English. When it was over, he shook our hands as though we had been involved in some important championship. It was still hot although the light was beginning to fade. When Pablo said that he was going for a swim, Donald replied that he hadn’t brought any trunks with him; Pablo turned and smiled and said he wouldn’t need trunks. By the time we reached the pool Pablo was already naked in the water. Donald slowly took off his gear and then ran toward the water and dived in. The cheeks of his ass were white and smooth. His body seemed firm and tough as he swam a length of the pool with his head under water and then raised his head and shouted at me to hurry. Jorge, by this time, had gone down to the dressing room to get towels. I didn’t know how to dive. I stripped and walked across to the shallow end of the pool. I was conscious that both of them were watching me now. I lowered myself in and swam toward the deep end. When I turned I saw Jorge slipping off his shorts. I tried not to stare at his bare legs and his balls and his long dick as he stood at the edge and dived in.