Chapter 11

Weeks passed with little incident from Roger. With the Australian Open fast approaching, Roger had thrown himself into work. He nagged Amy for time on court and when she was unable to satisfy, he was to be found on the treadmill in the gym. Amy and Mrs White did all they could to help him. Mrs White would put together the specific drinks and meals that he requested, and Amy was busy trying to organise masseurs to come and visit him personally. She was careful to select only male masseurs – she didn't think she could handle seeing another woman's hands all over him.

It was December, and Switzerland had begun to get very cold. When Amy awoke in the mornings, her views of Lake Zurich from her window were beautiful mirror-like frozen landscapes. It did, however, mean that Roger's outdoor court was out of use. Sometimes, Amy would catch him sneaking down to the floodlit courts dressed in a coat and gloves and he would come back half an hour later covered in snow. It was just no use. Switzerland was out of action during the winter. We need somewhere Roger can practice with a warmer climate, thought Amy.

Quickly, she whipped out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She was sure she had saved his number when she had looked through Roger's phone that time. She was sure of it. There it was! Rafael Nadal.

Would he be open to her suggestion? There was only one way to find out.

She punched in the numbers.

After a few rings, there was an answer.

"Si?"
"Erm, yes…hello, Mr Nadal. My name is Amy Greene. I work for Mr Federer…"
"Oh yes! Buenos Dias, Miss Greene."
"Yes, Buenos Dias, Mr Nadal. I was wondering if Mr Federer could come and use your tennis courts. It's getting pretty cold over here."
"Si, of course. Novak, he telling me he want to play here too, so if Novak is playing here, Roger is playing here too. That is no problem Miss Greene."

They ended their conversation with the agreement that they would meet next day.

Amy went in search of Roger to tell him the good news and found him pacing around the living room, twirling a racket in his hands. Mrs White stood at the sink washing up.

"Mr Federer?"
He stopped pacing and looked at her.
"I've arranged a trip for us to some more accommodating tennis courts."
"Ok, I'll go and kit up…"
"I think you'll need more than just your kit, Sir."
"Why? Where are we going?"
By this point, Mrs White had stopped her washing up and grabbed a tea towel. She stood listening to the conversation whilst drying a plate.
"Spain."
Mrs White gasped and cooed and Roger laughed and shook his head in disbelief. Amy continued…
"I've been in touch with Mr Nadal and he has agreed to host you starting tomorrow." Mrs White put down the plate she was drying and clapped her hands. Roger smiled at Amy in admiration. What a brave and clever thing she had done.

"It's been too long since I last saw Rafa" Roger pondered. He stroked the line of his jaw. "It would be nice to play him again."
"I feel I should also mention, Djokovic will be there."
Roger lifted his head to look at her but then waved away the concern that momentarily washed across his face. Mrs White was positively ecstatic.

"Oh I do like that Mr Nadal" she cooed. "Have you seen his arms?!" Roger looked questioningly at his housemaid who seemed to unravel a new secret every day. She teetered over to Roger and wrapped her arm around his.
"His biceps are enormous! They're like thick pillars of manliness!" She gazed off into the near distance and she clasped her arms around Roger's slightly smaller arms. Amy knew that Roger had a small complex about the size of his arms, and it was no wonder when he had Nadal to compete with! He did indeed have huge arms! Mrs White continued with a sigh.
"Yes…good arms! I bet they'd hold you firm against a wall!" she winked at Amy.

Amy and Roger exchanged shocked looks. Amy, who was perplexed that Mrs White would say something like this in front of Roger, wondered if he had ever heard his house maid talk in this way.

"Well, Mrs White, if Mr Federer approves, perhaps you could come with us to Spain. There'll be no one here." Mrs White looked up into Roger's large eyes. Like always, they gave nothing away. He looked at the frail old lady who had served him so well over the years.
"Of course you can come." He said. Mrs White, squeaked and thanked her boss by reaching up and planting a long, wet kiss on his cheek. Roger looked flustered and blushed as she walked away to continue happily with her work.

"I never knew she felt that way about Rafa." Roger questioned as he lightly brushed his fingers against his stubbly cheeks where Mrs White had just pecked him.
"I bet you didn't know she felt that way about you either!" Amy replied. Roger shot her a look, and then peered over her shoulder in the direction of Mrs White's exit. He crept around the corner of the hallway comically, as if trying to avoid another encounter with his housemaid. His fingers still rested upon his cheek.

Once he was sure that she was out of sight, he turned back towards Amy and rubbed his hands together.
"Right, well…I guess I'd better go and pack."

Amy returned to her bedroom and quickly packed her suitcase. She had learned quickly that Federer liked to travel light and preferred those around him to also. Once her things were together, she slumped down onto the bed beside her and contemplated her next few days. She was about to meet Rafael Nadal! He was Roger's biggest rival and he dominated the clay courts. With Rafa on the mind, Amy browsed through images of the tennis star on google to pass the time. Mrs White is right, she thought. He does have massive arms! The images showed Nadal celebrating his points, holding a large shining trophy or hitting a rather aggressive two-handed backhand. He was no-where near as graceful as Roger on the court, but still a formidable force! Occasionally, she would come across a picture of Rafa and Roger together embraced in a post-match hug or stood stoic whilst enduring endless minutes of photographs.

Their relationship had been scrutinised not only professionally, but personally too. Amy recalled one occasion where she had picked up a newspaper to find a photograph on the front of Rafa kneeling at Roger's feet, a look of longing in his eyes as he regarded the awesome figurative giant before him. In actuality it had turned out that Rafa had to retrieve a tennis ball that had come to rest somewhere at the base of Roger. Inevitably though, the whole world saw no ball, but a couple of tennis champions caught out in a sexual relationship. For a few days before the press conferences, it was the topic of all discussions. Amy remembered how people would say "Have you seen that photograph?! Who knew!?" and "Rafa's always wanted to get in Roger's pants!" Amy hadn't quite been brave enough to question the accusations. She had let herself get swept up in the controversy.

Just as she was about to open up a rather interesting photograph of them both that had caught her eye, she was distracted by a polite knock at the door.
"Amy?"
It was Roger. Amy locked her phone and quickly stuffed it under the pillow.
"Come in!" she called.

Rather sheepishly, Roger opened the door slightly and slid in through the small gap he had created.
"Um…" he started. He stood with one hand in his jeans pocket and the other raking awkwardly through his chocolate curls. Amy thought he looked very awkward. She quickly looked him up and down for analysis. Nope. No boner.
"Uhh…this is going to sound embarrassing but…" he started, his hand still rummaging through his hair. "…have you seen my condoms?"

SHIT!

Amy recalled the evening that she had packed for Malawi. She came across the condoms in Roger's drawer and pocketed them. He never did use them in Africa. They had to be somewhere in her room!

She looked back to Roger who awaited her response with trepidation. His cheeks had turned a shade of pink.
"Yes Mr Federer, I do. I intended to pack them for your trip to Malawi." Would he buy it? What would he want with condoms in Malawi?! He didn't look convinced either. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Ooookay" he said "I guess it's always better to be safe than sorry, but I don't see why I'd have needed condoms in Malawi."

Because I wanted you to use one with me! Amy thought desperately. It had been a while since his fingers had touched her, since he had sought her attentions for his desperate releases and even longer since he had spoken of their couplings. Amy was now searching frantically through her jacket pockets whilst trying to distract Roger from the fact that she had taken the condoms from his room and kept them in her possession since, however, by the look on his face, she hadn't managed to avoid it. Roger's brow was furrowed in confusion as he watched her toss her clothes on the floor to try and find his condoms.

Finally, her fingers clasped around a box shaped object. As she peeled it from the pocket lining, she saw it was indeed the condoms.
"Here we go" she said. She tossed the box across the room to where Roger was stood at the door. Suddenly, she wondered why he would be looking for condoms if he was packing for Spain.

Perhaps he fancied a 'posh wank'? Maybe he was going to meet another woman out there! This last thought made Amy's face hot with jealousy. Or perhaps, the horrid rumours were true! Maybe there was something going on between Nadal and Federer! Or perhaps he had just noticed they were gone and wanted to return them.

Roger noticed her questioning looks and quickly attempted to address them. He looked from Amy to the box and then to Amy again.
"I, uh…thought I'd give them to Rafa, you know. He's always getting lucky with the ladies."
Amy nodded and with that, Roger cleared his throat and left the room.

Oh well.

Just then, the sensation of angst washed over her again. She felt the familiar feeling of sickness in her stomach. Why was she feeling this? She felt it first as she retrieved her phone from Roger's bedside table and again when she attempted to seduce him in his study. Now she felt it most intensely after Roger asking for his condoms back. And then, it dawned on her. Condoms were the one thing absent from her night of passion with Roger. Oh shit. She hadn't seen this dilemma coming.

I am sat astride Roger Federer in the changing rooms at Wimbledon. My hand palms the front of his shorts which begin to become tight with the strain of his growing erection. His face nuzzles against my neck, spreading the heady concoction of saliva and sweat into my skin. His eyelashes are saturated with the tears that not long ago welled in his deep, dark eyes. With my free hand, I gently scrape my nails through his hair and tug on the bottom of his moist curls to bring his gaze to meet mine. As he comprehends me, I run my hand down his stomach, following the trail of soft, dark hair that culminates below his waistband. With subtlety and tenderness, I slip my hand below the top of his shorts and brush my eager fingers along his length.

Amy woke with a start as the jet turned gently in the stillness of the night. She looked across the aisle to Mrs White, who had draped a colourful knitted throw across herself. Her head was propped up against a pillow and she was sleeping soundly. The rest of the cabin was also silent and dimly lit. She looked out of the window at the world below and saw a few twinkling lights. Unable to decipher their location, she thought back to her dream. Roger seemed so submissive in her dreams. The man in question was opposite her, slumped in his seat, his cap pulled down over his eyes and his arms folded. His legs were spread wide and his lips were pursed as he breathed slowly in and out, unaware that there was now wakefulness around him.

As Amy regarded his beautiful sleeping form, she saw that Roger had an unexpected problem. Through his jeans, she could see the shape of his dick, solid and lengthening beneath. She had heard that this happened to men in their sleep, several times a night apparently! However, she had never been with a man long enough to find this out for herself. Evidently is was true!
In order to preserve his dignity, she found a pillow and placed it gently over his crotch. It soon became apparent, however, that she hadn't done this softly enough. Beneath his cap, Roger opened his eyes. He grunted gently at the feel of weight in his lap and lifted his cap from his head. His hair was messy and tangled and his eyes were unfocused as he squinted at Amy.

"Roger?" she whispered. Roger rubbed his face softly, yawned and stretched. As he did so, the pillow that Amy had placed fell from his lap to the floor. It was lucky that Mrs White had stayed asleep.
"Roger…um…" she nodded towards his groin and Roger looked down. He didn't attempt to cover it.
"Ah shit" he whispered.

"Does that happen a lot?" she asked as she nodded towards his enlarged member. He sighed in response.
"Yeah." He rubbed his eyes and breathed out heavily before flopping his arms down so that one of his hands came to rest over his crotch. Amy felt her stomach jolt at the sight of his delicate hands in contact with his magnificent equipment. "It happens when I sleep. I think it's something that happens to most guys."
He slouched down in his seat even more, seemingly indifferent towards the bodily functions that he had no control over. He stretched his legs out and his feet knocked Amy's. Somewhere next to them, Mrs White stirred and Roger jumped slightly in his seat as if he had forgotten that they weren't alone. Almost immediately, he defensively moved his hands to his lap.

"Rog, you need to sort that out." Roger grumbled and complained. He clearly didn't want to make the effort to abolish his morning glory. Amy questioned whether he might still be half asleep.

For the next half hour, despite Amy's nagging, Roger stayed in his seat, drifting in and out of sleep, his cock still rigid beneath his jeans. Amy stayed thankful that Mrs White was asleep and oblivious of what was going on. However, when the co-pilot exited the cockpit to tell her that they were 20 minutes away from landing, Amy had a dilemma on her hands.

She moved across to Roger who had fallen asleep again and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Roger?" she whispered. "Roger, wake up."
He stirred and blinked. "Roger, we're landing in 20 minutes and you're still hard."
As if he had no recollection of what happened the last time he woke up, he looked down at his crotch and sighed once more. "You need to get rid of it."
"Rafa wouldn't care" he protested as he folded his arms across his chest and made to fall asleep once more.
"Maybe, but the rest of the world will when they see it on the front of the papers!" she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of his seat. He stumbled into the aisle, careful not to fall onto Mrs White. His jeans were straining at the front as he dragged his feet along the floor.

At the end of the aisle, Amy tore open the door of the bathroom and pushed Roger inside.
"Sort it out!" she whispered urgently.

Roger raised his eyebrows and mocked her comically. With a smirk that said 'there's nothing to worry about', he went into the bathroom, one hand already undoing the buttons on his jeans.

Amy thought back to the last time that he had tried to masturbate and recalled that it had been difficult for him, so she waited patiently outside the door just in case she was needed. For the first five minutes, she heard nothing. She had been awaiting his call for help for some time but it hadn't come. Could it be that she had taught him well after all?

Eventually from behind the door, she heard the reassuring noises of Roger's heavy breathing. His breaths steadily grew in intensity until eventually they started to become rhythmic moans. Amy couldn't help but smile as she shared this moment with Federer. She placed her ear against the door and could feel the vibrations of Roger's deep groans through the surface. She closed her eyes and started to feel herself getting wet at the noises emanating from the little room beyond. She had the urge to get in there with him. Finally Roger's noises seemed to come to a head as Amy heard him try to supress a cry of ecstasy. After this final groan, the breathing could no longer be heard and so Amy returned to her seat.

At the other end of the aisle, Mrs White had woken up and asked her where she had been.

"Mr Federer wanted to use the bathroom." Amy shrugged casually.
"And you're not in there with him?" June raised an expectant eyebrow. Now that June knew that they had slept together, she seemed to expect them to do it all the time.
"No, no. I think he just wanted to…erm…you know…freshen up a bit."
"Ok, dear." June smiled kindly as Amy took her seat again.

Just as Amy had sat down, the door to the bathroom opened and Roger walked out back to his seat. His hair appeared messier than it did before he went into the bathroom and his cheeks were flushed since all of the blood had returned to his head. As he walked past Mrs White, he gave her a courteous nod and wished her good morning. The sky outside had begun to turn pink with daylight.

"Mr Federer, I think you have some toothpaste on your shirt." She pointed to a white spot on the chest of his shirt. Amy's eyes widened and Roger looked mortified.
"Umm…thanks June".
Both Roger and Amy knew that it wasn't toothpaste.

"Well, I think I'd better freshen up a little too! Mr Nadal will be waiting for us!" June gave Amy a little wink and toddled off to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Amy leaped up to inspect the stain on his shirt. She pushed Roger back into his chair and leaned in closely.
"Amy…OOF!"
She licked her thumb and began rubbing the shirt vigorously. It didn't seem to want to budge. Roger bit his lip as Amy got rougher and rougher with her thumb.
"I can't get it out, Roger…"
Roger held his hands out in helplessness.
"I didn't realise it had gone that far!" he proclaimed.
"Well didn't you use tissue or something?!"
Roger blushed even more and cast his eyes downward in embarrassment.
"We'll have to say it's toothpaste." Said Amy giving up. Roger nodded in agreement and they spoke very little for the rest of the descent.

When they landed in Spain, Roger met with a security guard that he had arranged for. June and Amy stayed a few paces behind Roger as they meandered their way through security checks at which point, there had been no attention. However, as they passed through a set of double doors, the noise became deafening.

Fans lined the walkway cramped together and squirming to get a better view of Roger Federer. They held signs that said 'Vamos Roger' and 'We luv u Rog!'. Girls were screaming with tears streaming down their cheeks. Many were holding out gifts of flowers and letters, eager for Roger to know of their existence. Amy couldn't help feeling sorry for them. She was once one of these. She had been lucky.
She approached the girls and took the gifts from them, promising to put them into Roger's hands personally. They seemed grateful even if a little confused about who she was. Up ahead, Roger was signing autographs for the luckiest people as cameras flashed all around them. Amy wondered if the speck of cum on his shirt would be seen in the images.

At least he didn't walk into the terminal with an erection, thought Amy.

When they attempted to move on, Roger was hounded by reporters who thrust microphones in his face. He endured such questions such as 'Roger, what are you doing here in Spain?' and 'Why have you split with Mirka?' and 'Is it true you'll never see your kids again?' Amy could feel her blood boiling over their intrusion into his privacy. He managed to politely ask them to respect his privacy in the matter of his divorce.

Once he had fought his way through the crowds, he was bundled into a taxi and they were all on their way to Rafa's house.