She accentuated each word with a poke in his gut. DampAss remained silent. He could think of nothing to say. He found her poking to be strangely arousing but knew that this was not the right time to bring up the topic of nookie. Although if she kept poking him like that he wasn’t sure he could maintain control over Little DampAss.
The crisis had actually started two years prior in 2007 when The Maestro had won three Slam finals to bring his total to 12. “Do you think he can make it to 13?”, Mrs. DampAss had asked over breakfast the morning after The Maestro had beaten Djokovic at the 2007 US Open to win his 12th Slam.
“I’m not sure. I mean, he hasn’t been able to beat Nadal on clay so it doesn’t look as if he will ever win that tournament. And Nadal keeps getting better and bett--”
“This is not about Nadal,” she snarled. “I want to know if I am married or not to the man who is the Greatest Tennis Player Ever. That’s what I signed on for. That is what was supposed to help MY career. You're not the only one in this house whose career is over you know. Mine disappeared the day after I got knocked up with YOUR child. So tell me now so that I am clear -- am I or am I not married to the Greatest Tennis Player Ever??”
DampAss was grateful that the help were in the other wing of their mansion. He couldn't bear it when she humiliated him in front of them. “You are sweetie. You know you are,” he replied soothingly.
“Well then, prove it”.
The outcome of which was that DampAss found himself forced to take his creaky joints out of retirement in order to face The Maestro in a series of exhibition matches. It was all Mrs. DampAss’ idea. She thought that if the Greatest Ever could beat this Swiss upstart in a well-publicized series of exhibition matches, then it didn’t matter what else he may or may not go on to achieve.
After The Maestro crushed him in the first two exhibition matches, DampAss decided to reach out for his opponent’s sympathy. He explained the situation about his wife and about how she was worried about his legacy. The Maestro sympathized and allowed him to win the last exhibition match.
That night his wife loved him like she hadn’t in years. Oh the things that woman could do when she put her mind to it. “You’re the Greatest,” she whispered seductively, as he found himself transported with ecstasy. “Yes I am,” he mumbled in reply, not wanting to release the body part he held tenderly in his mouth.
The honeymoon lasted a week. Soon she was plotting another face down. She felt that the audience in Asia hadn’t been big enough. He assured her that the Asian audience had been plenty big as the stadium was twice the size of Madison Square Garden.
“That’s it! Brilliant! We’ll stage another match in Madison Square Garden! You will beat him one more time, but this time in front of Americans! Yes that’s it!", she cooed excitedly, and started pirouetting around the room. Normally he loved it when she pirouetted. It got him very excited. But today he felt a cold heaviness in the pit of his stomach. Could he convince The Maestro to let him win another time? He didn’t think so.
The Maestro refused, naturally. The most he was willing to allow was for the match to go to a three-setter. “DampAss, I promise not to humiliate you in front of your people. But in the third set, let the best man win.”
After that loss, things once again became hellish in the DampAss household. His wife threatened to cut him completely off the nookie. But after The Maestro lost the 2008 Wimbledon to Nadal, her spirits lifted. She started smiling again. He enjoyed the nookie-filled respite until the US Open when The Maestro won his 13th Slam. The months after that were brutal. He tried his best to re-assure her. He pointed out that Nadal clearly had The Maestro’s number so what was the worry? And sure enough, there was The Maestro crying pitifully after he lost the 2009 Australian Open. They celebrated that defeat spectacularly. She dressed as a Grecian Goddess and allowed him to peel away the layers with his teeth. He was her humble slave and he served her masterfully.
For a few months, peace reigned in the DampAss household. The help started once again moving freely among them. There was no need to banish them to the East Wing because any reports to the paparazzi would be glowing ones. At night they would watch one or another of her comedies for entertainment. His favorite was the episode of Frasier when she played a popular lawyer. Oh she was funny, and beautiful, and so talented. He knew how lucky he was. And this peace between them would last if only The Maestro knew his place and allowed the DampAss legacy to stand.
But then came 2009 Roland Garros. Who could have predicted Soderling? DampAss remembered him vaguely as an autistic-looking young man who never looked up or spoke to anyone. Who knew that he would grow up to be the one who faced down Nadal and allowed The Maestro to equalize his legacy? Ever since, the DampAss household had been in crisis. Mrs. DampAss’ rage knew no limit. The help had moved permanently to the East Wing. DampAss wondered if he would ever get nookie again...