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Captain Steve and Linda
Damn Women Golfers
Recklessly I drove down the twisting two-lane road to the Country Club. Golf
is serious business and not to be trifled with. This was a men's tournament,
not one of those best-ball nightmares, or worse yet, combined and
women's marathons with handicaps. Match play was the only way to
determine who was on top. One more victory would put me in Sunday's finals.
Just who Paul Jordan was, I didn't care. He had come up the other ladder. He
was to be my victim. I had to put him away today.
By 16, I knew I could take it. I had him dormie. I was up by 2 with only
two holes to play. He was at least ten years younger than I and much
stronger. At about 6'2" his long athletic body produced drives at least 25
yards beyond mine. I was the sly fox, however. Course management was the
key. I planned every shot, chipped close to the pin and putted with skill. I
could see frustration on his face as the dude whipped him.
I hit a beautiful drive. It went down the center with a slight draw that put me
on high ground with a chance to cut the dogleg to the green. Paul's drive was
far beyond mine, but sliced. He had little chance of making a good second
Time to put him away. I could just play safe, but I wanted a big finish, just to
let this youngster know who was in charge. I pulled my three wood and began
a few warm up strokes. About 220 yards...a high, soft shot...mentally I was
ready. I addressed the ball. A slow, smooth backswing...
"There's someone still on the green."
Paul had walked up a small hill and had a perfect view.
"Damn, Paul. How long they been there?"
"Quite a while. They aren't even on the green. Both of them are back there
looking for balls in the woods. Looks like two women."
"Women. Hell, it's well over the five-minute limit. It's going to be dark soon.
We have to finish."
"All right. I'll take the cart and ask them to let us play through. Tournament
players do have priority." I watched as Paul disappeared down the hill, around
the dogleg and through some trees. Damn, I was tensing up.
Soon Paul returned, driving with his head down furtively. "Shit man. I can't
believe it. My wife's up ahead. She's playing with a woman that I'm ah, sort of,
ah, doing. They didn't see me. I came back."
"Damn yes. She is hot. Met her about six months ago. Didn't know she
played golf here or knew my wife. She does love to fuck though."
"How often you screwing her?"
"As often as she calls me. Usually twice a week. As a matter of fact, I just
had her this morning. She blew me, then got on her hand and knees, wiggled
that beautiful ass and just kept smiling. Didn't think I could get it up again,
but she's good with that mouth of hers. I'm in real trouble if they see me.
Look, I'll forfeit the match. Let's go back the other way."
"Relax, Paul. There's plenty of time." Now I knew I had him. He'd broken into
a sweat, and I could see his hands shake. I put the three wood back in the
bag. No need to take a chance now. I'd lay-up with a five and chip to the pin.
"She's good, huh?"
"Definitely. First time I met her, she just flat out propositioned me. We were
at a bar. She goes to the ladies room then comes back, hands me her
and asks if I want to go home with her."
Hell, I thought. "Paul, I've got to see this woman. Just give me the cart and
stay here. By the way, which one's your wife?"
"Careful up there. My wife's the one with the flaming hair."
I rode down the hill, around the dogleg and through the trees. Abruptly, I
broke into the open, 20 yards from the green. My turned to stare at me
with a look of surprise, then smiled. She was playing with a flaming redhead.