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From: Captain Steve <sailtwo@hotmail.com>
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X-Article-Creation-Date: Fri Jun 02 20:52:03 2000 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Damn Women Golfers MF, humor
Date: Sat, 3 Jun 2000 04:11:26 -0400
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Warning. Contains strong sexual content. Our stories are written for fun
and are free. Permission is not granted to post anywhere for profit.
Captain Steve and Linda
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Captain_Steve/www
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 men 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 hole 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 old
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 shot.
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...
"Hold it!"
"What?"
"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."
"Doing?"
"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 panties 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 red 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 wife
turned to stare at me with a look of surprise, then smiled. She was
playing with a flaming redhead.
--
Captain Steve sailtwo@hotmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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