With hubby’s departure for work I set my hair, filed my nails, applied new polish and looked at my reflection as I sat in my underwear before my bedroom vanity mirror. I looked good but avoided eye contact. I mused which trophy ring to wear but decided to wear only my Just before wedding ring, a gold charm necklace and earrings.
I went over my makeup and dabbed on my best perfume. Vixen was humming her ditty; my breasts flush in chorus as I stared at myself. My heart and mind said stay home but I knew I couldn't. They were on remote. The excitement of another man had been put off too long. I wanted my mistress too. As I got up top put on my new attire I glanced into the windows of my eyes. The devil peered out.
I left early for my ten AM lesson, my husband's encouragement my conscience excuse pass. I drove straight to the golf course and parked in front of the pro shop. The rational for my atypical early arrival was I needed to buy gloves and rent clubs. I also wanted to not be rushed and contemplate without his presence what I would allow to occur. As I drove up I saw his personal golf cart in front of the pro shop then saw him in the shop window watching my arrival. There would be no contemplation time. It was game time.
Sitting in the car, I pretended not to see him. He was smiling boldly in the window looking at my arrival because he was so assured I couldn’t resist his charm. I’d prove him wrong!
The truth, however, was I couldn’t resist. It wasn’t him. It was me, I missed my secret puppet friend, the euphoric rush of my addiction. My hand shook as I put the car keys in my purse, like an addict before the hit. I glanced in the mirror, told myself to calm down, wiped my hands on the seat to dry them and got out slowly while looking down at my shoes as if more worried about their getting dirty than meeting him. Getting out of the car and entering the pro shop was a repeat of driving to Michael’s Restaurant 10 years earlier. Each step forward confirmation of my adultery.
He held the door open to greet me and held out his hand in welcome. When I took it, he didn’t shake but instead pulled me brazenly toward him and attempted to kiss my cheek, European style. I pushed him back and stopped him with my free hand. He held on and kept smiling despite his rebuke.
Led inside the shop I smiled, turned a cheek for him to peck kiss, disengaged my hand and informed him.
“Before we start I need to buy a pair of gloves. They may help my grip.”
My cheek was aglow where his lips touched. Blocking my path to the counter he instead asked.
“Are you ready for your lesson?”
“Yes, yes but I need gloves. You better be a good teacher, I’m hopeless.”
“I’m a master, they call me Professor Golf.”
He reached again for my hand which I let him take but leaned back to keep distance. Instead of gloves he led me to a display of golf clubs for sale.
I broke my hand free.
“I’m just renting. I don’t know if golf’s my game.”
“Don’t worry. Rental clubs are cheap clubs. Your game will be much better with good clubs. I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse.”
He pulled out a set endorsed by some woman golfer. The prices in the shop were higher than in a big box sporting goods store but the clubs he put before me were ridiculously priced.
“I’m sorry, even with a discount I can’t afford these.”
“I’m going to let you rent them free, if you decide to take up golf I can sell them to you as used.”
I was not going to fall for this ruse and suspected the price was set artificially high to impress someone like me, then be sold at a steep discount as used but still at a higher price than elsewhere.
“What’s your special used price?”
“For the pleasure of your letting me provide you a lesson, the special discount price is free.”
I wasn’t going to be purchased for a set of golf clubs, even signature ones.
“Thanks’, thank you very much. A very respectable offer but I’m comfortable with the ones used before. Just rent me a set at the regular price, Professor Golf. Your generosity is acknowledged. Your time providing a free lesson already overwhelms me in gratitude’s debt.”
He smiled at my little put down and acquiesced while looking in my eyes with a merry glint. The glint said there would be a round two.
Once I paid for rental clubs and purchased gloves he told me to go to his cart and he would bring the clubs out. When he came it was with the expensive clubs in their fancy pink bag.
At the 1st tee it was apparent our tee time was reserved with other golfers shuttled aside until we teed off. He set the ball up, selected a wood, handed it to me and said we needed to do practice swings before attempting to hit the ball. He positioned himself before me, bent down and spread my feet to the stance he wanted while I put on my new gloves. The top notch of his pomaded hair brushed against the hem of my flared skirt. Vixen purred.
Satisfied with my stance he got close behind like before, reached over, held my gloved hands and placed his cheek against the side of my head pressing my right ear down. The aroma of his after shave entwined with my perfume. He was chewing gum again, Dentine.
At least it’s not Beeman’s.
As a brief diversion from his contact I thought about gum, I didn’t like chewing gum. He redirected my attention to golf, slowly guided me through practice swings and nudged closer behind after each. After three practice swings, I broke free and moved to the tee, announcing I was ready to hit the ball. Again, he got behind and pressed against me. I pulled forward to reduce contact and we swung the club. It was a soft swing but directly connected to the ball which arched up and down the center of the fairway, farther than any I had ever hit before.
For the rest of the strokes to the hole he only guided my stance and let me hit the ball on my own. In six strokes, the ball plopped into the hole while he held the flag smiling. My score was less than half any attempt made before. The seccond hole was a repeat of the first with the same score. The third tee required the ball to fly over a pond.
Like before he selected a club and got behind me. Instead of pulling forward I let him press against me.
Our swing arched the ball up high over the water and on the green beyond. We stayed in our embrace until the ball rested. I broke free.
“Wow that’s nice. I’m impressed. It feels good to hit the ball like that.”
I glanced with my shaded eyes to him. He was unabashedly interested in me. I finished the hole with a par four, my first par.
At the fourth tee I boldly pressed against him and pushed hard when we swung. His close contact overcame his concentration. The ball landed in a sand trap. I finished four over par.
On the fifth tee I announced I was ready to swing on my own. He was disappointed but acted not and gave me tips on my posture stance and corrected my practice swings. At the tee, I looked away, swung hard and made an intended divot with the ball slicing off the fairway. I tried twice more with similar results. He was pleased I needed another swing lesson. Instead I tried once more and put my eye on the ball and landed in the fairway.
I continued to swing on my own until the ninth hole. The banter got more suggestive at each hole played.
“Can you help once more for my final tee off? My posture’s getting worse. It needs firm guidance again.”
“My pleasure, let’s see if we can make it to the hole in a single stroke, a hole in one.”
He nestled in close behind while I hit the ball. It rose in the air. It was the best drive of the day but not a hole in one.
We hurried the pace until the ball fell into the ninth hole. He suggested lunch, I agreed. He drove the cart to my car and insisted on putting the clubs in the back. At the golf course cottage restaurant, the matron greeted us with a knowing crocodile smile and rushed us to a private booth in the back.
The waitress was right behind. He asked if he should order wine. I surprised him by ordering a vintage bottle without looking at the menu.
He stared at the polished nails on my folded hands atop the table. The large diamond of my wedding ring glittered, challenging him. He brushed his leg against mine under the table but I got up and told him I needed to use the restroom.
In front of the mirror I saw my hair matted and my lipstick smeared. I straightened up and walked back to our booth. As I walked through the restaurant my mind over ruled Vixen and told her.
The smug smile of the waitress as I passed her ensured I was not going to be a trophy on his bachelor pad wall. He assumed otherwise as I sat before him eating a shrimp salad and dithering over the wine until it was gone. He knew better than to talk about golf or ask about my family. We talked wine, music and movies. He drank most of the wine and asked if I wanted another bottle as I drained my glass and shook my head.
This was his cue to ask me to see his loft above the pro shop, he did. I stunned his expectation.
“No, I’d love to but can’t. I have another commitment. I’m sorry, I’m already late.”
“Will you golf again?”
“Let’s see how our schedules work. I’ll call when ready for another swing lesson. I learned a lot on this one.”
Getting up, I brushed my leg against his to give him confidence in my calling. He rose and led me to my car, perplexed a sure thing slipped out of his grasp. A glance back revealed the matron and waitress whispering when I turned toward the car instead of the pro shop. He leaned on the open window jamb as I put the key in the ignition, as if to stop me, then attempted to lean in for a cheek kiss.
"Don't be cheeky. I'll call. Why wouldn't I?"
Assured he still had the knack he let go of the window jamb, smiled and retorted.
"I may have to charge for the next lesson."
"I'm sure you'll be worth it."
There it is, male versus female, their male ego must dominate. They all fail to understand it is the female who controls the gate.That little snippy insult means he’s calling and pleading me to give a free lesson.
At night, I cuddling spoon shaped with hubby..
It was another betrayal, he unknowingly bidden in my fantasy of another.
Author Notes: Wife struggles to remain faithful but betrays in fantasy if not reality.