With hubby’s departure for work, I set my hair, filed my nails, applied polish and looked at my reflection as I sat in my underwear before my bedroom vanity mirror but avoided eye contact. I mused which trophy ring to wear but decided to wear only my wedding ring, a gold charm necklace, and earrings.
I went over my makeup and dabbed on my best perfume. Vixen was humming her ditty; “meow, meow, I need affair now, now”, my breasts flush in chorus. My heart and mind said to stay home but I knew I wouldn't. They were on drone remote with Vixen in control. The excitement of another man had been put off too long. Hubby had his work mistress, I wanted my mistress, a human one. As I got up to put on my newly purchased golf attire, I glanced at the mirror and into the windows of my eyes. The devil peered out. I diverted my eyes back to attire.
I left early for my 10 AM lesson. With my husband's golf lesson encouragement, my conscience’s excuse pass, I drove directly to the golf course. The rationale for my atypical early arrival was I needed to buy gloves and rent clubs. I also didn’t want to be rushed. I wanted to contemplate what would occur as I made decisions. I’d not yet decided on which life doors to open.
When I drove up, his personal golf cart was in front of the pro shop. He was within, watching my arrival through the window. There ‘d be no contemplation time. It was game time. Pretending to look in the car mirror, I could see him smiling boldly behind the window. 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 doing the hit. I told myself to calm down, wiped my hands on the seat to dry 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 to meet Edward ten 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 stopped him and pushed him back with my free hand. He held on and kept smiling despite his rebuke.
Led inside the shop, I smiled in defense, 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 a 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 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-downs and acquiesced while looking in my eyes with a merry glint. The glint said there would be a round two.
After paying for rental clubs and purchasing gloves, he told me to go to his cart and he would bring the clubs out. When he came, it was with the expensive ones in their fancy pink bag.
It was apparent our tee time was reserved. Other golfers were standing about, shuttled aside until we teed off. I didn’t like the little audience. 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 as he moved my feet to his calculations for best swing. 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 aftershave entwined with my perfume. He was chewing gum again, Dentine.
At least it’s not Beeman’s.
For a brief diversion from his contact, I thought about my not liking gum. He redirected my attention back to golf by slowly guiding me through practice swings and nudged closer behind after each. My buttocks sensed his arousal. Vixen purred. After three practice swings, I broke free and moved to the tee and announced.
“I’m ready to make my divot mark, maybe even hit the ball.”
The little audience waiting to tee off was no longer shifting about impatiently. They avidly watched his performance.
Again, he got behind and pressed against my buttocks. 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. Our audience gave a little applause.
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 second hole was a repeat of the first with the same score. The third tee required the ball to fly over a pond with a view of Mt. Rainier as a backdrop. A party of four golfers, moving at a faster pace, mulled behind, respecting our privacy.
Like before he selected a club and got behind me. Instead of pulling forward I swayed my rear against his pelvis, centered the cleft of my buttocks against him and snuggled up to his hard spot. It got harder.
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 his pants. He was unabashedly aroused. I finished the hole with a par four, my first par.
At the fourth tee, I boldly pressed my buttocks against his pelvis and pushed hard when we swung. I could feel his penis throbbing. His excitement 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.
“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, my buttocks tight against his pelvis. I raised and lowered my rear cleft against his aroused penis, pushed in hard then out for practice swings then connected with the ball. He pushed his pelvis forward and I leaned back as the ball 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 about 1:30 PM. He suggested a late 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 could order wine. I surprised him by requesting a local 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. When I sat to pee, the panties gusset was wet. Vixen was out of control. I dried off.
In front of the mirror, I saw my hair matted and my lipstick smeared. I straightened up, unbuttoned the top button on my blouse so the small flower on my bra showed and walked back to our booth. As I walked through the restaurant my mind overruled Vixen and told her.
The smug smile of the waitress as I passed her ensured mine were not going to be trophy panties 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 about 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’d like to show you some of my golf trophies garnered when young and photos of the course when started by my granddad. They’re above the pro shop in my office. Care to take a minute to see them?”
I stunned his expectation.
“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 as I turned to the car instead of the pro shop. He leaned on the open window jamb when 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, 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, like their appendage, must dominate. They don’t understand it’s the woman who has the key to the love box, not them. That little snippy insult means I’m going to make him plead before I take another lesson.
At home, I parked in the garage, closed the door, ran up to the master bedroom, locked its door, undressed, got in the shower and experienced a soapy shower as the warm water flowed over me. Finished and towel dried, I fell asleep, naked on the bed.
At night, I positioned hubby to come at me from behind. As directed, he splayed me face down on the bed, gripped my hips and bounced hard against my buttocks until we finished. Separated, we fell asleep, cuddling spoon-shaped, he behind.
It was another betrayal, he unknowingly was bidden to perform for my fantasy of another.
Author Notes: Wife struggles to remain faithful but betrays in fantasy if not reality.