Compatibility

First On. Closest to. First in. For the uninitiated this translates to First On (the green), Closest to (the pin) and First in (the hole). This is 'friendly game' usually played for nickels or quarters because by the sheer logic of the game of golf it will balance out, more or less, over 18 holes. That is, it will balance out unless one player is clearly superior -- and therefore likely to hit the green more often, and stick and sink putts -- or unless fortune truly favours one golfer on the day. On a Par 3 course, the odds are even more balanced, barring incredible fortune.

We started out on 10. Early evening, grayish but not cold ...and the fact is we had virtually the whole back-9 of the well treed little course to ourselves. So when her first teeshot was a sculled 7-iron that bounced, rattled and generally trundled the 110 yards onto the front right corner of the green, I merely rolled my eyes theatrically and ignored her giggle. My 9-iron brought up a very solid thwack in the trees on the left and sheepishly rolled back out in mid-fairway. So all I had to do was chip a 30 yarder to within 20 or so feet of the pin and I was a little surprised to land wrong side of the ridge and roll and roll and roll to barely hang on against the 'fringe' edge at the deepest point of the green.

"You're away," she smiled, removing the pin. "Two to me."

I poked out my tongue and laid up well for the length.

Only to have her knock the putt squarely in the back of the hole. Hard, but not hard enough to stay out.

So when we arrived on the 11th Tee, I had to negotiate...a bit. Although she quite readily accepted my socks and hat. With a wry giggle. She then teed off and her 9-iron carried most of the 85 yards and rolled the rest. I found the trap behind the green, then the ditch in front of the green and finally, after a drop, hit the pin and watched, helplessly, as the ball spun slowly down the slope, gaining speed and finishing up where she could smile again, and say, "Gee, you're away again. A little pressure on this putt, ummh?"

If you can count, and no doubt you can, you'll know there was a little pressure on this putt. Which sat up close enough to tap in when she missed. But she didn't. "Putting is the strongest part of my game," she said, winking and smiling.

Now there was some real negotiating to do. "It's pretty hard to play golf barefoot."

"Agreed." Her smile dipped to my shorts.

"And we're not really even into the game yet." I twisted the top on a cider and handed it to her.

"Aren't we?" She sipped the cider, eyes twinkling and teasing. After dragging the moment out as long as she dared, she chuckled and added, "Oh, okay. Tell you what...I'll take your shirt, your undershorts, and two commitments-stroke-no-pun-intended-IOUs. Provided you don't want to pack it in right now?"

"Depends on what you have in mind for the commitments-stroke-no-pun-intended-IOUs?"

"No-no...in...or out?"

She had a great ass. She had been lucky two holes running. It would balance out.

You have, of course, by now gathered we were not playing for nickels or quarters.

I accepted the deal she offered, slipped off my shirt and dropped my shorts, back turned, to peel off my briefs, and retrieved and restored my shorts. She said absolutely nothing but her smile spoke volumes as she tucked my clothes into her bag.

So it was simple, right. 160 yards. No way she was going to reach that with any iron in her bag. She laid up, using the now familiar bounce and rattle. All I had to do was hit the green. And I did. Then watched as it slowly wended its way just off into the fringe. (There was a whole 6 inches in it). She mis-hit, scuffed the 9-iron, got an incredible bank off the far side of a dip near the green and rolled sedately and with great dignity to 6 feet from the pin.

She was in stitches. Apologetic but only because she could afford to be really.

I had to get the putter from the fringe to within 6 feet. Just had to. And did. Only to have her sink the damn putt.

The 13th tee was partially screened. As I said, there weren't many people on the back-9 anyway...but even so. Condition two was either remove a garment (ie my shorts), remove a shoe, both if I hadn't got within the 6 feet -- or pay "part payment".

And didn't she just revel in "part payment". Sitting nonchalantly on the bench, sipping her cider while I dropped my shorts and stood where she could use her free hand to fondle and stroke and generally amuse herself at her leisure for a while. A process which had me hopping from one foot to the other and struggling desperately not to give her the satisfaction of an audible groan.

Ever tried to tee off with a flat out hardon? Left into the trees it went. While I was finding the ball and chipping it out, she casually rolled-bounced her second shot to within about 10 feet. Sinking it in two, while I was still trying to get down from over 20.

"I think that makes you officially naked."

"Yes."

"With another two IOUs for the garments you don't actually have left."

"Yes."

"Are you sure you don't want to concede yet?"

Now is a good time to explain. Condition one was that I could only concede, without penalty, on a hole I clearly "won"... that is, a hole where I was first on, closest to AND first in. Otherwise, she could double whatever IOUs I had outstanding. It was hard to think with her manipulating my cock and balls, in "part payment", while we talked.

"Are you sure? We're getting awfully close to where I going to have to take something more anyway...just to be, you know, well, you would if the roles were reversed I'm sure." Laugh? She was hysterical when my erection leapt about in her hand at the thought of the roles being reversed."Men should always be naked on dates," she said, wiping her eyes, "Make life a lot easier for us girls. Go on," she slapped my butt, sharply, "you hit first...see if it changes your luck."

A few minutes later, addressing her ball, she chuckled and said, "Don't say I didn't give you a chance...."

It was impossible of course. Golf is tough enough without an erection and a wise-cracking female keeping score on a whole different level. Besides, it was clearing a little, and getting into the twilight cheaper round time period -- so we were catching glimpses of more people, a few more people anyway. And 17 ran just a little too close to the clubhouse...

When her ball plopped into the hole on 16, I said, "I surrender."

She came up from collecting her ball and cocked an eyebrow. "Surrender how?"

"Unconditionally." That was what she wanted to hear. "I surrender unconditionally."

Her smile broadened. "So I can double the IOUs?"

I nodded. I'd lost count anyway.

"And strip your ass right here?"

I nodded again.

"Good." She kicked my ball from its position about 2 feet from the hole back to my right foot. "I think you should sink a putt today, don't you."

It was 8 feet with a break left. I'd missed it earlier to the left and with nothing really riding on it I missed it again...too hard so no break.

"Left shoe please."

"Pardon?"

She kicked the ball back. "Left shoe...and yes, we will keep going until you sink one..."

To cut to the chase --one putt later, barefoot, and the shorts containing my erection on the line. A couple about our age progressing up 11, with a clear view of the 16th green if they chose to look our way. Perspiration was coursing down me...all of me... my hair, even my shorts were plastered to me...and that ball just seemed to take forever, looping oh so slowly...

***

Rimmed out. Hard to believe, really. That ball must have done well over 180 of the cup. But it was still there. Still up. So it seemed sensible not to wait for her to lord it, so to speak. I had to peel the shorts a bit, because of the perspiration, but in the end once I'd extended the elastic waistband enough and eased them over my quivering erection they dropped away pretty cleanly. I even managed a certain dignity, I thought, in kicking them up into my hand and underhanding them in a soft arc for her to catch.

It was only then that she moved her twinkling eyes from my cock to a point just beyond my right shoulder, and said, not too loudly, "He's not putting too well today."

I froze, heart pounding.

"Her ball's in our fairway," she explained, doing the ventriloquist routine, "which you'd have noticed if you'd looked"

How much of the human body actually blushes? At that moment it felt like 100% but it was hard to know for sure.

"I haven't played much golf, " a female voice said, from not very far behind me. "I'll just take my ball, I won't be around for more than a few seconds."

"Don't rush away on our account. You just play your shot. He still has to sink a putt, come what may." She kicked the ball back to me, for the fourth time. It nestled against my right big toe. "He has a pretty nice ass, hasn't he."

"Yes, yes he does." There was the sound of a mis-hit, followed by a grunt.

Odd the stuff that goes through your head. Two women...one I didn't know at all, and one I hardly knew -- yet I knew her well enough not to try to persuade to change her mind. Which I decided meant I may as well get on with it. So I kicked the ball out about a foot and moved it into position, turning sideways to the hole. I knew if I didn't look sideways I wouldn't know if the other woman was watching but of course I had to glance...and yes, she was watching...meaning this was definitely not a putt I wanted to miss because I had no idea what would happen if I did. But what I was mostly aware of was how hard my cock was and how warm it was where it was curved taut against my own belly and navel and that was very distracting to dwell on so I just got on with it and kept my stroke as clean and smooth as possible...

Our cars were parked beside each other in the grassy lot. When I'd dropped my clubs, clothes, shoes, etc., in my own car I came across to where she was closing her trunk, as instructed, and handed her my keys. She held up her trunk long enough to toss my keys inside then closed it. "You'd never have made that putt twice."

"Probably not." We were facing each other over the roof of her car now.

"Drop the shorts and get your naked ass in my car." She chuckled, ducking into the driver's seat of the sporty BMW.

Which, if you've been paying attention...and I hadn't been, really -- put it down to delayed shock-relief. whatever... is how I came to be naked, in her car, with everything behind in the parking lot and/or in my car, and my car keys in her control.

She seemed to realize that I had just realized, well, you get my drift, and her chuckle echoed inside the car. Reaching out she switched on the cd player and drove. Where? Through town, past some early evening traffic and pedestrians, but I was trying to focus on the music rather than outside the vehicle. After all, there wasn't much I could do about it anyway -- not at this stage -- and...

"Close your eyes."

"Pardon?"

"Close your eyes." I hesitated, I suppose, and she leaned forward glancing past me out the side window and waved, smiling. Unable to resist now I looked over to find we were keeping pace with an SUV -- a mummy van, being driven by an attractive brunette mummy. I closed my eyes. All too aware, again, of the flutter in my stomach and the erection once more taut and hot and conforming to my lower belly. "Good boy. Now keep it that way. Think of it as what you don't know won't hurt you."

Time is odd in those circumstances. Two minutes might be five minutes or five seconds. In other words, there is no time in the normal sense. All you're aware of is the sensations....your erection...the sheer feel of two women studying you at their leisure...the little quiver twitch that thought gives your erection... I have to say I thought the sudden flow of air conditioned breeze on my thighs, cock and balls was a bit on the mean-spirited side. But I resisted the urge to cover up -- or open my eyes. "Very good boy," she chuckled, as an abrupt loud rattling startled me.

I opened my eyes, heart once more pounding, to find we were gliding into an underground parking lot. There was no signage, no reference points of any sort. I had no idea where I was. Pulling smoothly into a numbered slot, she switched off the motor and slid out, waiting beside the car for me to get out. The moment I did, and the door was closed, she said, "Don't go all shy on me now."

I glanced down to find I was covering up. Reluctantly, mostly reluctantly, I lifted my hands away...eyes everywhere. Smiling, and shaking her head, she said, "what are you going to do if there is someone around?"

She had a point. Sort of. "What would you do in my place?"

"I'm not in your place." Winking, she tossed something over the car in an arc. I dropped it, picked it up. It was the automatic door opening thingee for the car. Quizzically, I looked from it to her. She said, "Which date is this for us?"

Hmmm...good question. The first date had lasted three days, starting with lunch and then dinner later after a few hour's breather.. .Not an uncommon pattern in our age grouping. That dinner and the rest had been at a hotel near the airport. Was this a hotel? The second date had been a concert and night at a different hotel. The third had been a getaway for a ball game and shopping..."Fourth," I said.

Looking me squarely in the eye now, she said, "You can use that to claim your car keys...or you can find your way up those stairs behind you to the third floor."Turning, she walked toward the elevator about 20 feet away. When the doors shuddered open on the elevator, she added: "If it's the 3rd floor be prepared to pay off on the IOUs..."

And the doors closed, leaving me in the cool concrete parking lot...

***

Six flights of cold rough concrete stairs. Every now and then a door banged and my breath caught as a I froze, heart threatening to leap out of my chest. Why was this so difficult? I'd been naked on a golf course, for christsake. I'd sunk a putt with two women watching me, while I was naked. Mind you, it was the only putt I'd sunk all day, which is why I was naked -- but that's besides the point. If I could be naked there...maybe that was heat-of-the-moment, or something else? Whereas this...BANG! Folllowed by footsteps, somewhere above. My heart pounding again. If those steps were coming down there was nowhere for me...well, there was the corridor, in fact, the number said "3" so this was the floor. Sprinting across the landing I was through the door in a flash, holding it so it didn't bang closed. Then turning...

Only then did I realize I was in what you can only describe as an expensive corridor. Plush carpet, art on the well painted walls. What was I thinking? I was in a corridor, naked. The post it note on the door frame swam into focus. 323 was all it said. I thought it could be her writing but there was so little of it and I'd only glanced at her writing on checks when it was her turn to pay.

Still, couldn't stay there. Someone was bound to come out of one of those doors at some point. So it was 323 or down the stairs again to reclaim the keys to my cars...

The door was close by as it happened. Inhaling slowly, and exhaling, and trying to dry my palms on my damp hips...and knocking. The response was instantaneous. Then I was exhaling with relief, and I think probably smiling foolishly, as she winked and stepped aside for me to enter.

Removing a martini glass from the tray on the ornate stand, she handed it to me. "I'd take your coat, but..." she chuckled.

I chuckled too. Sipped the martini. "This is good."

"Thank you." She took the second glass, clinked mine and looked straight into my eyes. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

"I think it's important to establish compatibility or lack of asap, don't you? I mean, at our age."

I nodded, sipping. It was a good martini. She told me how many IOUs she made it. I agreed. I also thanked her for not keeping me waiting on the doorstep. Which was when she turned and gestured to the small monitor mounted above the door.

My stomach dropped the full three storeys, even as my erection clamped to my lower belly. I was looking at the stairway I had just climbed. She was explaining, "One, it's an adult condo so we see all sorts believe me and two, there are three staircases and two elevators," she was using a remote to flick around a whole series of cams, "so although you can pick this feed up on any monitor or tv in the building that's set up properly the odds are no one even noticed at this time of night. Most of the good stuff happens later..."

Any relief I felt was tempered by the comment 'odds are'. In other words we'd never know. But she was on me now, literally, free hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently, as she'd done on the tees back on the course, but this time with her eyes fixed on mine, "Anyway, spilt milk and all that and I bet these are sore now?"

"A little, yes." I swallowed. And swallowed again, when her thumb seemed to sear the hollow in the engorged tip...and again, when her eyes twinkled over the thumb as she sucked it gently, savouring the precum.

"Good." Finally, as she removed the thumb from her mouth and took the glass from my hand, "IOU number one. Kneel right here...knees well apart...and masturbate for me. Did I mention I love it when men masturbate for me to watch?"

I sunk to my knees on the pricey Italian tile of the entrance hall...only to have her direct me to turn around. There was a full length mirror on the ornate door...and as I settled, knees on the hard tiles, well apart, and began to stroke my quivering erection I was able to look up in the mirror and watch her watching me. She had her head cocked slightly and despite her outward nonchalance her focus on my reflection in the mirror was nothing short of intense.

What was she watching for?...looking for?

Compatibility. That word began to rattle inside my head. She was very precise in where she stood, sipping her martini. She clearly knew the angles to get the best view of my hand working my cock. So how many other compatibility-tests had been conducted using this mirror?...and what was the criteria for compatible? -- or not compatible?!

Was there another compatible male around even now? More than one? I was right on the cusp, that fast and she was right behind me now, free hand gripping the top of my head, saying, "don't look away from my eyes..."

Which is when I came. Hard. So hard that even though I didn't take my eyes away I still couldn't see her, couldn't see anything...or feel anything...or hear anything...except, of course, the god almighty tectonic rush that is male orgasm...

In this instance, an orgasm, which, once my senses did clear somewhat, I could see had spurted cum clear across the three or so feet of tile and onto the base of the mirror. She gripped my hair again, and lifted my eyes to meet her wry grin. "No rush...just when you're up to it you'll find a bucket, mop and rags in that closet to your left. "

Still quivering, and trembling, with that falling-post-coital sensation not yet resolved, I murmured, "So you've done this sort of thing before then?"

"No offence, hun," she leant forward and bussed me on the forehead, "but the men in my life haven't been exactly reliable in any sense of the word and I'm no longer prone to buy a ticket if you follow my drift. My girlfriends have a range of nicknames for this place...the lair is a good one, I must admit, but my favourite is the gauntlet..." Chuckling, she strode away, sipping her martini...