This is a series of stories that are a sort of sequel to two text-adventure games. Each installment is a complete story on its own, but for a full understanding, the reader may want to start with Chapter 1.
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Charlie left me by the clubhouse after our lesson on the driving range. The caddy carried off our bags to storage, and I took a moment to enjoy the view as Charlie walked away. She had on a shorter than normal skirt, in white, and it had some pleats to give it a flounce. I had found no way to repeat the insane encounter we had had in a rain shelter during a raging storm a while back, but I didn't think it was because she was actively avoiding it. The opportunity just had not come up. Regardless, wow did she have amazing legs, and I wondered if she was now wearing these shorter skirts on our lesson days just for me.
I grabbed a quick lunch and took the time to talk to a few of the members at Winding Hills where my boss had provided me guest privileges while I learned the game. I had begun to realize that I was catching the bug for golf, despite my determination not to get drawn into this giant time suck. And I was catching it not just because it meant an hour a week at least with Charlie and her tight, athletic body. It really was a good game, goddamn it.
The problem was there wasn't a single private club on my side of the city, just one truly shitty public course where even the driving range was somehow lame. I was amazed at how many of the members at Winding Hills were from the west side like me, including my boss Cathy.
I looked around and for the first time truly realized how much money was being left on the table because of the lack of a good private golf operation near me. I might be selling custom fabricated materials, and doing very well at it, but my college degree was in leisure management after all. Wheels suddenly were turning and I was seeing all sorts of angles.
I resolved to give some thought to what building and developing a club would take.
I had taken to leaving work early on Wednesdays when I did not have a dinner with clients. It is the sort of thing you can get away with at a good company when you work so many hours otherwise and your numbers are as good as mine.
I was lounging on my couch, reading a book on construction costs and making some notes, when my doorbell rang. I looked up and saw Samantha, my nearly middle-aged neighbor from a few streets over, waving thru the window beside my door. I smiled, though I was little irritated to be interrupted. The ideas were flowing.
I rose and answered the door. Samantha looked over her shoulder before slipping inside swiftly. She placed a quick peck on my cheek as the door closed. Her lithe, still shapely body brushed against me as she did so. I idly realized that Sam was an ideal person to refer to Courtney, my personal trainer.
"I was free for a bit, and realized we hadn't chatted in a while," Samantha said as she bustled into my house.
Chat? Yeah, that was what we did... for certain values of "chat". She had introduced herself shortly after I moved in, and in a series of conversational accidents, I had become her informal therapist. By that I mean, I was always very impressed by whatever she told me about what her child did, and very sympathetic about what, and who, her cheating trash husband was doing. She 'paid' me in kind for this therapy with some fairly impressive sex.
It was an occasional relationship, but we both got what we wanted out of it.
That Wednesday, the chat was centered on her boy, but surprisingly brief before she was crawling over me on the couch. I realized that for once, Samantha wasn't visiting me because she was feeling insecure, but because she was just simply horny.
Very horny, apparently. In no time, my fly had been undone, my pants removed, and she was giving me her usual enthusiastic and pretty damned skilled best at oral right there on my great room couch. Samantha knew how to employ fingers, palms, lips, and tongue to comprehensively stimulate every single nerve ending in my junk. She had settled down to a gentle rhythm of soft strokes along my shaft combined with almost idle kissing and licking of my glans that had me groaning quietly with pleasure but not rising to climax. Today, Samantha seemed intent on making this blowjob a marathon, not a sprint.
I relaxed back on the couch, wondering what village I had saved from marauders in a previous life to deserve my current existence. I though it odd that I had another married neighbor, Linda, who rather than suffering with an outright cheating husband, instead enjoyed an almost completely open marriage, and she seemed thoroughly happy. Maybe I'd suggest the arrangement to Samantha. Her marriage sucked so much, it couldn't hurt.
Suddenly my front door slammed shut. I had been so occupied, I hadn't heard it open. Another Neighbor With Benefits was standing across from us in the middle of my living room, glaring at Samantha. "What the fuck?" she growled.
"Not yet, but that was the plan! What are you doing here, Blanche?" Samantha was glaring right back, having yanked her mouth off my member, thankfully not dragging her teeth across it as she did so.
I made a panicked noise and grabbed a pillow to cover my still very erect penis. Both women looked at me briefly, though neither of their ires seemed aimed at me. I had certainly made it clear to each that I had a lot more women in my life than them. Amazingly, they seemed to have internalized that. "You, uh, you know each other?" I asked, very confused. Their smiles disappeared as they looked back at each other
"This woman," declared Blanche, pointing an accusing finger at Samantha, "is one of the bitches that slept with my husband before I divorced him!"
"Wait," I tried to process that. "You, Samantha, slept with Blanche's husband?"
"Wait," shot back Blanche, irritated with me for the first time. "Are you saying that you'd have expected ME to sleep with HER husband, but not the other way around?" I smiled back weakly and shrugged.
"It was a reasonable question Blanche. After all you're the only one of us with a Reputation," hissed Samantha.
"Are you jealous of how I earned my reputation, or jealous that I'm divorced and allowed to have one?"
