When one goes to play golf in a resort area as a single player, or going solo, as it were, it is common practice for the course to match the solo player up with a twosome or threesome.
Such was the case when I made a weekend stopover in Hilton Head while coming back from a business trip in Atlanta. A friend had offered me the use of his house in Shipyard resort, so I drove the four-plus hours down Interstate 16, and arrived late Friday night.
Having no set plans but plenty of time, I slept in late and drove over to the Country Club of Hilton head just before noon and the friendly young man in the pro shop told me to see the marshall, who would set me up with a married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Adams, who were members and ready to tee off in the next fifteen minutes.
I was on the putting green, enjoying the crisp autumn weather, soaking in the sunshine and the ambience of the plush club, when I heard her voice behind me, a soft, slow, heart-melting southern drawl, like spilled molasses oozing down the branches of the indigenous and plentiful Spanish moss trees. "Hi, thay-uh, yew must be John."
I turned in response to the melodic greeting, and when I saw her, I literally dropped my putter, no pun intended, while another club rose instinctively within my crotch. She smiled a smile that would have lit up River Street in nearby Savannah. "Ah'm Kathie Adams, ah think ah'll be playin' with yew today."
I maintained enough composure to stammer through my own introduction and we made small talk on the putting green while waiting for her husband to join us. I couldn't wait to see the lucky bastard that had bagged this trophy wife. Kathy muttered disdainfully, while rolling her sparkling emerald eyes, "He's in the bar, where he usually is." Me, I wouldn't have let this doll out of my sight.
I immediately assessed that she was about forty-five years old (or about fifteen years older than me) and weighed about 110 lbs. She had shoulder length honey-blonde hair and was about 5' 4", with bright green eyes and sun-speckled freckles on her tiny nose. She had a tight firm body, adorned in a white golf shirt and a pair of tight beige shorts. Her tits looked to be about 34 D's, huge on that petite, toned body. They didn't look like those fake ones, all perfectly round and no sag. Hers were quite obviously 100% real. A perfect teardrop shape with large areolas and nipples that were already very hard. Her breasts had some heft to them, not sag really, just a natural heaviness that younger guys like me love on a mature woman.
I found out in our little conversation that she was an ardent runner, and worked out diligently, at least five times a week in the gym in their spacious house right on the causeway in the plantation, as they call each separate development in Hilton Head. From my vantage point I watched intently every time she bent to up a holed putt, and I could see that despite her sensational torso, her pert little ass was her best feature. It was high and tight from the running, a perfect heart shape, and her golf shorts rose high up her thighs, exposing just the bottom of her buttocks each time she picked up a ball.
Hubby, Paul was his name, finally emerged into the sunlight, and I was shocked at what I saw. He had to be at least fifteen to twenty years older than his wife, with a craggy, wrinkled face and silver hair, and I deduced that this was a marriage of financial convenience, a trade-off of Kathy's stunning looks and the arrogant old codgers' nest egg, which had to be substantial. Paul virtually ignored me from the outset, huffing his way through a perfunctory introduction on the first tee, and the first four holes were played in an almost awkward silence, as it was clear that he was about as thrilled to have me accompany them as I was to be in his miserable presence.
The only bright spot, and it was more than enough to offset his gruff behavior and incessant drinking (he kept a bottle of Chivas Regal on ice in a cooler in the back of their golf cart) was getting to watch Kathy in her various golfing positions; set-up, stance, follow-through, each one providing me a different and highly enjoyable angle of her torso twisted in different contortions. Naturally, my imagination ran wild, and Kathy was not unaware of my attention to her details.
On the fifth fairway, a tight, dogleg par-four, Paul snap-hooked his drive deep into the woods, and Kathy suggested that she jump in the cart with me while Paul searched for his ball, since her ball and my own were smack in the center of the fairway. "He'll be stone drunk by the eighteenth hole," she grumbled. "And passed out by dusk." Her delightfully sunny features clouded over only when she spoke of Paul. "Looks like ah'll be eating dinner by myself again, it gets old," she sighed forlornly.
Suddenly, she propped her tanned legs up on the inside dash of the golf cart, deliberately providing me with an unfettered, eagle-eye view. The rising bulge in my trousers did not escape her attention either, and we each glanced down at the others' nether regions unabashedly.
A wicked gleam came across her impeccable face. "Ah have an idea," she said, climbing out of the cart. "Ah'll share it with yew at the halfway house, Paul will no doubt have to go in and get a refresher or three." My eyes were riveted on her succulent ass as she walked across the lush grass, swinging her hips way more than she needed to, putting on a welcome show for me, while Paul thrashed his way out of the forest, taking four strokes to do so, which is about how many strokes I felt I required right about now, but of a far different kind.
Sure enough, after the front nine, Paul disappeared into the clubhouse. Kathy also excused herself momentarily and winked at me and told me to meet her on the tenth tee. I sat in the cart, letting two groups play through, until Kathy reappeared, looking less than pleased, driving up in their cart by herself. Well, massively pissed off is more like it.
"Ah have to apologize, John. Paul no longer wants to continue today. Seems he'd rather drink the afternoon away than enjoy Mother Nature." Her countenance brightened as she saw my sincere disappointment. She reached into her golf bag and extracted a small box and extended it to me. "But ah brought you a gift for being such a nice, young gentleman. Please open it."
I fondled the box, disillusioned that my time with Kathy was drawing to a premature close. "Thank you, Kathy, that's not necessary, but so very sweet of you."
Kathy's flaming eyes blazed into my own. "Ah meant open it now, John." The look in her eyes was not duplicitous, so I followed instructions and peeled off the lid of the small box.
I gasped audibly as I saw the gift. It was a neatly folded pair of brown thong panties with a discernible wet spot right on the crotch of the silky fabric. When I looked up, she had turned sideways on the cart and head spread her legs just enough for me to look up the slight gap between her shorts and her skin, and I detected that she was now sans panties. I was looking right into a narrow tunnel that led to a beautiful, hairless, exposed pussy.
The cute, polite, southern-belle persona had vanished, gone with the wind, replaced by an aggressive, pantiless, mature and needy siren.
"Ah was finger-fucking mahself in the ladies room. Yew've been driving me cra-zee all fuckin' day, and I can't walk around in those," she drawled huskily. "Read the note, and if ya'll can follow directions, yew are in for a fun evenin', sugah."
She winked at me as she drove away, and the lingering smell of her sex hit me from two directions, her departing golf cart, and the thong in the box. I unraveled the note, scrawled on the back of a scorecard.
It read: "Thought you might need a new head cover to keep me in your thoughts for the back nine. I've reserved an outdoor table for two for us at the Quarterdeck in Harbour Town at seven-thirty. We can give each other some lessons in night sports."
My hard-on and I arrived at seven-twenty-nine, which technically meant it really should have been a table for three, and I followed the comely hostess to the corner table facing Calibogue Sound. Kathy showed up five minutes later in a sheer, lavender floral chiffon sundress that was transparent in the setting sun, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding if she was donned in any undergarments. Only a small triangular patch of lemon fabric was visible beneath the dress, clinging tightly to her slit, the g-string pushed up her asscheeks.
She kissed me demurely on the lips, but the lustful twinkle in her green-yellow eyes served as a promise of nocturnal delights to come. We sipped a delicious Washington State chardonnay and fed each other finger foods as we held hands and watched the setting sun like old, comfortable lovers. We shared tales about our lives, and I discovered that she had stayed with her husband only for appearances sake for her kids, twin girls who were in high school, but studying abroad this semester.
Normally, that would bother me, and on some level perhaps even repel me enough to not get entangled with a married woman, but somehow, with Kathy, it just seemed different. True, the allure of inevitable sex was quite convincing and persuasive an argument itself, but I'd met her husband and had seen first-hand his boorishness, and I surmised that Kathy was determined not to let him suck the life out of her needs, too. Does that sound feasible?
No? Ah, OK, let's face it, I just wanted to shag her. She was red fucking hot. During the dinner, perhaps as the wine was having its effect on her, Kathy went out of character and answered this way, blushing but yet proud of her femininity, when I asked her is she realized how truly beautiful she was. "Well, when ah go to the store in tight shorts ah do get lots of looks. If ah wear a t-shirt with no bra and my jugs are undulating, ah can stop traffic."
She stopped and smiled a shy smile. "And tonight, you get to fuck me."
Check, please!
She followed me in her Lexus to my borrowed place in Shipyard. When we reached the doorway, we kissed with intent for the first time. That first, sweet , soft exploratory kiss is always the precursor of the sexual dynamic to come, and ours was electrifying, scintillating. It was obvious to me that I held a carnal keg of dynamite in my arms. Her thin, soft lips parted in response to mine, and a long, hot, pink tongue snaked hungrily into my mouth. "Oh, God, it's been so long, please, John, take me, take me now," she pleaded.
She pulled the dress over her arms and head, displaying the sensational, mature body on which I would eagerly feast tonight. I picked her up and carried her from the foyer to the master bedroom, and placed her tenderly on the fluffy mattress, and scurried out of my own clothes. "Oh my God, look at that cock. It's huge, it's...oh, my......take me," she repeated. I never felt more like a stud.
