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I had always been interested in golf. I got an early start when my dad took me out to a par 3 course close to home. I couldn’t hit the ball very far, but I was hooked. What a wicked game. You try and try to do what you’re supposed to and you hardly ever manage, but when that one miracle shows up and you hit the ball exactly like you wanted to, it’s addicting. I couldn’t get away from it if I tried. There’s an old joke about the guy who got so mad at his play on the course that he threw his golf clubs into a lake…and nearly drowned trying to get them back. That’s exactly how it is.

I played as often as I could, but the rounds took a long time. Even though I wasn’t very good, I walked fast and missed fast. Five and six hour rounds were not fun. Mostly, I was just standing around, watching other people screw up. I had better things to do. But I loved the game so much that I was willing to put up with the delays. Until I joined a country club.

Callas Golf Club was close to where I lived, so it was convenient. The membership was pretty low, so there was no problem getting on the course. And I had enough money that the initiation fee wasn’t a problem and the monthly dues were down in the noise. So I joined. This wasn’t the sort of club where you had to have someone sponsor you and you were interviewed to make sure you were “the right sort”; this was a club that needed the money and anyone with money could join. I guess that’s why they accepted me.

Most of the members were older guys, although there were some younger members, as well. The younger guys were funny, so full of themselves. They gambled a lot and paraded around like they were something special, all because they belonged to A Country Club. The older guys, like me, knew better and generally avoided the young punk kids. The kids paid the same fees, so we were grateful they were helping keep the club solvent, but a lot of times they were pains in the butt.

Since I owned my own business, I could come and go as I pleased, as long as I had staff that would take care of things while I was gone. That wasn’t always the case, but now I had some pretty good workers who were diligent and disciplined, so things didn’t fall apart too much while I was playing a round. I generally played early in the morning, though, just to make sure I was at the office by nine or so. Besides, if I played early, I got to play the back nine first when no one was out there; I could do the nine holes in a little over an hour, even though I was walking. Miss ’em fast; that’s my motto.

One morning, I was waiting for the chance to tee off when I noticed one of the women from the university who was on the golf team. I had never seen her before, although I knew the women’s golf team used Callas GC as their home course. Even though I was a complete stranger to her, she looked at me, smiled, and said hello.

“Hello,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “I’m just waiting for seven o’clock so I can tee off.”

“Me, too,” I said. Then I noticed she had a support strap on her ankle. “What happened to your ankle?” I asked.

“Oh, she said, “I hurt it playing basketball. I think it’s okay now, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Makes sense,” I said, “although you young kids heal a lot faster than I do. If I twisted my ankle, I’d probably be out a month.”

“Really?” she asked, not quite willing to believe the hyperbole.

“Yeah,” I said, “when you get older, lots of things take longer.”

“So I heard,” she said, with a slight smile.

“So what’s your handicap?” I asked.

“I’m a plus one right now,” she said, as if it were nothing.

I frowned. “Can I trade with you?” I asked, smiling at the absurdity of it all. “I’m a fourteen, although I have been playing even worse than that lately.”

“What seems to be the biggest problem?” she asked.

“Well, I have a number faults, but I think rhythm is my main problem. I have a tendency to swing too fast.”

She smiled and said “I thought things got slower as you got older.”

“Yeah, a lot of things,” I said, “but some things just get worse.”

“Well,” she said, “my coach says that one way to fix rhythm problems is to think of a song and swing at that tempo.”

“I’m guessing heavy metal won’t work,” I said with a smile.

She laughed and said, “No, I don’t think it would.”

I looked at her and said, “You don’t know what heavy metal is, do you?”

She laughed and gave me an “of course not” no. “It’s probably pretty fast, right?” she said.

“Frenetic is a better description,” I smiled. I suspected heavy metal was gone before she was born.

“What got you into golf?” I asked.

“I was going to play basketball in college, but figured most schools wouldn’t have any use for a 5’5″ power forward,” she said.

I laughed and said “Yeah, I’m guessing you wouldn’t see a lot of playing time.”

She smiled. “It seemed like a dead end, so I decided to try golf. My dad plays, so he gave me some lessons and I really liked it. It’s nice to be out with all the grass and the trees on a day like this.”

“Hmm,” I said, güvenilir bahis “I spend entirely too much of my round in the trees.”

She smiled at that, certain it was true. Callas GC was a narrow course, lined with trees, and most of the lesser players were forever hitting from the shade. I certainly spent more than my share of time under the branches.

We got to chatting about this and that. She was a very engaging person, with beautiful black hair and flawless skin that was the color of maple syrup. I’m guessing she was an Island girl. I saw her name on her golf bag but wasn’t sure how to pronounce it.

“How do you say your name?” I asked, pointing at the bag.

“Sha-rye-ah,” she said.

“Pretty name, Sharia. I’m John. Pleased to meet you.” I held out my hand and she shook it with more force than a woman generally uses, but still feminine.

“It’s seven o’clock,” she said, “Want to join me? I can critique your swing, if you like.”

She was tying her hair back into a ponytail, stretching her torso in a way that made her breasts stick out. I tried not to be too obvious in looking, but I suspected she caught me anyway.

“I’d be delighted to play with you,” I said, “but don’t look at my swing. It’ll scar you for life.”

She laughed and said, “I’m tougher than I look.”

I didn’t doubt it.

We set off to play the back nine first, since it would be open and there wouldn’t be any delays.

“How fast do you play?” she asked.

“If no one is in my way, I can play eighteen in a little over two hours.”

“Walking?” she said, a little doubtful.

“Yep,” I said. “I don’t like carts, so I always walk. When I walk up to my ball, I’m looking at possible options for the next shot. It’s hard to do that with a cart. If I had my way, no golf course would have cart paths or carts at all. It ruins the game. Of course, cart rentals mean money and it’s all about money. Oh, well.”

“I have to agree,” she said, ” but then, I’m not a geezer.”

I smiled. “No, you are definitely not a geezer.”

We teed off on the tenth. She teed up from where I normally hit and got into position. She wiggled a bit to relax herself, but seeing her ass sway back and forth did nothing to relax me. Young women certainly have a lot going for them. Her body was trim, as you would expect for a golfer, and she was flexible beyond belief. She took a smooth swing and split the fairway with a rocket that sailed past anything I could reach.

As I expected, she blasted her drive down the middle of the fairway. As I feared, my shot went off to the trees. We walked to our shots and chatted a bit.

“How’s school going so far?” I asked.

“Pretty well,” she said, “but the class work can be a bit overwhelming. I barely have time for fun.”

“That’s a shame,” I said, “college should be one of the best times of your life. There’s a bunch of stuff to do. When I went to school, I was commuting and missed out on a lot of it, mostly because I didn’t live near the school and had to get to work after classes. A missed opportunity, for sure.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know there’s a lot going on, but I just don’t have time for it. Sometimes my friends will tell me what a great party they went to or something like that and I get jealous, but they’re taking easier courses and have time to goof off.”

“What’s your major?” I asked.

“Chemistry,” she said.

“Really?” I said, more than a bit surprised. “That can be a handful.”

“Yeah, that’s what I found out,” she said. “It seems I barely have time for sleep.”

“Still,” I reminded her, “you’ll have a job waiting for you when you graduate. I’m not sure that’ll be true for your friends.”

“Yeah,” she said, “there is that. Jobs are drying up, mostly, but it seems the sciences are still doing well. Maybe I’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure of it,” I said.

Her second shot was a beautiful as her first, reaching the green and stopping about ten feet from the flag. My third shot eventually got to the green. I missed my putt by a lot and she made hers. Figures.

As we stood on the next tee, I said, “You know, it’s important to have balance in your life. You don’t want to miss experiences that might not repeat later on. You don’t want to go wild, but it’s good not to miss out.”

“I try not to,” she said, “but it’s hard to find time for everything. I try to prioritize, but when I do that, the fun things get left off the list. I hardly ever get to go out.”

“Hmm,” I said, “you need to fix that.”

“Yeah,” she said, “that’s what my boyfriend says. He’s probably right.”

She beat me again on the next hole, but only by a shot. I was feeling confident my game was turning around. It wasn’t, of course, but I had let unjustified optimism take over. As we walked to the twelfth tee, the highest point on the course, we both looked out over the course and the city beyond. It was a beautiful day, with high, puffy clouds and clear air that let us see for miles.

“I hear this hole is pretty famous,” she said.

“Really?” I responded. “What’s it famous for, the view?”

“Not exactly,” she türkçe bahis smiled. “From what I hear, the area behind the restrooms gets some visitors from time to time.” I suspected I knew what she meant, but I didn’t say anything.

“A couple of my friends have been there,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?” I asked.

“Getting acquainted with the members,” she said.

“Ah,” I said, “I had no idea. I guess there’s a lot that goes on here that I don’t know about.”

She smiled. “Probably just as well.”

We finished the back nine pretty quickly, especially since Sharia was playing well. I think she was two under for the nine, the tougher side of the course. I did horribly, but she encouraged me as much as she could. We got a chance to talk about a lot of things and I found out quite a bit about her. Her younger years were not all that great, since her father died when she was little and her mother was too busy working to have much time for her kids. Her older sister and brother raised her and she’s very close to them. I told her she’s very lucky to have that bond, since most siblings are always fighting and at odds; she agreed that that part of her life worked out. She knew the school work would eventually ease up, but right now it was very tough for her and put a strain on her relationship with her boyfriend. He is a bit demanding, apparently, and she’s torn between satisfying him and doing her work. It’s very important to her and her mother that she does well in school; they have been poor for so long that a good education is more important than anything else. I told her she was absolutely right; if her boyfriend didn’t understand that, maybe she needed to make a trade. She smiled at that, although it was a sad smile.

After the last putt on eighteen, I told her I had to head to the office. She said she had to get to school but really enjoyed playing with me.

“I hope I’ll run into you again,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “You were very good company and a good listener. Thanks.” She smiled at me as she waved goodbye.


Sure enough, the next Thursday, there she was.

“Waiting for me?” I asked.

She smiled and said, “Of course. I thought you’d never get here.”

I smiled and said, “Well, I’m ready. How about you? Shall we be off?”

“The back nine?” she asked. I nodded and we walked down to the tenth tee.

She seemed pretty quiet as she walked.

“What’s wrong, Sharia?” I asked. “You seem a bit down today.”

She looked at me and said, “My boyfriend broke up with me last night. I’m still upset about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must hurt.”

“It does,” she said. “He said some mean things which I’m still thinking about.”

“What, mean things about you?” I asked. “I can’t imagine what he would have to say. You’re a great girl. Anyone would be lucky to have you. What did the idiot have to say?”

She gave a short laugh, then frowned. “He said,” she started, “that I didn’t…do what he wanted.”

“Hmm,” I said, “he was upset you didn’t have more time for him? That’s not very supportive of him.”

“No,” she said, “not exactly that.” She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t push, although I could guess.

Her tee shot was pretty good and mine was, too, although I was a good thirty yards behind her. We walked up to our balls and she hit a nice second shot in response to my horrible one. I reached the green in three, but was still putting first. I saved bogey while she made birdie. She didn’t seem happy about it, though.

On the eleventh hole, her tee shot missed the fairway to the right, uncharacteristic for her. I looked at her, trying to see if she was upset, but she hid her face. I had a pretty good tee shot, which was uncharacteristic for me, and she mentioned it was a nice swing. I thanked her for the compliment and we walked out to our shots. She left her approach shot well short, which surprised me. I hit the green, an even greater surprise. She chipped up rather poorly and we both two putted to finish the hole.

As we walked to the twelfth tee, she asked how long I had been a member. “About ten years,” I said. “I haven’t used the club much until recently, though. I spent a lot of time getting my business going. Now it more or less runs itself, so I have more time for important stuff, like golf.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I have the same problem, except with school work. And it doesn’t seem to be running itself. I wish I had more time to play, but I’m pretty busy.”

I hesitated. “What are you going to do about your boyfriend?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s not happy with me and said we’re through, so I guess I have to find a new one. That’s not going to be easy; most of the boys won’t talk to me.” She looked pretty sad.

“I don’t think you’ll have much problem there,” I said. “You are very pretty and confident. There have to be dozens of boys waiting to take you out to dinner or a movie.”

“Not that I’ve noticed,” she said.

“Ah, wait,” I nodded, “I know what the problem is. You are too pretty.”

“Yeah, güvenilir bahis siteleri right,” she replied.

“No,” I insisted, “I’m serious. Someone who looks like you is too pretty to approach. Most boys won’t even talk to you, you’re so gorgeous. You’re quite intimidating.”

She gave a little smile to that. “You don’t seem to have a problem talking to me,” she said.

“I have the advantage of being older and have had time to learn a few things. Over the years, I’ve developed a ‘don’t care’ attitude that masquerades as confidence.”

She looked up at me and said, “You don’t care about me?”

“Actually, I do,” I said. “You seem like a very nice girl and I’m concerned about you. In my younger days, I would have fallen head over heels in love with you. But I have to tell you, when I was your age, I got so nervous talking to a pretty girl, all I could do was grunt. Of course, I never had to deal with someone as pretty as you.” Her blush was very attractive. “What you need to do,” I said, “is start the conversation. Help him a bit. He’s going to be tongue tied for a while, but he’ll loosen up once he gets talking. Find something he likes to talk about, maybe ask about classes, his major, any trips he’s taken, hobbies, that kind of stuff. Ask him what schools he applied to and why he chose your school. Once you get him talking, it’ll get easier and you won’t have to bear the load all yourself. You’ll be amazed at what you’ll find out about him and who he turns out to be. One thing to avoid, though, are the slick talkers. They’re self-centered and won’t be good long term prospects.”

“Yeah,” she said. “that was the problem with my boyfriend. I think I went out with him because he was the only one who would talk to me. He was definitely smooth.”

On the twelfth tee, we looked over the course. It was another beautiful day and we could see everything. It was glorious. I commented on how beautiful it was. She agreed.

Then she looked down at the ground and said, “Is it true what they say about older men?” She gave a sideways glance.

“I’m sure it is,” I smiled. “What do they say?”

“Well,” she hesitated, “one of my girlfriends says older men know more about women and they…take longer. Is it true?”

“I can’t speak for anyone but myself,” I started, “but, yeah, I’ve learned a few things over the years.”

She stared at me with a slightly nervous look and said, “Can you show me?”

“Here?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Well,” she said, “the restrooms are right over there and there’s a spot behind them that’s pretty…private.”

To say my heart was racing would be an understatement. I suddenly felt like a high school kid groping my girl at the drive-in. “Are you sure?” I asked. She nodded a quick nod and took my hand. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous afraid or nervous excited. My choices were to follow her or regret not doing so for the rest of my life. And regret sucks.

The area behind the restrooms was small, but big enough. There was ivy growing on the tall chain link fence there and the restrooms hid us from the rest of the course. She pulled me closer and looked into my eyes. I knew that look, so I kissed her. She kissed me back with obvious desire. My cock started to respond, especially when she rubbed it through my shorts. I nibbled on her lips and played with her breast; she responded with a moan that made it clear I wasn’t mistaken about her intentions. I kissed her neck, then nibbled on her ear. I pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss that was returned with eagerness. I couldn’t believe this beautiful young girl wanted me, but it was hard to argue with the evidence.

“We don’t have much time, you know,” I said. “This can only be sex.”

“I’m okay with that,” she said with a smile.

“Okay, then,” I said, “turn around and hold onto that fence. Bend over.”

She turned, a little timidly, but she turned just the same. She leaned into the fence and held on. I lifted the skirt she wore, the one that showed her marvelous legs. She had shorts on, which I pulled down to her feet. She stepped out of them. Then I reached up and rubbed her ass. What a great ass she had, tight and round. I told her to spread her legs a bit, then rubbed her sex. Her panties were already wet. I reached around from the back, pushing my hard cock against her ass, and put my hand inside her panties, feeling the patch of hair around her pussy. I rubbed her lips and got a moan for my troubles. I massaged her breast while I put a finger in her sex. She squirmed.

“We don’t have much time, remember?” she chastised.

“No, we don’t, but I don’t want to rush things too much. This is too good to do quickly.” She moaned again as I put my finger slightly into her pussy and wiggled it back and forth.

Then I pulled her panties down to the ground and let her step away from them. She stayed bent over, with her legs spread and her juices running down her leg. I rubbed her pussy some more and she shuddered. “Oh,” she said, “that feels so good.” By now, my cock was as hard as a rock. I dropped my shorts and rubbed my cock against her pussy. “Oh, God, that feels so good. Do it, put it in me.” I rubbed her pussy some more, then slowly put the head of my cock where it would do the most good. She shook with anticipation. “Push it in, please!” she cried. So I did.

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