A Play for the Caddies  - in text file

Be well
A Play for the Caddies
by Titslave

      Each spring I get very excited about dusting off the
clubs and getting out on the golf course.  I have played
since I was nine.  It has become a source of business for me
also.  Before Beth and I got married a year ago (when we
both hit our thirty-fifth year) I let her know about my
passion for the game and my big frustration was that she was
reluctant to take it up. At our wedding I joked that I
almost didn't propose to her because she didn't play golf.
When we were engaged I had already joined a local country
club and by the time we tied the knot I had settled into a
Saturday morning tee time of 7:30.  My buddies and I got in
eighteen holes and I was home by 11:30 at the latest.  Then
I started to get in another eighteen on Sundays.  Beth
increasingly began making sarcastic comments about being a
"golf widow" and shaking my hand vigorously when I returned
home, saying: "Hello, let me introduce myself.  I'm Beth,
you're wife."

      I risked stronger language from her last month, to the
day. I had lost a tee time with my usual partners and
instead walked on to golf with whomever needed a fourth. The
starter put me with three college women and we wound up at
the club bar.  One of them, Paula, was built like a brick
shithouse and after a couple of Martinis she and I walked to
the parking lot and did some rather heavy kissy face and
groping at the side of her car.  I can't help myself when
I'm around chesty women and when she flirted with me on the
fairway one thing just led to another.   Unfortunately this
cuddling happened when one of Beth's friends, Lana, was just
arriving for her usual foursome.  It was a stupid thing that
I did, and to head off Lana's sure disclosure I told Beth
about my dalliance as soon as I got home.  "Please forgive
me," I pleaded, "all we did was kiss. She is nothing to me,
just some college twirp."  Beth seemed very understanding,
saying: "Well I can understand your fondness for coll ids.
They're are so smooth and ripe."  She smiled and the tone of
her voice relieved me - I was anticipating rage.  "Look, you
aren't contemplating revenge are you?" I asked, smiling.
"Oh, no, honey," she said.  She acted almost cheerful for
the rest of the day, with an occasional zinger about my
transgression, and then she seemed to be over it.  The next
day everything was back to normal.

      I was very relieved also because, frankly, Beth has a
feisty, combative side to her that surfaced after we got to
know each other.  Usually very mellow, she can really get
into it anywhere - with neighbors, at the supermarket, and
in our home with guests that piss her off.  It wasn't a big
deal for me, but honestly it could be intimidating.  Her
background was in a rough neighborhood in LA and underneath
her congenial, almost refined exterior there was someone
ready to strike back hard if she got crossed.  I had seen
her in action and she could really make 'em pay.  Perhaps
this side to her attracted me in the first place.  That and
her almost uncanny figure.  That body of hers was a
conspicuous part of my daily life.  Quite well endowed. 

      Two weeks ago, on a warm, bright Saturday afternoon, I
was at the club's driving range, working with my three wood.
Since my car was in the shop, my angel of a bride had
dropped me off ninety minutes ago and was going to pick me
up soon. One of the club's senior caddies, a handsome, well
built blonde, college guy named Rick, was at the practice
tee to my right, chatting with another caddie,  Mike, while
swinging a five iron.  Mike had switched from defensive
lineman in high school to golf and it got him a scholarship
to the state university.  They could drive the ball further
than anyone at the club. I had told Beth, who was dressed in
a sweatshirt and old jeans when she dropped me off, that a
thirty-something guy like me needed help from two nineteen
year old jocks.  When I pointed them out she said: "Well,
aren't they though," an appreciative tone to her voice.
"Aren't they what?" I asked.  She just kept looking at them
and her tongue began to lick her upper lip.  "Love those ege
kids," she grinned.  I took this as a little more teasing
for my stunt with Paula.   It was a little chilling to hear
her mellow voice be used for payback, but I figured if that
was the worst that would come out of my dalliance, I was
doing all right.

      I had another reason for being near Rick and Mike on
the practice tees - I wanted my wife to learn golf in the
worst way.  I had no patience to teach it.  We could enjoy
Saturday mornings together and the tension between us over
my devotion to the game could be dispelled - and she could
be a business-getter for me.  So the fact that she seemed to
like these two baby-faced instructors could facilitate her
taking lessons with them.  I had to get her interested,
methodically, and get them interested in teaching her.  They
tended to give lessons only to people their age, or little
kids, so I wanted to make them enthused about teaching my
bride.  There were women executives, avid golfers, at the
club, and I saw Beth as a way to turn these women into
business accounts.  And frankly I saw golf as a marvelous
way for Beth and I to share our love for each other.

      Rick and Mike were often kidded around the club for
their amateurish admiration of the opposite sex. But members
overlooked the fact that these two young men were scratch
golfers and patient, courteous caddies who gave lessons.
They worked wonders with people.  So two weeks ago Saturday
at the driving range, when Rick noticed me next to him, I
struck up a conversation.  Then I dropped a hint: "Wish I
could get the wife out here."   He said: "That's right Mr.
Cooper, why don't you bring her out golfing? Does she golf?
I have never met her."  I now saw my chance to get her
hooked up with these guys.    "I only wish I could,"  I
said,  "but she just refuses to take up the world's greatest
sport."  "Too slow for her?" Rick said.  "No, actually she
thinks it's awesome."  Rick persisted, "so get her out here.
She has no excuse.  It's a great way for newlyweds to do
something together."  "I have tried," I said, Rick and I now
standing and talking.  "Well, what's the problem?" he laugh


      I felt comfortable with him and Mike and, to interest
them in tutoring my wife I said, in a low voice, "it's her
chest.  She's kind of large up there and she is convinced
she could never swing a club."  I theatrically held my hands
out toward him and slowly stretched each hand apart to the
furthest point possible and placed them in front of my ribs.
Rick's wide eyes gazed at my gesture, and then with eyebrows
frozen high on his brow he said: "Oh,"  then cleared his
throat, as did Mike.  Rick continued, slowly, "that's... not
a..... problem.  Well......, when you say 'kind of large'
you mean really big, right?"  His tone was calculating, that
of the teacher pondering a problem student.  "Very," I said,
"...she tried to swing an iron once and said, 'well, I guess
this game ain't for me'".   Rick thought for a second and
said, as if this were no big deal: "Mr. Cooper, just how big
IS her chest?"  His tone was that of one confronted with an
obstacle to surmount.  I was feeling like I was tantalizing
these youngsters.  Seeing their passions stirred, and
deciding to tease them a little more, I said braggingly:
"her cups completely run over. She's totally stacked.  They
stick out to here."  Now I took my stretched to the max
hands and moved them forward from my body, pushing toward
him.

      These young men looked at each other and Rick said
very seriously "I see", and then there was what I swore was
a wink to each other and a smile.  So just as soon as I had
said this, I had a subtle, but apprehensive sensation that I
had perhaps crossed some kind of line. I had anxiety about
discussing my wife's anatomy with what were essentially two
adolescents.   And I knew them only slightly.  So I put my
hands down and laughed, in a manner aimed at erasing what I
had just done, "whatever. It would be nice to get her to
learn golf, and I have no patience to do it."  I turned to
resume hitting balls and Rick stood there for a moment, then
picked up his iron and hit a few of his as well.  My anxiety
abated and I sensed I had their attention.

      About ten minutes later Mike, while Rick was standing
at his golf bag switching to a higher iron, said softly, for
Rick's benefit only: "Well, well. Speaking of completely
stacked, check this out."  I was concentrating on some
problems I was having with hooking the ball and didn't
really pick up on their chatting. But I think I heard Rick
say: "Holy shit. You can see 'em from here, and they're
jiggling this way."  Mike laughed: "Christ, would I love to
play with those for an afternoon."  "I saw her first, dude,"
Rick said. Mike sneered, "you did not, asshole."  

      This banter stopped when I heard Beth's voice call to
me. "Honey, you done?"  She walked up the path behind the
practice tees and I gave her a kiss as she came to where I
was standing.  A natural green-eyed, auburn beauty with
heavy eyebrows, she had gone to the hairdresser and gotten a
wonderfully sexy perm and a manicure.  And for some reason
she had apparently run home and changed into a knit tank top
and a silk skirt.   "How do I look?" she smiled, all teeth,
dimples and freckles. "Great," I said, surprised at the
costume change since she had dropped me off.  "You changed
your clothes....."   Her tank top was tight on her and her
extra large breasts, far more than handfuls, were traffic
stoppers.  

      She said, louder than necessary: "I was getting hot in
the jeans and sweatshirt.  I needed to cool off my chest."
She looked out at the range and the ball-mobile driving
around it, sucking up golf balls.  The beaming rays of the
afternoon were making her sweat.  How breathtaking her body
looked.  She turned back toward me and the boys behind me,
and again in a voice that was louder than normal.  "This is
the kind of day to go braless.  You men are lucky - you
don't have to wear 'em."  She glanced quickly in Rick and
Mike's direction a few times as we chatted.   I twisted a
little inside, sensitive to the conversation I had just had
with Rick and Mike, and realizing, just then, that their
lewd comments were directed at my wife as she was walking
from the parking lot.

      "You must be Mrs. Cooper," Rick said, extending his
hand to her.  She grinned and said, "Hi! Indeed I am."  Mike
introduced himself and Rick said: "Tim here was just telling
us that you would like to play golf but you just can't."
She cocked her head and looked at me through the corner of
her eye.  I said: "Rick was wondering why you and I don't
golf together."  Rick wore a serious, encouraging expression
and said: "Ma'am, it's a great game.  Why don't you sign up
for lessons here? You and your husband can enjoy those
Saturday mornings as a couple."  "I'll take a pass," she
said.  Despite my confidential explanation ten minutes ago,
he said: "Oh, Mrs. Cooper, it's so much fun.  Are you
self-conscious?  Afraid you'll look foolish? But you could
never look foolish. You're too pretty."   She smiled, "nope.
And thank you for the flattery."  Mike jumped in: "Maybe
it's because you think the game is too slow?"  "Uh uh," she
said.  She was looking them over, I noticed.  I had always
fe was healthy for your spouse to look at and appreciate
good looking members of the opposite sex.  Beth was built
for non-stop male attention and told me she found it
exciting.  There was no harm in it, especially when they
were half her age.

      But this quizzing from the two young employees of the
club was getting a little old.  Rick took the subject a step
further. "Well, Tim told us why you don't golf."
Instinctively sensing a weird situation opening up that I
needed to control, I immediately jumped in with "I told him
it wasn't your cup of tea."  She looked at me, her mouth
open, then looked at Rick and Mike.  Rick said: "No, the
problem isn't your cup - your husband said it's your cups.
Your cups runneth over. He demonstrated like this...."  Then
he mimicked what I had done with my hands a few moments ago.
"Tim!" she smiled, "what did you say to them?"  I half
expected, with her temper, that she was going to brain this
kid. 

      I stumbled:  "I told them that you, uh,  didn't feel
comfortable swinging a club ---- " I hesitated, and
unfortunately Rick cut me off, "because you're real big in
the chest!"  Then Mike said, his eyes looking down at her
bosom: "And you definitely are that."  She rubbed one index
finger against the other in my face and said: "I don't
believe you told these guys ------."  Rick said: "Mrs.
Cooper, it's not difficult to golf when you're really built.
Several women here are - uh - busty and they golf all the
time."  Mike said: "But Mrs. Cooper makes their chests look
flat by comparison. She might need some special attention."
I had my clubs packed in the bag and said: "Well, so long
guys."  Rick said to my wife, his voice heavy with
sincerity: "It was really nice meeting you.  Maybe we can
give you lessons!"

      When we got in the car I wanted to smooth over that
awkward exchange and said: "Well, what about it?  Do you
want to change your mind and take lessons?"  Instead of
complaining about the fresh comments she smiled and said: "I
think I will.  Rick and Mike seem like straight shooters.
And so handsome!"   I laughed, masking some jealousy: "I
noticed you called attention to your body, and I could have
done without the flirting and the comments about your
breasts."   She laughed back, "you started it. You told them
about my boobs and they took it from there."  This jolted me
a little, and rather than get her upset I did not pursue the
way she talked about her chest when she came to pick me up.  

      I felt no better when I glanced back at Rick and Mike
and saw them high-fiving each other and then Rick pinched
and pulled the fabric of his T shirt so that two imaginary
breasts stuck out about nine inches.  As I watched him do
this Beth said: "So you like to tell guys about my boobs? Is
this a turn-on for you?"  "Of course not," I said,
interested in changing the subject.  "And you don't mind
when two young hunks I just met make such intimate
comments?" she continued, no smile on her face anymore.
This was weird - she had done her share of directing their
attention to her body.  "I did very much mind," I said,
"wasn't that obvious?"  She was softer now, more serious,
intently hanging on to what I was saying. "'Wasn't that
obvious?'" she repeated, "No Tim, it was not obvious. Had my
old boyfriend heard their comments about my breasts....."  I
interrupted, "don't start with your old boyfriend again."
We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence until we got home.

      I had sloughed off the eerie sexual side of  that
encounter and began to think about the joy of golfing with
my wife and the business dividends of Beth cultivating other
women on the golf course.  If along the way there was some
boyish flirting and teasing between my wife and these
youngsters, I could live with that.  

      The next day Beth and I were finishing dinner when the
phone rang.  She answered it and laughed alot, and said:
"Well thank you, I will, I definitely will. That's so sweet
of you."  I asked who it was and she, with her the phone
uncovered, said one of her "babes" from the club, asking
when she was going to start lessons.  "Great!" I laughed.
"He's a patient, very capable golf pro for his age.  And
enterprising - calling you at home like this."  She looked
at me and smiled: "He said I could get free lessons and we
could practice on three holes that are closed for
restoration - apparently the greens are already restored
there but it's still not open yet and we wouldn't have to
worry about other golfers playing through."  I said: "You're
going to do it?"  She said: "Of course."   She went to the
phone and started called him back.  "Where is he, at the
club?  This late?" I asked, excited that my wife was going
to learn the greatest game ever invented.  "He gave me his
home number," aid, her eyes looking beyond me.  "Hi lover,
it's me again," I heard her say, "when do we start,
teacher?"  She was listening to Rick talking, who was going
on about something, and my wife said: "Oh, definitely. Of
course I would.  Is that a promise?"

      Beth made a date to meet Rick and Mike the morning
after next for her first golf lesson.  "Both of them?" I
asked, "that's terrific!"  "Rick said that Mike is in love
with me," she giggled, "and when he asked to bring Mike
along I said 'why not?"  She studied me. "Jealous?"   I
sipped my beer.  "You know," I said, "even with your
freckles and that redhead complexion of yours I can tell
when you're blushing."  "Am not," she said. That night we
had some rather torrid lovemaking to top off the day.  She
wore me out.  I was so grateful to be married to this
gorgeous woman, and she was mine exclusively.

      On the day of the first lesson I cut out from the
office early, enthusiastic about the appointment my wife had
agreed to, so I decided, at her urging, to meet her there.
"You can watch me make a fool of myself with my two handsome
instructors," she laughed over the phone.  I was pleased by
how much she wanted me to tag along.  "I can just drop off
the clubs and hang around for a while,  then go," I said,
hoping she would insist on my staying around.  "I really
want you there to watch," she said quietly.  This made me
feel good because now we could do something as a couple -
for the rest of our life together - even in retirement.
Despite the inappropriate comments and flirtation of three
days ago I was looking forward to my wife learning how to
swing a seven iron!

      I got there before her, with my clubs in my trunk for
her to use, and encountered Rick and Mike in the parking lot
of the club. They seemed surprised to see me.  "Here to
play?" Rick smiled, hardly concealing a frustration I sensed
he had.  "No, here to support my wife in her first plunge
into golf."  Mike had a faint smile on his face as well, and
they both were a little patronizing toward me, more
superficial, but they seemed eager to get this lesson
started.

      A few moments later Beth pulled up in the Lexus.
"Good morning gentlemen!" she shouted, a big smile lighting
up her pretty face.  She looked fabulous, but decked out
more for a dance club than a golf course.  She had on a
sheer knit pink top and a sun-kissed white pleated golf
skirt, white socks and white golf shoes. The sides of the
obligatory white visor cap were half buried in her thick red
hair.  Her sunglasses complemented her unusually heavy
lipstick and double dose of cologne.  The sleeveless pink
top was a pull-over that showed plenty of dcolletage and
its thin straps left most of her shoulders bare.  There was
a lot of skin, wonderfully highlighted with freckles.   I
sighed heavily as she walked nearer;  the top was obviously
the wrong size, meant for a woman with a quite smaller bust.
It hung loose at the bottom, which only went down as far as
a couple inches above the hem of her skirt.

      Furthermore, she quite obviously was not wearing
anything under it.  Her boobs sat lower on her chest, but
with such fullness the size of them was beyond belief.  They
seemed to jiggle constantly, even when she moved only
slightly.  The nipples were dramatically right out there, so
inviting.  In a way she seemed like a brand new woman to me,
mysterious, incredibly sexy, and it frightened me.  I walked
up to her, kissed her, and said quietly, "you're dressed to
kill.  And, honey, I think you'll be uncomfortable with that
top. It's too small on you!"  I blocked her path and
suggested she run home, now, and change into something far
more conservative.  She pecked me summarily on the cheek
and, sauntering past me, said to them in a keyed up voice:
"My husband thinks this top is too tight.  What do you guys
think?  Will I stop traffic on the fairways?"  She smiled at
Rick and shook his hand.  "Whoa," he said, transfixed.  I
was now confronted with the situation of my wife dressed
like and ignoring my concern about it.

      She breathed in and stood real straight while Rick and
Mike stood gawking.  "I wore this because I REALLY wanted
you guys to see what gets in the way when I swing a golf
club," she smiled.  She was posing for them, right in front
of me.  Her smile slowly was replaced with intense stares at
Rick and Mike. Her lips barely moved and I heard a quiet
voice that I thought was overly serious: "Rick, see what I
have to work with?  It's a huge problem.  Huge."  She
glanced down at her breasts then back up at him, seemingly
confident all along that he would be in awe, which he was.
She turned a little and did the same with Mike.  Rick was
tongue-tied.  "Oh, it's no problem," he managed to say,
clearing his throat.  I was standing there, like an idiot,
getting more anxious by the minute.  I began to look around
at the section of the course that was open - it was not as
far from the restoring greens as I thought.  People golfing
would see us, or more specifically my wife.

      She kept up this showing off, and again looked down at
her top.  "I really think I am way too big to play golf.
Mike, you said I make the other busty girls look flat."
Then she looked at me sweetly: "Isn't that what he said
yesterday, Tim, after you told them all about my large
chest?  Remember, you stood right there and let Mike talk
about my breasts, remember darling?" she said.  Mike was
getting less flustered, and  grinned:  "It'll be a
challenge, but we're gonna teach you."   "Let's keep this
respectable," I admonished him.  Beth laughed, "I think my
husband is jealous.  But he knows that the golf course is a
great way to make new friends.  Right Tim?"  I let that one
slide, realizing that she was needling me about my necking
with Paula.  A feverish feeling swept over my face;  why had
I succumbed to that temptation?

      We got into a golf cart, Rick and Beth in the front,
Mike and I in the back seat, and headed across the drive to
the restoration area.  Rick seemed to race the cart and
rather than avoid the potholes left by the lawn equipment,
seemed to drive into them directly.  The cart bounced up and
down and Rick openly watched my wife's breasts bounce with
it.  I tried to chat with Mike but he grunted back and made
a point of leaning forward to say something to Mike and Beth
- and blatantly cocking his head over her shoulder to admire
my wife's chest.  Rick took this joy ride a step further and
drove the cart around in circles and up and down hills on
the first fairway.  Beth laughed and screamed with delight.
"My God what mountains!" she said, in a 1-900 voice, "I'm
shaking and jiggling all over the place!"  "Hope so," Mike
said.  

      Mike decided to get gabby with me.  "You're wife is a
very attractive woman," he said. "If she golfs with guys
they'll lose.  Right, Rick?"  He yelled to Rick, "can you
see Mrs. Cooper golfing in this outfit with some of the men
at this place?"  Rick chuckled: "If she stands facing a guy
when he's trying to tee off, with the problem she has, the
guy'll miss the fuckin' ball when he swings."  They  both
laughed, and then my wife yelled: "so you guys think I have
secret weapons?"  Mike said: "Oh yeah," then looking over
her shoulder said: "Mr. Cooper, don't you think your wife
has secret weapons?"   Rick leaned toward Beth and said
something, and she waved her finger at him and laughed.  He
spoke to her again and she said: "You are a bad boy!", then
grinned,  looked down at her top, and then covered her boobs
with her arms.

      Finally we pulled up to the first tee.  As we stood on
the green Rick said, in a businesslike manner: "First thing
you learn is to loosen up.  Always do stretches before you
even think about swinging that golf club."  Mike said: "Oh
yeah, absolutely."  I frowned: "Huh? What stretches?"  Rick,
standing next to her, said: "Bend over and touch your toes,"
then he smirked, "if that's possible in your case."   Beth
eagerly bent over and reached her hands down to her feet,
causing her golf skirt to hike up dangerously close to her
buttocks.  She was wearing red weave underpants, and this
became obvious.   She stayed in that position and said
through her legs: "Even a girl like me can do this."  The
guys and I were a few paces behind her now and her top had
slid down, revealing the bottoms of her tits.  "Yeah, like
that," Rick said, poking Mike.  My mouth was drying, and I
barked: "OK, Beth, you can straighten up now."  Then I
turned to Rick: "You know damn well toe-touching is not part
arming up for golf."  I said it firmly.  Beth looked at
Rick: "Hey teacher, I'm stuck."  She was still bent over,
her fingers reaching her feet.  Rick said: "You are?"  Beth
said: "When you're a top-heavy gal you need help getting
back up again."  Rick and Mike stepped to each side and gave
her the help she "needed" to stand up straight.  To thank
them she pulled them toward her with one hand on each of
their necks and kissed one, then the other, on the mouth.

      Rick spent time patiently explaining the grip.  After
about five minutes of her getting her hands to fit
reasonably well around the five iron they practiced on, he
talked to her about stance.  He addressed the ball and then
handed her the iron.  He presented this very well, and I was
trying to convince myself that the spooky interaction
between these young men and my wife was about to get
serious.   

      She set up with the club in her hand and then asked:
"Will my chest make it hard to stand the way you're
standing?"   Rick smiled: "No," then he muttered to Mike,
"your chest will make me hard."  Mike laughed.  "What's so
funny?" I asked.  "Nothing," Rick said.  My wife took a few
swings.  "How was that?" she said.  "You're looking good,"
Rick said.  Then, facing her, he looked at her chest.  "How
do your arms feel holding the club while you swing?"  She
looked down at her boobs and said: "My breasts kind of
overwhelm everything."  "Including me, especially because
you're braless," he said, a lewd look on his face. "Yeah,"
my wife smiled, putting her hands on her curvy hips, "I
wanted my jugs to be loose and jiggle with my swing."  She
stuck her chest out and shook it.  Then she took another
swing and as her swing ended I noticed that she twisted her
upper body a little forward, as if something was still
moving, causing her upper half to keep moving while her legs
and hips were s d.  "See? That's what happens when I put my
upper body into it."  She swung again and her body did that
twist again.  "Lots of momentum with my secret weapons," she
said, looking back at me and winking.

      Mike said, smiling at Rick: "They're so big they just
keep on jiggling."  Beth asked with a sincerity I was
beginning to hate: "Should I have worn a bra, you guys?
Would it be better to have those cups running over?"  Now
Rick and Mike were both facing her, and just gawking at her
chest.  "Let's just have the lesson, fellas," I protested,
"and keep our minds on the game."   "Oh, no bra is fine,"
Rick said, "how do your nipples feel when you swing?"
"That's enough," I said, "there will be no more comments
about my wife's body.  It's rude and chauvinistic."  Beth
more and more was acting like I was part of the scenery.
"They're very sensitive and the top I'm wearing rubs against
them when my upper arms push against my tits."  Rick stared
at her boobs and said: "We need to know something to teach
you correctly.  What is your bra size?"  I swung the golf
bag out of the cart, and annoyed at his question said: "I
don't see where that is any of your business, Rick."   Still
using that nse, serious tone, Beth said: "Can you guess?"
Then she said to me, glancing in my direction: "And keep
your mouth shut."

      "Beth," I laughed, "we're done here.  Rick, Mike, find
someone else to harass.  I can teach my own wife how to
golf."  I took her hand and turned to walk toward the
clubhouse.  But she didn't move.  She said: "Oh no honey,
they're just little flirts.  You stay here and watch so that
things don't get too -uh - physical."   I shook my head.
"No, this is wrong. Let's go."  She didn't move.  She smiled
at Rick, "so what size is my bra?"  He stood and looked
intently at her chest, which she dramatized by pressing her
shoulders back and placing her hands on her hips.  "38?"
She shook her head and pointed her index finger upward.
"Don't forget the cup size.  Ask the expert on cup size for
the details...."  She gestured toward me and then turned to
Mike. "How about you, gorgeous?"  He muttered: "40? D?"  I
felt like I needed to sit down.  Rick said: "Oh yeah, cup
size, like D or E."  In response to Mike she again pointed
upward and looked to Rick.  He said: "42? E?"  "Bingo!" she
laugh if they were clubs they'd be drivers."  The boys and
Beth laughed.
	
      We wound up near the first green after Beth's several
strokes worked her ball through the fairway.  Rick coughed
to clear his throat, and I noticed something that only added
fuel to the fire in my head.  Rick was wearing loose khakis
shorts and it was quite obvious that he had a raging
hard-on.   I felt like a man stuck in an enclosed space,
like a coffin, with no way out.  The morning sun felt hot on
my face as we stood on the green. 

      Rick actually got serious again about teaching my wife
golf and asked her to get out a putter.  "Ideally," Rick
said, getting set over his ball and looking over at Beth,
"the body has to be relaxed so that the swing is nice and
fluid, swinging back and forth like a pendulum."  He took a
few practice strokes and then sank a twelve foot putt.  "My
hero!" she said.  He took the ball out of the cup and said:
"We don't want the cup to run over."  

      He was standing near her, his erection even more
noticeable, and his eyes seemed to be constantly, openly on
her boobs now, and with one arm across his chest and his
other elbow resting on it he tapped an index finger against
his cheek.  "Mike," he continued, "don't you think we could
do a better job helping Mrs. Cooper if she took off her
top?"  Mike looked at her lustily and said: "Oh yeah.
Definitely."   Nobody said a thing for a moment, and Beth
said, with a frown: "But if I did that you would see
something only my husband sees."  Rick said: "This is just
for the lesson.  Please don't be offended."  She said: "Oh
I'm not offended, anything to help me learn my husband's
favorite pastime."  Then she turned to me: "Speak of the
devil, my husband is standing right here, I almost forgot.
Let me ask him....Darling, what do you think, would it make
sense for me to take my top off?  It will help me learn
about golf, and you and I can play together - right into our
twilight years."

       I was standing with my arms folded, speechless,
shaking my head and glaring.  Mike said: "Come on, Mrs.
Cooper, while he's thinking about it, give us a peek.  We
want to see those weapons of yours."  Beth then said
something that floored me.  She looked down at Rick's crotch
and said: "Does that get in the way of your swing?"  "What?"
he said, slightly confused.  She walked closer and pointed
at his crotch.  "That," and she kept pointing, then her head
still aimed toward his crotch, her eyes batted up at his
face.  He smiled.  My stomach was curdling. "Honey------," I
started.  She said, in a mock serious tone: "Well my
teachers have been talking about the importance of a relaxed
swing with nothing in the way.  And Rick's got something in
the way of his swing."  Then she looked at me, still
pointing: "Do you see what I'm talking about, dear?  Did you
have that problem when you played with those college
ladies?"
