Match Play Twosome

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This story is my first submission. If you don’t like the game of golf, be warned…


I stood on the tee box looking out across the 1st fairway, wondering where everyone else was on such a beautiful afternoon. High stratus clouds pulled long and wispy, a steady breeze, 72 degrees and low humidity. The many shades of green painted against the deep blue horizon looked crisp and brighter than usual. Hoping for an opening (I didn’t have a tee time), I had anticipated a long wait even though it was a weekday. But the parking lot was dotted with just a handful of cars. What a pleasant surprise to have the starter say, ‘The tee is yours! Hit ’em straight.’ This will be a great afternoon!

When I play alone, I play two balls, especially on a low traffic day like this. The luxury of enjoying my own pace of play adds to the day’s enjoyment. I keep score on the first ball (for my handicap, 11) and mark down the second for comparison. You get the picture, yeah?

I was playing very well – definitely above average. Through the 7th hole, I was 1 over with 2 birdies and 1 bogey. (and parred the second ball on that bogey hole) I was ‘in the zone’, playing as I imagined I would were I a scratch golfer. I was tempted to call one of my weekend golfing pals and brag a bit, but why jinx it? Balls seemed to explode off the club face with little effort. I’d reached 6 greens in regulation. My usual 25 foot target radius for approach shots seemed to magically shrink to 15 feet. And putting was, well, easy.

Pretty darn good for an overweight middle-aged guy. I’m from Irish heritage, 5′ 11″ 205 lbs., thinning blonde hair, trimmed goatee. My wife says my legs are my best feature, well-shaped and smooth. I’ve been called handsome – I’ll take the compliment. And a golf lover – I would play every day if my employment as an IT manager didn’t take priority. (My wife of 31 years would probably notice the lack of income) Before we’d met, I’d dated quite a few girls, and discretely fooled around a bit with a few guys, nothing serious. It was curiosity and fun, and I shelved that hidden part of my life once we were hitched. Over the years, the urge to fulfill my bisexual desires disappeared.

I teed off on the 374 yard 8th hole, a dogleg left with tall pines about 190 yards out protecting the left corner. This was a wide fairway with lots of space to bail out right, but that leaves a longer second shot to the medium sized, well bunkered green about 20 feet below the fairway. I hit the driver on my first ball, landing left center and rolling out to the far side of the fairway just short of the rough and cart path, about 245 yards.

Now – let’s see if I can turn the corner with my second ball, hitting the 3 iron from the shorter white tees.

Greedy me – I guess you know what happened next. Not quite a duck-hook, but my ball sailed into the pine boughs near the top of the tallest tree. I heard it hit something but didn’t see the ball drop. That’ll teach me.

I rode down the fairway, turned left past the trees on the corner and parked in the pine straw. There’s a collection spot behind the pines, a drainage gulley. Carrying my 8 iron just in case, I began looking for ball number 2. No luck – it probably ricocheted into the dense stuff. Oh well, I still have ball 1 in play.

As I started my cart back across the fairway, I glanced to my left – bingo! There’s my ball, about 15 yards ahead in the rough! I drove to it with a chance to get two balls on the green.

As I’m lining up the shot, I hear the sound of someone teeing off behind me. I couldn’t see the tee from my position. I backed off a few seconds and heard the ball land in the fairway about 30 yards down. Dead center. Wow, nice shot around the trees! I took a few seconds to get my shot aligned then hit it about 15 feet past the hole.

It was obvious that the guy on the tee couldn’t see me around the corner, so no harm, no foul. I was driving across to my first ball as he was coming up the fairway. I waited for him to approach but he stopped about 50 yards short, got out of his cart and yelled, “Sorry about that. Didn’t see ya.”

“No problem.” I waved him up.

He arrived as I was getting set to hit, sitting quietly in his cart. My wedge stopped about 10 feet below the hole, just past the apron. “Nice shot!”

I replied, “Thanks. Hey, no worries on your drive. I know you couldn’t see me. And THAT was a great drive!” I said, pointing to his ball.

“Thanks! You want to play together?” he asked. Darn. He didn’t realize I’m taking my time, playing two balls. And based on his drive, I’m thinking he’s probably a lot better than me. But on the golf course, I’m a social liberal. “Sure. I’ve been playing two balls, but that’s ok.”

“I don’t want to ruin your party, man…” he smiled. “How’re ya hitting ’em?”

Ah, a chance to brag about my round! “I’m playin’ way over my head. It’s such an awesome day out here, and I’m kinda in the zone, you know?”

“You sure it’s ok?” He looked gaziantep bayan eskort like he was hoping I’d agree. I smiled.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’m Brian.” He extended his hand, “Jack. Nice to meet you, bud.” He seemed nice enough and, strangely, kinda looked like me – over 50, same height and nice face, goatee, slightly heavier than me. We were even dressed alike, white on top, dark blue shorts. “OK, you’re up”, I said. “Hit a good one!”

He swept a beautiful wedge shot to about 7 feet, stopping on a dime. As we drove up, I said, “Nice! Someone’s looking at a birdie!” He noticed my two balls on the green and chuckled. “So are you!”

As I leaned over to pick up my second ball, he stopped me. “No, go ahead and putt it. You earned it.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Nice guy. I rolled my second ball a foot past the hole, and my first ball stopped on the edge, almost teetering in. I made both for pars, keeping the great round going!

Jack made his birdie. “Good putt! How’s your round going so far?” I asked.

He grinned. “Well, I’m doing great – I’m 1 over through eight, a lot better than my usual.”

I laughed. “Really? I’m 1 over with my first ball, and that’s way better than my 11 handicap.”

Jack smiled. “I’m an 11 too. Let’s make a match of it!” While I’m not inclined to gamble when I’m certain I’ll lose, his handicap made it a friendly match that seemed harmless. “OK,” I said, “let’s play the 9th for a drink on the turn, and figure something out for the back 9.”

I failed to get up and down from the beach on the 9th hole, and Jack holed his 10 footer for par. Not a good start. We headed for the clubhouse, and Jack insisted on buying. “How about a beer?” It wasn’t too hot out and I had no place to be after, so I agreed.

“Great,” he said, “I’ll get it. You turn in your cart and we’ll ride together.” Sure, makes sense. Again, he flashes that big grin.

I strapped my bag to his cart then ran my cart to the shed. In the back of my mind, I thought that meeting Jack just made the day a little better. He was friendly, seemed like minded, and hey, we’re golfing. Beats working!

Jack picked me up and we headed to the 10th tee. “Grab your beer, it’s in the back.” I look over my shoulder at a small soft-side cooler filling the cart basket. I unzipped the lid to find it packed with ice and at least a six-pack, maybe more. Uh oh, there’s no way I can handle more than a couple.

“Jack, I appreciate the beers, man, but I need to be careful. And I don’t want to ruin this great round I’m having.”

“No worries, man. Let’s just have fun and enjoy the day.” OK, I can get behind that! “By the way…” He points to the front of the cart. “I figured you might be hungry, too.” He’d picked up a hot dog with mustard and relish, my favorite.

“How could you possibly know I like my dogs this way?” Now I was grinning.

“I didn’t, but I figured I’d get it the way I like it and if you didn’t eat it, I would!” We both laughed out loud as we headed to the 10th tee box. I’m beginning to feel something, maybe a bond? I’m very slow to make friends, so it was, at least, unusual for me. We took a couple of minutes to pop open a beer and inhale the dogs.

The back nine on this course heads out into the woods, with more undulations and tighter fairways. It’s laid out for future development so there’s a lot of untouched forest separating the holes that run 5 outbound, 4 inward. Many of the holes are canyon-like with the dense trees surrounding them. This creates some beautiful settings, with picturesque greens set against the darker woods behind.

We played the 10th hole even par, but I had to scramble. As we approached the 11th hole, Jack reminded me about our match. “Slipped my mind,” I lied. “What’re we playing for?”

“Well,” he said, drumming his fingers on the cart’s steering wheel, “I bought the beer and hot dogs, but that was my treat. What do you want to play for? We gotta do something to keep it interesting!” He said that in a sly way, and when I turned to him, he winked at me.

He winked at me? Could he possibly know? I’d always been extremely careful not to show my buried inclinations, and had not had a man to man experience since before my marriage. No, he couldn’t know. There’s no way! But maybe HE was so inclined and was just taking a shot in the dark. Wait, maybe that’s what I was feeling a few minutes ago – his vibe? Could it be?

I needed time to think. “Let’s play this hole and give it some thought.” I hoped I’d said that without any hint of interest in what I supposed his plan might be. Jack replied, “No worries, bud.”

The 11th hole is a beautiful par 5, 530 yards straight away. Jack hit a low roping beauty about 260 down the left side. I followed with a shorter, loftier ball that floated down the center about 10 yards behind his. As we drove down the fairway, he slapped my thigh. “Great shot!”

“Thanks, you too…” I mumbled. OK, was I reading too much into this? This is crazy. I had to concentrate. In spite of the ‘vibe’ I perceived from him, I wanted to keep my game together.

I decided to lay up by hitting an easy 6 iron about 175 yards, leaving me a long wedge shot to the green. At least, that was the plan.

I topped the ball with just enough on it to advance about 125 yards. Damn it! Where the fuck did that come from?

Jack has obviously decided on the same strategy. He hit a beauty about 180 yards, right center, position A. Wow, I was beginning to worry about betting anything at this point! Were my wheels coming off, or what?

Then, as I watched Jack walk over and pick up his divot, long suppressed thoughts crept into my head. I was staring at his crotch, observing how he moved, looking him over. ‘Shake it off, Brian!’ I thought to myself.

I had about 155 yards to go. I stood over my ball saying to myself, ‘Think, think. What do you do here? God, concentrate!’ I looked over at Jack.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. “You look lost.” No shit.

“I got it.” Angry at myself, I grabbed my 8 iron, choked down an inch, checked my aim and swung down hard on the ball, compressing it just right. My ball hit the green about 8 feet left of the flag then spun right, ending up inches from the hole.

“Holy shit, Brian! Shot of the day, man!” Jack exclaimed. I was bursting – it was a great shot and I was somewhat lifted, forgetting the thoughts of the last few minutes. Birdies will have that effect!

Jack took a moment to assess his options, selected a club, and let it rip. He must have been pumped or took too much club because his ball landed at the back of the green, rolling off onto the fringe. “Shit, shit, fuckity shit!”

“Hey, you’re OK, man,” I said. “You can still putt that one in.”

As we parked beside the green, we each popped open another beer. Jack said, “I glad we didn’t have a bet going on this hole!”

On the green, I tapped in for birdie then tended the flag for his effort. He was at least 40 feet from the hole, downhill but breaking right to left, which I’ve always thought was an easier putt to read. Jack walked around, assessing the green for any secrets hidden in the bent grass. As I watched him, I began to really look him over, watching him move around. Checking out his legs, his back, his ass? OK, I’m doing it again. Stop!

Jack stands over his ball, makes a smooth stroke and sends the ball on its way. It actually broke twice, something I didn’t pick up looking from the hole, and it had a lot of pace on it, enough that I thought he may roll off the front. But his line was good. Really good! Fucking GREAT! I pulled the pin and watched his ball hit the back of the cup, pop up a few inches then settle into the bottom of the cup.

We roared simultaneously. “Yay!” It was a helluva putt, and for birdie, no less. We were tied once more.

“Man, did you see the break on that thing?” he said. “That might be the best putt of my life!” I replied, “That was ridiculous! I’m glad I was here to see it – you can say you had a witness!” We floated off the green.

We sat in the cart while Jack recorded the scores, finished off our beers and popped open another. “Let’s just sit here a few more minutes and enjoy this, OK?” Jack sighed. “I’m having such a good time. You?”

“Yeah, I am. This day seems so surreal, with the weather and the course. And the way I’m playing? God, I’ve never played this well, ever!”

We were interrupted by the sound of an approaching cart. The ranger came chugging his way down the cart path, stopping beside us. “Hi there!” said the old-timer. “You fellas are the only ones on the back nine. Can you believe it? And on a day like this?”

We agreed, and started to tell him so, but he cut us off. “Look, can’t chit-chat boys – I gotta run. Since there’s no one out here, they’re letting me off early so I can play a round.” He started to pull away. “Have fun, see ya!” And off he went.

We chuckled together. “Good for him!”

We sipped our beer and listened to the sound of the breeze through the pines. Jack started the cart and headed towards the next tee box, stopping in the shade halfway there. “So, where were we on the match?”

I hesitated. “Um, we were, ah, trying to decide what the bet should be. I guess it’s safe to say that money is off the table since we’re starting late. Besides, it could ruin a day like this, right?” I smiled slightly, not looking his way.

“Yep, I agree,” he said. “I do have an idea that’s kind of out there.” He paused for a moment. “I mean, I’m thinking you and I are getting along so well, right? And we’re having fun?” He’s looking right at me. “And this would be a real kick if you’re up for it.”

Here we go. I’m nervous, fluttering. And I want to know… “Let’s hear it.”

“OK – lose a hole, lose clothing.”

What? My mind is racing now. I’m doing the math, assessing what that would mean, what that could mean.

“Are you serious?” I ask, somewhat timidly.

“Yeah, c’mon Bri!” says Jack. “It would be a blast. We’re out here in the great outdoors on a glorious day, no one else around – we have the whole place to ourselves, not a care in the world. It’ll be like we’re teenagers again. I’ll bet neither of us has ever done anything this crazy before, right?”

“Not even close.” I asked, “So you’re saying if I lose the next hole, I have to take something off? And what, leave it off, or put it back on if I win a hole?”

Jack replied, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but yeah, sure. Lose, it’s off, win, it’s back on. Sounds fair, yeah?”

I started doing the math again. We’re about to tee off 12, so that’s 7 more holes, and if one of us goes on a winning streak, one of use could end up…

“Um, Jack, I’m thinking that it is possible one of us could end up naked. There’s 7 holes left and…”

Jack cut me off. “Well, six actually. I think 18 is out of the mix, seeing how the clubhouse is in view, and vice versa. And obviously, hats, shoes and socks are necessary. But otherwise, yeah, it’s possible. Very possible!” There’s that grin again.

“C’mon, just a couple of guys enjoying the outdoors, playing golf and having a little naughty fun as a bonus. Live a little! When do you think this could ever happen again in your lifetime?”

I grabbed my beer and took a huge swallow, then another. How weird is this situation? Something I would never have considered, and yet, here I am thinking about it. And I have to admit, I’m getting excited at the prospect of being naked, or seeing Jack naked. I’m turned on.

“Fuck it – let’s do it!” I take another long gulp. Jack slaps me hard on the back. “Yeah! This is gonna be fun, man!” He drives us to the 12th tee.

And I lose the hole. Done in again by a sand trap. Jack’s par beats my bogie. Shit.

We walk back to the cart, and I’m trying to decide what to remove. I can sense Jack looking at me expectantly. If I take off my shirt, I’ll probably become sunburned quickly as I’m very fair skinned. If I take off my shorts, it’s less likely. And I reason with myself – ‘I can play in my underwear, right?’ Thank God I’m wearing extended briefs and not tighty whities. And it’s exciting in a weird way.

As I start to undo my belt, Jack is watching intently. “Not your shirt?” he asks. I point upwards and grimace. “Ah, yes – got ya.” I unzip and shuck the shorts, folding them small and stuffing them behind my seat. This feels good.

“There, ya happy now?” I laughed. Jack does a little air circle with his finger, indicating I should pirouette for him. “Fuck off!” We both laugh. “I will say this,” Jack said, “You have nice legs!” And as I sit in the cart, I can feel my cock starting to firm up. We headed to the next tee.

The 13th hole is a par three, 175 yards uphill. It’s very challenging for me, and I’m sure for Jack as well. He has the honors, so he’s up. He hits a straight ball right at the pin, but we cannot see how it finished due to the elevation.

As I walked up to the tee, I could feel my semi-erection pressing against my briefs. As I bent over to tee up my ball, Jack pipes up jokingly, “Nice ass!” I don’t know why I did it, maybe in the silliness of the moment, but a wiggled it back and forth. Then I pulled the trigger on my 4 iron, hitting the side of the green and bouncing off left, out of sight. Crap!

I’m back sitting in the cart, in my underwear and aroused. I look down at myself and realized my hardening cock was almost visible. It felt naughty – a bit like skinny dipping. I’m nervous as we drive up to the green. Jack’s ball is about 10 feet in front of the pin. My ball is in the rough about 15 feet off the green, pin high, downhill lie. Oh man.

I grab my 58 degree wedge with the intention of flopping the ball behind the pin and letting it float down. But the rough grabbed the club, killing most of the forward motion. My ball trickled onto the fringe. I’m still away. I lined up my putt, and tapped it lightly. It picked up speed, missed the hole and came to rest on the front of the green, well onto the fringe. Shit. I’m still away.

I looked over at Jack, and caught him looking at my legs and whatever else was down there. As I stood over my ball, considering my 4th shot, I could feel his eyes on my ass. I stroked it smoothly, my ball coming to rest a foot right of the cup. I tapped it in for my 5.

I pulled the pin and said, “Go ahead, dude. Put me out of my misery!” He paused just a couple of seconds over the ball then drained it for a birdie.

Oh boy. Now I’m thinking about the next hole – pasty white, overweight me playing in just my underwear, in front of Jack. And again, it feels fucking exciting.

We stowed our clubs. No sense delaying, I guess. I sit in the cart, reach down and pull my shirt over my head. I look at Jack and smile. “Give me another beer please? I’m gonna need it.” He walks around to the back of the cart. I hear the cooler unzip then YOW! Ice cold water dripping down my back. “Jesus, Jack, that’s cold as hell!” I hear him chuckling as he hands me the beer. Then I hear him rummaging in his bag for something.

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