The Golf Outing

Playing golf is one of my passions in life. I find it extremely challenging, and I’m a pretty good player. I recently made a move that increased my opportunities to play, moving from the West Coast and its very crowded and expensive golf courses, to a small town in the Rocky Mountains that has several mostly deserted courses. My new favorite course is one that stretches miles through the canyons and plateaus of the high plains. It was designed to have many homes built on the fairways, but the economy being what it is, it’s almost devoid of homes except for a couple of holes. In fact, there are holes on the back 9 that are completely isolated. Many times I have played this particular course by myself without seeing anyone in front or behind me. I take my time, play two balls, and hit extra shots. It’s beautiful for a golf junkie.

Recently a female golfing friend of mine from the Coast was venturing east on a driving vacation, and made a stop near my new home. Since she had her clubs with her, we decided to meet for a round at my favorite course. It was great to see someone from my former life, so we spent much of the front 9 talking about mutual friends, our lives, jobs, and anything else we could think of. Eventually, however, our golfing got serious. She’s an athletic lady, and a terrific golfer, so our competitive juices came alive as we made the turn and headed for the final nine holes.

We were both playing inspired golf. She marveled at how much farther the ball traveled at altitude, and she had her A game going. Unfortunately for her, I was on my game, and was hitting the ball as well as I had all summer. By the par 5, 14th hole, I was up a few strokes and was feeling very confident. I pulled out my driver and took a mighty swing, wanting to crush the ball and impress my friend. But the funny thing about golf, the harder you swing, the poorer the shot. In this case, I almost missed the ball and topped it so badly that it barely made it off the tee box. My friend almost fell out of the cart, she was laughing so hard. When she regained her composure, she looked at me and said, “You know what that means, don’t you?” I looked at my ball sitting only yards from where we stood, and noticed that it hadn’t reached the women’s tee. “You don’t mean. . .” I stuttered, remembering the joke I shared with my guy playing partners that if your drive doesn’t pass the women’s tee, you have to play the hole with your dick sticking out. “Yep,” she smiled wickedly. “You need to play this hole with your little guy hanging out! I’ll even let you hit your tee shot again if you do.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I just stared at her, trying to decide what to do. I knew we hadn’t seen any other golfers in at least an hour, and that this particular hole was very secluded.