Golf Shop or Victoria's Secret


Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Heterosexual, .

Desc: Romantic Story: What was in the bag? Was it for him or her?

There are no graphic sex scenes in this story, sorry.

Constructive comments are more than welcome and appreciated.

Thanks for your attention and I hope you enjoy the story.

Timing is everything or so an old platitude says.

I mean just think about it. A minute either way going through an intersection determines if you are hit by a driver running a red light. You think of a business opportunity or an invention only to find out that you're a little late, someone has beaten you to it. You buy some stock and it goes up and you make a large profit or it goes down and you lose your investment, tis all a matter of timing. And important to me, a micro second either way determines if you hit that perfect golf shot.

Timing is everything.

Timing brought about a strange occurrence in my marriage. Let me tell you my story.

I am a 29 year old frustrated golfer. My name is Dillon Gallagher and as my name suggests I'm Irish as is my wife Sloane, who is 26. Her maiden name was Riley, so we are about as Irish as you can be and not live in Ireland.

I would like to think that women would find me attractive enough to dream about me, but I don't think so. At 6 feet 2 and 200 pounds, I'm a little above average in size. I'm what was once called Black Irish with black hair, grey eyes, and a fair complexion. I earned spending money in college as a bouncer for two or three bars and taverns and I'm still within 5 pounds of my college weight.

My nose has been broken and my face has a couple of scars. The scars and the broken nose were courtesy of three disgruntled patrons at a bar where I was working. They were raising hell and I calmed them down; two of them were unconscious by the time I was finished. Subduing them cost me my boyish good looks; just kidding about that boyish crack. The best compliment that I ever received was that I was ruggedly handsome; maybe that's just rugged.

I was going to college on a golf scholarship. I know, it's not like football or baseball but it paid for my education. My dream was to play professionally on the PGA Tour. However, the chances of becoming successful as a pro golfer are usually slim and none.

The tour is full of guys living from tournament to tournament who don't really make a lot of money. Of course most of them don't really care because it beats working at a real job for a living. Once every two or three decades you have a natural like Tiger Woods come along, but not often.

Knowing that the odds were against me, I made sure to actually get an education. So many scholarship athletes forget about the educational side of college and then end up pumping gas or something. That wasn't going to be me. I majored in Computer Science for two reasons; there was a lot of money to be made in that field and I really liked messing with computers. It turns out that I was smarter than even I thought.

The first two weeks after graduation I was practicing for the Q School (qualifying tournament). The top 25 players and ties earn their PGA tour cards for the next year, which allows them to enter and play in the pro tournaments. Just a little background.

I decided to take a couple of days off and relax by taking an overnight ride on my Harley to a close by state park. Either the driver of the delivery van didn't see me or just didn't care. Our vehicles met at a crossroads and with his being much bigger I was the one injured.

The accident had two very bad results for me. First, my Harley was wrecked beyond repair, it was totaled. My insurance company didn't care that it was a vintage bike that I had rebuilt from the frame up and only paid me for a used motorcycle. The second bad thing was that my right shoulder was screwed up. Screwed up so bad that I had to give up my dream of the PGA tour. I was later able to play golf again but not at the level needed for the tour. See how smart I was; I actually got an education in college that I could use to make a good living.

There was one good result of that accident. It led me to my future wife; Sloane was one of my nurses for the two weeks I was in the hospital. As I got to know her I thought that maybe the accident wasn't such a bad thing after all. I don't think she felt the same way as I did.

Sloane is tall for an Irish lass at 5 feet 9 with a body just this side of voluptuous. Her dark red hair (actually almost auburn), her startling blue eyes, and the freckles across her nose make her a woman that men notice. If those men could see the rest of her freckles they would dream about her at night.

Now where women were concerned, I was far from being a novice. I had more than my share of the coeds at school and I knew my way around. But when Sloane would give me a sponge bath or lean over me to fluff my pillows my body reacted with an embarrassing response, in spite of my previous experience with women. I know she had to see my reaction to her but she never mentioned it or reacted except to get a little coy smile on her face. She was driving me crazy.

That last week in the hospital I asked Sloane out at least once a day with the same results. No thank you, I'm not interested she would say. Sloane wasn't snobbish or mean or angry each time she turned me down, but it was a rejection just the same. I think she enjoyed the game but wasn't going to go out with me. Ever notice that the more someone says you can't have something the more you want it?

My last night in the hospital, Sloane was my night nurse. I decided on a different tactic for that evening. I purposely didn't speak to her other to answer medical questions. Finally the suspense got to her.

"Aren't you going to ask me out tonight? You're going home tomorrow and you won't have another opportunity," Sloane teased me with a smile.

"Nope, you had your chance. You'll have to explain it to your parents," I replied giving her a puzzle to figure out.

"Explain what to my parents and what do they have to do with it?" Now I had her hooked.

"You will have to explain that you rejected the father of their future grandchildren."

Sloane didn't know if she should laugh or take me seriously. She didn't know until I started laughing and then it was contagious. After we both settled down, I looked at her intensely.

"Seriously Sloane, I've gotten to know you while I've been in here and I like you a lot. Let me take you out, just once, and if you don't have a good time or don't feel something I'll never bother you again."

"Pretty sure of yourself aren't you?"

"No, not really. I figure that if you go out with me and don't enjoy it then I at least had one evening with you. It's more than I had when I came in here," I told her as I smiled.

Sloane was quiet and I thought I had blown it entirely and then that sunshine bright smile appeared.

"Okay, one date, but you have to promise to leave me alone after that. Yes?"

"It's a deal. Now what time will you pick me up Saturday evening?"

"Pick you up? You should be the one to pick me up," she said.

"Normally I would, but my Harley is in the junk yard and it's my only means of transportation. Even if it wasn't, I can't ride a bike with this bum shoulder," I informed her.

We went to dinner, stopped for a drink and then she took me to my place. I invited her in for coffee and she didn't leave until late the next morning. No we didn't sleep together, at least not the way you mean. I have this huge pillow called a crash pad that's big enough for two people to lie on. We sat on it talking and went to sleep holding each other. It was almost perfect. Needless to say, that wasn't our only date.

We talked almost every day on the phone and had been dating at least once a week for about 8 weeks when she showed up at my apartment unexpectedly. I opened my door and was totally surprised. I wondered if I had forgotten a date or was I supposed to meet her somewhere?

Sloane kissed me hello and waltzed past me into the apartment. She flopped down on my crash pad and asked for a beer. What the hell? She never drank in the afternoon; I know I had tried to get her to. I gave her a beer and sat down next to her.

"Did I forget a date or something Sloane? I'm glad to see you but what are you doing here?" I was puzzled.

"I have some questions for you, will you answer them truthfully Dillon?"

"Sure, I've never lied to you yet and I won't start now," I responded, surprised at the question. What had I done, I thought?

"Do you find me attractive?"

"What, are you serious?" I answered.

"As a heart attack. Answer the question Dillon," Sloane ordered.

"You're beautiful." I had no idea where this was going.

"Do you think of me as more than just someone to date on weekends?"

"Sloane, if I've done... ," I began to try and cover my ass. She interrupted me.

"Just answer the question. Am I more than just a weekend date?"

I nodded yes at her. I was beyond words because I didn't understand all of this.

"Do you think I'm sexy?"

Another nod.

"Do you want to make love to me?"

Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. This was a trick question; I could be in big trouble either way I answered. There are certain questions that you can't answer correctly. Does this (slacks, skirt, dress etc) make me look fat is a no win situation. No matter how you answer, you're in trouble.

Sloane was waiting, and waiting a little impatiently I think, as she was tapping her fingernails on her beer bottle. Finally I decided that truth was the best policy in this instance. If I screwed up it was because I was truthful at least.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Heterosexual /