Chapter 11

"Anything on the tube?" Tess asked.

"Nothing but re-runs and reality shows," I said.

One of my evolving duties was to study the local paper and to know the prime-time network and HBO TV schedules, including what was new and what was just a re-run. I'd usually be asked about it every weekday by Tess, in the late afternoon.

Tess refused to watch any of the so-called "reality" television shows, considering them all to be rip-offs inflicted on the public by network executives too cheap and too unoriginal to program something written by a professional.

While her tastes in regular TV fare were pretty catholic, she also eschewed re-runs. All of that was OK by me. I was learning that the more re-runs and reality programming showed up on the summer schedule, the earlier in the evening Tess and I would turn to our other major source of recreation: Hot sex.

I was a little leery, though, about putting any moves on her, the night before the tournament started. Tess would be facing 143 other hungry female professionals the next morning in the opening round. It would be a cut-throat competition -- too many outstretched hands reaching out for too-few and too-small increments of cash.

This was going to be her first opening round since we'd become lovers. It wasn't clear to me whether, under the circumstances, Tournament Eve would be an appropriate night for me to think about Getting Laid.

Tess wasn't timid though. One of the things I loved about this girl -- one of the many things -- was that she always tried to make sure a person knew where he stood. I was lying on her bed -- dressed and on top of the covers -- when she emerged, buck-naked and (as always) stunningly sexy -- from the shower.

"Want a rubdown?" I asked. (Yes, rubdowns, too, were one of the little extra duties I had been accruing as we became more and more familiar with one another. Oh, it was tough duty, sure -- but, hey, somebody had to do it.)

"I do want a rub," Tess said, "but, Will -- would it be OK if we didn't... make love, tonight?"

"Absolutely, Baby!" I said without hesitation. "I know you're keyed up about the tournament."

"You think you could -- would you like it if we slept together, anyway?" she asked me. "I mean, that wouldn't be like, cruel torture for you or something -- would it?"

"Torture? No way, Sweet Girl! I'd rather sleep with you, without sex, than to sleep with Carla Frances with full fucking-privileges." (Carla Frances was a babe-a-licious cheerleader-type that we both knew. I knew Carla as a classmate at UNC, and Tess had met her at her parents' country club. I was trying to say something -- y'know -- gracious and highly complimentary to my main squeeze, here.

Tess looked at me kind of funny, but finally just accepted my inane remark as an attempted compliment. She probably wondered why Carla Frances' image had come into my head, at that moment, in the first place. Hell, I didn't know. I wondered about it myself.

So I ignored, and more-or-less disguised, the existence of my raging boner, and gave Tess' still-naked body a scrumptious rub-down that had her moaning with pleasure. Then we drank one-inch of red wine each, served chilled. (Maybe you're not supposed to refrigerate red wine, but we do, anyway, and we both like it that way. So call the police.)

Usually, after (and sometimes, during) one of these splendid, sensuous rub-down sessions, we would end up fucking each other senseless before we both fell happily asleep. That had become the Established Routine during the brief period we'd been together, in the RV, on the way to this tournament.

Tonight, however, I made no moves. Oh, I had the erection, but that wasn't unusual enough to merit any comment from Tess. We made our spoons in the cool of the back bedroom, I tucked my hard-on harmlessly between her legs, and we cuddled up close and tried to fall asleep.

I did fall asleep -- damned near immediately. The daily dragging of a heavy golf bag for approximately four miles up and down the rolling hills of Connecticut was conducive to having a good night's sleep. Not that I had felt "too tired" for sex with Tess. So far, I had never gotten that tired!

But she had asked me nicely for a night off, and I was not offended. I knew where she was coming from. Winning this tournament meant a lot to her.

I woke up lying flat on my back. I never sleep lying on my back -- at least, not in a bed. In a recliner, maybe. Momentarily, I realized that my penis was being bathed in a soft, warm wonderful place.