The seventh hole is short, a par 3; the tee is secluded, past a wooded area which shields it from the sixth green and the rest of the course. As we bump along the forest path to the tee, you lean over and kiss my cheek. I check the path ahead, then quickly turn my head and catch your mouth with mine as we emerge into the sunlight; I stop the cart, and you hop out to survey the distance to the green.

You are on in one, as anyone should be. But for all the work you have done to improve my stance, I first fan the ball and then, my irritation growing, dribble it fifty yards forward. (At least there is no divot to repair, this time.) You see my frustration and settle me into my stance, standing behind me and positioning my hands, my arms, my feet just so. Though my stance is perfect, your proximity affects me in other ways, making it that much more difficult to swing. But I breathe, close my eyes, feel the swing, and connect just right: I am on, and not far from the cup. We sink our putts, and as I replace the flag I catch you around the waist, kissing you and laughing, enjoying the sun and the breeze, and your company. We leave the green and I steer back to the wooded area, away from the next tee: we are almost alone on the course, the next twosome back on the fourth green.

In the shade, my hand finds your pussy and pushes aside the damp panties; my fingers probe and plunder, then pull the panties off while we kiss. You open the fly on my shorts and reach inside, pulling me out; you bend over and take me fully in your mouth, pulling and sucking; your tongue twists around me, stroking me into a minor frenzy and making it difficult for me to concentrate on my next shot: positioning you for a rear entry, bent over the cart. My fingers twist familiarly, longingly, through your hair, moving your head up and down and, finally, pulling your mouth off just as you get a minor taste. I kiss you hard, and you kiss back with as much passion as ever. I move past you in the cart, then step down and pull down your panties, flipping your skirt up just enough to expose your ass and throbbing wet pussy. While one hand stays in your hair, the other enters your slit and pushes in and out, working you to a new pitch. I pull out my hand, and plunge into you from behind. I release your hair, and put my wet hand in your mouth while my other one goes south, working your clitoris, so that we both soon climax.

We laugh, breathe, kiss again, and sit in the cart for a moment to regain our composure. The twosome behind approaches and asks mildly if they can play through? No need,'' I say.We’ve played this hole.” And I drive on to the eighth tee, my favorite, while they gape at us in envy.