Kit's Stories - Sofia Pt. 02

Sofia gladly saw that she was playing with her younger brother Tomas and an elderly man and woman of long acquaintance. "Who are you playing with, Kit? You won't have to worry about any competition from my team. Mr. Weaver was never any good and he must be 70 years old now and Dotty Franklin would rather talk than play. Tomas runs the ranches and the oil and gas production and has no game at all. "

"There may be a problem here, Sofia. I don't know who Bill Miller and Greta Cabot are, but is Primo's blonde, Betty Kidd?"

"She is indeed. That should be interesting. Bill is one of the better men golfers here and Greta has been a friend of mine all my life. I will tell her to protect you and not let Betty eat you up. But be careful if she tries to force feed you her salty dog. She always makes a huge cooler of it and it is lethal. Mostly gin and not much grapefruit juice."

"Sofia, it's not funny. Primo may have a fit if he is as jealous as you think."

"I don't think, I know, Kit. Remember why you are here. You have my permission to flirt

with Senora Grande Pinoche, but don't get so close that you catch her cooties or something you have to kill with penicillin. If you can make Primo behave like an ass, I'll try to think of something in the order of a special bonus for you."

"I think I am out of my depth, Sophia."

"You men and gringos usually are," she snickered. "When the teams are together, I'll act like I am in a snit about your pairing and that should get both Bouncing Betty and Primo in an appropriate frame of mind. He will be jealous and she will be trying to make me jealous."

"Sopheeeeea!" Kit anguished.

"Just hush and man up. Do this for me and you can be thinking of what you want for a bonus. Maybe you saw something last night???"

"Oh, God. How can I play golf, flirt with the blonde bomber, and do an acting job with a woody that may tear the crotch of out my new shorts?" They drove to the gathering at the clubhouse with Sofia smiling to herself and Kit feeling a sense of impending doom. On arrival, they were met by Betty who jiggled her way to Kit's side of the cart.

"Oh, have you seen the teams. We are playing together. I was so afraid that I would have to play with someone I don't even know."

"I bet it wouldn't be the first time." Kit heard Sofia mumble to the people in the next cart.

"Can I ride with you, Kitty. I don't like to drive, but I bet that you are a good driver. I really like a guy to drive me."

As Kit blushed, Sofia stepped out of the cart and unstrapped her bag from the back of the cart. "Don't let me interfere with true love of five minutes acquaintance. I'll find my team and see you, Mr. Morgan, after the scramble." With her bag strap over her shoulder, Sofia marched away into the crowd leaving Kit feeling like Horatious at the bridge surrounded by the barbarians.

As Kit refocused on Betty, he was aware of a slender dark, brunette with a large glass of a pale lemonade looking drink in her hand. She sat in the cart beside an athletic middle-aged man with the relaxed mien of a serious amateur golfer. The woman switched her drink to her left hand and reached around Betty's ample hip.

"Hi, Kit, I am Greta Cabot and this is Bill Miller. Bill can really play and I can really drink. Here take a sip of my health drink; I call it a Salty Dog, to see if you like it. I have plenty more if you do."

As usual, Kit did not know how to say no to older women, so he sipped from the edge of the cup. He gasped as the grapefruit flavored gin burned its way to his stomach. "Shit!! That's worse than cheap tequila."

Miller snickered and Mrs. Cabot raised an eyebrow, "Well, Sophia has always been a bit of a prude so I guess she would show up with a boyfriend who won't be my drinking partner. How about you, girl? Try this." She handed Betty the glass.

Betty took a healthy drink and as Kit waited for the reaction, she pursed her lips and nodded. "That's not bad, but maybe you could use more sugar and less grapefruit juice."

"I'm going to like you, girl, How about we just pour some sugar in a bottle of gin and drink straight from there?'

"I'm game," Betty grinned.

"I just bet you are," said Greta with a raised eyebrow.

Betty turned to Kit." Will you load my bag for me, Kitty? It's the pink one over there with the fringed head covers. It's safer to always have the head of your club covered and a little extra fringe adds a little bazoom to everything. Don't you think so, Kitty?".

Kit carried the pink golf bag with white leather fringe to the cart and began strapping it behind the passenger side. As he was arranging the bag on the cart, Betty stepped close behind him and pressed a large soft breast into the back of his left arm. "Let me show you all my clever little pockets and places to put clubs and balls," she breathed as she leaned into Kit. Her left hand reached around him toward the bag and then brushed downward over his stomach to lightly caress Kit's crotch. "Oops,: she whispered, "I don't think that is the right pocket. But it does seem to be a really nice club and balls." Betty giggled as her hand cupped Kit hidden by the bag and golf cart.

"Betty, you better leave that club in the bag or we will be in a world of trouble."

Betty released Kit's business, but gave his arm a brisk rib with her chest as she reached across Kit to pull a towel out of her bag; she patted her face with the towel\. "I don't know why I am so hot." She blew on the back of Kit's neck as she walked around to sit in the passenger seat. "I'm about ready for another bite of that salty dog, Greta."

Greta responded by reaching in a small ice chest at her feet. Like a magician, she came up with another glass full of ice which she poured full of the potent drink. "Here, darling, you can have your own glass. Do you want one, Kit?"

"No, mam. I think I'll let Betty drink for both of us."

"O well. You and Bill be serious golfers and we girls will be charming. Please don't bother me about hitting the ball unless it is absolutely necessary. I don't mind putting, but the rest of this game is just a good excuse to drink outside."

The air horn blatted at the practice green, calling everyone in for a quick review of the rules. The assistant pro stepped up to welcome everyone. "On behalf of Galveston Country Club, I want to welcome everyone to the pre-tournament scramble and mixer. I Think everyone knows the basic rules—four person teams, men playing from the members tees, senior men from the red tees, and of course women from the ladies tees. Each team member plays from the best shot of the group—you may place any ball in the fairway, but a ball in the rough must be dropped within one club length with no relief from obstructions. Low score takes the entire pot. A tie will be played off sudden death. Any questions? If each team has its hole assignment, head out to your assigned hole and begin when you hear the air horn."

Kit's team was to begin on the second hole, a par three, and as they pulled up to the tee box, Primo and his team raced by them to the third hole where they would begin. "Watch our dust, suckers," Primo yelled as they sped past.

Bill played his ball first and landed in the sand trap at the front of the green . Kit overcompensated and sailed his ball completely over the green into the water hazard. "Not a very good start," Bill said. "Maybe the ladies can save our bacon."

Betty played first and sliced her ball far to the right into the water. Everyone turned to look at Greta. "All right, I'll put down my drink and hit the damned ball this time, but don't expect too much. I haven't had enough to drink to swing all that well."

Greta made a great production of putting her drink in the cup holder in the cart and picking a club. When she bent at the waist to tee the ball, her short skirt rose to reveal a lacy pair of black panties. Kit's eyes widened at a well toned ass barely covered with expensive lingerie. "Whoa!" Betty said, "That's a great looking butt and pair of knickers, sister!"

"Well they ought to be," said Greta. "They both cost enough, but I would rather my old man were appreciating them instead of you. I just wore them because they are cool. I just hate a sweaty crotch, don't you, Kit?"

Recognizing that he was being teased, Kit refused to answer and just smiled and shook his head. Greta addressed the ball and stroked it cleanly onto the green. As Kit and Betty applauded, she bowed toward them revealing almost all of a very tan pair of small firm breasts. "Since Kit's seen the rear, he might as well see the front." She said as she wiggled her braless tits.

"Then show ALL the front," Betty laughed.

"Oh, well," Greta sighed. "What I do for the sake of teamwork." She reached for the front of her skirt and as she made a small curtsey, she raised the skirt to flash her hairless snatch in its black lace cage. "Have I made enough sacrifices for the team, Kit?"

"I will be in your debt for ever, Greta, but I may need another shot of inspiration later on." Kit grinned at her.

Bill growled, "Don't encourage her boy or she might really get outrageous. Come on, Grets, that was a good shot and come have a drink and relax."

They drove to the green where Bill meticulously studied the putt from all directions. As they all missed the birdie attempt, they heard Primo's group yelling their excitement at a good shot. Kit's team made their par and moved on to the third hole. There the pattern was set of Bill hitting a careful and safe shot, followed by Kit blasting a drive that was either very good or disastrous. Then Betty would hit her drive from the women's tees—she was not an accomplished player, but with her natural size and strength she often smashed the ball an amazing distance for a woman.

The group played slowly as Bill refused to play until he had considered every possibility. They scored well, making birdies on holes four through seven Kit began enjoying the purely social golf. Only Bill was serious and Greta and Betty became more deeply bitten by the salty dog. Betty became much more touchy and flirty Each good shot became an excuse for a hug; each bad shot was commiserated with pats. Greta seldom left the cart except to putt and typically rested her feet on the ledge that held the drink holders. Once when Kit was in front of her cart, she spread her knees with her drink resting on her stomach and called out, "Hey, Kit, do you want some of this?" as she held up her drink but showed him her lady parts nicely wrapped in black lace.

"I don't think so, Greta; it's too strong for me. Are you getting hot?"

"The more I drink, the hotter I get." They grinned at each other knowing that the bawdy hints would go no farther Betty walked up and wrapped an arm around Kit to stake her dubious claim. She glanced down between Greta's legs, "My God, Greta, that thing doesn't bite, does it?"

"No, but you ought to know that Sofia might. You are here with her ex-husband and if you leave fingerprints all over her golf partner, she may really be unhappy with you."

"Oh, poo, Greta. She's so little and old that she probably doesn't even think about that stuff any more. Primo said that the reason their marriage fell apart was that she was so tight-assed that the sex was terrible. She was no sort of a partner at all."

Kit tried to reconcile the woman he had felt respond to his touch with the picture Betty was painting. Plus, Sofia had told him to flirt. His natural honesty wanted to defend Sofia, but this was her party so he decided to play the part scripted for him. Both women were looking at him expectantly. "I really only met her yesterday in San Antonio. She was friends with my parents years ago." That was the truth as far as it went. He would just see how Sofia's game played out.

"A young guy like you needs something hotter than a cold fish, Kitty." Betty said.

"He sure does," said Greta. "Do you have a new ball, Kit?"

"Yes," he said, as he reached into his bag and shook a new Titlist out of the sleeve. When he handed it to Greta, she raised the waistband of her panties and dropped the shiny ball inside.

"There, I'll keep it hot for you until you really need it."

Kit and Betty exploded in laughter. Betty said, That's a great idea. Get me one, Kit, and I'll have another one ready for you."

Kit shook the last ball out of the sleeve and handed it over. Betty reached under her skirt and came out empty-handed. "It'll be ready when you are, cutie." She and Greta howled at the resigned look on Kit's face. They played their shots to the eighth green, another par three, but they were far from the hole with little chance to make the putt. As they started to the carts, they saw Primo's team trying to hit to the ninth green. Their ball had ended up on the right hand side of a palm tree and the first three team members dropped their balls and hacked at them with a restricted swing. Primo playing last used his driver to measure a club length to the left of the tree and dropped.

"That's not right, Primo!" Bill yelled, showing some emotion for the first time all afternoon. "You're avoiding the obstruction!"

"It's one club length, Bill," chortled Primo as he jumped in his cart and sped off toward the green.

Bill steamed as he painfully lined up the long putt on the eighth green; they heard the cheers from Primo's team as they completed another birdie. Betty, Greta, and Bill all attempted the long putt without success. Kit started to place his ball by the marker when he looked up. "This is going to take some extra effort. Betty, would you hold the flag? And maybe, I need that hot ball, Greta."

The women howled and even dour Bill smiled as Greta reached under her skirt and came out with the specially prepared ball. As Kit took it from her, he noticed it was warmer than normal so he held it up to his nose and sniffed before giving it a kiss.

"Don't just kiss it, lick it, you fool!" Greta growled in mock anger.

Kit quickly placed the ball down and rapped it firmly toward the hole. As it rolled 20, 30, 40 feet, he and his partners began moving toward Betty who had removed the flag and was standing by the hole. 50, 60, almost 70 feet as the ball slowed and majestically with its last turn fell into the hole. Betty screamed and threw the flag over her head as she ran to Kit and leaped to hug him with her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. Kit was jumping up and down holding Betty's substantial ass with both hands as she kissed him all over his face. Suddenly Betty's eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a surprised "O". No one noticed Betty's look as Greta was hugging Kit and Betty with one hand while the other carefully held her drink to the side. Bill was pounding Kit's back saying, "We'll show that cheating little prick."

"Little prick is right," said Betty as she released Kit and replaced the flag in the hole. This brought a new rush of snickers from Greta. "And I ought to know."

They easily birdied the ninth hole thanks to a smashing drive by a flushed-faceed Betty from the women's tee and an accurate iron shot on the par four by Bill that left them only a tap in. There was a crowd around the green as almost everyone had finished ahead of Kit's team. The salty dog and Bill creeping pace of play had slowed them down.

When Bill said they were seven under with one hole to play, someone told him that though it was a good score, it probably wasn't going to do them any good as Primo had birdied every hole and had a short putt on their last hole to go to nine under. As they drove to the first tee, Kit told Betty that he might need that other special ball in order to catch Primo with an eagle on the par five first hole.

"Kitty. I don't really know how to tell you this, but you can't have the ball right now."

"Did you lose it, Betty?"

"No, it certainly is not lost...it's just that on that par three where you made the long putt and I ran and jumped and you caught me..."

"Yes, what, Betty, I don't understand..."

"Well, Kitty, you kind of made two balls in two holes in one stroke..."

"You mean, it went in... there?"

"Yep, and it ain't got no string to pull it out with. It may take a little work."

Kit's laughter rang out across the course as he lay his head down on the steering wheel of the cart and collapsed in hilarity. Betty sat there for a moment then began to snicker. Hearing her, Kit sat up and reached for her to enfold her in a huge hug. They laughed and howled until Bill and Greta drove back to see what was holding them up. Between gales of laughter, Betty explained unselfconsciously.

"You mean," Bill grinned, "it's in there where no ball has gone before?" He howled at his own wit.

"But what if you don't get it out before Primo..."Greta added as the women redoubled their joy.

"He probably wouldn't notice. It's not like it would crowd him." Betty told her. The women screamed and hugged each other again.

Most of the crowd had followed them to the first tee and asked what they were laughing at. "Inside joke." Kit replied sending his teammates off again.

In a very relaxed mood, Kit smashed an enormous drive. The crowd followed them to their second shots where the first three did not hit good shots. Kit stepped up and smashed an iron that landed in the center of the green. It failed to stop and slowly trickled over the green toward the water behind the green. If it went it the water, Primo's team would win.

When they drove up to the green, Primo's team was waiting. "My team couldn't make the damn putt, so we finished eight under." He announced "I understand that you are seven under, but you will be lucky to make par. It is not in the water, but it is over the red line in the hazard so you will have to drop it in the muck." Primo smirked at Kit's team..

After surveying the shot, Bill explained to the women that they would have to stand with one foot in the water and the shot would probably send up a huge spray of mud. Greta declined, "No thanks; not me. I've already had a great time today and I'm not going to finish it up with a mud bath to win what—forty-five bucks?—no thanks."

Betty said, "I'm game." As she started to the edge of the water, Primo yelled, "Take off your shoes, dummy. I'm not buying you shoes just so you can ruin them." The crowd grew quiet at the unnecessary cruelty of the remark.

Betty dropped her ball where Bill indicated and made a dainty half-hearted swing that barely moved the ball. Primo told his team, "We're home free, guys, if that's the best they can do."

Bill dropped his ball inside the hazard and unluckily it sank halfway into the mud. Primo laughed again, "Look at that, he'll be lucky to even move it as far as Betty."

Bill opened his pro-sized golf bag and removed his rain suit. He pulled the pants and jacket over his clothes. He left his shoes on as he waded into the water and looked over the shot. The crowd was totally silent as they allowed the man to study the shot, but even Kit was becoming antsy at the delay.

"For God's sake, Bill. Hit the damn shot. You can't make it anyway." Primo's voice grated on everyone's ears. From the edge of the crowd, a small fierce woman stepped forward. Her prominent chest heaved and her black eyes flashed. What Sofia lacked in stature, she made up in presence. To Kit, electricity seemed to sparkle from her as she said, "Shut the fuck up, Primo, and try to pretend to be a decent person while Bill hits his shot."

Amidst many murmurs of agreement, Bill nodded to her and stepped up to the shot. He made two waggles with the club head above the ball and then made a ferocious pass at the ball. Mud, water, grass flew everywhere in a huge explosion. In the center of the flying debris was one slightly larger clump that had a bit of white showing as it rotated. The ball rose above the green and landed five feet short and to the right of the hole. The mud caked on one side of the ball spun it sideways and it crabbed briskly toward the hole. Turning and spinning, showing black, then white, then black, it ran into the flagstick and fell into the hole for an eagle—two under par—Bill's shot won it for them.