• C.P. McClennan

Cold Speech

Emerson blinked hard in a failing attempt to keep the blowing snow from irritating his eyes.

He gripped the rubber end of the club in his hands.

"Thinner gloves," he thought. "Works better with thinner gloves."

Another windy blast of snow reminded Emerson why thinner gloves were not a good idea at this particular moment.

This always felt a little weird to him. Why was he gripping the club? Shouldn't she be gripping his club?

A grin rippled across his face, and the wind attempted to rip saliva from his mouth.

Shouldn't she be opening his parka and undoing his snow-pants? He would happily seat himself back in the snow, laying back so she could mount and ride through this blizzard until they both came?

It seemed like a good plan.

An event like that would be worth him giving speeches again at the pub to his buddies.

Especially since he currently had no actual she to do it with. Was it some random coupling with his cock reciprocating into some strange female; that would be an impressive story to tell. A tall tale.

It had been too long since he'd run a new woman up his flagpole while her husband or boyfriend watched him do it.

More than two years, in fact.

Damned COVID.

Damned snowstorm.

The guys at the pub had tired of his stories two years ago, anyway. He was just a guy that allegedly slept with women while the woman's husbands or boyfriends watched. He was a star of live porn.

But they stopped caring. They had likely stopped believing Emerson, even if it was true.

His parka felt tight across his shoulders as he gripped his club and leaned forward. Holding the club in both hands, he moved them right until the club was across the back of his shoulders. Wind up complete, he swung.

As the club came down, at its lowest point, it connected with a dimpled orange ball with a crack that was barely audible over the whistling wind.

That golf ball rocketed forward through that very blowing snow for a few metres across the driveway and over the hood of the neighbor's car. It continued until it entered the tall snowbank like a missile finding its target on the other side.

"Fore!!!" Emerson yelled at no one. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it. Emerson saw the curtains move at the neighbor's house out of the corner of his eye.

The snow ignored him, but the neighbors could not.

No doubt, they were concerned for their car again.

Emerson's sigh caused his shoulders first to lift and then fall. Reaching into his right pocket, he pulled out another orange golf ball and dropped it on the snow in front of him.

He looked down, blinking at the snow as he lined up the next shot.

"Now," he thought, "what if she were playing with my balls?"

Author's note --- Mark Twain once said that golf ruins a good walk. I concur.

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