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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
No Place For Golfballs - 1. Fore!
“Are you still going to take me to the par three course today, Stanley?”
“Yes, but we’ll each hit a bucket of balls at the driving range there first, Addison.”
“Do you think I need more practice?”
Stanley answered, “Yeah.” He left out his additional thought, ‘There aren’t enough buckets in the world for all the practice you need.’
Stanley was not the greatest golfer in the world, but he could hit the ball short, but pretty straight, 19 times out of 20. Most of his shots at the driving range went mostly where he intended.
Addison’s, on the other hand, looked like he used a sawed-off shotgun to launch them. One even nearly hit Stanley on the adjacent platform. Addison was slightly more accurate by the time his bucket was empty. Slightly meaning the last half dozen or so went basically forward.
They walked to the first tee. Stanley hit first. His ball landed three-quarters of the way down the fairway, maybe five degrees too far right, bounced a few times and rolled to a stop fifteen yards shy of the green.
“Was that a good shot?”
“Could have been further left, but otherwise, yeah.
Then it was Addison’s turn.
“Thwack!”
“Geez, Addison, you missed the fairway by a mile.”
“I hate having a spice I can’t control.”
“I told you before, while we were practicing, it’s a slice. And so does that cow you hit.”
“No way. I didn’t, did I?”
Stanley tried to stifle a giggle, “Right in the ass.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not, but I think that cow will be shitting out your golfball in the next day or so.”
“Get the fuck outta here!”
“Yep. I think I’ll put you down for a hole in one.”
“Sweet. I’m up at least two strokes then, Stanley.”
“In that case, hit another ball.”
Addison pouted, “You just can’t stand losing.”
“Whatever. Try to get it close to the fairway this time.”
“I’m gonna put this one right on the green.”
Addison’s next shot went high and mostly straight. It not only landed in the pond barely halfway down the fairway, it nearly hit a duck swimming in the pond. Stanley laughed, “Splash!”
“I hit the water?”
“Oh my God. You’d better hope it’s duck season.”
“I didn’t kill it, did I?”
“No, but I bet you scared the shit out of it. It took off. Hopefully it won’t have a heart attack in the air.”
“You’re fucking with me because I’m so near-sighted.”
“You know I told you I was going to record all your tee shots, so you’ll believe me when I tell you where they went.”
“Yeah, yeah. So what do I do on that one. Hit it again?”
“No. You’ll drop a ball on this side of the pond and take your fifth shot.”
“Fifth? Why not third? And I thought you get shots at the 19th hole.”
“Penalty strokes my friend. And the 19th hole is the bar in the clubhouse.”
“Why did I agree to let you teach me to play golf?”
“Coz it’s fun?”
They arrived at the pond.
“Yeah, loads of fun. I got a bridge to sell you if you believe that. What do I it hit it with from here? The sandwich?”
“That’s sand wedge, you nitwit. No, try the five iron.”
“Which one is that?”
“Maybe the one with the five on it?”
Addison looks in the bag, “It looks big. Are you sure I’m far enough away. And how come the numbers are backwards?”
“Backwards?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t a nine-incher be bigger than a five?”
“That’s nine-iron. And no, because they’re not dicks.”
“But you said the higher numbers hit shorter distances. I’m too close for a five.”
“Trust me.”
Addison swung.
“Christ.”
“What?”
“You topped it. It went ten feet into the water.”
“I topped it? How?”
“You hit the top of the ball. Not everything’s sexual, you know.”
“Oh. Should I get it out of the water?”
“No. Drop another ball and hit for seven.”
“I don’t like this counting by twos.”
“Just hit another ball.”
“Same club?”
Stanley sighed, “Yes, same club.”
“Don’t I need a longer one so I don’t top it again?”
“No. Just go.”
Addison swung.
“Oops.”
“Where’d it go this time, Stanley?”
“Um. The tee for the second hole.”
“Is that why I hear people yelling?”
“It is.”
“I hit someone, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You’re on your own.”
“Wait. What?”
Addison turns to where Stanley was standing, “Stanley? Where’d you go?”
Addison turned around and saw Stanley running back toward the tee.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? A five? From here?”
Addison turned back around to look at who spoke. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought it was “Stone Cold” Steve Austin.
“My friend is teaching me how to play. He suggested I use it because I don’t hit so well.”
The Stone Cold doppelgänger took a club out of their bag, “See this? What does it say?”
“Six?”
“You need better glasses. That’s an eight. This is what you should use. Your friend is lucky he ran off. I would have showed him what he could do with that five-iron.”
“What’s that?”
“Shove it up his ass! Wait until we’re gone before you try again.”
“I think I’ll just quit and go find Stanley.”
“Good idea. You’re not as dumb as I thought.”
“Gee! Thanks!”
Mr. Not Stone Cold shook his head and walked away, whispering,“Fuckin’ idiot.”
Addison walked back toward the first hole tees, looking for Stanley.
“Yo, Stanley! Where’d you go?”
Stanley peeked out from behind a wall, “That big guy follow you?”
Addison turned around to look, “No.”
Stanley stepped out, “What did he say to you?”
“He said it was a good thing you ran. He would have showed you what to do with the five-iron.”
“Did he say what?”
“Yeah. He said shove it up your ass. I don’t think you’d like that, being a top.”
“I doubt you’d like it either.”
“Maybe we can try it when we get back home?”
“No. You’re so…”
“Don’t say dumb.”
“Perverted. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. I like that.”
As they were walking back to the car, Addison made a suggestion.
“Maybe tomorrow we can try miniature golf?”
“Definitely safer, yeah.”
“Cool. Can we go to the one by the diner, so we can get dinner afterwards?”
“Sure. They make awesome desserts.”
The next day, they drove to “Old Macdonald’s” diner, got clubs and balls, and walked up to the first tee.
“Old Macdonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. Oh, great.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I gotta hit the ball ‘through’ a cow’s butt this time.”
Stanley laughed so hard, he was literally rolling on the ground laughing.
The End
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
