Lost In The Rough

Lost In The Rough


I would have never have imagined that at 25, an attractive woman such as myself would be a golf widow.

But that’s what happened shortly after Griffin and I married. Before our wedding, my husband had never liked the idea of golf. In college, he was a long-haired leftie and thought golf was for the bourgeoisie. But then he went to law school, shaved off his beard and cut his hair. He became a corporate lawyer. He works tremendous hours, and the guys in his firm got him into golfing. So now, on Sunday — the one day he doesn’t spend in the office — he goes golfing.

I understand he needs some relaxation, but I’m a hot-to-trot woman who needs sex! During the week it’s “I have to get up early, baby,” and even on Saturday nights he’s too tired to do anything but go to a movie. We live in the desert, so it rarely rains and it’s never too cold for him to hit the links. Once it did actually rain on a Sunday, so I slipped into some racy lingerie and found him in the living room, watching golf. He never even looked away from the screen.

Our sex life has taken a tremendous hit, and I have become intimately acquainted with my growing collection of vibrators and dildos. Griffin may have noticed my toy stash, but he hasn’t said a word about it.

I still love the big lug, though. I’ve thought about having an affair but decided against it. I’m not looking for any sort of emotional attachment. Instead, I kept to my toys and my fantasies (the mailman is really hot) and hoped Griffin would twist an ankle or get carpal tunnel or something that would force him to slow down and spend more time at home.

Then a new couple moved in next door. Griffin and I went over to introduce ourselves to Fred and Naomi. When the guys immediately started talking about golf, I groaned. Before ten minutes had gone by, Griffin had invited him to join a foursome. Naomi rolled her eyes at me. Clearly, she was a kindred spirit.

But it turns out Naomi was a blessing. When the boys went golfing, we’d go sunning together by her pool. She was absolutely the most stunning woman I had ever seen, nearly six feet tall, with long black hair, an olive complexion and what guys would call a magnificent rack. When we lay out in her backyard, I couldn’t help but stare at her from underneath my sunglasses.

I’ve had a few girl-girl experiences in my life. I wouldn’t call myself bisexual, and I’m certainly not a lesbian — I crave cock, after all — but at night, lying next to my snoring husband, I imagined Naomi’s tongue in my pussy. Would having sex with her be cheating? I didn’t think Dear Abby would answer that kind of letter, and besides, I had no idea if Naomi swung that way.

But after a couple of weeks, I found out she did.

We’d usually lay on our stomachs with our bikini tops untied to eliminate tan lines on our backs. But one day Naomi decided she didn’t want them on her front, either. Their backyard — like ours — is secluded, surrounded by hedges and trees. And besides, she said, “If some perv wants to see my tits through binoculars, let him.”

Let me say this — Naomi’s boobs were perfect. Their size and shape would be the envy of any runway model. I openly stared at her pendulous tits and large brown nipples. She laughed.

“Honey, these things are tough to lug around. I much prefer yours. As they say, more than a mouthful is a waste.”

I decided to take off my top, too. While Naomi’s breasts are natural double-Ds, mine are more modest Bs — but with very large nipples. Griffin used to love sucking on them. Naomi sat up, perched on one elbow, and admired them.

“Now, those beautiful boobs could drive a guy crazy.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “A girl, too.”

Just a second later she exclaimed, “Hey, we have to put some sunscreen on those titties! I rarely burn, but your skin will turn lobster red in no time. You’re so pale.”

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