Conquering the Fearsome Foursome Ch. 01

"Sign papers?" she queried.

"You are going to sell me this house, aren't you?" I said with a big smile.

"You want to buy this house, this particular unit?"

"Of course! How could I let someone else live in this house now? I have so many great memories of this place." I was smiling now from ear to ear, "With a few more upgrades, this house would be perfect."

I lifted her off the counter and we went back into the den to collect our clothes and get dressed. I noticed that there was an unmistakable cum stain on the carpet, that although would illicit a lot of recollections in the future, the carpet would have to go. Pointing to the stain, I said "One of those upgrades will have to be hardwood floors throughout the main level." She smiled and said "Done."

As we walked out of the house, I also remembered the puddle on the counter that we failed to clean up. "Oh yea, and granite countertops too."

On the day after I closed on my new home and got all moved in, she came by to congratulate me. We fooled around in every room and made love all afternoon. That was the last I saw of her, her husband had been transferred and they moved away. I was floored. She never mentioned her moving and she definitely never mentioned a husband. She never wore any rings so I assumed she was unattached. I guess this is how women feel when they find out their lover's are married. Oh well, I will miss her just the same. I will miss her a lot!

I joined the golf club and, since my golf game basically sucked, I took lessons and practiced daily. Within six months, I improved enough that I was not embarrassed to play with the more seasoned members. I became buddies with a lot of the men, playing every weekend, learning not only about their businesses and professions, but also about their extra curricular activities.

On the weekdays, I would play a round in the morning and head for the nineteenth hole afterwards. For you non-golfers, the nineteenth hole is a café style restaurant where you can get an overpriced beer and a casual lunch. The ladies loved that place. On any given weekday, the place was mobbed for lunch by these wealthy, stay-at-home soccer moms who needed some time away from the humdrum life of housework and carpools. I usually would park myself at the bar; have a couple of beers and a sandwich, and listen. From that position I could hear the conversations from most of the tables. I heard about what detergent was best, where the best hairdressers were, what the price of steak was at the grocery store, and an ocean of other useless.

Finally, I heard it from a table right behind me. The topic was their sex lives, or lack of it. I tried to turn around to see who the poor souls were without being obvious, but resigned myself to listen and look later. One went on to say that her husband hadn't touched her in well over a month and even then, it was "a dud". The others consoled her with their own tales of woe, from not having a husband at all, to husbands unable to have sex at all. I just had to see who these women were. So I accidentally, on purpose, dropped my napkin on the floor and, when I bent over to pick it up, I took a quick glance. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw them. It was the "fearsome foursome". That was the nickname some of the men gave these women because they were notoriously bad golfers. When they hit the ball, you were wise to take cover because you just never knew where it was going to go. Rumor had it that they had taken out a few dozen windows and even hit a guy putting on a nearby green. Normally, it would not have been tolerated, but the women were attractive and one of their husbands was very powerful and influential in the political circles. Power and beauty together did have its privileges. I returned to my stool and focused my attention to their conversation.

Before I continue on here, I should introduce you to this amazing group. They were all what I would consider middle age, ranging from late 30's to late 40's. You wouldn't be able to categorize any one into a body type nor personality.

Irene Matthews was the baby of the group. Here was a woman that oozed sex appeal. It wasn't necessarily her looks, although they were good, it was how she carried herself. She walked with confidence and poise, as if she had taken lessons. There wasn't any bouncing or obvious swaying, but more like gliding on air. Irene stood at about 5'3", had the most extraordinary green-eyes, ones that you could spend a lifetime gazing into and never really become tired. People thought that she colored her hair blond, but since there were never, ever any signs of dark roots, no one, except maybe her husband, knew the truth. It was a rarity if you saw her without makeup or jewelry, and she was usually dressed impeccably. I am not saying she was a high fashion maven, but that she always looked 'put together'. As for her figure, it was nice. Irene wasn't going to be doing any modeling or photo shoots, but to be honest; she had curves in all the right places. After 2 kids, her hips were a bit wide but that in no way deterred from her attractiveness. Her breasts were not really large, probably 34 or so, but looked full and ripe. What really made her attractive, at least to me, were her legs. They were very shapely and toned. When she wore the short golf skirts, she even got the attention of the teenage grounds crew as she walked by. Like I said, Irene was 'put together', a whole package.

Anna Roberts, a.k.a Anna Jenkins, was a pip. Divorced, she took her maiden name back because she didn't want anything that would be associated with "that jackoff", except his money. Art Jenkins was a successful plastic surgeon that got caught "operating" on one of his patients in their bed. The fact that the patient was also male didn't help either. She took him for everything, well, everything except that bed, and made that fact known whenever the chance arose. Anna was very outgoing, probably the most of the four. If there was a social event, you could guarantee that she would be there and in the thick of it all. Anna was also naïve, almost innocent. If a comment had a double meaning, she wouldn't get it. Most dirty jokes had to be explained to her, and even then, she was lost. But on Anna, it worked. I think if she were any other way, she wouldn't have been as fascinating. Anna was the tallest, towering at 5'8", long and slender physique. In her youth, I figured she was a competitive swimmer. At 40, she still had it too. Her breasts were small, her ass was firm and she had long, powerful legs. She was definitely a striking woman. Her one flaw was that she worried about money too much. She was afraid that she'd run out of money and spend her retirement years destitute. The others teased her that they'd always be sure she had enough cat food to eat and a shawl to keep her warm.

Ah, Rebecca. Rebecca Santiago is an Irish native who immigrated to the US as a baby. Her parents died in route and relatives raised her. She got married at a young age, to escape an alcoholic uncle, to an up and coming telecommunications expert from South America. A fiery red head married to a suave Latino...quite a couple. Rebecca, drawing from her childhood, didn't take any shit from anyone for anything. If she thought you were being rude or untruthful, she'd let you know about it in no uncertain words. Apparently, poor Art Jenkins got an earful when the 'news' came out. Most of the men in the club gave her a wide birth, just to avoid the possibility of being on the wrong end of her wrath. She always looked serious and ready to pounce, but if something struck her funny, her smile could light up a city. Her complexion was flawless and had the prettiest face of them all. She was of medium height and average build for a woman in her early to mid 40's. It wasn't that she was fat, she wasn't. Rebecca was probably what everyone called 'big boned'. When she wore a dress, you could see her well toned, even muscular arms and legs, from years of working and, now, working out. She dressed to minimize her butt but maximize her large tits, and did it very well too.

Sheryl Strausberg was the momma of the group. She was the eldest, maybe by a year or two, although she usually did not act it. She was the talker and if it popped in her head, it surely came out her mouth. She had the knack of breaking the ice in any situation. At a school children's recital, after a horrendous performance by one child and the audience sat in stunned silence, she stood to her feet holding a lighter in the air, yelling "Bravo, Bravo, Encore." The audience erupted into applause and gave this poor child a standing ovation. Sheryl is on her second marriage, with a 12-year-old son from his first and a 22-year-old daughter from hers. She would like nothing else than for some nice boy to sweep her daughter off her feet and marry. Sheryl is somewhat on the short side; her boisterous behavior always got her noticed, that and her enormous breasts. On a woman 6" taller, they would have been big, but on a woman of her stature, they looked like the Alps. When she was serious, her pupils would dilate to pinhead size, accentuating her pale blue eyes. When she laughed, they sparkled like the Las Vegas Strip. The men's locker room unofficially voted her the most likely to kill a man during sex. As I listened to the conversation between the 'foursome', Irene told of how her husband had been ignoring any of her hints at romance. Once, when she met him at the door after one of his out of town trips in her skimpiest of negligees, he grumbled something about being exhausted and threw himself in his easy chair for the evening. I could only image Irene in a skimpy negligee and that alone aroused me, seeing her in one would've been heaven.

I knew Irene's husband, Bob, fairly well. He was an Executive V.P. of some consulting firm downtown. During one of our golf outings, he boasted of taking his female staff on a "business trip" and let them take turns with him. I figured he was just blowing smoke up my ass, trying to show he still had it in him.

I listened carefully to the ladies talk, hoping for an opening to join them. There conversation changed course and they began discussing the men of the club. Bingo! When I heard my name being whispered and then giggling, I turned and looked at them. Surprised that I had heard, they all must have turned three shades of red from embarrassment, all that is, except Sheryl. Feeling empowered, I went to their table and sat down in the extra chair between Irene and Rebecca.

"My ears are burning. Did I hear my name mentioned and then snickering? Not the most flattering combination I could think of. Are y'all trying to give me a complex or something?" I looked each one in the eye; hoping one of them would crack.

Finally, as expected, Sheryl blurted, "We were just discussing the various men in this club that could appreciate women like us, and we thought you'd make for an entertaining evening." The giggles came and their faces flushed again. "And as you noticed, it was a very short conversation."

"I see. Y'all have no idea how entertaining I could be!" I looked right into Irene's eyes and smiled as I said that. I have been told that my steel blue eyes can be somewhat piercing, so I was not surprised to see her avert her eyes. Rebecca piped up with a sort of a grunting sound, "It wasn't a unanimous decision, so don't go out buying a new hat for that big head of yours." I had to have a come back, and quick. "Rebecca, Rebecca. You know you love me. Are you still upset about my dancing abilities?" Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, remembering the night we first met. Seeing that face I decided to let sleeping dogs lie and change the subject.

Not being asked to leave the table, although, Rebecca gave me looks that should have scared me off, I joined the conversation. I turned on the charm and wit, even dazzled them with some of my own household hints, thanks to Heloise. What was even better was that now they were getting to know me; that I wasn't just some young guy who got lucky.

We became fast friends and I was included in their weekly lunches, much to Rebecca's annoyance, and was the "alternate" on their golf rounds.

A few weeks later, when the other ladies all had other commitments, I met Irene at the club for a quick nine. We couldn't have been farther away from the clubhouse when the skies opened up and the rain came. We found some shelter under some trees, but knew that was definitely not the place to be. When the rain let up a little, we made a beeline towards her house, which overlooked the previous hole.

Of course, by the time we got there, we were completely soaked. Running from the cart to the house, we laughed and shouted to each other to hurry and to look out for the puddles forming in her back yard. Once inside, I couldn't help but notice that, with her wet clothes clinging to her, her figure was better than I had thought. The chill from the air conditioning made her nipples stand erect, and they were enormous.

"I must look like a wet cat, an absolute mess," she said, shaking the water from her hair.

"Irene, you could never look anything but beautiful." Damn, that sounded awfully forward. What will she be thinking?

"You're too sweet, Jack, but I know better."

She flashed me one of her smiles and headed for the bathroom for some towels. As she walked away, I couldn't help but notice she had on some very skimpy panties that would not have covered much of that sexy ass. How did I know that? Well, she liked to wear the white golf outfits because she said it "accentuated my tan." So when white gets wet, it is practically transparent.

When Irene walked, she had a very graceful swing in her hips. No man could be behind her and not watch that thing move. I could feel a familiar twinge between my legs but that vanished as the cool air took its toll on me too. Upon returning with some large bathtowels, we dried off as best we could. But whenever she wasn't looking, I had to admire her body from top to bottom and back again.

"I need to change out of these clothes, and I'll see if there is anything in Bob's closet for you. Go on into the kitchen and make us some drinks to warm us up. I think there's some scotch in the cabinet."

She turned and went upstairs. Watching that ass sachet up those stairs was almost too much for me. With that vision burned into my brain, I am definitely going to have to take care of myself when I get home.

Bob was her husband. I never really figured out what he did for a living, but he made a fortune doing it. I knew he was doing a woman he worked with, and from the grapevine, she was pressuring him to divorce his wife for her. If I had heard these rumors, I am sure Irene had heard them too. I didn't really know what she saw in him anyway. He's at a minimum, 50 lbs overweight, and, from my memories of him in the locker rooms, was covered in thick black hair, a real cave man. And it couldn't have been his dick. That thing would have had to be stretched to get 5". Oh well.

I fixed her a scotch and water while I poured mine straight over ice. The liquor tasted very good as it burned its way down my throat. I nearly did a "spit take" when I saw her coming down the stairs. She had changed into a spaghetti strapped Hawaiian print sundress. The dress was cut just above her knee, but had a slit up the side, almost to her hip. Her hair was dried and make-up re-applied to perfection. I stood there staring at her almost glide across the room toward me. She stopped right in front of me and waited. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She broke my trance when she asked me to hand her the drink I was holding. I really must have looked the jerk when I finally held it out for her.

"I put out some of Bob's old clothes for you. I think you'd be swimming in any of his regular clothes," she said with a laugh. Swimming in them is putting it lightly.

I was at the top of the stairs when she called to say they're in the master bedroom. Master bedroom?!?! I closed the door and looked around. I peeked into the walk-in closets; they were huge. I've seen bedrooms smaller than that closet. His clothes were hung on one side, taking up maybe a half of the wall. The rest were hers. I went over to her vanity and looked at all the make-up and perfumes arranged just so. I bent over to take in all the wonderful woman scents being offered up. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that appeared out of place. I glanced over at the nightstand and then had to do a double take. Sitting on the table in plan view was a dildo and a tube of sex cream you've seen advertised on the web. I figured women would buy the 12 inch monster dicks that shot cream and vibrated at 6 different speeds. Not Irene, hers was a vibrator, but was only about 6 inches and very slender. I picked it up and held it for a second. This has been sliding in and out of her snatch, getting lubricated with her juices, or has it. I gave it a sniff, and confirmed that it had been used. I moved it from hand to hand, imagining it getting all sloppy wet, when it started to vibrate. I was startled and dropped in on the floor. Ok, Jack, I thought, you've had your little fun, now put it back and let this woman have some privacy and dignity.

I found the t-shirt and sweat pants lying on the bed. Putting them on, the t-shirt was very snug across the chest and shoulders but hung loosely at the middle. The drawstring helped immensely in keeping the sweatpants up. They were a bit tight in the legs but baggy in the crotch and seat. Geez, Bob was disproportioned.

I was pleased to see her take an extended stare at me when I came back into the room. She was just sitting on the sofa listening to some light jazz and sipping away at her drink. I looked at the other chairs in the room but there was either a cat or a basket of laundry there. I didn't remember them there before I went upstairs. So I sat down on the sofa next to Irene, and, after seeing her playthings upstairs, it was a real pleasure. She sat there very comfortably with her legs seductively crossed and her dress up about mid-thigh. I couldn't help but look at her legs and I know she saw me admiring them too, but I'm a guy and that's what guys do. She stretched her legs out and propped them on the coffee table in front of us. She was in bare feet, which obviously had just been given a pedicure, her toenails a bright red color. I couldn't help but think she even had sexy feet.

"Sorry about the clothes. However, they do look a lot better on you than they ever did on Bob" she said as she let her eyes check out my body.

"You look incredible too. You belong in the tropics. All you need now is one of those fruity drinks with an umbrella and a muscle bound lifeguard to complete the picture."

"I have you as my lifeguard, and those drinks are never strong enough for my tastes."

She polished off her drink and asked me for another, but this time, just on the rocks. I stood up to get it, but her outstretched legs prevented me from passing. Rather than just put them down, she brought them up to her chest, giving me a brief view up her skirt and the backs of her thighs and ass. Was she flashing me just to tease me for her own enjoyment? What the hell, I'd enjoy seeing whatever she wanted to show me.

As I was getting the bottle out of the cupboard and filling the glasses with ice, she came into the room almost silently. She moved so smoothly, like the water in a country stream.

"I just wanted to see if you needed any help." "Nah, I think I can handle it." As I opened the bottle, I said, "Say when."

I poured the golden liquid into her glass, waiting for the "When". She sidled up to me and put her hand on my upper back, right between the shoulder blades. While watching me pour, her fingers made light scratches up and down my spine. Not wanting this to end, I started filling my glass before I had finished with hers. I don't think I fooled her but she changed from using her fingernails to a flat hand. Starting at my shoulders, her experienced hand moved down along my backbone, stopping short of my ass. Pouring a drink was never more difficult.