The Woman on the Twelfth Green

I slept well, once I returned home, and woke just after seven. I dressed for my morning run and went outside. The hose I used to wash my car was still lying on the driveway. I coiled it and hung it on the side of the garage where it belonged. After stretching I went for my run.

I ran up the road, parallel to the golf course. After I'd gone about a half mile, I heard a car slow down as it approached. Kiersten beeped and waved as she passed but didn't stop. She accelerated and disappeared around the corner after safely passing me. I completed my run, showered and made a late breakfast.

The rest of the day was nothing special. I paid bills online. Did laundry. Went for groceries. I called my parents, who, as was their habit, bickered as they talked with me. It was like listening to a comedy team -- my father the straight man and incorrigible grouch. My mother the comic foil that played off his cranky demeanor for laughs at his expense.

I called Kiersten just before seven. While I listened to the phone ringing in my ear, I heard the unmistakable sound of a cell phone coming from the deck just outside my apartment door. I looked outside and saw Kiersten standing on the deck, grinning as she looked at her phone. I hung up and opened the door.

Kiersten had stopped by to drop off a potted plant her father had bought for Stephanie. Instead of just going home, she started up the stairs to say hello. We sat on the deck for a few minutes and talked after she declined an offer have supper with me. She had just finished dinner at her father's. She only stayed about a half hour before going home. We made vague plans to get together the following weekend.

I was excited about having finally met someone that might actually become a close, female friend. The rest of the evening passed quickly. After having a sandwich, a salad, and a bottle of iced tea for dinner, I stuck my nose in a mystery novel I'd picked up that afternoon and read until about eleven when I went to bed.

But I tossed and turned and couldn't settle into sleep. Thoughts of Kiersten kept me awake. I'd never fixated on a woman like this before. I just couldn't get her out of my mind. Frustrated at the prospect of another night of, at best, fitful sleep, I rolled out of bed and dressed for a walk.

It was another warm, clear night with a light breeze. The full moon was high as I made my way across the street, through the trees and onto the twelfth fairway. Usually, I walked slowly at night, trying to relax and settle my thoughts. For some reason, this night I walked briskly, my mind racing through vignettes of dinner at Angelo's, the walk back from Angelo's, her brief visit, a few hours earlier.

When I crested the hill, I slammed on the brakes. The woman was on the green again. She was still dressed, walking across the green with her back to me. A steep slope of about thirty feet backed the green. The trees behind the slope were out-of-bounds. The woman took her blanket out of her backpack and spread it on the hill. She took something I couldn't see out of the backpack and dropped it on the blanket before dropping the backpack.

I always wore dark clothes on the course at night. I liked being nearly invisible while I walked the course. It helped to avoid drawing attention if someone else was on the course. The backdrop of the trees behind me enhanced my invisibility. The woman looked up as she spun around, looking at the stars and moonlit sky. When she stopped spinning, she stripped out of her clothes and sat on the blanket. She laid back and put her hands behind her head and appeared to be just looking up at the sky.

She sat up suddenly and reached for the backpack. Something illuminated her face. Her cellphone. She fiddled with it briefly then put it away, returning to her previous position. A moment later my phone buzzed softly. The vibration sounded like a klaxon. I cringed. But a fortuitous gust carried the sound away from her.

I couldn't resist my curiosity. Who might be texting me so late? I turned away and took out my phone, holding it close and cupping my hand around it. It was a text from Kiersten. I read it quickly. 'I hope I don't wake you. Thinking of you. Just wanted you to know I enjoyed our time together this weekend.'

I closed my messages and put the phone away. The woman on the green had to be Kiersten. Receiving a text seconds after she used her cellphone was too much of a coincidence. I returned my attention to the reclining figure behind the green. I felt a little guilty about watching someone I knew and wanted to know better. But not guilty enough to retreat.

I didn't dare try to get closer because of the way Kiersten was positioned on the green. Instead I watched from where I stood. The show was essentially the same though I got to watch it from the beginning this time. Without the benefit of sound until her first orgasm. She brought herself to orgasm four times while I watched, mesmerized by the increasing intensity of each orgasm. When she cried out for the fourth time, she rolled onto her side again and remained still.

I got hard as I watched and remained hard through the entire session. I again resisted relieving myself to assure I didn't tip off my presence. I left in a hurry, well before Kiersten got dressed and packed her blanket for the walk back to her house. The first thing I did upon getting back in bed was relieve the pressure in my still hard cock. I soon fell sound asleep.

Kiersten and I spent the next two months getting to know each other, growing close. Our physical attraction to each also other grew. Things got heated at times. But it was limited to behaving like a high kids parking gone parking, the girl unwilling to go beyond second base. Kiersten wasn't ready to take intimacy as far as I kept hoping. I still had trouble sleeping and went for walks two or three times a week. I never saw Kiersten on the course as our relationship blossomed.

One Friday evening immediately after getting home from work, we went to an early dinner in the entertainment district. Despite having spent nearly every weekend with her, we had never gone out on Friday. Most weeknights, she had students in for lessons. I had hoped to spend the evening alone with her, but over dinner she told me she had a late commitment with her father that evening.

It was almost 8:00PM when I paid the check. Kiersten smiled at me. 'Why don't you ome with me?' she asked as we exited the restaurant.

I hadn't met her father. I was surprised by the invitation. 'Are you sure?' I asked hesitantly. 'Meeting the father is a big step,' I added with a smile.

'Oh, he probably won't even know you're there,' she responded.

The smile on her face suggested something was up. But what could she be up to that involved her father? And how was it he wouldn't know I was there?

'Okay,' I said. 'What's going on?'

'You'll see soon enough,' she laughed.

Kiersten had insisted on driving that day. We walked back to her car in a nearby municipal parking lot. The lot had filled completely while we ate dinner. But instead of unlocking the car, she popped the trunk and removed a battered violin case and a small satchel. I looked at her curiously. I knew she taught violin and presumed she could play. But she had never mentioned performing.

We walked several blocks, arm-in-arm to a nearby concert venue. She carried the violin. I carried the satchel. She was more excited than I'd ever seen her, practically floating as we made our way down the street. She didn't talk, just smiled at my questions.

We entered the concert hall through the performer's entrance. She escorted me into the audience and directed me to a seat in the front row. 'Sit center stage,' she told me. 'I won't be able to see you during the show. Come backstage afterwards.' She pointed to a man seated near the stage door. He waved at her. 'Roger knows to let you come back. I'll meet you back stage. I think you'll be able to figure out who I am. My father plays mandolin and acoustic guitar. He plays concertina and harmonica, too.' She turned and headed for the stage, stopping briefly to talk to Roger, giving him a hug and a high-five before disappearing.

A local rock group opened the show with a forty-five-minute set. They were very good and locally popular. They played mostly covers with a couple of their own compositions mixed in. I'd seen them several times before, even made a point of going out to catch their act once or twice. They were well-received and roundly applauded when done. But they were just the warm-up.

The stage lights darkened after the opening act was done. The featured act, a Zydeco band with a national reputation, could be seen taking their places. When the lights came up, the crowd applauded enthusiastically. Kiersten was near center stage dressed in a white shirt, black pants, a fringed suede vest, and vintage, black high-top sneakers. A man with a mandolin, her father I assumed, sat to the left near a keyboard player. There were eleven musicians and vocalists on the stage. They opened with a cover of a Beatles song. I cringed initially. Zydeco Beatles? But it was so well adapted, you could almost believe Lennon and McCartney had written it just for them. Lead vocals for the opening number were handled by an African-American woman in the three-girl chorus. She had an incredible set of pipes, powerful and soulful.

Kiersten was already sweating by the time the first number finished. But she couldn't have looked happier. The band launched into another song but at a low sound level. The singer stepped up to the microphone and began a patter about the featured performer and how he was an innovator, expanded the range of instruments used in the Zydeco musical genre, and wove in influences from reggae, rock, and Motown Golden Age soul. When she introduced him, he entered from stage-right, wearing his accordion. He stepped to his microphone and immediately launched into his first song, the band increasing its energy level and volume to match the upbeat tempo.

The next two hours of high energy, upbeat music passed in a blink. The crowd spent all of it on their feet, many dancing in the aisles. After completing what appeared to be their last song, the star thanked the crowd for their hospitality and wished everyone a good night. The musicians set down their instruments as the lights dimmed and exited the stage. The crowd stomped their feet and cheered for more. After a couple of minutes, the star came back on stage alone and approached the microphone.

'Don't all y'all want to go home?' he asked, beaming.

In a single voice that shook the building, the crowd roared, 'NO!'

Wearing a frown, he said, 'I'm not sure I can get the band to come out for one more song. But I'll give it a try?'

The lights dimmed, and the band returned, picked up their instruments and began playing softly to a cheer that shook the building.

'All right! We're gonna do one more number for you,' he sang into the mike. 'But before we do, I want y'all to know who treated you oh sooooo right, to-night. I'm gonna skip me. Y'all already know who I am.'

'On drums, Stevie Burns!. The drummer played a short solo to the cheers of the crowd.

As he went through the rest of the group, each taking a moment to show their skills, the crowd grew louder and louder. The tension and anticipation were palpable. 'And I had the pleasure of a couple of special guests tonight! On mandolin, acoustic guitar and concertina, . . . with a little harmonica, thrown in there, too! A man y'all know well from the local music scene, Paul Andreessen!'

The crowd was almost out of control as Kiersten's father stepped forward and played his mandolin while accompanying himself with his harmonica.

When Paul stepped back, the band dropped their sound level even further. I could feel the crowd's anticipation of the last introduction. I had no idea Kiersten was so well-known and popular.'

'I want y'all to show this pretty lady some big luvin! I'm going to offer her a job again tonight, but I know she'll turn me down. AGAIN! My favorite violinist, I don't dare call her a fiddle-player, she'd kick this ol' man's ass! Kiersten Andreessen!'

A blue spotlight lit on Kiersten while she played a short mournful passage. The spotlight gradually turned white as she seamlessly transitioned to a bright, energetic, virtuoso minute that might have made Charlie Daniels dance in admiration. When she finished, she waved her bow and the crowd cheered louder yet. The curtains at the side of the stage were shaking.

The band played and sang their twenty-minute encore, a medley of several songs, each performer given an opportunity to show their chops. When they were done, the star stepped to the microphone and said 'Goodnight, y'all!' as the band walked off the stage, carrying their instruments. While the crowd screamed for another encore, I made my way to the stage door where Roger let me through and prevented anyone from following.

It took a few minutes to locate Kiersten in the backstage pandemonium. She had shed the vest. Her white shirt was sweat-soaked and stuck to her chest and back. But she glowed with energy. She greeted me with a smile so bright, I wished I had my sunglasses.

'So, what do you think? Did you enjoy the show?' she asked before taking a drink from an ice-cold beer someone handed her after clapping her on the shoulder.

'If you hadn't brought me tonight and I found out I missed this, I would never have forgiven you. Ever!' I laughed. 'You guys were great.'

The star came by just then. 'I mean it, Kiersten. I need you. You gotta come on tour with us. I won't take no for an answer,' he told her as he hugged her. 'Man, you need a shower, girl,' he laughed.

'It's still no, Michael. And you know why. You don't smell so sweet, either,' she needled.

'Like I need to be told this old body smells bad after a night's work. Who's this? Someone trying to steal you away from me?' he asked as he eyed me.

'This is my friend, Dennis. Dennis, meet Michael Freed.'

He reached out and took my hand, shaking it vigorously. 'Nice to meet you, Dennis. You a musician?'

I laughed. 'No, I'm an electrical engineer.' I hesitated. 'I thought your name was . . .' I was interrupted before I finished the question.

'No, sir. That's my stage name. Kiersten, is this why you turning me down, again? My electrical guy is gonna retire soon. I'll hire Dennis right now if you'll come on tour.'

Kiersten laughed. 'No, Michael. You already know why I won't tour. Maybe someday. But hopefully not too soon.'

Michael grinned widely. 'Can't blame a guy for playing every angle. It was nice to meet you, Dennis. Please excuse me. I gotta say goodnight to a few more people then get these ol' bones back to the hotel to shower and soak in the hot tub.'

'He seems nice, Kiersten. How did you meet him?' I asked.

'My father has a band that does a mix of bluegrass and Cajun music. They play regionally. I join in on Friday nights when they play nearby. Michael knew of my father and went to see him play one night a few years back. I was still in college but played with my father that night and Michael liked what he heard. Three years ago, he played here for the first time. Two days before the concert, his fiddle player broke his wrist. Even though he knew I'm a violinist, he made some calls and managed to locate me in time to get me in for some rehearsal. He doesn't know it, but I pretty much winged it that night.'

Michael was still nearby. 'Who you think you're foolin', Kiersten? I know you winged it. But you were still better than Gerry ever hoped to be.'

Kiersten leaned in close and whispered, 'Gerry is one of the best fiddle players on the planet. I don't deserve to carry his bow. But he's getting older and touring is hard for him. And I don't play a violin when I play with Michael. I bought a fiddle and learned how to play it after I played with him the first time.'

Michael came back. 'What nonsense she feedin' you? She wastin' her time with all that long-hair stuff. When I know I'm coming here, I call Kiersten. Don't want nobody else but she won't come on tour with us.' He seemed frustrated and almost annoyed when he left us again.

Kiersten giggled. 'I get him riled up every time he's here. But I do like playing with these guys. My father likes it, too. Michael loves my father and invited him to sit in last year. I've already said good night to my father. He's left already. Let's get out of here. I need a shower.'

Kiersten grabbed her violin and handed the satchel to me. As we made our way out, she tossed her keys to me. 'I'm too wired up to drive.'

When we got to Kiersten's, she was still as wound up as a toddler on a sugar high. 'Why don't you come in. Neither of us is going anywhere, tomorrow. We can hang out for a while.'

I'd been to Kiersten's. But at this time of day, she always went inside alone. I carried the satchel again while she took my arm and led me to the house. I dropped the satchel in the laundry room, per her instructions.

'Grab something to drink and have a seat in the living room,' she told me. 'I'm going to take a shower. Turn on the TV, if you like.'

I got a bottle of water and went into the living room. I hadn't even found the remote when I heard Kiersten call out.

'Dennis! Could you help me for a minute?'

I followed the sound of her voice to her bedroom. My jaw dropped when I saw her. Kiersten stood in door to the master bath. She wore not a stitch. A towel was on the floor at her feet. She held a stick in one hand and a luffa in the other.

'My back scrubber broke,' she complained. After a pause she looked down. 'Oops, I seem to have lost my towel,' she smiled.

I stepped toward her to retrieve the towel but couldn't look away from the vision of beauty in front of me. She perfectly fit the image I formed the first night I saw her on the green. Before I could bend to pick up the towel, Kiersten grabbed my belt and pulled me toward her. Her lips met mine in a passionate kiss.

'Get out of those clothes,' she said. 'I need help washing my back.'

Kiersten helped me undress then pulled me into the shower stall. It was a small shower stall, making for close quarters. I didn't mind at all. She turned on the water, blasting us in cold water before it gradually warmed.

We played and teased each other as we washed. I had fun making her squirm while lathering her in suds from chin to toes. She seemed to enjoy torturing me when she repeatedly lathered my erection and scrotum. Once we were out of the shower, we dried each other as Kiersten maneuvered us to the bed.

We fell onto the bed together. My hands found her breasts and gently encircled the already erect nipples inside my thumb and index finger, my palm pressing against the outer swell of her breasts, while we kissed. As I closed the circle and captured her nipples, she moaned softly and pushed herself against my erection.

I was thrilled. I would finally get an opportunity to attend to every whim and desire of this smart, beautiful, and talented woman I was falling hard for. I was going to make sure it was a night she'd neither regret, nor forget.

It didn't start well.

To my dismay, I ejaculated just from the pressure of her body against my cock. A thick stream of cum shot up her belly and between her breasts. The combination of imagination, voyeuristic memory, and thrill of the actual reality proved too much.

Kiersten giggled when she broke the kiss. 'I guess I paid a little too much attention to your sensitive parts,' she laughed.

'What tipped you off?' I joked, relieved she didn't seem disappointed. I leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved a towel. I started to wipe the cum from her, but she protested.

'Leave it,' she said softly. 'It feels good where it is.' A pause, 'We're not done yet, are we?' she asked hopefully.