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I tried to sneak in nine holes of golf after work a few times a week.

One day, I was by myself, and there was a foursome of much older women golfers in front of me. They were walking with their push carts. I was in a riding cart.

As is customary, they let me play through.

I saw two of them in the bar when I finished. "Bartender, would you get those two ladies a drink."

They came over, "thank you, it wasn't necessary."

"I appreciate you letting me play through. I'm Tom."

"And I'm Marge."

"I'm Kara."

Marge had her golf visor on. Her hair was grey with streaks of black in it. I didn't know if that was natural or not. She was about 5'7" tall, and her short golf skirt showed off her long legs. It looked like she was in good shape for a woman who appeared to be around sixty.

Kara was of similar age. Her hair was blonde with streaks in it. She was taller than Marge, and much more thickly built. She was wearing shorts that couldn't hide her thick but firm thighs.

I'm 5'11" and at thirty still in good shape. Married at twenty-two, divorced at twenty-eight. No steady girlfriend.

After a second beer, I was ready to leave. "Tom, do you always play by yourself?" Marge asked.

"Or with yourself?" Kara giggled.

"Not always. I was just transferred here about six months ago. I'm playing Friday, but I'm not hooked up with anyone yet."

"I can play, if you don't mind playing with a woman," Marge said.

"Sorry, I can't play Friday, maybe we can play another time," Kara smiled.

"Sure, I'd like that," I said. I'd noticed that their whole foursome hit the ball pretty well; not that I was all that good. "Nine holes?"

"Sounds good. Let's get a three o'clock tee time."

"See you then, and it was nice meeting both of you."

Marge and I chatted throughout our round. Although she usually walked, we were in a riding cart. She was a grandmother, divorced like me and retired. We both played okay, not losing any balls, and we moved along.

"Tom, join me for a drink," she said looking at her watch. "Happy Hour starts at five; just about the time we'll be done," she said as we stood on the ninth tee, waiting for the group in front of us to finish.

Happy Hour was from 5 to 7 with half price drinks. I had a couple of beers; she sipped a martini. "Want to get a bite to eat?" she asked.

"Is the food here any good?"

"Not great. I was thinking we could order a pizza or Chinese. I don't live far."

"Why don't I do this? I'll go home, take a shower and then meet you at the pizza place. 7 o'clock?"

"That's a good idea. It was a little muggy today. I'm sure I could use a shower, too." In fact, the temperature had reached 95 degrees.

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