This story could be called a prologue to the wacky adventures of Alexis, my skinny adventuress portrayed in the “Texas Hold ’em” stories. Or it could be an epilogue to the untold stories of Alexis’ childhood. My choice is “sexilogue”, a new word I just invented.
This reminds me of the fun word games that make new words out of old ones such as:
Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
And my personal fav:
Ignoranus (n): A person who’s both stupid and an asshole. (You know who you are!)
Now that I think about it here is a new word to help set up this story:
Gilfgin (n): A girl who loses her virginity on a golf course.
And here’s how it happened…
As everyone in my story posse knows I’m a bit on the thin side. My kind and lovely Mother insisted on “willowy” even as she handed me a padded bra when we shopped for my first pretty under things. I suspect my Daddy didn’t mind that I was a twig because he was a jock and probably figured breasts got in the way of swinging a baseball bat or golf club.
My three older brothers (yes, I’m the spoiled baby of the fam) were also hard core athletes so I got swept up in the jet stream of their various athletic activities. Which I didn’t mind as I found being a tomboy had its advantages; boys actually picked me to play on their teams while the brazen, cloying girls my age were sitting on the sidelines comparing notes about menstrual periods.
Thus, my athletic career began early and because of the excellent tutoring of my dad and brothers I developed into a very good all round jock. However, no matter how much I wanted it my body would not cooperate by getting taller, wider or muscular. My 13 year old stick-like physique would be my fate for the rest of my life. I was predestined to be the point guard in basketball, the shortstop in softball and the setter in volleyball.
My best sport was golf. My family lived on a golf course in Florida so it was natural that my brothers and I all took up the sport very young. I realized near the beginning that golf had some great equalizers between the sexes and that physical strength didn’t necessarily mean better play. My dad made sure all of us had golf lessons early on so we could play the game correctly.
The payoff for playing so much golf came in high school when I made the varsity team as a freshman. I know the older girls were pissed about this skinny little runt who was barely bigger than her golf bag making the team but like I said earlier, golf has some great equalizers such as SCORE DON’T LIE. None of the bitchy upperclassmen or whiny parents could argue with the fact that I earned my spot through my play, not seniority.
Now, you horny dogs, you might be wondering what this shameless self-promotion of my golf prowess has to do with first time sex of yours truly. The answer is nothing; I just wanted to tell you I am a good golfer. Ha ha. Just kidding…it has everything to do with golf!
By the time I was a high school senior I was being recruited by all the best university golf teams in the Southeast. Here I was, eighteen years old, coasting in my final semester of high school and I was getting full ride offers to play college golf! Gawd, it was lucky golf hats had adjustability since my head was swelling from all the attention.
Ok, remember the recruiting scenes in the movie “Blindside”? (Btw, I adore Sandra almost as much as Jennifer-why do all my fav celeb ladies get shit on by their men? Hmm). Anyway, the coaches show up and sit in the living room and make nice with the parents? Coaches for women’s golf aren’t necessarily all women but most are. And, can I be so crass to say that many of the female coaches tend to be, ah, rather masculine? Not that there’s anything wrong with that (quoting Seinfeld here).
The funniest part of these visits was the double-take the coaches did when they first saw me in the flesh. Since their offers were based on my scoring in golf I had met very few of them. So, mom and dad would get them all comfy in the living room and then I would make my grand entrance, like some silly diva on the red carpet at the Oscars. You could tell they thought this 95 pound wimp was a little sister snooping around.
Augusta State University is located in Augusta, Georgia. Augusta, Georgia is home to Augusta National Golf Club. Augusta National Golf Club is home to the Masters Tournament. Now, even if you live in Antarctica and moved there because you hate golf so much it seemed the least likely place to see golf on TV, you still know about the Masters.
I’m just saying Augusta is Mecca to golf nuts like me. Thus, when the coach for ASU showed up in my living room I was more interested than normal. I made my typical grand entrance into the room and instead of seeing the stereotypical lady golf coach I expected, there sat this really Anadolu Yakası Escort cute guy who didn’t look a day older than me. Well, ok, I look 13 but I’m saying he looked 18. You know what I mean.
When I say cute, I mean ‘friggin’ adorable’ with longish black hair curling around his ears; brown eyes framed with eyelashes that women would rip off him to use for themselves if they could; perfectly white, straight teeth that could be used in a Crest commercial; a long, lean body that probably had 0.0002 body fat; and finally, long, slender but strong hands that wrapped around my skinny little paws like how King Kong held Fay Wray while climbing up the Empire State Building.
“Alexis, how nice to meet you finally. I’m Anthony Butler, coach of the Lady Jags,” I heard this gorgeous hunk say to me as if I were under water and the sound was distorted. I was staring down at our hands, still clasped together in the welcoming handshake.
“Alexis, dear, it would be polite for you to return his greeting now,” prompted my mother after too long of a pause from me.
“Oh, yes, um, I’m Alex, so nice to touch you, I mean meet you,” I croaked out like one of the bullfrogs in our backyard pond. My fair complexion burned as hot as the surface of the sun with solar flares. I finally raised my gaze up to his face and saw an amused glint in his eyes.
Anthony gently extracted his hand from my death grip and suggested we sit down next to my parents and chat. I stumbled over the coffee table and made the china rattle like a 6.0 earthquake was striking Florida, for God’s sake. I knew I was blowing this potential offer up in smoke but I couldn’t get my wits about me because of the primal attraction I was feeling toward this man.
You know I’m a virgin at this point of my life, right? It’s a ‘first time’ story ya know. I had been groped and tongued wrestled on a few dates with a small number of guys but it never got out of hand. If the boy got to first base with me they probably didn’t even know it due to my lack of soft, curvy parts.
“Alexis, I know you are being recruited by some much bigger schools, but I want to tell you that ASU has some assets that you might not be aware of that I believe will appeal to you,” Anthony told me with his large hands spread on each thigh. I was still staring at his beautiful hands, which were in line with his crotch, which was open to me because he was sitting like a lot of guys do, which gave me full, eyeball access to his, um, bulge that pressed against his khaki pants. Lord help me, I actually checked for a wedding ring on his left hand. I hate girls who do that! Hate them! Why did I just do it? I hate me!
Anthony continued on by saying, “I would like you to visit ASU the first weekend of April. I have tickets to the Masters tournament that I use for recruits who may have never seen professionals play.”
The magic word “Masters” finally convinced my eyes to leave his fascinating lumpy pants and meet his eyes. I looked for a sign that he was playing with my mind. People, do you know how difficult it is to get into the Masters? Tickets got scalped for $25,000 I’d heard! After that offer Coach Butler could have told me to strip naked and blow him in front of my parents and I would have been reaching for his belt without hesitation.
The Masters! God, I was getting damp between my legs just thinking about it. My mother gave me a little jab in the ribs with her sharp elbow.
“Don’t you think it would be appropriate to respond to Coach Butler, Alexis?” she asked with a glare.
“Yes, that sounds great, Coach. I want to come for sure,” I told him as my cheeks burned even hotter as I felt the word “come” might be mis-interpreted. Could I sound or act any more idiotic?
I almost never wear a bra since I don’t have much to support anyway but at this moment I wished I had because my nipples popped out like the eyes of the hilarious actor Marty Feldman in the movie “Young Frankenstein”. I thought I saw Coach Butler glance at my chest. Luckily my parents were both looking at our guest so they didn’t witness their wanton whore of a daughter give the Coach an eyeful of hardened nubbies. My nipples felt radioactive as I casually brushed some imaginary lint from the front of my polo shirt. I know my fantasies were in overdrive but I swear I saw a twitch under his pants. He nonchalantly crossed his legs away from my mother so my suspicions may have been true.
“Alexis, it’s a deal. You will be staying with one of the women on the team while you visit which will give you a chance to experience campus life too. I will send more particulars for your travel as soon as I get back to Augusta. I’m looking forward to learning more about you,” he said with his stunning smile that I of course interpreted as an invitation to throw me on the ground and ravish my innocent bod.
My mom and dad escorted Coach Butler out of the house after we all shook hands again. I swear I felt extra meaning in Kurtköy Escort his grip during the ritual goodbye. As soon as they left the room my hands involuntarily flew to my stiff nipples and I tweaked and pulled them with careless abandon. What was wrong with me? I’m a tomboy not a silly sex addict like some of my whorish classmates.
I rushed up to my room, yelling to my parents that I had to make some calls. I locked my door and unzipped my shorts with fumbling fingers. With my shorts and silky underwear tangled around my ankles I stood in front of my mirrored closet doors and slipped my fingers between my legs. When I’m sexually excited my honey bud expands so much that it peeks its cute little head out between my pussy lips. Not that I had much trouble finding it anyway. It was already slippery from my fantasies during the interview so my kneading and pulling soon had my fingers soaked with my girl juices. My legs got so wobbly I was forced to sit down on my floor. I looked in the mirror at the vision of me fingering herself like a monkey in heat. I didn’t care because my fingers were Coach Butler’s in my current fantasy state. I flopped back on my soft carpet and finished what I started. Hoo boy, it was the best orgasm I’d ever self inflicted!
Afterward, I was panting and sweating on my floor looking at my golf trophies on my shelves. My clit was still throbbing as I pressed my legs together to put gentle pressure on my poor abused love button. My mind drifted to my invitation to the Masters and better yet, a chance to be alone with Coach Anthony Butler and what could happen if the sun, moon and stars aligned properly for Alexis Noel. A girl can dream can’t she?
Days until the Masters crawled by as slowly as the minute hand during last period in high school on a Friday. I had plenty to do getting myself ready for the trip. I knew my mother was dumbfounded by my sudden attention to hair, nails and wardrobe. Never before had she seen me care about all that. That being said, she rejoiced in my new mission to become the daughter that any self-respecting Southern Belle wanted. We went from store to store shopping for stylish clothes; from Korean manicurists to the gayest hair dressers in Southern Florida. I made a huge decision to cut my hair short after so many years of wearing a pony tail. Not that I told Mommy this but I wanted a more “mature” look to impress Coach. My gay hair guy cut and highlighted my blond hair so I looked like Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail” (I wish!).
Finally, the big day came. I examined myself in the closet mirror; I was wearing my traveling clothes which were a blue tailored jacket over a starched white shirt tucked into a grey, pleated skirt that was prettttty short (a source of conflict with Mommy dearest). My womanly assets generally started below my belt so I was going to feature my shapely legs and butt as much as possible. I thought I looked at least 20 or so (grins at her readers)!
As the airplane taxied to the terminal I noticed a lot of very expensive, private jets off in the distance. Ah yes, the Masters is like the flame to the moth for rich folks. I exited the security area, got my bags and looked around for Coach Butler. I pictured him rushing up, crushing me with an embrace, smothering me with kisses and whisking me off to his home where I would be his love slave for 4 days. You know I have an active imagination by now, right?
As the crowd thinned I noticed a very large and solid looking woman holding up a sign. The sign said “Alexis Noel”. That’s me, dear readers. And this was definitely not Coach Butler ready to ravish me. I approached the buxom woman (who could have been a Nazi concentration camp guard in another life) and told her I was Alexis in a very timid voice.
If looks could kill from Frau Hilda, I would be writhing on the hard airport floor gasping my last breathes on Earth. She merely grunted, turned on her heel and told me to follow her. I knew that I brought too much shit but I also kinda expected some help with my luggage upon arrival. So here’s this blond water buffalo who could carry all my bags under her arms and still bench press 300 pounds, not even looking around to see if I was keeping up. I was muttering some pretty nasty things about Augusta Friggin’ U while I struggled along in the wake of the tramp steamer I was following.
After a silent ride to the campus, Miss Congeniality stopped in front of a dorm and told me to get out and go to room 1008. I pulled my bags out of the trunk and slammed the lid (maybe a littttle harder than necessary). As soon as the trunk closed, the cow masquerading as a human took off without a backward glance. Wow, what a great first impression. Let’s see, who else offered me scholarships?
Room 1008 was part of an English maze designed to confound advanced geometry majors. I was sweating like a stevedore and cursing like merchant marine by the time I finally found the room. I knocked politely on the door and waited Pendik Escort patiently. No one answered the knock. I knocked a little louder this time. No answer. I noticed a piece of paper on the floor so I picked it up and opened the note. It said, “Hey Alexis, change of plans. I was supposed to host you this week but my boyfriend offered to take me to the coast this morning. Call Coach Butler to see what he wants you to do. Enjoy your stay!”
To say that I was burning in anger would be like saying that Mount St. Helen’s was just blowing off a little steam. If Mike Tyson was coming at me in that dorm hallway with malice in his piggy eyes I would have bitten off his ear. I sat down on one of my bags and thought through my options. I could get back on the next plane and leave. However, my Daddy didn’t raise a quitter so going back was not an option. Plus I wanted the opportunity to give a piece of advice to Coach Butler in person. That delicate piece of advice was going to be “GO FUCK YOURSELF”!
I didn’t trust myself to speak at the moment so I texted a message to the number Anthony Dickhead Butler gave me in the packet of school information. My fingers flew over the keys with the following sarcastic message, “My hostess is gone for the week. She left me a really sweet note though. I can’t wait to meet the rest of the team. Alexis.”
I sat there in the dingy hallway plotting diabolical revenge on these clowns from ASU. Pain wasn’t enough. It had to be really, really nasty. I thought about Frau Hilda tied up on a red ant hill with her pasty white thighs opened to all the biting little devils. Hold on; add the bitch in room 1008 to the image. Hilda would be wearing a strap-on dildo that could make a rhino happy except bitch 1008 would be impaled on it. The whipped cream on my revenge sundae would be Coach Butler strung up in a harness with his dick and balls dangling in front of Hilda’s snarling choppers. Sweeeeet.
My phone chirped indicating a text message. It said, “I’m coming”. Since I didn’t leave crumbs to find my way back to the front door, I stumbled and fumbled my way to the entrance with all my bags. I just got outside to the sidewalk when a pitch black Lexus SUV screeched to a halt in front of me. Prince Fucking Charming Butler hopped out the luxury vehicle and looked at me with surprise. I was a mess. My starched white shirt was limp and a shirt tail was hanging out of my skirt. There was sweat on my forehead and my makeup was smudged from rubbing my eyes with my sleeve (no, I was NOT crying). In short, I looked like a 13 year old kid who just got beat up in the schoolyard. Not exactly like perky little Meg Ryan tapping out emails to Tom Hanks.
Coach Butler must have known that I was steamed because rather give me a bunch of lame excuses that would have pissed me off more, without a word he opened his hatchback and tossed in my bags. He opened the passenger door and said “Let’s go”. That’s it; just “Let’s go”. Okaaaay, let’s go dude.
I can handle silence. I’m the Dali Lama of the silent treatment. No one tops me in seething, fuming silence. I’ve been known to strip wallpaper with my withering, silent looks. I stared out the passenger window not really seeing anything but mentally rehearsing my invective when I was ready to deliver it to the Coach. He would regret ever making me masturbate about him after his recruitment trip. Gawd, what was I thinking?
The car turned on to a street which had a canopy of trees sheltering it. I was still smoldering so I kept my eyes down so as to not show any interest in my surroundings. I glanced up when the car pulled up in front of a cute little white bungalow with green trim. In spite of myself I realized I was on the hallowed grounds of Augusta National Golf Course. I looked over in surprise at Coach Butler.
“Welcome to Augusta National, Alexis,” he said with that damned brilliant smile.
He continued, “What I’m going to do could get me into a lot of trouble, but I think I owe you a big one. You are going to stay in this cabin with me, in a separate bedroom of course. I have the use of the cabin for the week so I’m letting you stay where very, very few people have been. This is only one of ten cabins on the grounds.”
Luckily my jaw was connected to the rest of my face or else it would have been rolling around the floor of the Lexus. I gaped at him like he had just stepped off the spaceship in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”.
“Listen, I’ve had a pretty bad day so far so quit screwing with my head. The only people who stay here are the most exclusive members of Augusta. You coach a girl’s golf team. I don’t appreciate getting jerked around like this,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Ok, Alexis, here’s a little more biography about me. Butler is my last name. Butler is the name of the cabin where the green jacket is presented and where the amateur players stay for the week. Are you getting the picture?”
“Wait a minute, are you telling me you are related to THAT Butler? I wondered how you were able to get tickets to the Masters.”
I then challenged him with the question, “Are you really rich or something?”
Coach Butler favored me with his megawatt smile and said nothing. He simply asked, “Are you in or out staying here?”