On 18, gray sky, 9-iron slick with sweat. Wind against me. I licked my fingers thick, felt the breeze glide wet across them.
One practice swing scraped damp grass. Shorts clung from the heat low in my gut.
I pulled back, eyes on the ball, swung hard—hips snapping, grunt. Sharp wet crack. Ball soared white against clouds.
As it peaked and dropped toward the pin, my body locked. Hot, thick spurts burst out, soaking underwear, khakis, running warm down my thigh. Legs shook; sharp sweet smell mixed with grass and sweat.
Ball landed three feet from the cup.
Breathing hard, shorts ruined—I finally came.

certified pounded

rifle master

game master

+ rep good player

Join forces?