His cock was hard and firm in his hand, slippery with his pre-come and her spit.

He gripped his hot flesh tighter, feeling the veins throb. His fingers moved up and down just inches away from her pretty face. She trembled as she stared up at him with a look of expectation, her pupils dilated and eyelids fluttering. She flinched each time he pulled up and down on the shaft and the thick head of his cock came a little closer.

She could hear his heavy breathing, a kind of low, seething noise bursting out from his nostrils as his mouth clenched tightly shut. He crouched down with his knees on either side of her. She knew Stuart was about to come; she could almost smell it. She saw the cock hole wink open and closed as he tugged harder and harder. Her lips quivered and began to open. She reached down and began to swirl her fingers against her pussy, stirring her gooey wetness, wanting to come at the same time he did. She was mesmerized watching his thick weapon pointing at her face, the hypnotic piston-like movements making her lips open and close with expectation. Her mouth grew into a perfect O, open as far as possible, her wet pink tongue lolling along her lower lip.

He rocked forward slightly, feeling the rising electric current of climax roiling in his groin and snaking its way up his shaft. He was sure of himself, sure of his grip, and he stared down at her face with lewd determination. He knew exactly what he wanted. His eyes fixed on her mouth, the same way they did when he was out on the green, ready to putt a ball directly into the waiting cup.

Even as the orgasmic high began to send wild heat pulsing through his veins, even as his vision seemed to cloud over and make him stare with a weird, dreamy intensity, he felt supreme control of the cock in his hand, and he kept up his stroke with a masterful calm. He didn’t rush himself, instead relishing in the ever-increasing sensations… Wanting, waiting, and then winning. Yes, he was almost ready now. He was sure his climax was only a few motions away, and he rose slightly on his haunches to angle his cock so the steaming-hot load would land directly on her dewy pink tongue. “Yes, yes,” he grunted, his hand gripping a little stronger as he started to squirt. He held his thick club motionless and watched the loads pour out hot and thick.

In sport and in sex, it wasn’t total satisfaction for him just to get it over with and end up exhausted and triumphant. It had to be perfect all the way, every moment exciting and executed just right. And then? Then the well-deserved finish, as if he was taking a bow to huge applause after delivering a perfect performance. Like hitting a powerful drive, a great chip shot, and then sinking the putt at exactly the right speed, the right trajectory, the white blob disappearing into the black hole in a beautiful miracle of body and soul coordination.

Now! Yes! A dollop on her tongue, another gooey dollop after that, and then, feeling the power of his ejaculation wane, seeing a thick, wobbling bead of jizz drip off the tip of his cock, he pulled the thick club back a little and jerked it slightly to coax out the last gooey wads.

Her frantic tongue couldn’t reach it, and it missed her lower lip and landed on her chin, just as another dollop slithered down the side of her face toward her silky hair. The frantic circular motions of her fingers against her pussy momentarily stopped.

Stuart looked down. His strong legs weakened and he rocked slightly. He felt dizzy now that he’d spent his load and that last moment had been ruined. A twinge of anger and frustration quickly turned to sadness, a kind of a little death… a dip of depression. Orgasm could do that.

The game of sex over, the thrill turned from a blazing heat to a glow to nothing more than a memory. There was the restless desire to have more, but he just couldn’t. He knew he was done for the night. All he could do was be mindful of his partner, like when he was out on the green and had to congratulate the winner before walking away from the action and making the trip to the showers. Only when he was under the scorching steam could he hang his head and let the hot water course down over his drooping head and sunken shoulders and naked body — a body that smelled of defeat.

She began to work her fingers on her pussy again. He laid his bulky, now-awkward weight next to her and slid his wet finger along the side of her face. He pushed some of the lukewarm man-pudding that had missed its target toward her lips and managed to get some of it into her mouth. She reacted sourly, and he buried his face in her neck, gripping one of her breasts with his large hand and driving his tongue into her ear.

But his mind was flooded with despair, and he found himself drifting back to the last tournament and the 8th hole, the bogey that took him out of contention, the easy putt that circled the hole and then rolled away as the crowd let out audible moans of surprise and dismay.

This was like that. He had miscalculated those last few spurts. She was about to orgasm with hot loads in her mouth. Now? It was a struggle. She rubbed her pussy. He squeezed her nipple, but too hard, making her push his hand away. She slipped her head away, too, annoyed at his licking on her ear. Everything had been going so well. What betrayed him this time? Mind or body?

He waited for her to finish, feeling useless, as if all the foreplay and fucking hadn’t mattered. He couldn’t even remember the sensation of coming in her mouth now, just the sight of trickling loads missing her lips and making what was usually a magical moment something mundane.

She sighed softly when she came. Her eyes slowly opened. She saw the distracted look on his face, and she knew there was nothing she could say. She gently rubbed his shoulder, felt his strong chest, and moved up his neck to gently cup the side of his face and rub his cheek. She liked the feel of his stubble. She liked his strong jawline. But then she moved her hand to her own face, because the trickles of come tickled and she was aware of the drip about to hit the sheets; she hated wet spots. She tried not to make a big deal of it, because it wasn’t such a big deal, but she heard him exhale heavily, ending with a kind of death rattle, and then be began to snore.

He had the dream again, where he suddenly discovered he had lost when he thought he’d won, and reporters asked, “What went wrong?” and he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t get anything out at all.

They had no sex at all the following week. The next tournament was another week away, and while he had no rule about “abstaining” as some athletes did, he wasn’t in the mood. The night before the event, they lay in bed, and she massaged his shoulders a bit. She said, “I feel your pain, Stuart. Not just the little knots of tension in your muscles… ”

She traced her fingers along his arms, and her legs entwined with his. She kissed him on the cheek, then pressed her hot mouth on his. It was all animal instinct now, especially after weeks of pent-up arousal with absolutely no outlet.

His cock was hard and sliding between her welcoming thighs as they began to embrace and kiss, and soon he was inside her. “Mmmm, yes… ” she slurred, her mouth full of tongue, her lips now mashed against his. She moved onto her back. Her legs spread wider and wider apart, then she lifted them higher and higher. He felt like he was in control, his hips working on automatic pilot, and he kept up his slow, steady rhythm, his hands gripping her wrists and keeping her pinned down to the bed.

He was literally screwing her now, his athletic body moving in a beautiful circular pattern. Then he sensed the time to change up and drive directly in and out with deep, direct strokes. Then he sensed the need for more finesse, just as he did when he moved from powerful drives off the fairway to landing on the green. He slowly eased his cock in and then out, teasing her clit with the thick knob before sending it plunging all the way back inside. He did it over and over, making sure she felt his entire length.

“I love it! You know how to make me come,“ she whispered. “Oh, you make me want to come right now. Right now… “

Her hand slid down, dipping toward her pussy, as he expertly held just the head of his dick inside her, giving her plenty of room to get her fingers down there to work on her clit. He rode her high, his thick cockhead now rotating around and around at the edges of her pussy lips, nudging in and out at the entrance. He was keeping her full while at the same time making sure her hot little clit was exposed for her frantic fingers. He listened to her groan and watched her shake her head from side to side, and he smiled to himself. He knew her rising lust was due to his expertise in fucking her.

She was able to work her fingers faster and faster while his cockhead stretched the entrance to her pussy, just where she needed it most. Her clit was buzzing now, and she felt her chest get hot and her nipples knot-hard. She moaned meekly at first, and then she filled the air with her shrieks of pleasure as she came and came and came again.

Stuart slammed all the way into her the moment her tired hand fell onto the damp, sweaty sheet. He quickly got off a half-dozen long and powerful thrusts before unloading deep inside her. As she sighed, exhausted, he adroitly slid himself out of her tight pussy, leaving all his expelled seed inside her. It was an immaculate and expert performance.

“You’re wonderful! You’re the best, Stuart,” she whispered. She reached down and grasped his still-hard cock. She gave a throaty chuckle. “You’re like one of those commercials. ‘If your erection persists for more than four hours, call your doctor!’”

Soon that erection was sliding back inside her, and she hugged him as he plunged all the way in. His meat crammed her crevice and squeezed out all her juices, which oozed and trickled down the crack of her ass and then soaked into the sheets.

“You get me so hot,” she said, and it was true; her skin was hot to the touch. She was slick and slippery, too, and as their bodies slid against each other, the friction became more and more electric. She managed to shift onto her stomach, then rose up on her hands and knees and arched her back, wiggling her ass like an impatient little terrier. Finally, Stuart obliged and slowly sank his club all the way in, straightening her out and making her leave all the movement to him. He liked it best that way.

His concentration was at its peak, and he knew how to pace himself and still do the things that pleased her. He knew when to drive in hard and when to use finesse. That was the key to being a pro golfer, and it was the ultimate key to being a good lover. The hole was there, waiting, open, and putting it in was just part of the sport.

She felt his strong grip on her ass, and she shivered at the expert and continuous stabs of cockmeat into her pussy. Once again he rotated his hips and slithered around and around, in and out, deep, deeper, and deeper still. As she moaned and tightened, she found herself coming yet again. His arms covered her arms, his legs stretched out along the length of her legs. This time, they came together, and she hugged him tightly to her when it was done.

Why was it that sometimes the mind was there and the body wasn’t, and other times the body took over and there was mindless joy?

She was in the crowd the following morning when he led the pack on the front nine by three strokes. Everything he hit was right on the money. He sank a putt from 28 feet. A shot that landed in a sand trap blasted back onto the green with a cascading spray of glittery dust, the ball hopping like a bunny toward the snug circular hole. Heading to the finish, the 15th hole — a double bogey. And the 16th? An easy putt from fewer than three feet away missed and scooted three feet in the opposite direction.

Stuart tried again, planting his feet, taking a few hopeful practice strokes. He nailed it just right, the ball on target for the dead center of the cup. Only it sat at the edge without dropping in. By the time Stuart reached the 18th hole, he’d just barely made par, so he hadn’t made the cut.

Back in the parking lot, he loaded up his gear, and then, as they sat in the car, he stared out the window. She put her arm around him, not knowing what she could possibly say except, “Come on, Stuart. Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” he said, gunning the engine. “Don’t know what happened out there. Concentration was good. Body felt good. I felt in control of every shot I hit. Some fell short, some went long. Ah, sweet mystery of life, huh? It wouldn’t be a good game if you could predict the outcome.”

“Just keep going.”

“And let’s just keep coming,” he said. “You know, I learned something from last night, I really did. It was perfect, but it’s not always gonna be. Some days, things on the course ain’t perfect either. But the really important thing is… ”

The golfer was concentrating now. Searching for just the right words. She waited. “The important thing,” he said at last, “is… fuck it.”