Note: A few months ago, I blogged about discovering some twenty-year-old journals in my attic and taking the time to read through them. I learned that, back then, I wrote a lot of fiction, and some of it still resonates with me. Just for fun, in the month of December, I’m going to post excerpts. If you like the work, please let me know! And feel free to share this link and invite others to read! This piece is a little racy—so reader beware—but it also demonstrates that even in the early 1990s, I was already in love with love.
The tenth hole of the golf course at Welden Country Club was an unlikely love nest, but when you’re young and horny, the more outrageous the better.
Sarah was particularly fond of the spot she and Nick had chosen to frolic because she loved screwing in weird places. She collected them in her mind, like treasures. The beach. The hot tub. The car. They were average places for a good tumble, but Sarah liked an element of risk, and she also liked the risqué. She once did it on the kitchen table in the dorm lounge in the wee hours of the night with the guy she danced with from the Keene State Theatre Guild. She also boasted on occasion about her romp with the Drew University freshman she met on her summer job on Cape Cod; they did it on his parents’ paddleboat. It was a feat of athleticism, and it was complicated, but what a fine challenge.
That was before. Now, Sarah’s with Nick, and she only keeps track of their wild encounters.
The night was warm, and they lay together, naked from the waist down, near the second hole. Their jeans lay in the grass in a rumpled heap, entangled, like their limbs. Sarah mindlessly pulled blades of grass from the turf. The grass was so short it reminded her of the freshly buzzed heads of Little League players. Each blade poked upright. Eager. Crisp.
“Bet you never had such a hole in one, did you Ace?” she teased.
“Not like this,” Nick said. “Never, like this.”
Nick was on his back, staring up at the sky, painted with stars and not littered by so much as one cloud.
“There’s the Big Dipper,” he said, pointing skyward. “I wish I had my book of constellations. There’s so much we could see tonight. It’s so clear and beautiful.”
Sarah wasn’t one for stargazing, or anything else she considered to be bordering on the intellectual. Such things took too much time, and, she thought, drained the mind of energy. “You’re the only star I’m interested in, Nicky.” After a pause, she added, “Can you believe that just this afternoon I was sitting around that pool with a dozen stuffy club members? I wish they could see us now.”
“I’m really glad they can’t,” Nick said with a chuckle. “Don’t forget, I work here, and those tight-ass ladies could get me fired.”
The tenth hole was only five hundred feet or so away from the Olympic-size swimming pool and sprawling patio at the club. Without their daytime customers, the wooden lounge chairs looked empty, skeletons lined up neatly around the pool in a very stiff, informal private gathering.
Newly planted marigolds lined the garden beds that meandered around the patio on all three sides. Sarah thought the young plants were silly looking, stick-like, with one bloom atop each one. She imagined painting a tiny face on each of the yellow flowers.
“You know, I’m really glad your dad didn’t come with me today,” Sarah said. “I invited him because he was nice enough to let me spend the day here, but God, what would we have talked about all day? I don’t know squat about golf.”
“I know what you mean,” Nick said. “Personally, I’m just glad he’s not here now. It really would’ve killed the mood.” Sarah and Nick burst into a fit of giggles. Then, Sarah climbed onto his sturdy torso and laid down on him, her head landing in the middle of the soft hair on his chest.
“I love you, Nick,” she said.
“I love you, too.”