I landed up playing golf with three lovely ladies.

My brother and I were due to tee off at 11:12 at Whistling Swans. The brand new course had just opened that spring. We were matched up with a pair of older gentlemen.

My brother is not known for being particularly early for anything, but he would have phoned if he was running late. At five after, I still hadn’t seen his car pull in. I let the two older guys go out on their own.

I checked my cell phone. Six missed calls, four of them from my brother. I’d mistakenly left the ringer on silent. I checked my messages. He said sorry, he couldn’t make it golfing.

Bloody hell.

I’d already paid for my round, plus my half cart. It was a perfect weather Wednesday morning. Not a cloud in the sky, only the slightest of breezes. Just enough to keep you cool. I was really looking forward to playing.

I told the starter that my partner wasn’t going make it.

He said, “Why don’t you play with these three ladies?” They were just getting ready to tee off. Three middle aged women. Well, one was a little younger.

“Sure, if they’ll have me.”

The starter turned, stepped up to them and said, “Would you ladies accept a single to play along in your group?”

“Sure,” two of them said. The third, the apparently younger one, looked a little suspiciously at me, but then agreed.

“Great,” I said stepping to the nearest one. She was fiftyish, kind of short, fairly slight, short brown hair. “Mike Webb.”

“I’m Cora.” I shook her hand. She seemed very sweet, nice smile. Maybe five years older than me, tops.

“Mike Webb,” I said to the next one. She was the younger one. Fortyish. Short light hair with blonde highlights. Also fairly slender. Very pretty.

“Helene,” she said as I shook her hand. I wasn’t quite sure if she said Helen or Ellen.

The third stepped up to me, I told her my name, “Yvonne,” she answered in a sultry voice as I shook her hand. She was more curvaceous, bum a bit big. Lots of dark long hair tied in a ponytail, speckled with grey. Also, pretty good looking.

“We’re playing from the ladies’, you can play from the men’s if you want.”

“No, I’ll play along with you guys.”

The starter flipped my golf bag to the other cart and wrote me a credit note. I was riding with Helen, or Ellen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get your name is it Ellen?”

“Helene,” she said it with a French accent, the ‘H’ being more or less silent.

“Please to meet you madam,” I said, trying to be polite.

They teed off first, I was still getting my things sorted out. They had three pretty good drives, all on the fairway. I outdrove them but I was way to the left, just off the fairway.

Those three ladies were good golfers. Especially Helene, my cart partner. I never saw them duff once on the first few holes. My drive on number two went into the woods.

As we waited to tee off on the third hole the ladies started to warm up to me a little. Clearly I wasn’t a mad rapist. Helene said that she was the finance manager for some equipment manufacturer that I’d never heard of. They make heat exchangers and boilers or something. Cora worked for a pharmaceutical company. She did Reg Affairs whatever the hell that was. I got the impression she was fairly high up on the corporate ladder. Yvonne had a hair salon. Go figure, of the three, the one with the unkempt, undyed hair owned a hair salon.

I explained to them I was an IT guy in data and communications and did work for the port authority. They didn’t seem impressed. They needn’t be.

Cora and Yvonne it turned out were both separated.

Helene said she never married. She didn’t say she was single though.

Yvonne asked, “Are you married, got kids?” Oh-oh single middle aged women. Look out.

“Separated. Two girls, both at university, but they still come back home to their mom.”

Yvonne said she has three kids, also in university. Cora followed with two of her own. Helene said she had no children.

I was getting sniffed out in a hurry. I didn’t mind. I was sniffing too.

Cora and Yvonne hooked index fingers together as they walked back to their cart from the third green. If they did that on the first two, I hadn’t noticed. Clearly, really good friends.

The three of them were very nice, very polite, very lady like. I was immediately at ease with them all. Cora had that lovely smile and a hell of a swing. Very slender but very fit. Yvonne, whew, for a fiftyish woman was pretty hot. And Helene, she was a very good looking woman indeed, the prettiest of the three. I knew given the chance, I’d hook up with any of them. If I could pick just one, it would be Helene.

And all three are single? Well, two separated and one not married, that didn’t make them single. I needed to find out.

Helene, despite the French accented name, didn’t speak with an accent. She was born in Trois Rivieres but moved to Ontario as a young girl.

On the fourth hole it started to get a little warm. Helene took off her light jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless shirt with collar.

She had a tattoo on her arm just below her left shoulder. The Gay Pride rainbow flag in a semi-circle.

Oh. That explained the never married bit.

Then I wondered about the other two holding fingers. Nah I rationalized, they’ve got five kids between them.

As we made our way up the fourth fairway there was a fox flitting in and out of the rough along the left hand side. It was very amusing to watch. We all made our chips onto the green. The fox darted out from the rough onto the green as we walked towards the green with our putters in hand.

The fox stopped mid trot, squatted, peed on my ball and then ran off.

“What the hell!”

“Did you see that?”

“Ahhhh!” “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

The four of us had trouble standing up. We were clutching our sides howling in laughter.

“Why me?” I gasped. Then the jokes started.

“You’re her bitch now.”

“Just need to put a little something extra on the next putt.”

“Come here you little fox, squirt on my balls.”

“Ahh, never dribbled a little pee on your balls before?”

Yvonne was on her hands and knees howling.

“That’s nature’s way of saying, ‘Girl Zone, Girls Only!'”

Whatever ice needed to be broken was broken now. Somehow, they weren’t the same ladies I teed off with.

The ladies were in hysterics.

I grabbed my golf towel to clean the ball off. That set a whole new series off.

“Oh, he’s going to rub his ball clean.” A renewed eruption from the ladies.

“Can we watch?” Howls.

“I’m not watching!” Fingers splayed wide over Cora’s eyes.

“Oh, I bet that feels good!” They were cackling.

“Will that make your putter stand on end?” More howls.

I just met these women. What the fuck? But I couldn’t help but laugh myself. It was funny and so were they.

They just didn’t let up.

Eventually we putted out much to the annoyance of the group behind us who was starting to get pissed off at our delay. You could tell from their body language, even at a hundred and fifty yards out. Clearly they hadn’t seen what was so funny.

On the fifth tee I watched Yvonne give Cora a warm rub up and down her spine while smiling. I didn’t know what they were talking about but Helene, who still sat in the cart with me, watched me watching them. I must have had a bit of puzzled look on my face.

“They’re a couple,” Helene said.

What? “A couple of what?”

“They’re together,” she said giving me that ‘are you that stupid?’ look. “They live together, they’re a couple.”

Light bulb on. I was golfing with three friggin’ lesbos. But that’s okay I rationalized, I love lesbians. Especially the ones on the internet.

However, any hopes that I may have had to possibly hook up with one of them were dashed. I was fine with that. These ladies were fun.

As we played along Cora and Yvonne would sometimes look over their shoulder to our cart and start giggling to themselves. Maybe they thought I was trying to put a move on Helene and didn’t know she was gay. How could I not? Her tattoo was practically rubbing off onto my right bicep as we bounced along in the cart.

On the ninth tee the four of us stood and contemplated the carved sign that showed the layout of the hole. “It’s very well done, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Have you not played here before?” Yvonne asked.

“No. I was supposed to play with my brother. He couldn’t make it. This is my first time here. I do like it though. It’s a nice course. Not sure about the logo though. What is that? Two swans that are supposed to make a W?”

“Ah, maybe. I don’t know.” Cora answered. She then asked me if I had a significant other. It seemed a kind of out of the blue question.

“Not currently,” I answered as I prepared to tee off.

I drove it into the woods again. Their tee shots were fine.

After nine holes we stopped for beers and lunch at the shack. I brought four jumbo hot dogs to the table, “No sausage jokes,” I said as I sat down.

“Oh, still a little pissed are you?” That started them again.

Cora held her hot dog upright with two hands. She brought her head down to it, opened her mouth and bobbed a few times before taking a bite.

It’s tough to laugh with a mouthful of hot dog.

And I thought they were ladies.

After nine holes the scores were:

Cora – 46

Yvonne – 47

Helene — 44

Mike — 47

Not my greatest, especially off the ladies tees. But then that really only made a difference on about three of the holes.

Cora and Yvonne were still sitting at the table when I came back from the washroom.

Cora asked, “Do you have plans for dinner tonight Mike?”

“No, why?” I was tickled that they enjoyed my company enough to consider extending me a dinner invitation. We would eat at the clubhouse, I guessed.

“The three of us normally get together for dinner after golf,” Yvonne answered.

With the jumbo hot dog in me, I doubted that I’d be hungry enough for dinner after eighteen holes. Still, I could eat.

“How ’bout we make a little wager on the back nine?” Cora asked.

They’re more like guys than they realize.

“Sure.” I answered.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Cora said, “You and Helene against me and Yvonne, combined team scores, lowest wins.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering what the stakes will be.

“If you win, then we’re cooking dinner for you and we have to pay for your cab rides, there and back.”

“If we win, you’re cooking for us. Your place or Helene’s it doesn’t matter. We’ll let you sort that out yourselves. Plus cab rides.”

It seemed to me that I would get a home cooked meal out of it either way. A win-win.

“Deal,” I answered enthusiastically. Even if it was at my condo, Helene would have to take the lead in cooking. Cab rides? Equals alcohol. Deal. And Helene is on my team? She’s the best golfer amongst us. I stuck two thumbs up and smiled. Piece of cake.

We were cleaning up the table and taking our last swigs of beer when Helene came back from the washroom. Cora explained the bet to her.

“No way!” Helene said pointing her finger at Cora and Yvonne. “No way!”

“Unh, unh, unh,” Cora fired back wagging her finger, “you can’t get out of it.”

Maybe she doesn’t like cooking?

Helene stood there and gazed at the other two with one of those ‘I’ll get you for this’ looks.

“What? You don’t think Mike’s good enough?”

Helene kept gazing at the other two. Her jaw was set. They were both smirking.

I checked the score card again. She only had me by three strokes on the front nine. Was I that much of a liability?

Finally Helene answered, “Okay, but he’s not playing with woods.”

“Wait a minute, you’re on my team!” What the hell?

“Okay, if you insist,” Cora said, “Sorry Mike, do you mind? It will be fairer.”

I did out drive them every time. Into the woods though.

“Okay fine,” I said. I didn’t want to blow it by arguing.

Helene turned to me as we pulled up to the tee on number ten. “They’re going to lose,” she said.

“Damn right they are,” I said grinning. I was looking forward to a decent home cooked meal. Something I rarely got. Not only that, but with some alcohol in them, I figured that these three would be a riot. Their orientation didn’t matter. In fact it made it even more fun.

“Trust me,” she said stepping out of the cart, “you want to lose.”

“No I don’t,” I said as I pulled out my three iron.

Cora drove. It was a little to the right.

“Am I missing something here?” I asked Helene as we pulled out of the tee box.

“Yeah, that those two are devious fucking cunts,” she hissed back while watching them.

“That’s not very nice.” I said. And definitely not very lady like.

We played a wonderful back nine and had a grand time. The girls never stopped with their jokes, always full of sexual innuendo, but always good natured about it.

Helene was right. Cora and Yvonne did lose. Their combined score on the back nine was a hundred and nine. I shot a forty nine. Playing without my woods was a distinct disadvantage. Helene shot a fifty three.

“Can you make it for seven thirty?” Yvonne asked as she handed me the score card with their address on it.

Cora handed me sixty dollars, “Cab fare, there and back. Will that be enough?”

I looked at her address again and handed her twenty back. “Okay I’ll see you guys at seven thirty.”

“Do you eat pork?” Yvonne asked, “I have to ask.”

“I’ll eat anything.”

“Great game, thanks,” we said and shook hands. Cora and Yvonne were grinning. Helene was trying hard to put on a happy face.

As I drove home I thought to myself. So if they threw the game, why would lesbians want to lure me into their lair? And why would Helene, the gayest of the bunch seem to object? The other two at least had families and therefore are arguably bisexual; Helene wears that Pride tattoo like an epaulet.

I stopped to pick up a bunch of flowers and some wine. A Beaujolais and a pre-chilled Pinot Grigio. Whatever they’re up to, at least I would be a gentleman about it.

It appeared to be a nice building, certainly in a choice neighborhood. I used the Enterphone to call up to their unit. Showered and freshly shaved, with flowers and wine in hand, I felt like I was going on a date.

“Hey,” I said as the door opened. Cora and Yvonne were both dressed to kill. “Hi Mike” “Come on in.”

“Flowers. Oh how sweet.” Yvonne gave me a kiss on the cheek and rubbed my back up and down.

She was dressed in a flowery pinkish wrap around dress that showed a little too much cleavage. I hadn’t noticed how big her breasts where when we were golfing. She must have been wearing a sports bra. I didn’t think she was wearing a bra at all now. Her long grey speckled hair was no longer in a pony tail. She had light pink leather shoes to match, with just a low heel. With her make-up and everything, her appearance was soft, sensual, luscious. Her fingernails were light pink.

Cora on the other hand was dressed in a one-piece brown velvet, I don’t know what you’d call it. A cat suit? Nothing about her lithe figure was left to the imagination. She definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. I could see two points. She had brown leather ankle boots with a spike heel and pointy toe. I wondered if she had a matching whip. Her red spiky earrings dangled to her sharp jaw line and matched her red lipstick and fingernails.

“You didn’t have to,” Cora said and also gave me a kiss on the cheek as I handed her the wine. I had to stoop a little to receive the kiss even though her heels were quite high. I could just detect a hint of perfume.

The fly just landed in the spider’s web.

Helene wasn’t there yet. Whatever was cooking smelled wonderful.

“We had fun today,” Cora said. The phone rang. “Did you?”

“I had a great time,” I answered, “you guys are a blast and the fox was hilarious.” Cora started giggling again.

“Come on up,” I heard Yvonne say.

Yvonne gave Helene a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she appeared in the door. She wore an off-white pant suit, definitely business attire. I didn’t see a blouse. She had a gold chain necklace, gold dangly earrings and light pink lipstick and fingernails. Of course her handbag matched her shoes.

“Hey Cora, hi Mike,” she said. “What’s for dinner?” She waltzed right in.

“You’ll see,” smiled Yvonne.

The apartment was definitely furnished by ladies. Everything was impeccably clean. The carpeting was off-white, the walls were painted a pinky-mauve. The furniture looked brand new. The couches all matched, there was a floral pattern to the upholstery that tied the walls and the carpet together. The lamps, the paintings on the walls, the little accents of color and shape, everything was ultra-feminine. Martha Stewart on crack cocaine with an unlimited credit card. The place practically dripped estrogen.

Maybe I should have taken my shoes off? Helene was still wearing her street shoes. With her off-white high heels and matching pant suit, she nearly blended in with the carpet. Was that some sort of female camouflage?

“Mike, would you open the wine?” Cora asked from the other side of the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

“Sure,” I said as I walked to the counter. Even the dining table was set to match. White tablecloth overtop a pinkish purple flowery skirt and matching table napkins. Large, light pink plates. I hoped they weren’t going to make me eat quiche.

“Do you like the apartment?” Yvonne asked smiling.

“It’s great,” I said lying through my smiling teeth, “very feminine.”

“Thanks,” she said and opened the oven door. “Dinner won’t be a minute.”

They had white wine, I poured myself some red. Trying to be helpful I asked, “Do you want me to bring the plates here, or are we going to dish up at the table?”

Yvonne opened up a cupboard and pulled out four white plates. “The plates are here,” she said giving me a questioning glance, as she set them on the counter.

I looked back at the table with the pink plates.

“Those are chargers,” said Helene.

Chargers? Certainly not from San Diego. I just shook my head.

The only thing that contrasted the décor was Cora in her brown cat suit and me with my black long sleeve shirt and stone colored Dockers.

I contemplated Cora in her suit, how slender she was, how her hips stuck out, her small breasts. What a sexy little package she was and what a wonder of nature it was that her little body managed to pop out two kids. I knew that under that cat suit she was pure muscle. That was evident from her golf swing.

She was completely different from Yvonne, an almost unlikely couple. But there they were, completely at ease with each other. I could tell by watching the two of them in the kitchen that there was a physical comfort between them. One hand would rest on the other’s small of back as she reached across. A hand would be nonchalantly placed on the other’s shoulder. I saw private smiles between themselves.

“Those two are fantastic cooks,” Helene said to me as we stood on the other side of the kitchen counter sipping our wine.

“Don’t listen to her,” Yvonne answered, “she’s the amazing cook.”

Yvonne and Cora both brought two plates to the table and said, “Okay let’s sit down.” I was carefully guided to sit across from Helene. Cora was to my right.

The white plates were put on top of the chargers. They were for decoration only.

The plates were lovely, everything was sprinkled with fresh parsley. The food was incredible. Sliced pork tenderloin stuffed with porcini mushrooms, rice, chopped celery and green onions with herbs; sautéed mini potatoes, asparagus with chopped hardboiled egg on top and a red wine vegetable gravy with leeks, garlic and fresh herbs. A small vinaigrette salad was brought to the table.