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Country clubs are places that most people tend to avoid; most likely because of the stereotype that only rich stuck-up snobs belong to those places and those people definitely can't have any fun. That's what I thought too, until I met Mrs. Anderson. I had been a caddy at one of the local country clubs for several years and have had both very good and very bad rounds. Seeing that I was 18, it was the beginning of my last summer as a caddy when I first crossed paths with Mrs. Anderson. She was in her mid-forties, took very good care of her body and knew it by what she wore. Nothing too slutty, but enough in the right places to give almost any man an instant hard-on.

The first time I caddied for her was a fluke, she was playing with her husband, we spent most of the round talking amiably about little things. Normally you don't pick you who caddie for, and rarely will they request you. As the summer wore on, I began to caddie for Mrs. Anderson more and more frequently; almost to the point I suspected she started requesting me. I wasn't complaining at all, the more time we spent together the friendlier our behavior became laughing and joking, especially when we weren't too close to other members. Not that we flirted, but we still had a clear member/caddie distinction between us. Then there were the other jealous caddies that desperately wanted to caddie for her and never quite seemed to achieve it.

Mrs. Anderson and I spent most of the summer as boss and employee until one particular morning she hit a particularly bad drive in the opposite ...

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