DISCLAIMER: I'd love to own the rights to this wonderful series, but sadly I don't.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place years after the ladies’ graduation from Langley.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Charity Begins at Home
As I place the ball on the tee to start the back nine, sweat rolls down my forehead and into my already burning eyes. I swear when this tournament is over, I'm going to kick Blair from one end of this golf course to the other.
With the words she so eloquently spoke the other day still ringing in my ears; I blast the ball off the tee pretending it's her head. I even laugh when it hooks to the left and bounces off a tree as I imagine Blair's face screaming as the bark of the tree nears her perfect features.
"C'mon, Jo. This is a charity golf tournament benefiting the local children's hospital. You've got to play with me. None of my friends can hit the ball off the tee. We'd never even make it to the second hole," I mutter in a sing song voice as I walk back to the occupied golf cart.
Tossing my club into the back, I take the wheel once again while Blair continues to sip her lemonade and looks fresh as a daisy. Life must be hard riding around in a covered golf cart while your flunky plays the game for you.
Oh yeah, she failed to mention this wasn't a team tournament. Turns out, she needed me to play the spot she was sponsoring. When her latest boy toy bailed on her, I was the next likely candidate. I can't believe she played me like that.
Turning the key, I put the cart in gear and take off as fast as the motor will allow, and it just so happened that Blair was taking a sip of her drink too. I almost fell from the cart laughing when the lemonade proceeded to find its way down the front of her shirt.
"Jo! I can't believe you did that. You, you, you, Neanderthal!" Blair shouts as she tries in vain to remove the liquid from her silk blouse.
The joke's on me when we finally find my ball because until that time I hadn't really focused on Blair and her dilemma. As I climb out of the cart to retrieve my iron, I happen to glance in Blair's direction and almost lose my footing when I note how sheer the damp blouse has become.
Dear God, how am I supposed to be able to hit this little white ball when my mind keeps replaying the image of those two perfect breasts? Closing my eyes tightly, I am finally able to focus on the ball when I slowly reopen them. I quickly take advantage of the return of my sight to hit the ball onto the middle of the fairway.
Satisfied with the shot, I turn to walk back to the cart and immediately notice Blair is not sitting in her usual place. In fact, she's not in the cart at all. Where the hell did she go?
Since I'm the last golfer of the round, I know she wasn't able to hitch a ride with anyone else, and I'm certain she didn't try to make the long trek back to the clubhouse. So where could she have gone?
My peripheral vision catches movement behind a tree, and I decide to check it out. It's either a very large squirrel or Blair trying to hide for some reason or other.
Stepping around the large oak, I snap my eyes shut for the second time today, but this time I concentrate on filing the image away for later instead of trying to totally dispel it from memory.
I turn my back to the vision before making an attempt to utter a single word.
Relatively composed, I ask, "Blair, why have you taken off your shirt and bra?"
"Duh, Jo; they're both soaking wet. I can't be seen like this. No one would be able to concentrate on hitting their ball if they see me with my shirt clinging to my breasts," Blair says with confidence.
"Oh, and seeing you totally topless is going to help their game?" I sarcastically ask.
"Get real, Jo. Once I wipe off this sticky lemonade, I'm going to put on the t-shirt we were given at the start of the tournament," Blair explains in an equally sarcastic tone.
What? That's my t-shirt. I'm the one who is actually playing this tournament.
Turning to protest, my words never make it past my lips as I am treated with a vision I'm barely able to describe.
An obviously damp towel is slowly, but thoroughly, removing all traces of the liquid as Blair passes it across her chest. Lifting her arms one by one, she takes her sweet time cleaning the area around and under each breast. The image is completed when she opens the package containing the t-shirt and pulls it over her head.
I can now officially die a happy person.
"Jo? Jo! C'mon. We've got to finish this tournament or I'll be the laughing stock of the club. All the other sponsors made fun of me when I chose you to be my player; every one of them to a man said that you couldn't finish the course much less beat any of their guys," Blair's voice shouts loudly pulling me from my stupor.
Back on the course, I sink my last putt placing me third overall, and Blair immediately runs over and joyfully pulls me into an embrace. I selfishly hang on a few extra minutes to savor the feel of her body next to mine, not to mention the wonderful sensation of a breast to breast encounter.
Pulling away, I quickly glance down to the reason for my exceptional play on the back nine. Yes, Blair Warner in a tight fitting t-shirt sans bra is most definitely the inspiration I needed to improve my play. Well, and knowing what the other sponsors said about me gave me a little extra incentive as well.
I thoroughly enjoy the little after-tournament get together in the clubhouse for a couple of reasons. First, seeing Blair waltz around receiving compliments from the very men who gave her grief before the tournament began makes my day, and second, knowing I was able to defeat all but two of these arrogant assholes makes my week.
Hours later, we're both smiling broadly when we walk out of the clubhouse door.
When I pull up in front of Blair's condo, she turns to me and thanks me for helping her finally put her Dad's friends in their place.
"Jo, I've always wanted to make those guys eat crow, but I've never been able to succeed until now. Thank you so much for making my dreams come true, and a special thanks for making this charity event one of my favorites. We will be able to contribute three times the amount we pledged," Blair cheerfully explains.
Confused, I ask, "How did you make the extra money?"
Smiling, Blair replies, "I bet those guys double our pledges that you'd finish in the top ten. When you finished third, they all felt tripling the amount was only more than fair."
My smile immediately falls from my face when I realize Blair has once again used me. Why does everything have to come at a price?
"Jo, don't be upset. I wasn't so much using you as trying to make more money for the charity. I didn't personally gain from this; the charity did. There was never any boyfriend who pulled out at the last minute; you were always my first choice. It was Dad's friends who goaded me into the bet. They were saying terrible things about you so I figured I'd make them put their money where their mouth was," Blair softly offers as she reaches out and takes my hand.
Looking down at our joined hands, I can't help but smile. Only Blair has the ability to pull me from my funk so quickly.
She runs her thumb over the back of my hand as she leans over and takes me by surprise when she softly kisses my lips.
Releasing my hand, Blair opens the door and steps from the car.
"Jo? If you'd like to come inside, I'd be willing to pledge myself to you," Blair sweetly offers before closing the door and walking to her condo with a distinct sway in her hips.
Dumbfounded, I watch as she disappears through the front door.
Did what just happened really happen? Did Blair really say what I think she did?
Running the conversation through my head over and over again, I keep coming to the same conclusion so I quickly open the door and stride toward the condo before she has a chance to change her mind.
When I reach the entrance, the door automatically opens and a smiling Blair ushers me inside. She takes my hand and leads me directly to her bedroom.
I guess charity truly does begin at home, and I, for one, plan to give and give and give.
Much later when a completely sated Blair rolls on top off me and slides her hand down my body, I come to startling realization.
This is the first time in my life that I will willingly accept a 'handout.'
Oh man, two hands are even better.
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