Keywords: Ch., No, 04, Love, Ordinary,

Bogey six.

It went downhill from there. He skied his tee shot on the second hole, a short par four. It went straight up, like a moon shot, and ended up less than a hundred yards down the fairway. It took Denny two more shots to reach the green, and he two-putted for bogey five. The third hole, another short par four, saw a new side of Denny, as he eschewed the graceful swing and hit the most vicious hook I have ever seen on a golf course. It veered over Southern Boulevard and disappeared into the Great Swamp, scattering migratory game birds after narrowly missing a car.

By the time Denny Grimes staggered onto the eighteenth green, he was sixteen over par. Nobody in the gallery or the press contingent was the least bit surprised that the unknown beneficiary of a charity exemption had played so poorly, and Denny was on his way to his car as soon as he changed out of his golf shoes and signed his scorecard. I was waiting for him in the parking lot, trying to figure out what to say.

Denny looked up at me as he opened his car door. "Get in," he said, and I climbed into the passenger seat and strapped myself in beside him. "Don't say anything," he said. He peeled out of the lot, and started to drive back towards his hotel. When I looked at his face, I could see tears streaming down his beautiful cheeks. His blonde hair was disheveled, there were grass stains on his skirt, and his bare legs were flecked with sand from his adventures in the traps.

I couldn't stand the silence. "Denny, what happened out there?" I finally asked.

"I suddenly realized what a farce this is. Look at me." I stared straight ahead. "Look at me, God damn it!" he shouted in his normal voice. "Two years ago, I won a major championship. Now I'm sitting here in a fucking skirt, and I just shot an 88. Christ, I haven't shot an 88 since I was in seventh grade."

"You started out so good…."

"You mean until I gave the nation a look at my panties? Gee, do you think that had something to do with the way I played out there?"

"It just seemed like you were trying too hard."

"Damn right I was. One thing I'm not is a quitter. After I skied my second tee shot, I figured the femboy swing wasn't working, and I started trying to find a groove out there." I sat fascinated as Denny replayed the entire round, shot by excruciating shot, finishing up as we pulled into the parking lot at the Hilton. He waited until the valet opened his door, then swung his legs gracefully out onto the curb, back in character as a woman once again. I followed him up to his suite, and he asked me if I wanted to come in.

"Sure," I said. Maybe I could help him over this. He still had a round of golf to play tomorrow, even though making the cut, and winning the million dollars, was now outside the realm of possibility.

"How about something to drink?" he asked. "God knows I could use a hard one."

"Thanks, so could I. Are you going to play tomorrow?"

"I told you, I'm not a quitter," he said as he reached into the minibar. "My deal with Revlon is that I play as long as they'll let me, even if I don't have a chance in hell of making the cut now. Cheer up. You'll get to see my blue panties tomorrow."

Suddenly I lost it. I sat down on the sofa and started to cry, shaking with sobs. Denny sat down beside me and handed me a bottle of Vodka. "Women," he said. "I'm the one who should be crying. Drink this."

I did as I was told, shivering as the cold Vodka burned my throat. "I'm sorry, Denny. This is all my fault. If I hadn't come up with this stupid idea, none of this would have ever happened."

"Maybe not, but it's turned out great for you. You'll get a book deal out of this. Can I get an autographed copy?" he asked as he kicked off his sandals.

"Damn it!" I shouted. "Can't you be serious about anything?"

"You think this is all a joke for me? Face it, I'm fucked, Carrie. What was left of my reputation is going to go right down the tubes when the press gets wind of what happened today. 'Former PGA Champion Turned Crossdresser Misses the Cut at an LPGA Tournament.' What a headline. What a fucking disaster."

"Maybe I won't write the book."

"Oh, you'll write it, all right. You'd be crazy not to. This is your shot, Carrie, you've got to take it. Drink up. Here's to Denny Grimes. He used to be one hell of a golfer."

I took his face in my hands, and kissed him, hard on the lips. He seemed totally surprised, but after a moment's hesitation he kissed me back, gently at first, then with a sudden passion that swept us both away. He pulled my top right over my head, and started to fumble with my bra. I reached under his shirt, and found myself grappling with his. I was faster, and his breast forms tumbled onto the floor as I tore off his shirt. I slid my hands up his skirt and caressed his smooth thighs until I reached his panties. There was a moment's confusion while I felt around for him. Meanwhile Denny had my pants and panties down to my knees, and he paused to unzip his skirt and fling it across the room. He pulled off his panties, and an evil-looking gaffe which had tucked him away. As soon as it was off, his penis sprang to attention, and he was on top of me.

It was the quickest fuck I have ever known, but I wasn't complaining. He stayed inside me as he played with my hair and my breasts, and I tried to make sense out of what was happening. From the waist up and the ass down, he looked, felt, smelled and tasted like a girl. I have never been attracted to women, but there was something about making love to a soft, sweet, smooth guy that was incredibly arousing. Before I knew it, he was hard again, and this time he took his time, easing himself in and out of me as he built up steam. I could feel myself starting to lose control, and when he came again, I was right there with him, lost in the throes of the most exquisite orgasm of my life.

I stayed with him all night. Except for a brief break for room service, we spent every minute in bed, going at it again and again. The last time, we did it with me on top, like he was the girl, and when we came together, each of us cried out in ecstasy. When he finally fell asleep, totally spent, he had a look of angelic contentment on his beautiful face.

* * *

The next morning, we showered together, shaving each others' legs and shampooing each others' hair. Denny had a skirt and blouse which fit me, and I put them on as he dressed himself for ladies' golf. He looked sensational in his blue top and matching blue skirt, and when I teased him about going another round before we left, he looked forlorn. "Afraid I'm tapped out," he said.

"I'm disappointed, Missy. We only did it six times, or was it seven." Then it occurred to me. "Denny, when you think about it, you're like a girl right now."

"Huh?" he said as he put on his lipstick.

"Your testosterone level has been drained down to zero. It's like you've been unmanned. I mean, it's only temporary, but right now, you probably feel more like a girl than a guy."

"Maybe that'll help my game," he said with a sigh. "God knows, I won't have the energy to hit anything hard out there. I'll have to play like a girl today."

We got to the clubhouse very late, and Denny had no time to warm up before his tee time. His caddy was having fits until Denny kissed him on the cheek and told him to relax. I took my place in the gallery and waited for him to tee off.

In the history of sport, nothing can compare to what I was about to witness. Some have likened it to pitching a perfect game, but that is not an apt analogy in my opinion. A baseball pitcher would have to strike out all 27 batters to come close to what Denny Grimes achieved that day.

When he hit his drive off the first tee, there was no indication that something special was about to occur. His swing had an easy languor that seemed almost effortless, and his ball came to rest a mere 240 yards out, but smack in the center of the fairway. Big Bertha, his playing partner once again, was thirty yards ahead of him, and she waited impatiently as Denny relaxed over his second shot. He lifted a 3 wood into a beautiful arc, and his ball came to rest just short of the green. An easy chip, and he was putting for birdie from five feet. The gallery snickered as he studied his line, but this time he kept his knees together in ladylike fashion before he stroked the ball into the cup.

Denny had the honors after Bertha made par 5, and he would not relinquish them for the rest of the day. His drive on the second hole was straight and true, although Bertha outdrove him once again. He hit a perfect six iron that stopped dead on the green, three feet from the pin, and once again made birdie. The third hole was tamed in almost identical fashion. For the first time, a little buzz started to spread through the gallery, and I noticed that people who had hunkered down on some of the greens began to gather up their things and follow us as we continued towards the fourth hole. It was just a trickle, but it was soon to become a torrent, and then a tsunami, as Denny Grimes, using unfamiliar clubs in a short skirt on two hours' sleep, played a game for the ages.

Although I have never said this publicly, I am convinced that the night Denny and I spent together was the magic ingredient in his performance that day. Liberated from the influence of his libido, it was as if his psyche temporarily melded with his androgynous form, allowing his body to take control of his mind and put him in "the zone" once again. Whatever the reason, as he continued to work his magic on the golf course that day, there was a serenity about him, almost a godliness, that I have never seen before or since.

Keywords: Ch., No, 04, Love, Ordinary,