Beer-Cart Girl [FM]

*Sunny. 70 degrees. A gentle breeze from the southeast. Perfect conditions.*

I closed my eyes and rolled my head around my shoulders. The stress of the week released with every little crack and pop. I inhaled and slowly exhaled. The smell of fresh cut grass hung in the air. I opened my eyes and stared down the fairway. Lined up my shot and teed off. Golf season was back.

After months of grinding away at work, my busy period had concluded and I had earned a well-deserved respite. A short 10 minute drive from my house was a sanctuary, the Rolling Hills Golf Course. I am by no means a golf course connoisseur (or a great golfer for that matter). But of all the courses I have played on, Rolling Hills was my favorite. It was close to home, reasonably priced, and the greens were well-maintained.

Satisfied with my first shot, I smiled and hopped into my cart in pursuit of the ball. It was going to be a good summer. This story takes place a few years ago pre-COVID and at that time I was splitting time working in the office or on the road. After finishing up a major project and collecting a significant bonus I was looking forward to making my own hours and enjoying my fair share of golf. Over the hill and down in the middle of the fairway was my ball. Perfect. A few strokes later and I pulled my ball out of the cup. There was no hurry today; no score-keeping, just golf. I was happy.

A few holes later, I let out an audible groan as I approached a pair of walking stereotypes. Now, I am in my early 30s, clean-cut, and in decent shape. I typically dress for the weather in fitted golf attire that is conservative in color, nothing flashy. These guys though? These guys looked like they just did 20 years in Delta Gamma Douche fraternity and were released to the custody of the nearest golf course: bright-colored Polos with popped collars that stretched over their beer guts; tacky shorts and long socks. Visors and sport boat-glasses to top off the look. They joked boisterously with each other as they pulled turf up in an attempt to smack their balls.

I got out of my cart and stretched, waiting patiently for these clowns as they heckled and hacked before they finally drove down the middle of the fairway. From the tee, I see them five-putt their way into the hole. Whatever, I’m not going to let these two schmucks ruin this perfect day for me. I was content to play slow, line up my shots, and take in the sights that I had so sorely missed. Several strokes later and I catch up to the frat-bros at the beginning of the next hole. Lo and behold, these assholes haven’t even teed-off because guess who they found? Beer-cart girl.

Dearest reader, indulge me a moment atop my soapbox. I love beer, I love women. If there was an “At Home” store for men that sold “Live, Laugh, Love” signs that said “Beer, Babes, Golf” it would be hanging in my garage. That said, the golf scene naturally cultivates an environment where affluent men can day-drink away from their wives while interacting with young women who peddle beer for cash. Unlike bartenders or servers there is little oversight from other patrons or staff so Beer-cart girls can be subject to more harassment. Depending on how much harassment and banter they are willing to take, Beer-Cart girls can clean up in the cash tip department. The profession has organically adjusted to this and the women have gotten younger, sexier, and for some apparent reason cannot seem to find as much fabric to cover their increasingly voluptuous bodies. Honestly, the whole dynamic is eerily similar to the strip club dynamic, just a little more dressed up. You have old creeps, shelling out cash, hoping to bang the beer-cart girl. If I had it my way, I would just bring a cooler with a couple of beers and cut the whole transaction out. I could focus on my game and not have to overpay for beer in order to not feel like a cheapskate. Then again, I like keeping a good rapport with the staff, and this unnecessary interaction seems to be a price of doing business.

Today’s Beer-cart girl was Kylie. Kylie was hardly recognizable to the meek, conservative-styled girl that had started several summers ago. Now she had bleach-blonde hair, a perfect tan, fake eyelashes, and a little too much make-up for my taste. She was on the other side of college now and her figure was fully filled out. She had full breasts that she made no effort of hiding and a bubble-butt that she must have earned at the gym over the winter. She wore a light blue dress with a front zipper that I am sure went up or down based on the size of tips she received. I sat in my cart, glaring at these morons as they hit on Kylie. She was seemingly reciprocating and flirting back and laughing at their stupid jokes. Finally, one of the bros averted his gaze long enough to see me and signal for me to play-through. Thank God. I teed-off quickly and left Kylie and the bros behind.

Two holes later and I am trying to see if I can loft my ball onto the 7th green. I step up to the ball and-

“Heyyy, YOU!” I almost jumped. These electric golf carts were so damn quiet. I look back towards the cart path and see Kylie leaning against the beer-cart, her hip jutting out. “You didn’t buy any beer from me.” Kylie had affected a high, girlish voice that she paired with a pouty face. She was a seasoned operator now and this effect coupled with her dress must have worked for her, especially with the older creeps.

“Hi Kylie, good to see you again,” I said, shouldering my wedge and reaching for my wallet. I gave her a small smile and ordered two Yuenglings, internally cursing this lewd act of extortion.

“Coming right up!” She chirped. She turned on a dime and reached unnecessarily deep into the cooler putting her bubble butt on display. The hem of the light blue dress hugged her body for dear life, barely covering the bottom of her ass. She finally retrieved the two beers from the top of the cooler and she bounced over to me. I gave her a twenty and told her to keep the change.

“Thank YOU!” She said, as she slipped the cash into her cleavage. From close up I could see her perfectly put-together face. A delicate nose rested perfectly between a pair of big, wide-set, brown eyes that reminded me of Anya Taylor-Joy. Her full pink lips had freshly applied lip-gloss that parted to reveal perfectly white teeth. Her blonde hair was pulled back in place by a simple white hair band. Her tanned skin looked soft but glistened with sweat from the early afternoon sun. My eyes followed her fingers as she shoved Andrew Jackson between her pushed-up tits. Fortunately, my eyes were shielded behind my Ray-Bans and this momentary lapse of concentration went unnoticed. I try to treat everyone like human beings regardless if they are the help, my peers, or my boss. I wasn’t going to play into the hot beer-cart girl routine so I simply shifted the topic to the frat guys.

“Those bros get lost on the way to campus?” I asked.

“Ha! They got lost on the way to the bank! They tipped me, like, a dollar each!” She rolled her eyes before looking down and then back up at me. “Handsy cheapskates! Well, its good to see you again and thanks for the tip! Enjoy the round!” She bounced back to her beer-cart and gave me a little wave before driving off. My dick pulsed but I was able to finish the round without further distraction.

Back at the Club’s bar (“The 19th hole”- how original), I nursed one last beer while checking my phone.

“Hey John, how are you?” I looked up and it was Jennifer.

Jennifer was the 40-something utility staff member. She did a little of everything, whether it was scheduling tee-times, running the bar, directing the grounds-crew, or even running the beer cart on slow nights. She was definitely beautiful and had a tight body but she was a no-fly zone as well. I had developed a rapport with her over the last couple summers and I was aiming to keep it that way. Occasionally, I could get comped drinks at the bar, preferred tee-times, or just play another round for free on slow days. She was someone that was good to know and I wanted to keep it that way.

“Hey Jennifer, I’m doing well.” We made small talk for a little bit about work and such. I closed out my tab and headed home.

This was very much the high point of my life for the next several weeks. I would golf about 3 times a week depending on weather, work, and mood. About half the time I went, Kylie would be working the beer cart wearing an outfit that probably violated the club’s dress code. She would inevitably greet me with a “Heyyy YOU!” in her annoying baby-girl voice. The intonation of the words became an unwanted Pavlovian trigger. It became a fanfare that my dick could only interpret as: “Kylie is here! And she is going to boobily bounce her way over to us with two cold beers if you just fork over some money. I’m going to go ahead and get hard for her!” Soon, all she had to do was say “Heyyy YOU” and my dick would throb before I could turn to see what outfit she thought passed for appropriate.

A state of conflict was brewing in me when I thought of Kylie. My mind screamed because it knew that what was once a hobby for me was now being derailed for what amounted to an expensive hard-on. Was I even coming to play golf or was I here on the off-chance that I could see Kylie and get close enough to see her radiant smile and make 3 minutes of small talk like she was a stripper? Nevertheless, my wallet would navigate its way out of my pocket always tithing another dead president to the depths of Kylie cleavage. I began to notice that during each of our interactions she would linger a little longer than usual. The conversations weren’t long but I was developing a rapport with her and I noticed that her girlish voice was receding and returning to a more natural pitch. She laughed at my little quips and asked my advice on whether she should go back for her Master’s degree. I told her about my job and other benign things. At the end of our conversations I was grateful that I didn’t have to hide my throbbing dick any longer. At the same time I was sad that it would be another day or two before our next interaction. Another part of me was annoyed that my biology could be so easily hacked by a smile and a nice set of tits. Most nights I would go home after my round, shower, and shamefully rub one out thinking of Kylie.

This all continued until a fateful Monday evening.

*Cloudy. 75 degrees. Gusty with light precipitation earlier in the day.*

I had a longer than usual day at work and I just wanted to clear my mind. It was later in the day than I would have liked but I was determined to get a quick round in. I got my tee time squared away with Jennifer and played the front 9 before taking an intermission at the club house. The first beer went down smooth, and so did the second and the third. After my fourth, Jennifer asked if I planned on finishing my round. I usually don’t pound beers but I guess it was an unusually bad day.

The 10th and 11th holes were absolute shit shows. I was slicing worse than usual, spending too much time in bunkers, and taking more strokes than I could count on the greens. I lost several balls in the woods on the 12th hole and lacked the motivation to even try to find them. I would just pull another ball out of my bag and send it into the woods to join its brothers. I was regretting those beers when Jennifer pulled up on a cart. It was getting darker with the rain clouds moving in. Jennifer said that everyone else was leaving but I could finish my round if I wanted, weather-permitting. She asked that I just park the cart behind the club and leave the keys in the mailbox. God bless her.

By the time I had got to the 14th hole, I had finally pulled myself out of my funk. I was staring down a Par 4 that had a pond water hazard. I lined up my shot trying to compensate for my slice and went to swing-

“Heyyy YOU,” came the voice from behind me.

THWACK. PLUNK. My ball took a suicide path directly into the pond. Fuck.

I whipped around and who else could it be but Kylie, right on time to receive her gratuity. As if she hadn’t redirected enough money from my pocket or blood from my brain, she was now redirecting my balls into the water so that I could overpay for beer. This time, my emotions got the best of me and wave of anger crashed over me. She probably didn’t want to bother to learn anyone’s name, hence the “Heyyy YOU”. She didn’t really care about whom I was or what I did. As long as I kept shelling out the cash for beer she was perfectly content with the arrangement. Was she oblivious to golf etiquette? Did she have to use that girlish voice to get attention?

“Sorry! I was just going to see-”

“What, if I want any more beer? I’ve had plenty as you can see?” I said as I gestured vaguely at the pond.

“No, it’s just that it’s going to be raining soon-”

“I have eyes.” I did, and they were drinking Kylie in. She was wearing cotton white booty shorts with a red polo shirt that was unbuttoned, showcasing her tits. Her bleach blonde hair was in a high-ponytail. Long, toned legs supported by white tennis shoes. A startled look emerged in reaction to my outburst.

“I’m sorry,” I started.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your shot.”

“No worries. It’s just a bad day for me.” I reached into my bag for another ball… none. Why the hell didn’t I pick up any at the clubhouse? Why didn’t I search for my lost balls a couple of holes ago?

“Goddammit, I’m out of balls.” I said. “I guess it is good timing.”

“No!” Kylie squealed, “You cannot stop because of me! We can get some more!”

“Jennifer already left…”

“No, we have some more balls at the shed, follow me,” she ordered as she hit the accelerator and zoomed down the cart path. Torn between wanting to end a bad day and curious to see where this unscripted interaction led, I followed Kylie.

The 14th hole was the furthest hole from the clubhouse on the back 9. Behind the green there was a fork in the cart path that led to a little house about the size of a 2-car-garage. I had seen the house before but figured it was used for housing maintenance equipment. Kylie drove her beer-cart around the back of the house, out of sight. She reappeared around the corner on foot and gestured for me to follow. My mind raced, my dick throbbed, and my foot pushed on the accelerator and followed her around the corner.

A side-door that was not visible from the green was found on the backside of the little structure. Kylie unlocked the door and said “There should be some spare balls in here.” She flipped on the light as she entered and I followed slowly, crossing the threshold from the golfers domain into an area reserved only for the employees.

On one side of the little house there was an unused beer-cart facing a closed garage door. Tools were hung up on pegboard and spare tires and batteries were stacked neatly against the wall. On the near side where we entered, there was what appeared to be an open break area for employees. A 3-seater couch faced a big-screen TV with a low rectangular coffee table in between. Against the back wall there was a kitchenette with a fridge and microwave next to an enclosed little room that I could only assume was a half-bathroom. On the opposite side, a small table and some chairs sat by a window that housed a little A/C unit.

Kylie opened the fridge, bent down and leaned deep into the fridge. Her bubble-butt was on full display. The white fabric stretched over her tight ass. For a moment, I thought I could make out the outline of a thong. My mouth slowly gaped and before I could look away Kylie snapped her head around. The four beers from earlier were doing a disservice to my reflexes. I looked away quickly and started to scan in earnest to see where the golf balls would be. Kylie grinned as she walked towards me. She twisted off the top of a beer and handed it to me.

“So, I- uh, usually play Titleist, if you have any…” I managed to stammer out. Kylie took a step towards me and closed the distance between us… there was no room left for Jesus. In this enclosed space with her so close to me, I could smell a light strawberry fragrance. I gazed down into her big brown eyes, her perfect white teeth biting on the corner of her lip.

“No, I don’t think we have any of those,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Callaway’s would be fine,” I took a step back, my buzzed brain trying to buy time and analyze the situation. My dick pressed painfully against my pants.

She shook her head slowly and took another step toward me. Her eyes locked on mine.

“I’m not playing on Pinnacles-,” my calf hit the front of the couch behind me and my leg gave out forcing me into a sitting position. Now it was Kylie who towered over me, the power dynamic had shifted completely since entering her shed.

“Ohhh, I guess you’re done playing then.” She said in that annoying girlish voice as she lifted a tan leg over my lap, straddling me as she placed a hand on each of my shoulders. My dick was now rock-hard as she brought her ass down onto my lap. Her huge tits were right in my face but I couldn’t stop staring into her unblinking eyes. Her pink lips curled in the corners and her mouth parted into a devilish grin. Her eyes burned with intensity.

“I- uh, I can be done…” I was helpless, a fly in her web. I was caught in her tractor beam.

“Yeah, you’re done. You’ve had a hard day,” she said as her right hand traveled down my chest, towards my crotch. She grabbed my dick through my pants and I let out a moan. As I opened my mouth, hers was on mine. Her glossy lips slid over mine, her tongue penetrated my mouth between interludes of kissing and biting. My left-hand came up from her waist and grabbed her right breast. I groaned as she moaned, my hand pawing at her chest. My thumb and index finger met and parted as they searched for a nipple over the fabric of her shirt and bra. I lowered my hand to her waist to try and reach under her shirt.

Her lips parted from mine and she grabbed my wrist. “Tsk, tsk tsk,” she said as she slid off of me and onto the floor.

“Let me take care of you,” she said as she forced my knees apart and ran her hands up my thighs to my belt. She fumbled with my belt and unzipped my pants. I lifted my ass automatically as she pulled my pants and boxers down with one pull. My dick sprang out as I stared down at her, captivated by her beautiful brown eyes. She grinned as she grabbed the base of my hard dick.

Her eyes stared at my dick and flickered up to me for a moment before returning back to my dick and she said, “Heyyy YOU.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/uboe3v/beercart_girl_fm