Heather was a casual friend that lived down the street from my wife and I. She was the vivacious wife of Ted, a golfing buddy of mine,

Ted and Heather had a rock solid marriage, or so I thought. Heather was a former beauty queen, and even though she had managed to birth two kids, she still managed to retain her girlish figure. Ted could easily have made the cover of GQ and Heather, well, she could make a potato sack look sexy.

I knocked on Ted’s door. We were running late for our 8am Saturday morning tee time. Heather answered the door, dressed casually in stylish size one jeans and a button down white cotton shirt, which she wore untucked. Her long auburn brown hair hung casually across her shoulders. Evil thoughts crossed my mind. I had to remind myself she was the wife of my golfing buddy.

“Ted will be right out,” Heather remarked, leaning casually against the door frame. She looked down at my golf shoes and remarked, proffering a noticeable wink, “You’re looking quite spiffy today.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Heather looked over her shoulder for Ted.

“I think he is washing his balls,” she remarked. Almost immediately, she caught herself and added, “Golf balls.”

I had to smile.

“Of course,” I replied. Heather had a great sense of humor and she was not shy, in the very least. She knew she was pretty and she used it to her advantage.

Out on the practice green, Ted was his usual 'look at that shot' self. We had partnered up with a couple of other guys and unfortunately for us, they were damn near professional. Ted did not like to be showed up. His frustration mounted very quickly as we hooked and sliced our way through the first nine and then missed the hole, putt after putt, on the greens. When one of the guys kidded us about our poor play, Tom came unglued. It was uncharacteristic of him.

“What’s up?” I asked Ted as we approached the back nine.

“It’s Heather,” he confided, “We‘re having issues.”

Issues? Mr. and Mrs. Perfect? I was shocked.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied. “I hope you guys can work it out.”

“We might, and we might not,” Ted confided. I didn’t know what else to say.

We boogied eleven and twelve and birdied thirteen and made par on fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. On the final hole, we were so far behind the guys we were playing with, that we decided to let them play on. Finishing the hole, Ted said he wanted to keep playing. It was one o’clock and we had been out on the course since eight.

I was spent. Eighteen holes were enough for me. Ted looked at his cell phone. It was dead.

“Freaking great!” he replied. “Story of my life, my marriage and everything else.”

I felt bad for Ted. I had no idea what was going on, but felt fairly sure he would rebound. He had been down before and always found a way to come back. Ted asked to borrow my cell phone and I stood by as he called and told Heather he would be staying out for a second round of golf. I could tell by the shortness of the conversation, there was a definite issue between the two.

I headed up to the club house, stopping by my car and jettisoning my golf equipment into the trunk. I hated seeing my golfing buddy so down. As I swung onto Palo Alto Street, I decided to stop by and see if I could figure out what was transpiring by talking with Heather. She always seemed like a rational person, so I had to hear her side of things.

Heather answered the door, sporting the same attire she had on early in the day.

“Can we chat?” I asked.

“Come on in,” she replied, opening the door to the house. I stepped in and Heather closed the door behind me. I followed her into the living room. Guilty thoughts flooded my mind as I followed her. What I wouldn’t give to experience what she had to offer. Heather oozed sex appeal.

“For what reason am I honored to have your accompaniment?” Heather asked, taking a seat on the couch, as I took a seat on the loveseat. The top two buttons of her button down shirt were unfastened and I had to catch myself and make sure my gaze didn’t wander below chin level.

“Ted confided in me that you and him are having some issues,” I remarked, laying it all on the table.

Heather sat with her legs crossed, her fingers interlocked around her knees, as I sat across from her.

“Really?” she responded, “He said that?”

I could tell that she seemed a little annoyed by my revelation and intrusion into a personal matter.

“Yes,” I responded.

Heather remained silent for a moment. I could see her thinking.

“Yes,” she responded. “Yes, we have some issues, but they are deeply personal.”

I am not a marriage counselor, but I knew that 'deeply personal' meant either money or sex. Knowing they had no money issues, I surmised very quickly it was a sex issue.

“You’re pretty smart,” Heather remarked, after I provided my theory.

“I’m guessing you want to screw his brains out and he isn’t paying any attention,” I remarked.

“It’s not just that,” Heather responded, “We are on separate planets.

All I want is some attention and all he wants to do is play golf, watch television, or play on the kids’ X-box. I went to Victoria’s Secret, bought the most sexy outfit in the store, put it on and he didn’t even notice.”

The mere thought of Heather in some type of sexy Victoria’s Secret outfit was almost unbearable.

Heather stood up and put her hands out, palms upwards and spun around.

“I work out to keep in shape and he doesn’t even seem to care or notice,” Heather remarked in obvious frustration. “What guy wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

My manly senses tickled, and I struggled to fend off bad thoughts. This is my golfing buddy’s wife.

“I hope that is a rhetorical question,” I responded.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Heather responded. I took a deep breath and exhaled. Before I could respond, Heather, obviously very flustered, remarked,

“Hang on.”

She wandered off down a hallway.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere. I want to show you something!” she added as she stepped out of my view in the living room. I looked around the spacious room. It was immaculate, like something from Architectural Digest. From down the hallway, Heather called out,

“Hold on, I almost have it.”

I looked out the large bay windows into the back yard. The pool water glistened in the afternoon sun. A few seconds later Heather reemerged into the living room. Instead of her casual attire, she wore a very skimpy and sexy outfit, consisting of a purple push-up bra, a tiny, very tiny, purple g-string and nothing else.

“Now,” she remarked, “You tell me. Would you turn this down?”

“No, I would not,” I remarked.

My heart was racing ten thousand miles an hour.

“Heather,” I quickly remarked, “I cannot be the cause of an issue between you and Ted.”

Heather sauntered silently over to where I sat on the loveseat and using her bare foot, she tapped the inside of my ankle, so I would part my legs. She positioned herself between my legs and looked down at me.

“Don’t worry,” she remarked, “Whatever happens between Ted and I is not your fault. Right now, Ted is not here and it’s just you and me.”

As she spoke, she slipped the spaghetti straps of her push up bra over her shoulders and down past her elbows. I took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. She looked like a playboy bunny, perfect in her 36-28-36 inch figure, light brown auburn hair and ultra flat tummy.

Heather slipped a knee on to the loveseat next to where I sat and leaned in so that her breasts were practically right in my face. She gently placed one hand on my shoulder, then her other hand on my other shoulder, as she settled down on top of me, coming to rest on my lap. Her knees were resting on either side of my hips. I was rock hard.

She reached behind her back and unfastened her brassiere. She held it in place with her free hand and smiled.

“These are yours for the touching,” she remarked, as she allowed her bra to fall from her chest.

Heather stared intently into my eyes. Her nipples were rock hard, and centered perfectly on her 36C cup breasts. She placed each nipple directly on to my face. I took each one in my mouth and lightly sucked on it.

“I’ve wanted you ever since we first met,” Heather remarked, sliding a hand into the top portion of her g-string.

I knew I was crossing into a forbidden time zone, but I could not stop. Heather leaned forward and slipped her tongue into my mouth. It was at this point, I knew there was no going back. She was on fire.

Heather took my hand and we headed into the master bedroom and there, on a four post bed, with white satin sheets and a ton of pillows, we pleasured each other into realms of ecstasy like I had never experienced before. I had always secretly fantasized about Heather, but kept my fantasies to myself. I couldn’t imagine why Ted would have issues with a sex goddess like her.

As we showered, I felt a tinge of guilt for having pleasured my golfing-buddy’s wife.

“Don’t worry,” Heather responded, “This is of my doing, not yours.”

“But,” I added, “I was a willing participant.”

“And a damn good one,” Heather responded, the water dripping off her well toned and deeply tanned body. I took another deep breath and exhaled.

“Don’t worry,” Heather remarked, “Ted and I can, and will, work things out.”

“I hope so,” I added wistfully. “Too much more of this, I will divorce my wife and marry you.”

“We will work it out,” Heather added, “and you’ve managed to help me, help us both, more than you could ever imagine.”

We shared a hug for the longest time, as the shower water cascaded off our naked bodies.

I dressed and headed home. I couldn’t get the afternoon events out of my head. My body ached. I sat back in my Barco Lounger chair and fell asleep. About an hour so later, I woke up and checked my cell phone. There was a message from Ted.

“Hey dude! Sorry to dump on you today. Please don’t mention anything I said about Heather. We are working things out. Thanks for being a friend.”

Right below Ted’s message was a text from his wife, Heather, that was followed by three heart-shaped emogies.

“Thanks for being a friend.”

I texted both back, separately. “Being a friend means being at the right place at the right time. Anytime.”