Bridgeting the Gap
DooneLetter - October 2023

Hello Again Friends,

Welcome to my second newsletter! This month I’ve sectioned it into three parts.

The first section,
Sex and Sensibility, will detail the choreography of a steamy scene I’m imagining. These ideas typically come to me early in the morning, making it difficult to jump out of bed right away - if you know what I mean. Keep in mind my characters are almost always over 50, so often I’m asking myself, ‘Is this even possible without breaking something?’

For Your Eyes First
, is my latest writing endeavor as I’m writing it. It may not be in final form, but you’ll see it before it’s published or uploaded on my website, and can contact me with suggestions and corrections.

Finally, the Not Tonight Fellas, I’m Just Here to Get Drunk,section is where I share an alcohol-related incident, a good joke, or a favorite adult libation - recipe included. Please read on.

Sex and Sensibility

I'm writing a story called Golf Match; you'll read the first scene in the next section of this newsletter. I have this idea for sex in a golf cart but not sure if it makes sense, that is, if it's physically possible. The tricky part is proving if it is or it isn't, as you will see.

And it goes a little something like this:

A woman takes a man she has just met on Golf Match, a dating app, to play 9 holes. She gets out of the cart to take her second shot, but on her backswing her phone rings. "Shit" she says, "That might be the doctor's office." She climbs over the man to dig through the basket behind the seat for her phone. Her right knee is planted over the man's left thigh - her left breast is pressed against his chin.

She finds the phone and talks to the receptionist, and as the appointment is being agreed upon, the man quietly shifts his hips to align perfectly under hers. She hangs up and sits fully down into the straddle. They don't talk - they just look at each other - they barely know each other, but it only takes a few seconds before there is a meeting of the minds and she begins to rock slowly forward and back against his groin.

He takes that as a yes.

"Lift up," he says, and she does. He puts his hand down his pants and orients his semi-stiffy north and south. She lowers once again, and he runs his hands up under her golf shorts and squeezes her fleshy ass. She unzips her golf dress, works one of her titties out of the top and presses the nipple into his mouth, and they dry hump to just this side of the point of no return. She grips his hair and pulls his head back and growls in his ear. "I'm going to cum in my panties."



He puts his hand on her head and pulls her down with him onto the seat. A ball smashes into the cart and ricochets onto the fairway.

The man is pissed and wants to knock some heads, but the woman jumps out of the cart and waves the twosome playing behind them on through. Then she drives off the fairway and backs the cart into a canopied clearing.

OK yeah - so far that’s hot, especially if you’re a golfer, but here's the part I'm not sure of.

While they wait for the testy twosome to play their way down the fairway, I imagine the woman standing and bending over the steering wheel, lifing her golf dress, and pulling her panties down. The man slides along the seat and positions himself behind her, unleashes his Longrod Von Hugedong, and feeds the kitty.

Question: Is it possible for a man and woman of average size to fit and fletch behind the wheel of a golf cart? I don't know. And more than that, I don't know how to find out. I'm frequently on a golf course, but typically with ladies. I'm definitely not going to ask one of them to simulate sex in a cart. But if I ask the ranger or the guy working in the pro shop . . . so you see my predicament.

 I'd love to hear what you think, ESPECIALLY if you have firsthand knowledge.

For Your Eyes First

Golf Match
Scene 1

“The usual,” said Neri, as she lifted her shapely frame onto the stool at The Slice and Hook. The bar at the Knottybush Golf Club was empty, save for Nellie the starter’s wife who was folding napkins at the far end.

“I saw ya comin’,” said Jeanette, a sturdy redhead with a slight Scottish accent. She placed a Bombay and soda on the polished mahogany. “I’d ask how the game went but that ain’t regulation attire.”

Neri followed Jeanette’s fisheye to the conspicuous cleavage blooming from beneath her blue sundress, then smiled.

“You are correct,” she said, examining her makeup in her cell phone camera. She fingered her curly blonde bob and smacked her cherry lips. “I’m here to meet someone.”

Jeanette leaned on the bar.  

“Anyone I know?” she asked, snaking her serpentine braid around her index finger.

“Let’s just call him Golfer #1,” said Neri, “I met him on Golf Match.”

Neri pressed the icy rocker to her bottom lip and bent to take the first sip. When she peered up through her long mascaraed lashes, she noticed Jeanette looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Golf Match. The datin’ app?”

“Yes,” said Neri, “Why do you look so surprised?”

Jeanette huffed.

“Because if a woman like you has to go online to find a man, there’s no hope for a woman like me.”

“Don’t be silly,” chuckled Neri, “Lots of people find love online, and Golf Match guarantees they’ll find me a mate or my money back.”

Neri gave two semi-sarcastic thumbs up, but despite her playful delivery, she was certain her small investment would pay off.  

“Bet ya got a lotta hits.”

“Well naturally,” said Neri, “That site is 90% men. I’ve got dates lined up every Friday for months, and that’s after I disqualified all the cougar hunters.”

Jeanette snorted.

“Whaddaya have against younger men? I mean, when it comes to the bedroom rodeo, they got the giddy-up.”

She winked.

Neri shook her head.

“Been there, done that, Jeanette, and I’m the poorer for it. I’m not going to support some young buck just because he can do all night what it takes an older man all night to do; Cialis and Viagra will take care of that. I only have a few requirements, but I’m sticking to them.”

Jeanette nodded.

“So he’s gotta be a golfer and he’s gotta be rich.”

Neri stared up at the stamped metal ceiling as she carefully considered her answer.

“Not rich, necessarily,” she said, “but definitely established; a true peer. Someone I’d be proud to have on my arm. Oh! And he has to make me laugh!” she added. Then noticing they had company, she hushed, and Jeanette turned to face mini-putt Pete and his brother - her old flame.

“The Brothers Barlowe, right on time,” she said, hoisting two empty pint glasses in the air on her way to the Guinness tap. “Hey, do you boys know Neri Germaine?” she asked, over her shoulder, “Scratch golfer and new President of the Ladies Golf Association?”

“Of course,” said Peter Barlowe, “Hi Neri,” then he turned to point at his younger, scruffier sidekick, “You know Charlie, right? Greenskeeper extraordinaire?”

Charlie ran his work-worn hands through his sandy brown hair, then nodded Neri’s way. He always felt inadequate at times like these, although he knew that didn’t make sense. Knottybush wasn’t the most exclusive club in the Jupiter area, but it was inarguably the most manicured, and in no small measure that was due to Charlie’s extensive knowledge and tender loving care of all things green. Still, he couldn’t help but compare himself to the high rolling members and especially to his brother. No one commanded more respect at the club than Pete, a self-made man who’d turned a single mini-putt business into one of the most well-known franchises in the State of Florida - Wee Putts.  

“Actually, we’ve never formally met,” said Neri, stretching towards Charlie. He wiped his sweaty palm on his olive drab boilersuit, then accepted her athletic hand.

It was true, they hadn’t formally met, but of course he knew who she was - everyone did. She’d only been a member for 6 months or so, but had already earned the nickname. The Blonde Bomber, due to her take-charge attitude off the course and a quiet confidence buoyed by natural ability when on it. Every Tuesday morning when the ladies played a scramble, Charlie made sure his office window on the south side of the cart barn was open so he could hear Neri approach the first hole. He never got tired of watching her flow through her tee-off routine. A sway of her round bottom, a glance at the target over her left shoulder, a gentle arch in the small of her back and a slow steady takeaway. Then FWAP! As nimble as a forest creature and as accurate as a marksman.

Neri pulsed Charlie’s hand and he realized he’d been staring at her. He cleared his throat.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Germaine,” he said, “Your reputation precedes you.”

Neri slapped her knee, threw her head back, and laughed.

“Oh gee, I hope not.”

It was such an unrestrained and joyous outburst, it made Charlie laugh too, and he immediately relaxed. And as the friendly banter bounced between the four, the narrow back and forth between Neri and Charlie became increasingly and conspicuously effortless.  

“I’ve heard that one,” she said, giggling at Charlie’s inept attempt to tell a racy golf joke, “You know what a condom shot is?”

But just then, her reason for being there tapped her shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt. Are you Neri?”

Startled, Neri spun on the stool. She blinked. Tall, dark, and dressed smartly in a navy sports jacket and khaki pants, was Golfer #1. He looked nervous.

“Yes I am,” she said, with a formal bow of her head, her ceremonial manner an indication she considered this serious business. She gestured to a table along a wall of glass overlooking the 18th green and they walked away without further introductions.

“I have to head out too,” said Peter, patting Charlie’s shoulder and feeling him deflate with Neri’s abrupt and unexplained departure. He rose from his barstool and placed his cap on his head, “Put Charlie on my tab,” he added.

And just like that, what had felt like a celebration of sorts, was now just a lonely landscaper sitting at an empty bar.

“Can I get ya somethin’ to eat?” asked Jeanette, filling the awkward silence.

“Um yeah,” he said, “Just a hot dog with mustard.”

Jeanette headed for the kitchen, and Charlie fixed his scrutiny on Neri and her animated companion; he appeared to be explaining something complicated and profound. Initially, Neri had been leaning on the table, nodding, as if attempting to digest his narrative, but now was slumped back in her chair with her arms folded in front of her. And shortly thereafter, the two were out of their seats shaking hands, and Neri was on her way back to the bar.

“That was fast,” said Jeanette, placing Charlie’s lunch in front of him, “Guessin’ you won’t be teein’ off with Golfer #1.”

“A complete waste of time,” said Neri, reclaiming her seat next to Charlie. He smiled, although he had no idea what they were talking about. He pretended not to care, turning all his attention to his meager feast.

“He’s married,” Neri added, throwing her hands up, “Talked about his wife and her deficiencies the entire time.”

Unintentionally, Charlie snorted, prompting the two women to glance his way.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “Golfer #1?”

“Neri went on Golf Match - the datin’ site,” said Jeanette, “Can you believe that?”

Charlie furrowed his brows.

“No I can’t,” he said, meeting Neri’s beguiling baby blues, “I mean you’re so  . . . well, it’s hard to believe you can’t find a date.”

“It’s not that I can’t find a date,” said Neri, wringing the juice from the lemon wedge into her gin and soda, “It’s finding the right date. No point hooking up with someone who isn’t a serious golfer; obviously, it’s more than a hobby for me. Golf Match just helps narrow the field.”

She shrugged.

“Hey, too bad Golf Match doesn’t specify the size of the putter,” said Jeanette, and Charlie joined the teeheeing with a weak chuckle.

“I’m more interested in the size of the bank account,” said Neri.

Charlie winced with her words. Clearly, any pair-bonding between them that he’d considered late at night with his dick in his hand, was not in the realm of remote possibilities. This afternoon she’d gone to his head like a strong drink, but he’d have to guard against any further scope-creep in his feelings for her - he’d already suffered one such soul-crushing defeat at Knottybush.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Golfer #2,” said Jeanette, taking Charlie’s empty plate from him.

“Here’s hoping,” said Neri, lifting her drink.

“To Golfer #2, then,” said Charlie, halfheartedly. He tapped his dwindling Guinness against her glass, then swallowed the last few inches.

“To Golfer #2,” said Neri.

Not Tonight Fellas, I'm Just Here to Get Drunk

Let's face it, we're all tired of the ubiquitous Mimosa. Yes it's pretty to look at and easy to make - and the ladies love to lush up on it - but it's just so yesterday. So, what can we substitute for the Mimosa? May I humbly suggest the French 75 which is beginning to make its way onto more and more menus across the US and Canada. It's refreshingly delicious and far less acidic, and best of all, it's got a boozier kick.

For one drink served either in a champagne flute or coupe glass (the one purportedly based on Marie Antoinette's boob):

1 oz gin
1/2 oz freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 oz simple syrup
3 oz Champagne or Prosecco (or other dry sparkling wine)
Garnish: lemon peel

Shake the gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup in ice to chill it, then strain it into the glass and top with the sparkling wine.

You can buy simple syrup but it's just 1:1 ratio sugar dissolved in boiling water - make your own and keep it in the fridge.

Want to win more friends and influence even more people? With a little extra effort, you can create the lavender version; beautiful in presentation and infinitely more sophisticated than the Mimosa. Prepare to drown in the oohs and ahhs and kisses that will rain down on you when you serve this at your next celebration.

This recipe comes from 211 Main in Port Dover, Ontario and is the best Lavender French 75 I've ever had.

1 oz Empress Indigo gin
1/2 oz freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 oz lavender simple syrup
3 oz Champagne or Prosecco (or other dry sparkling wine)
Garnish: butterfly pea flower or lemon twist

Empress Indigo gin is purple because it's infused with dried butterfly pea flowers, lending a beautiful botanical essence and of course, the color, which hypes the presentation.
Lavender simple syrup is just simple syrup boiled with CULINARY-grade lavender then strained. You can purchase it online but I make my own.
Garnish with a dried butterfly pea flower, or lemon peel.
The culinary lavender and butterfly pea flowers are available on Amazon and are not expensive.

So where did the name French 75 come from? The French 75 was a fast-firing 75 millimeter field gun utilized by the French for over half a century, including during WWI. It was distinguished from other cannon of its time by its recoil system: the barrel and breech recoiled on rollers while the gun carriage itself remained in place instead of jumping or rolling backward - I can tell you, though, if you drink too many French 75s, you will.

Well, that’s it for October. Next month I'll feature either the second scene of Golf Match or a scene from one of the many other erotic projects I'm working on. Don't forget to email me with comments, questions, suggestions - whatever! I'd love to hear from you.

Until next time, MUAH!


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Copyright 2023 Bridget Doone
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