A little more than half an hour passed and Jenny was on her feet and Don teed for her the ball. Jenny hit a perfect shot: a lovely parabola of a 9-iro... shot up into the blue, then dropped like a dying quail on a line of 100 yards from her feet. After a series of range driving Jenny said: ‘Looks like that the less I care about my shot, the better I swing.’ ‘That’s right,’ said Don. When Don saw that Jenny’s hands were a bit blistering, they rested and he applied lotion on them and gave her. I leaned over and kissed the back of her neck."Shhh," I whispered into her hair.She reached up and gently stroked my hand, her permission for me to continue. It was a ritual we'd performed many times over the past five years. Thankfully it was needed less and less. It had taken years for my wife to finally come to the place where she'd only flinch when I touched her scars."I love you, beanpole," I said kissing her bare skin and referring to one of her few cherished childhood memories. Beanpole. More

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