Just a Little Help from my Friends

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"Pro said you were by yourself and might want some company."

"Yeah, sure." Just over six feet tall by a half inch, I rarely get intimidated, but this guy was easily 6-8 and muscular. "I'm Kelly. Your honors if you want them." I gestured to the tee box.

"My friends call me Keith." He smiled and reached out to shake my hand. Damn, his hands were huge.

"Yeah, and what do your enemies call you?" I gave him a friendly smile.

"Mr. Keith." He didn't miss a beat. We both laughed.

His drive was massive and right down the middle. Ok. Fine. It was going to be an interesting day. I teed up and hit a beautiful drive, still thirty yards short of his.

Fortunately, my short game was better. We both bogeyed the hole.

I knew it was coming. It always did. We made it to the fourth tee. Sitting there waiting for the foursome ahead of us, Keith kind of scrunched his face. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Ten years ago, I probably outweighed you by fifty pounds." I knew the question. He didn't have to ask. "Had a heart attack and my doctor said lose weight or have another one. I started going to yoga and Pilates with my ex. There's something motivating about being a fat guy in a room full of fit women in leotards." I laughed. "They're a reminder, I guess, or proof that the gods have a sense of humor."

He was asking about my breasts, my boobs, the perfect C cup titties sitting nice and proud on my chest. "The doctor said sometimes when you get as big as I did, it messes with your hormones, and you get blessed with them. Most of the time, they go away when you lose weight. I guess I got lucky." I made that last word as sarcastic as I could.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean to pry, it's just, well..."

"They're kind of obvious? I know. I could get them cut off, but I honestly just don't care anymore. Besides, ten thousand dollars is a lot of golf. I think you still have the honors." I motioned to the tee box, noticing the empty fairway in front of us.

We finished our round, and it never came up again. Sure, I caught him looking at me, checking me out, if you will. Doesn't matter who they're on, guys like to look at boobs. To his credit, he never said another word.

It was a road I'd been down a hundred times. I pretended that the question didn't bother me anymore. It was the same with the way some guys leered at me or commented on the obvious bra lines under my shirt. It just was what it was, and I dealt with it. I hid it with baggie shirts at work, so it wasn't a distraction. It didn't really matter what I wore, people noticed, and I just had to deal with it, letting them think whatever they wanted to think.

It made me self-conscious. I mean, I knew what I looked like. To an extent, I even played to it. Sure, I was six feet tall, but I'd lost well over a hundred pounds, getting back down to my high school weight of 170. Years of yoga and Pilates gave me a nice, fit, lean body. I had toned legs, a nice tight butt, flat stomach, and, yup, those boobs.

Even with my beard and the loose-fitting clothes I wore, I got called miss so much I didn't even react anymore. It wasn't worth the effort. I'd just sigh and smile and, like I said, let people think whatever they wanted to think while the demons of their judgement chased each other around in my mind.

When, at my doctor's recommendation, I had bought a few sports bras, Casey had exploded. That was the excuse she used, anyway. Now, I didn't just have boobs; I was a cross dresser, a pervert. We divorced, and she married our Pilates instructor six months later.

Keith and I talked about all the normal stuff. He had been a decent forward in college, but not good enough to go pro. He knew that going in and got a business degree. Now he ran a small automotive empire, three dealerships just outside of town, all major brands.

I did software, just like about half of Austin.

We both went to Texas. In fact, I had watched him play his senior year when they lost a buzzer beater in the big dance. Half the team they lost to was in the NBA now, as were one or two of his teammates.

Keith ended up beating me by two strokes, but a shot here, a putt there, and it could have been a different story.

Something about a guy with boobs made most of the guys I played with uncomfortable. The ones that weren't, well, they usually made me uncomfortable and were interested in things I wasn't. Things like fulfilling some bizarre fantasy fueled by their internet porn addiction.

It didn't lead to a lot of casual friends. I didn't even ask if Keith wanted to play again sometime. I just dropped him at his Tahoe and thanked him for his company, letting him know I'd enjoyed the round.

"Nice truck." Keith pulled up behind my burnt-orange Colorado while I was stowing my clubs and changing my shoes. "Horns are playing in about an hour. You want to go grab a beer and watch the game?"

"Sounds like fun. Where?"

"Halftime?"

"Sounds good. I'll meet you there."

Watching Keith drive off before stripping off my shirt and sports bra, I dunked a towel in the icy remnants of my ice chest and did a quick wipe down. I'd learned a long time ago that under-boob sweat is almost worse than pit sweat. A sexy front closure racer back bra replaced the sports bra, and I pulled on a clean shirt. I told you I played to my looks a little. There was just something about seeing breasts in lace, even if they were mine.

I'm not sure what that says about me, but I do like looking at boobs. When I look at myself in the mirror, I ogle them, too.

Tossing my golf cap into the back seat, I brushed out the man bun I had tucked up under my cap, slipped on my Ray Ban Pilots, and headed to the bar.

Without realizing it, I had set myself up to change my life in ways I never expected.

"Kelly." I saw Keith waving at me as I walked into the bar.

The looks I got walking across the bar ran the gamut from lust to disgust. I heard one guy mumble something like, 'fucking freak.' Like I said. It just was what it was.

"You really put up with that shit?" Evidently Keith heard him, too.

"What am I going to do, get into a fight with some moron in a bar? It won't change his mind, and I'd just get kicked out along with him. Besides, did you see the girl he's with? Damn, that guy has enough problems to deal with on his own." I laughed.

"You laughing at me, freak?" I guess the moron heard me.

"Actually, yeah, we are." Keith stood up and answered for the both of us. "Wondering if your lady friend saw the way you were checking out my friend here. Does she know you like guys?"

The guy got up and turned toward us like he was going to come over to our table.

"Benny, sit down and shut up!" The lady sitting with my admirer finally spoke up loud enough for half the bar to hear her. I got a good look at her face. I was pretty sure she was missing a few teeth.

The table between us was getting nervous.

"You didn't have to say anything. Now everybody is looking."

"Yup, at him and not you. Now relax. I ordered you a beer." Keith smiled and winked at me.

"God, I wish they would throw them out of here." Our waitress Haley showed up with our beer, motioning over at Benny and his female companion.

The game started, and Benny effectively disappeared. Keith and I fell into an easy banter, back and forth, recounting our round of golf and commenting on the game. Our Longhorns looked impressive. The game ended. Another started. We just stayed, talking, laughing. I couldn't remember a time since before my divorce I'd felt this comfortable with anybody.

"You've been playing with your face all day. Why don't you just shave?" Keith's comment kind of came out of nowhere. We had been talking about the Longhorn's quarterback situation.

"Yeah, with my baby face, I look even more like a girl without a beard. I'm not so sure about that."

"So, what? You don't seem to have any problem with who you are, except for jerks like Benny. And to be honest, watching you scratch and mess with it is distracting as hell."

He was right, sort of. Beards are a pain to keep trim and neat. Honestly, being clean shaven is a lot less trouble. Me wearing it was like the young bull in the old joke about the three bulls discussing a fourth bull coming to the ranch; I just wanted people to know I'm a bull. They still called me miss all the time, anyway.

"Maybe. I'll think about it." I moved my hand to scratch my chin but stopped myself. Great, now I was self-conscious about my beard, too.

"Time to close out, guys." Haley dropped our check off at the table. We had spent over twelve hours watching football and talking. It felt like we just got here.

Keith picked up the check before I could protest. We exchanged numbers and left with a handshake. Maybe I'd call him to play golf again. Maybe not. I'd built this nice safe cocoon around myself, so I didn't have to deal with other people's judgment. I suffered through work because I had bills to pay, and I liked to eat.

"Meet me at Halftime for lunch. 12:30-ish. Need a favor, and I'll buy lunch." Keith texted me right after I got to work Wednesday morning.

"Sure. See you then." Why not? I liked him and he was buying. Whatever the favor was, I didn't have to do it. I just had to let him ask.

The same big smile and wave he'd given me Saturday for the game greeted me. I wasn't used to people being this excited to see me. It felt kind of nice.

"A thousand percent better without that scruffy beard. Don't you feel more comfortable?"

"Yeah. Nice to see you again, too." I laughed. "Any other grooming habits you think I need to pick up?"

Keith squinted and cocked his head to one side. "Since you asked. Your eyebrows look like caterpillars having sex. I can recommend a place. They give amazing manicures and pedicures, too."

I just kept laughing and shook my head. "So, what's this favor?" I asked, after all.

"This weekend, you got plans?"

"Not really. Probably find a course I haven't played before and try not to embarrass myself. Why?"

"My club pro called me. They had a team drop from the Member Guest this weekend, but I'd need a partner. You interested? Dinner Friday with a Calcutta, eighteen holes Saturday and Sunday, with lunch Saturday and awards Sunday. It's usually a blast, and the course is very nice."

"How much?"

"Don't worry about it. You can't pay for anything at the club, anyway. It's a business expense for me. I promise to do my best to upgrade you to a new Silverado sometime over the weekend." This time, Keith laughed.

"Sounds like it could be fun. When do I need to be where?"

"Tell you what. Give me your address and I'll come to pick you up on Friday. If you can get off early, I'll throw in that manicure and pedicure I mentioned. I'm serious. They are so worth it. I get one every couple of months and I'm past due."

"Yeah, I set my own hours as long as I get my stuff done. I'll just take the afternoon. Meet you here for lunch to make it easier?" I sent him my address, anyway.

"Sounds like a plan. I think you're going to have a great time."

Maybe there were warning signs I should have seen, but I never saw them. I had grown up a geek and a loner. I only ever had one, maybe two friends at a time, and I had always been fat, so...

Casey had been like me, a loner, overweight, a total geek. We met in philosophy class and just connected, dating through college. She was my world, and I was hers. That was - until I had my cardiac event, and she won six months of Pilates and yoga classes for two in a raffle. She convinced me to join her. We signed up and went to classes together. We did all the things they told us to do, change our diets, that kind of stuff. The results came fast, both of us dropping pounds and getting more and more fit. When the option to renew came, we joined the club on an annual renewal basis.

Casey developed into a total knockout, the definition of a smoke show.

I turned into a fit guy with boobs. Suddenly, I had competition for her attention. She lost interest in all the things we had shared, including me, and moved to Phoenix with our Pilates instructor to open a new gym. I crawled back into my hole and did my best to deal with being a man with very noticeable breasts.

The social skills that would have let me see that maybe, just maybe, I was being manipulated had never developed. I just knew that Keith seemed to be genuinely interested in me and knew I enjoyed his company.

So, Friday when we left Halftime in his car, leaving mine behind, I wasn't suspicious at all. It was just practical. When we got to the salon, one girl started plucking my eyebrows while another glued these plastic things to my nails as she gave me a manicure. I didn't know any better, so I just went with it. Besides, the foot massage that came with the pedicure was amazing, and Keith was right next to me getting the same, well similar, things done to himself.

The only differences were, his fingernails weren't soft pink with French tips, and his eyebrows weren't nice clean arches.

When I got that confused look on my face, the girl that had done my eyebrows apologized. "I'm sorry, miss. I thought that was what you wanted."

'Miss.' Fuck.

Keith just laughed and shook his head. "Come on. We're going to be late for check-in. You'll be fine."

He was sort of right. Nobody said anything, but I got all the same looks I was used to.

The calcutta was modestly organized chaos. Nobody bid on Keith and me, so he did what they call a buyback.

I probably drank too much and was in no condition to take care of myself. So, it didn't surprise me when I woke up in a strange bed the next morning.

"Shower's through there. You passed out, so I went by your house and grabbed you some clothes." Keith set a large cup of coffee on the bedside table. "We need to get going. Tee time is in about an hour."

Went by my house? What clothes did he pick up?

I climbed out of bed to find myself in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and my boxer briefs. Keith had obviously undressed me when he put me to bed. He probably ogled my tits a little, too. I would have if the tables had been turned. My head hurt and I needed to get going, or we'd miss our tee time, so I took a big sip of coffee and went to get in the shower.

The hot water felt good and helped clear the alcohol induced fog I was in. The shampoo and body wash had a subtle floral scent, but were what was available, so I just used them.

When I got out, there were clothes on the vanity next to the sink.

"Keith, where did you find these clothes?" I shouted when I got out of the shower.

"The dresser in your master bedroom."

It was probably just a mistake. They would fit, but they were Casey's. There was no way he could know that, so I shrugged it off. I had a couple of drawers full of clothes she had left behind when she left me. Stuff I just never had the energy to get rid of. The shirt would be tighter than I liked to wear and the shorts shorter, but they would fit.

At least he'd grabbed one of my sports bras and a pair of my boxer briefs. I had bigger tits than my ex, and oddly enough, that bothered her more than the fact that I had them.

"Dammit, these shorts don't have pockets. What am I supposed to do with my keys and shit?"

I was more talking to myself than anyone else, but Keith heard me.

"Use this." He tossed a small purse onto the bed. "And hurry. We're running late already."

He was right. We only had twenty minutes to get to the club for check-in.

"Fuck it." I grabbed the purse and tossed my keys, phone and wallet inside, draping it over my shoulder and went to get in the car.

There was some explaining when we checked in. Yes, we know this is a men's tournament. No, I'm not a woman. No, I'm not going to prove it.

I got all the standard taunts from the other players when we got to the tee box. Nice boobs. Don't you want to hit from the ladies' tee? None of it was anything I hadn't heard before. I tried to block them out and just focus on my drive. I guess it worked because I was in perfect position, about twenty yards behind Keith and ten yards further than anyone else.

It didn't take long for me to figure out that if I played up how tight my shorts and shirt were; it caused more problems for the other players than it did me. And it was kind of fun.

The funniest part was going to the bathroom in the men's locker room when we got back to the club. Some guy called me out for being in the wrong restroom. Then I took the urinal next to him and pulled my cock out to pee. He almost wet himself trying to get away from me. I just laughed.

The head pro stopped by to chat with me, and, once again, I assured him I wasn't trans or anything like that. I just had boobs. The doctor called it gynecomastia or something like that. Besides, if I were trans, my hormones would give me an even bigger disadvantage than my breasts did, and Keith and I were in first place at two under. Keith was on fire and any holes he messed up; I parred.

Keith didn't even ask what I wanted to do when we finished our round. Thirty minutes later, we were walking into Halftime. This time, there were no 'freak' comments. In fact, most of the guys that bothered to even look at us appeared to be scoping out my legs and ass, and, well, my tits.

"Cute outfit and I love your nails." Haley sauntered up to our table with a huge smile on her face. "So, are you finally coming out?"

"Excuse me?" I gave her an odd look.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just always assumed... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"No. It's ok. I know what I look like. And you're right. I usually try to hide it. Kind of ran out of options today."

"Well, your outfit is cute, and you look great, so maybe this is an option you should consider more often." She shrugged and gave me a massive, apologetic smile. Keith ordered us each a beer. I almost said something, but he ordered the beer I wanted, so I let it go.

"She's not wrong, you know. The facts are the facts. Except for what's between your legs, you have a feminine body. Maybe you should embrace it a little more. I mean, look around. All it took was you shaving and wearing clothes that actually fit and boom, no Benny's. No jerks. No rude comments. You actually got an honest compliment. You probably want to shave your legs, but that's just details." This time, he laughed. Not a funny ha-ha laugh. It was more of a nervous, 'I hope I didn't cross the line,' laugh.

A game I was marginally interested in came on and I turned my attention to that. My goal was to put as much distance between me and the direction our conversation had been going as possible. Keith picked up on my discomfort and was quickly right there with me. We both complained about the terrible calls the refs made and cheered for teams neither of us cared about. It didn't take long before we had both forgotten all about me looking like a girl. It was the game distracting me, or the fact I had a serious buzz going.

"You guys want one more?" Haley stopped by the table.

"Nah, I think we're both good. Just the check." Keith shooed her away. I grabbed my purse for my wallet.

"I got this." Keith smiled and put up his hand. "You're doing me a favor, remember?"

'Fuck me. I have a purse.' I laughed to myself, letting the absurdity of what was happening fill my thoughts.

"Kelly, you in there?" Keith pulled me out of my daze. "I was saying I've got a pool and a hot tub and a fully stocked bar. Pizza, chill and relax for tomorrow?"

"Considering I am once again in no condition to drive, I'm kind of limited in my options. I'm thinking you might be a bad influence on me" I paused and looked at him. Why was he being so nice to me? No one except my ex had ever shown this much interest in me and she had lost that when I got tits.