Dear Very Private I’ll Never Share This With ANYONE Diary,
I saw him swinging his club at the Colonial Country Club. It was a warm Fort Worth May day, and the sweat of concentration and heat forming on his furrowed brow as he concentrated on his game excited me as no other player had ever done.
His muscled arms drove the ball straight up the fairway and it landed without a bounce in the cup. A hole in one! Ahhh…sweet dreams. I cheered the loudest of all the groupies following the pro crowd. We all hustled to follow Tiger to the next tee. My white short shorts and zircon adorned cleavage with the hot pink plunging neckline really rocked. I felt adoring eyes on me all over the course.
I zeroed in on Tiger like a hungry feline stalking her prey. I was new at this game, but I was determined. Anyone with a bod like his had to be a worthy catch. I dreamed of the night to come. Sharing the night with the Tiger was what this cougar definitely fantasized about. We’d start out with champagne after the final hole…after the victory when he’d still be high on adrenaline raising the level of his testosterone to new heights.
I cared not for his wife and two children. After all, any husband is fair play. There’s even a pro league of groupies who tour with the pros of all sports waiting to catch their eyes. Extra points if you win time over the wives. Who cares if their marriage breaks up? It’s all about what I want when I want it.
There’s no punishment for breaking up a marriage. Used to be that wives could sue for alienation of affections, but that went out the window decades ago except in Hawaii, Illinois, North Carolina, New Hampshire, Mississippi, New Mexico, and Utah. We stay clear of those states just in case some hassled married babymomma wants to come after us for “stealing” their husband away from their otherwise perfect wedded bliss.
If their husbands were such model mates, we’d never be successful. We see the glares of those wives who know the game. We just ignore it and focus on the target painted on the chests of our prey.
Sometimes we meet them in the bar and innocently flirt. We can find out real fast who the interested ones are. They flirt right back. Sometimes we score really early as they pass their room cards to us and watch us tuck them into our bras close to our hearts. Other times we actually have to work a little to entice them.
What’s in it for us? Sometimes nothing other than fun at first…and if they are as good at their games in the boudoir as they are in their pro sport then maybe the big O is a bonus. But then if the wife finds out, we can count on the media to come hound us for our million dollar stories when we come out of the woodwork.
I understand that the current count of groupies who were seduced by the Tiger is up to ten. If the world only knew. This business can be pretty lucrative for a few hours of “work” here and there spread out over months or a couple of years.
Of course Tiger seduced me. I was an innocent bartender… or maybe I was still a cocktail waitress when we first met, I forget. I understand that this profession is a magnet for married men looking for a little dessert to go along with their main entrees waiting faithfully at home. Bartenders are so good at listening to the misunderstood husband. We comfort them with open arms in our apartments after work. We get extra points if there is really not much wrong with their marriage if the men would just go home to get what they are asking from us. I fear, just like us, it’s the thrill of the chase. Most men are basically cave men hunters underneath all their modern facades anyway.
And what about the wives? Hey, they get well paid off. If the man really wants his wife to stay, he pays her off with Kobe diamonds. Remember that little transaction? Oh, by the way, we professional groupies aren’t just in it for the sports man.
And if there is a divorce? A woman can live pretty well on what she can get for child support for each brat she bred with her mega sire. She doesn’t hurt for too long when her husband starts anteing up the alimony payments. Sometimes they get paid for years and years for a few years’ worth of post-nuptial bliss.
Why do I act this way? Show me the money. I can wait for months or years before I confess. Then the paparazzi who hound me drive my price up really quickly for my mea culpa confession. Think of the book deals I can get now that my little dallying with Tiger is front page news.
The public is so hypocritical. This kind of affair goes on every day in every level of society. The big boys play the game because they can. The litle boys play the game because they can. Nobody really gets hurt in the long run, now do they? Line up with the big bucks. I’m ready to be paid.
What’s that you ask? (Thinking to myself) Would I ever appear on a reality show with Tiger next year? Nah. I’ll leave that to the next crop of groupies. Besides, I only mess around with married men. It’s no fun if they get serious.
This is my story and I’m sticking to it. Jay Leno? Oprah? I’m ready for my close-up. Namaste. Attic Annie