A fellow has a week off and decides to play a round of golf every day.
First thing Monday morning, he sets off on his first round and soon catches up to the person in front. He sees that this is a woman and, as he catches up to her on a par 3, that she’s very attractive. He’s interested and suggests that they play the rest of the round together.
She agrees and a very close match ensues. She turns out also to be a very talented golfer and she wins their little competition on the last hole. He congratulates her in the parking lot then offers to give her a lift when he sees she doesn’t have a car. All in all it’s been a highly enjoyable morning.
On the way to her place, she thanks him for the morning’s company and competition and says she hasn’t enjoyed herself so much on the course for a long time. “In fact,” she says, “I’d like you to pull over so I can show you how much I appreciated everything.” He pulls over and she gives him the best kiss he’s ever had.
The next morning he spies her at the first tee and suggests they play together again. He’s actually quite competitive and slightly peeved that she beat him the previous day. Again they have a magnificent day, enjoying each other’s company and playing a tight, competitive round of golf. Again she pips him at the last, again he drives her home, and again she shows her appreciation.
This goes on all week, with her beating him narrowly every day.
This is a sore point for his male ego but, nevertheless, in the car home from their Friday afternoon round, he tells her that he has had such a fine week that he has a surprise planned: dinner for two at a fancy candle-lit restaurant followed by a night of passion in the penthouse apartment of a posh hotel.
Surprisingly, she bursts into tears and says she can’t agree to this. He can’t work out what the fuss is about, but eventually she admits the reason. “You see,” she tearfully sobs, “I’m a transvestite.”
He is aghast. He swerves violently off the road, pulls the car to a screeching halt and curses madly, overcome with emotion. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.
“You bastard,” he screams, red in the face, “You cheating bastard. You’ve been playing off the red tees all week!”