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IRISH EYES A
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IRISH EYES A “We thank you all for flying TWA. We will be deplaning as soon as we dock at the terminal. Welcome to Ireland and we thank you for flying Trans World Airlines.” The smiling flight attendant hung up the microphone and retreated to the kitchen. Outside the window, Kelly could see the landing strip and the terminal painted a vibrant green rushing to meet them. The lacquered paint on the gangplank was a nice touch, but she cared less. It was a far cry from the lush green countryside she had observed from 32,000. From high above, she had watched the cloudless blue sky and thought it must surely be the shade of azure heaven was made of. When they crossed the western Irish coast, she knew heaven must be green. The gangplank connected to the fuselage and the attendant returned to open the door. The leering Norwegian car dealer sitting next to her stood up and retrieved his briefcase from the overhead. She let him get his things and move away into the aisle before rising and retrieving her carryon. It was always uncomfortable traveling by plane. She wasn’t all too frightened to fly but since 9-11 everyone was jittery. The five glasses of Beaujolais had helped in that regard. The Norseman did not speak much English and read an Oslo newspaper the whole flight. It was a long hop from New York to Dublin. She would have liked to have someone to talk to. All she got from him was an uncomfortable wisp of some horrid meal he had eaten in the airport Chili’s and the occasional murmur in Norse as he read. She was thankful the window had let in some semblance of glee. All that was past. The humiliating screening and wanding. The repetitious questioning of toiletries and intentions. The Norseman. All of it was past. She was in Ireland. Leaving the airport, she hailed a lift and made it to her hotel within ten minutes. The travel agent had recommended it personally. He was a smarmy sort, though. She wondered if he had ever seen the place. It was a nice hotel though, a slice of palm trees in a land with few trees of any description. It was quite funny. Clearly, the place was geared to vacationing Americans. For most Americans, vacations meant palm trees. She laughed to herself about our predictable nature. She had another red port wine before checking in. The room was neat and tidy. The travel agent wasn’t joking when he said it had all the perks. There was a large Jacuzzi bath with opulent shamrocks engraved into the tiles covering the steps leading into it. Faux gold plating danced around the sink and the walls were dripping with emerald green paint. There was a bidet. It was the first one she had ever seen. She left the suitcases at the door after tipping the porter. Lying across the bed, she took in the lavish mattress. There were even silk sheets beneath the plush down comforter. She sprawled out, running her hands under the silk and sighing aloud. It was a most enjoyable experience and she hadn’t even gotten into the mood yet. It was surreal, being in a foreign country. There were the usual eccentricities she had known about but never realized. The cars on the wrong side. The cabbie was not a redheaded jolly Irishman with a joke and a nip of scotch in his hand. It was an Arab who jabbered in Farsi on a cell phone. He could have been the brother of the cabbie who took her from LaQuardia to JFK. Some of the signs were in Gaelic. She always thought they spoke English but some of the Irish had a native pride in their own tongue. It was a sticking point that was invoked often in the long-standing war between the IRA and the British. There were sandbagged positions here and there with soldiers lazily milling about with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. The front desk clerk told her it was England’s little way of telling them who was in charge. His demeanor when he told her this let her know he was not a fan of the English. When she finished running her hand under the silk, it was dark outside. She had dozed off. It was six o’clock local time. She had napped for two hours. “I’ll be damned!” The down comforter and plush mattress had seduced her. She rose and walked to the window. Outside the city of Dublin was vibrant, cars whizzing by and throes of people laughing and clasping each other drunkenly as they walked to their favorite watering hole. It was not the green fields she had come to see, but since the sun had set and she was in Ireland, better to take in whatever the city had to offer. She ran the tub full and disrobed. She unpacked, naked, and stowed her belongings, leaving out a light party dress and comfortable pumps to wear out. She was in good shape financially for the trip, thankful she had traveler’s checks on hand since she had overslept any opportunity to exchange dollars for pounds. She was mindful of the exchange rate. She had studied the breakdown of the currency for days. It was one of the things the travel agent had suggested. The tub was delicious. An aromatic pang of sweet apple cinnamon permeated the air as the water jets stirred the scented bath salts into a froth of bubbly cotton that tickled her exposed skin. The minibar in the room was free! She poured up a Bombay and tonic and soaked in the tub, occasionally giggling as she hovered strategically over a probing jet of water. There was a week to kill in the tub. No sense taking in the finer things the first night. Thoroughly clean and refreshed, she put her game face on and dressed to kill. She went to the hotel bar, named the “Hearts ‘n Tarts”, and sat down for a toddy. The young ruddy-faced bartender quickly made his way over to her. “Ay lub. Neet a’paht?” His flow was perfect for an Irishman. Nearly completely incoherent to her. “Sorry?” “A drink, lub. Need a drink?” “Gin and tonic.” “Raht up.” He tossed three fingers of Gilbey’s into a tumbler and sprayed a shot of tonic as an afterthought. He flipped a lime wedge into it and laid it in front of her. “You a yank yuh?” “Yankee? No. I’m from the south.” “Southawhut? The bourdah?” He chuckled. He tossed out an Aussie accent for kicks. “South of America. Where’s the best place to go out and dance?” “The Madrigal, ‘course lub. Eeny lass fancyin’ hersef a densa needs ta’ catch a lift ova’ ta de Madrigal. Cheap whiskey, loud lights, more blokes with paper’en I coot shake me buugastik et. Keep an eye out fur da buggers tho.” “Thank you. The Madrigal it is.” She hadn’t understood much. She hoped she pronounced it right to the cabbie. The gin was horrible. There was no ice in the glass. She forgot the Europeans didn’t use much of it. She downed the concoction and pulled out a check. “No needadat lub. It’s on me... for a pretty lass.” “Thank you. I’m off to the Madrigal.” She left and hailed a cab. Fifteen minutes later she was let out at the club. It was a letdown. Lights, techno music, ravers with glitter and black eyeliner. All the things she could have seen at any club stateside. Dubliners screaming in their accented English, trying to make themselves heard over the cacophony. Kelly immediately felt out of place. Such places were for a pack of girlfriends or amigos. To be a foreigner without anyone to accompany her was not kosher. The sight of young teenagers milling about the club only enhanced her chagrin. The drinking age was sixteen. Another quirk of Ireland she hadn’t realized. She left before ordering the first drink. It was not at all what she wanted. What did she want? What had she expected? Gypsies with lyres and flutes? Haggard old men with pints of ale? Walking down the sidewalk and observing the nose-pierced punkers, the waifish little girls in miniskirts with knapsacks could have been seen in L.A. Where were the fucking Irish? She ducked into a friendly looking pub with a bobby standing stoically outside. Inside, men and women alike were nestled in booths and standing around the bar. Six bartenders moved around their work areas, cutting off the head of dark almost chewy stouts with funny spatulas and sliding the heavy mugs to eager hands. They were an animated bunch and the crowd fed off of it. It was a quintessential pub. Loud folk music blared from unseen speakers. Kelly smiled. Here was “much more like it.” She pushed her way to a hole near the bar. A cherubic lass of about 17,<b> huge breasts </font></b>spilling out of her beer wench top, pointed at her. “House wine!” Kelly shouted. The lass nodded and returned with a glass and a liter of a red table wine. It was a tad bitter but had a wonderful raspberry finish. The bar seemed to pulse forth with a happy energy. There were few young faces in the crowd; the ones she saw had a vigor and dignity to them. They carried a chutzpah on their mug that kept the older men and women from making light of their intrusion. It was a warm family ambience. Much clasping of shoulders and laughing. The ethnicity of the Irish was apparent. The ruddy features and light features blended in so well the odd brunette or dark skinned foreigner stood out starkly. She marveled at the dialects. A few men stood close to her and were jovially debating a bill pending in Parliament. Despite their accents, she could clearly make out which was a Democrat and which was the Republican. Some things never changed, despite thousands of miles of water separating the nations. The better half of the liter was gone when she felt his eyes on her. Felt. When she gazed to her left it was the eyes alone that stood out in the crowd. The light cast the pub in a hazy yellow pallor that pulled out the light skin tones. Amid the haze of energetic chatter, the calm and probing green orbs of a dark-haired, tan figure were transfixed on her. Like all women, Kelly Lane knew when to bring up her guard on the outside. On the inside, the heartbeat started to pound. She raised her glass to him. He did not hesitate. “Good e’nin. Elluva naht fur a meenina new face. Ahm Nick. Nicky Fuller.” “Kelly. Good to meet you.” “Oh! A yank! Wit doze green eyes, ah woota thought you was a south Corker foo sure.” “No. Just a little lady from Mississippi. You from here?” “No. Ah got a lil place ‘boot ten kilometers west of here. Mah family runs a brewery on the Isle. You got some kinda’ business here in Erin?” “No, just a vacation.” “Well then, Kelly. Since you picked dah finest pub in these parts, ah maht as well shoo you dah wuks.” He waved to the closest bartender. “Eh Maht!” “Yeah Nick!” Matt the barkeep tossed a scotch at a waiting patron and bellied up a finger for himself. “A wee bita’ McAllen fur da lass and ah’ll have nudder.” Matt pulled a bottle from the top shelf behind the bar. It was the first time all night Kelly had seen anything pulled from the shelf. He dropped two fingers into a tumbler and drew up a tall dark ale. “Slainte!” He laid the drinks in front of pair and scooted off. “So. Wut do we drink ta?” “I’ve never really done too many toasts. Tell me one of those funny Irish toasts.” “Aye! An Irish one then!” He bellowed to Matt the Barkeep. “Maddie! Shut ‘em up fer a minute! It’s a toast!” Matt began beating on a large copper bell. “Pipe it dow’un! Nicky’s goo’in balls to the wall agin! Shut yer’ holes and listen up!” The bar grew silent. All eyes were on Nick as he mounted a small step ladder and thrust his beer high into the air. “When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall alseep, we commit naht-a sin! When we commit naht-a sin, we geta heaven! So! Let’s all get drunk and go to heaven! Slainte!” “SLAINTE!” the room roared and took deep draws of their poisons. Thuds of satisfaction erupted as empty glasses smacked onto wood tables. The bartenders began drawing up the next round. Nick got off the ladder and returned to Kelly’s side. “Was that Irish nuf fur ya, lassie?” “I suppose.” She downed her scotch. “They seem to love you around here. Are you a celebrity or just a raging drunk?” He laughed curtly. “I’m a celebrity because ah’ma drunk. Do ya know how hard that is to do in this country?” He laughed again. “Truth be told. This is mah place. Didya’ nut see tha’ nem on da’dough?” “No I didn’t. Your place really?” “Well, I gotta’ hab a place o’ me oon ta mek sure me beer is gettin’ serfed eh?” His laugh was infectious. He was an obviously genteel soul. He took great satisfaction in watching her. She wondered to herself if he played that card on every woman that walked into the place. Nevertheless, she looked him up and down, taking in every part of him lest his eyes alone seduce her. He was fit. Stocky. Large arms but well-purportioned biceps and forearms. His hair was cropped short with just a hint of white starting to make headway aginst the dark of the temple. He had the look of easy money. The tan features screamed tanning bed and his clothes had not come from a five and dime. Her eyes darted to his ring finger, eager to find a tan line or shiny gold circle. Surely, he could only be drumming up business, right? The finger was clean. “How long have you been the owner here?” “Since birth. Me father got this place from his father round the time of the first big war. Me father, God rest his soul, passed it to me jes’ five years agoo’. Ah trah nah ta’ run it into the ground.” She looked at the full crowd and the busy bar. money was flowing into the place hand over fist. “Looks like you keep it going well.” “Aht! They jes come here tah mek sure I dan’t burn it down. They figure if ah set it ablaze, they canna’ toss a beer ahnit en save me.” “You’re pulling me leg.” She slapped his arm lightly. He winked. “Mebbe ah am. So tell me lassie. How long er ya in erin go braugh?” “A week.” “You got a tour agoin’? Someone showin’ ye round the island?” “Nope. You volunteering?” “Now, I canna’ be showing yeh all my secrets the fust naht. Tell ye what though. If ye wish to see one of the oldest dumps in all of Ireland, I can oblige ye.” “We have dumps in America. I can see a dump anywhere.” Dump? “Aye lassie. Boot I got a lit’l better dump than moost.” She was aware of Matt laying another liter of wine. Kelly had a hard choice to make. There was no denying an attaraction to the dapper Irishman. Was she up for going out to a stranger’s house in a foreign country? Of course! Why not? The Irish were supposed to be a hospitable lot. “Fair enough. One more glass of wine?” “Good enough! Ye can tek it in mah motorcar.” “You are very sure of yourself!” She still had some guard up. The wine hadn’t completely knocked down the inhibitions. She definitely would have never left with a stranger in Mississippi but then again she didn’t know many spunky Irish pub owners like this one. The eyes had her. They left the bar and he opened the door for her at his car. If the dump was as nice as the car, it would be quite a rubbish heap. The car was a Rolls Royce. It was plush as she could have imagined. The vacation was proving to be quite a plus. Kelly made a mental note to send flowers to the travel agent. The ride was enjoyable. He rambled about Ireland, explaining the history of various sites to her as they passed through the older district. Dublin is a series of row houses with hanging signs over doors. Most of the families, he explained, had lived and died in the houses for generations. It was one perk that most young men could count on if they wished. Their father’s house and land. She listened and did not speak much, savoring the wine’s libation and trying to shore up her nerve. It was quite unnatural to be driving in a Rolls to some stranger’s house. Nick did have a way about her. When he stared at her, she felt no wolf in him. He semed...smitten. It helped her relax, even relish her role in the drive. It had been a long time since someone was smitten with her. They rolled through a stretch of forest, a relative oddity in Ireland, he informed her. The famine in the 1800’s and harsh winters had managed to eliminate most of the trees. Most of the woods they saw were only planted after World War Two. At the end of the forest loomed a castle with four towers. Each tower was a tendril of stone with a swath of red, green and orange dragons painted onto the stone, illuminated by a floodlamp anchored to the ground below. “Quite a dump, eh lassie?” Nick grinned mischieviously and winked at her. “You’re shitting me!” It was a castle! A frigging no-shit castle! Could it be more incredible? “Aye. Me great-granfathers did right by the crown back during George the First’s rule. He rewarded them accordingly.” “I’ll say!” The castle had a drawbridge. He eased the Rolls across and hit what looked like a garage door opener imbedded in the dash. The drawbridge raised as they passed through. Giant steel teeth dropped down behind the sturdy wood structure. “Me brother. He got drunk as a skunk oon the Fuller’s and thought it woot be a grand idea to ride the drawbridge down in his car. Crazy bugger crashed up a damn fine Testarossa when the bloody gate crashed down on it. Nearly killed the idiot.” He eased the car into a garage area. Five other luxury cars were parked. A middle-aged man came out from a side door. “At’s me manservant, Hiller. He’s a Welshie, boot ee’s a damn fine ‘elp ta’ me.” “Back early, eh Master Fuller?” “Hell, Hiller. You know I only make the blaggards sweat piss when ahm round there. This ‘ere’s me friend Kelly Lane. She’s a yank but don’t ‘old it ginst her.” “Pleasure me lady. Don’t see many pretty ladies round here. Least of all a Yank. You in the beer bid’ness?” “No. Just a connosieur.” “Hiller. Think I’ll take me sloop out tomorrow. Can yah teel Freddy tah stock ‘er up fur me?” “Course gup’ner.” Nick threw Hiller the keys. “Got anything handy to nibble?” “Yessir. Got a dish or two ready.” “Splendid!” He looked to Kelly. “You hawngry lub?” “I could eat. Long as its not haggas.” Boiled stomach and red wine she was loathe to attempt under any circumstance, but she was starving. The meal on the plane was all she had eaten. The alcohol was working her stomach into knots. “Grand! Let’s grab a bite and ah’ll show you the works.” She walked beside him, observing the aged workmanship so apparent around her. His accent was not the proper, distiguished English of Lords and Knights, but she could see he probably held some title. The walk to the dining hall was fascinating. She asked many questions. He seemed embarrassed to answer them. He took the lavishness for granted. It was obvious to her it was all he had ever known and thought it odd for someone to be so interested in the dump. Her mouth dropped when she entered the dinding hall. “A dish or two” turned out to be a huge smorgasboard. “Me help is about the town tonight. Afraid we’ll hef tah serve ourselves.” Kelly swallowed hard. “I think I can manage.” They supped, chatting about the world. Her knowledge of beer was limited to Budweiser and the occasional Corona or Heiniken. Fuller’s, she discovered, was the number three beer served in England and high on the list of imports in the United States as well. His linage went back a thousand years. Not as far as some, he chuckled, but long enough to get a few perks. She had never felt so insignificant in her life. He never brought that within her. It was her own simplicity that seemed so paltry in the granduer of her surroundings. Still, his eyes never seemed to lose their genteel gaze on her. He was still smitten. “You, Kelly. There’s something about you. I see a million wankers from the States. Mosta’ them, they’re decent nuff folk. The women can be a lit-el enamoured by the green. I don’t get that from you. You are a nice lady and if it’s quite awright, I would love a kiss from those sweet Irish lips.” The directness of the question took her blindly. He was almost embarassed to say it; that much was clear in his shy delivery. Despite his stature and wealth, she humbled him. That was when she gave in. Pushing aside the platter of roast pork, she took his shoulders and pressed against him hard. Their mouths met, the pressure and probing of lips yearning for passion the only sensation tangible. He did not press the issue, letting her own discovery take the pulse of the potential. She inhaled him. His simple amorous notions of dignity seemed to fall by the wayside and he embraced her. His strength was obvious in his clasp. The added presence of his body against hers sent a thunderous message to her clitoris. It reached past the simple throbbing tingle of giddy excitement that marked the usual initial beginning of the sexual cycle. Her nerve endings fired off in full force, an unnatural flow of her feminine juices sweating immediately beneath her panties. The light tingle was overtaken completely with the urge to have him. In an instant, the heady feeling of newness struck down her defenses as surely as any medival battering ram. She took the lead, a newly crowned queen in his castle. “Take me to the bed, Nick. I wish to see where you sleep.” “Of course, me lady.” It had a funny ring to it. They could barely walk up the north tower’s stairs. Groping and feeling each other, they walked unbalanced and giggling like two young virgins sneaking around the tower for a secret rendevous. They reached the bed chamber. It was straight out of a historical epic. She dove into the bed. A thin veil of white fabric curtained the soft mattress. She realized immediately that the entire mattress was made with real feathers. Ornately stitched sheets and quilts surrounded her. She slid the dress from her body. The bed itself was all the covering she wanted between she and her lover. He watched her through the translucent curtain, slowly unbuttoning the shirt and trousers. She rubbed her breasts as the chill from the night air puffed through unseen holes and nipped at her exposed skin. Her nipples turned a bright pink, jutting firmly from the breast and demanding his touch, not hers. She writhed uncontrollably in the sheets, the soft nerves within her womanhood electrified at the sight of his nudity. He was a beautiful specimen of a man. Firm abs. Broad shouldered and tan all over. His penis hung, soft yet long regardless. “Get in here, Nick. Don’t make me beg.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He spread the curtian aside and rolled into the bed. She straddled him immediately, smothering his chest and neck with kisses that strived for the very taste of him. He had an aroma of musk that was all man. Her mouth was permeated with his sweat. He moved a hand to an impatient nipple as the other massaged her thigh. She continued her mouth’s assault on his muscles, savoring the pounding heartbeat she felt on her lips welling from beneath his breastbone. She was the cause of it all. Her hands found him growing larger as he groped the breast in his left hand and her maidenhood in his right. The escalation of his beautiful fingers stroking her labia and sliding up and down the slippery slope that was her lover’s final destination replaced any coherent words she could think to speak with low gasps of exhiliration. She was a lady in waiting. She did not wait long. Her own hands seemed to shape herself a spear. She threw herself upon his sword as soon as the shaft stopped its gorge. The fresh entrance of a man into her brought a swoon to her consciousness. She was Lady Kelly Lane of lore, taking her bequeathed into herself and demanding all his possessions. He grasped her thighs firmly, steadying her frantic rhythms and grinding his own pelvis into her to ensure she had a fair accounting of his size. He was in her deep, the long passage of time since she had accepted a sexual invitation evident in her tightness around him. She took him quickly, bouncing upon him feverishly and savoring the feeling of flesh impacting flesh. Getting a firm traction, he returned his hands to the breasts, easing a nipple between two fingers moistened with her own sap and gently tugging at the buds. His balls and penis base was sodden with herexertions. A sheen of sweat began rising from her back. She wanted to feel his power and rolled off of him. He rolled in cadence, coming up behind her and easing hmself oh so slowly into her. He slid himself into him slowly, letting the size do the work as he licked and nibbled the nape of her neck and whispered sweet prose of appreciation into her willing ear. She bucked against him, determined to draw the seed from him and give back a tenth of the pleasure his big prick within her delivered to her needs. He grasped her shoulders and stepped up the tempo. He read her perfectly. She wanted fucking. He pulled her into it with each frenzied thrust of the hip. She propped up on all fours, a pair of pillows propped up beneath her to better get a traction in the slick sheets. He groaned now, feeling the clinching of her muscles around his penis as she throbbed within. She wanted him to feel what she felt- desire. Shameless, human desire. He kept it up. Each thrust seemed to part her further from civility. She became carnal, grunting loudly and uncharacteristically audible with her groans of lust and commands of “harder” or “like that! like that!” “Oh I like that!” She felt him tensing, his strokes growing sharp as he struggled against the release she sought from him. He refused to succumb. He withdrew and dove headlong into the crack of her wet maw. His just dessert was her own own hot clit and lips. He sucked at her hood with the accuracy of an archer. His tongue darted in her, a minor size compared to the penis taken away from her so unexpectedly but much more dramatic in its dexterity and nimbleness of motion. He sucked hard at her clit, bringing her to the bumpy, hyper orgasm that was a pale substitute for the deep, gushing climax the big dick would have given her had he remained. It was a nice climax, though. She didn’t complain. He let her come. She was impressed that he knew enough to let her have her contraction without pressing the issue. More than once she had been with men who kept lapping away at her hyperactive clit as she came, overexerting the orgasm to the point of uncomfortability. She quivered as the blissful spasms abated, dumping endorphins into her hot blood. She turned to see him. He smiled at her, his penis in his hand growing a touch limp. Kelly was not having it. She pounced on him. Ignoring her own taste on him, she drew him into her mouth. It was all he could do not to exclaim aloud his submission. She ran her mouth over it, feeling the ridges and pumping him as he thickened up again. He pressed her back, dropping down as suckling her nipples as he eased it back into her again. The natural curve of the penis found her g-spot repeatedly. He worked her in short hard thrusts, her legs wrapped around his back and accepted his motions. He felt a fresh wrapping of her orgasmic juices when he reentered her. She came like a man when he licked her clit. The fresh moisture made it nearly impossible for him to last. The fresh injection of thick flesh into her made it likewise for her. She went first, squeezing his prick violently as he pushed it quickly and deeply, tickling the g-spot into a prickling explosion of the best a woman’s glands can offer. She screamed as the unstable whimsy of her sexuality bestowed her with a wave of undulating contractions that he intensified with harder grunts and deep slow runnings of the dick into her. She was just subsiding to a low moan of fulfillment when he withdrew. Seizing the moment as well as his cock, she pumped his semen out, watching the jets fly. She surprised him, pushing him deep into her throat well after the semen had flowed and making him dance in euphoria with her mouth. He was salty. She had wisely let the bulk of his pentup wad fly across her thighs and belly before chancing her blowjob. Semen was not the best tasty elixir known to woman, but the tinge of taste on her tongue was a miniscule price to pay to make her prince moan with ecstasy. They lay beside each other, their lungs catching up finally with the exertions. He caressed her clit slowly, not wanting his catch to give up. They kissed slowly. Finally, they spoke in words rather than the understood language of the carnal humanity. “That was bloody nice!” He laughed at her attempt at British terms. “”Couldn’t agree with ye more me lady. You are some kind of catch for an awd buzzard like me. Ahm damn happy to have made your acquaintance.” “This has turned out to be quite a trip so far. I need you to know that I am not in the habit of sleeping with men just for the accents and the castles.” Kelly smiled at the lover lying next to her. He pecked her above an areola. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s too many blokes round here with those attributes ahm afraid. You fancy staying the night? I think we have a little more to offer if you stayed around a bit. Ahm taking me boat out fur a spin tommorrow. It would look a lot better in the water with a sexy Yank aboard. I could show you some of the prettiest green fields ye eva thought possible.” He stroked her clit firmly, punctuating the thought. Taking his penis in her hand again, she stared into those wonderful eyes once more. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, gup’nah!” In vino veritas |
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