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My Irishman
His red beard flared out down his cheeks, the skin flushed a bit, as it always was, and the curls rounded out his beard as it thickened around his chin. He left it pretty unkempt, wild, like his ancestors did, when they fought against the Romans, and the Norsemen, and later, the English, trying to keep their land free.
The rest of his life was all neat and tidy, dressing for work every day in his white shirt and tie, and dark suits, being the corporate warrior, keeping the corporate books and his team of accountants all focused and businesslike.
Everything all neat and tidy, his socks all folded and kept in rows in the drawer, the cap always on his toothpaste. Even the pantry had cans and boxes all in rows, alphabetized.
Yet, now his beard ran wild, untrimmed at the edges, bits of wild moustache pointing in all directions. A little bit of him was pretty wild, and we both liked it that way.
He was home now, the suit and tie long gone. We'd poured a few drams of Irish whiskey, and gave a hearty toast to Ireland and St. Paddy. It was his day, you know, and everyone claimed to be a bit Irish today. Yet, every day was an Irish day for my Paddy.
Even now, as he spreads my thighs with his broad, muscular shoulders, pushing me wide to get at my cock, the flame red of his furry chest and bright red nipples hot against my skin, he moves deep onto my hard cock, sucking and fondling me with his hot, wet tongue, and his thick, sensuous lips. His whiskers would catch and mash into the thick hair at the base of my cock and above my balls, his thick chin hair rubbing against my eager, firm balls, mixing with drops his saliva, as he bathed my cock with each suck, each push down the full length of my cock.
I looked down at my Paddy, down across the thick pelt of hair that coated my chest and my belly, across my now hard nipples, watching his red beard move up and down my cock, each slurp sending another wave of delight through my cock, deep into my balls and up into my lust filled brain. He knew just how to stroke and fondle my cock head, and my steel hard shaft, his tongue and lips oh so familiar with me, and my need to have him take me, again.
In a few minutes, just before I'd swear I'd explode in his mouth, he'd be slowly pulling off my cock, and then pulling me down to the rug in front of the fireplace, spreading his muscled, red furred legs wide, opening his hole to my now achingly hard cock. In that deep Irish brogue of his, he'd be calling me to take him deep, to ride him wild and crazy, until both of our cocks would explode in a torrent of cum, our hearts pounding, our lungs gasping for breath.
He was good at this dance, and always had been, ever since we'd met a year ago this very day. We'd both been invited to a St. Patrick's Day party at the house of one of the guys at work. I'd worked with the guy for quite a while, and my Paddy, he'd been a freelancer there, and was always considered part of the gang at work who enjoyed having some fun. I'd seen him around a bit, but the party was the first time we'd gotten to really talk with each other.
Both of us were Irish, and we soon found we had more in common that a love for the Ol' Sod, and a pint or two of Guinness once in a while. We knew the same Irish songs and could dance the same Irish jigs, and the next night, we found ourselves in bed, exploring each other's Irish cocks and heavy balls filled with good ol' Irish cum. We liked licking the cream off our our whiskered lips a couple of times a night, and I don't mean Guinness or Bailey's.
And ever since that night, we'd have an Irish night, at least once a week, when we'd get out our guitars and sing a few tunes, and have a taste of good Irish whiskey, before we fell into each other's arms and began to get down to business. My Paddy, he's a big man, barrel chested, and nice thick patches of hair everywhere a good man ought to grow 'em. His nipples were always hot and tasty, growing stiff and hot in my eager Irish mouth, where I'd suck and fondle him until he moaned and threw his arm over his face, begging me for more. And, then, I'd run my hands down his hard, hairy chest, feeling the curls of red Irish hair run through my fingers, until I went as far south as I could go, finding his thick stalk of hard manhood begging for my renewed attention.
It was the luck of the Irish, we both had thought, finding each other and discovering how much we'd had in common. Our love for nice juicy cocks, and hairy, full balls and a nice hard Irish ass to nail once in a while, after we'd both had our fun at sucking each other's cocks and running our fingers through each other's sweaty chests and pinching each other's nipples. We could go on half the night, it seemed, never really getting tired or worn out, until we'd both shot a couple of loads, finally collapsing in each other's arms, our Irish balls and spent cocks soaked in jism. And, once in a while, we'd cum when we were in each other's arms, and then we'd spent a while rubbing our seed into each other's beards, smelling the rich, yeasty cum, mixed in with the stench of our sweat and our lust, as we fucked each other again.
And, sometimes, we took the action outside onto the lawn, or along the river on a summer's night, or sometimes in a cabin up in the mountains, anywhere two respectable Irish lads could find time to strip each other buck naked and have a go. Oh, the priest might be saying that lust is a terrible sin, but we'd never figured that made any sense, what with both of us wanting to take another roll with each other, sometimes at the drop of a hat, or when a splash of whiskey hit a glass.
It's been a year, my Paddy and me. And, I couldn't ask for a nicer way to celebrate St. Paddy's Day. He's about ready to cum again, and I'll soon be joining him. It's my lucky day.
Copyright 2009. Oregon Bear.