The usual disclaimers apply. I know you kids are doing it earlier and earlier, but your parents need the illusion of your innocence, so if you're underage or this is illegal where you are, you are herby advised not to proceed and to come back later.
Some of the following is true and some is fantasy. I'll never tell.
When Irish Dicks Are Pissing
by Jerry Weiss
Sure and I live in Manhattan near the intersection of Second Avenue and 86th Street, where the massive New York St. Patrick's Day Parade ends. The area used to be called Yorkville, and the Irish were a conspicuous presence here in the old days. Many Irish bars remain (and many become Irish for St. Patrick's Day) and it's along Second Avenue where the off- duty Irish cops and firemen and assorted other burly types from the suburbs repair to after the parade, to get stinking drunk, like green salmon returning to their spawning place. The testosterone level shoots off the top of the gauge as young cops in part of their uniforms, topped with green tam o'shanters, men in kilts, firemen in parade dress and other hypermasculine types pub-crawl up and down the street drinking beer after beer after beer.
And where there's beer drinking, there's piss -- lots of it. To be a urinal in the rest rooms of these bars is to have hit the golden lode, and many of the guys don't even bother with that, preferring to piss in the street. As the night wears on and the wives and kids go home, the atmosphere gets rowdier and rowdier as the young bucks strut their stuff.
When the Beacon Baths on 45th Street was in existence, St. Paddy's Day was a great time to be there, because a good many of these guys would show up for their once-a-year day -- I got the feeling that March 17th was viewed as a day of general dispensation, when anything went -- the Irish carnival, if you will, even though it's always during Lent. Just like the kind of trade that will do anything but kiss, because that would make them a homo, apparently to homosex it up on this one day was considered not really to be gay. I had many of these dudes of Erin at that time, mostly giving them blow jobs and getting fucked and pissed on, but fairly often the big lugs would turn over and want to get fucked themselves.
Now there's a wall in the shadows just to the side of my building, a perfect pissing wall, and many's the man I'd seen stepping over to it on St. Patrick's night and peeing on it. As the years went by, I got jealous of the wall. So last year I decided to do something about it.
Waiting until midnight to let the tamer ones call it a night, I brought a chair down to the street and sat myself by the wall, with yellow and green handkerchiefs billowing out of my rear pocket. Into the brim of the little tweed hat I put on, I placed a crisp $20 bill, which stood tall and waved in the wind, and waited to see what would happen.
The night was one of those coldish March nights with a hint of spring in the air, and drunken shouts echoed off the pavement and apartment houses. Traffic and pedestrians had died down on the side street, with an occasional party of revelers careening by. Several gave me quizzical looks as they passed my seated figure.
After a while, three very drunk, very big, thirtyish Irishmen approached. One was in kilts and white socks half way up his tree trunk calves, the other two were NYC cops with their jackets open, their ties off and collars akimbo, green carnations in their lapels. They reeled and bumped against each other as they slowly ambled down the sidewalk and came to a halt when they saw me.
"Look, a leprechaun!" loudly slurred one of the cops (I am small, round and elfin). They held each other up as they collapsed in laughter.
The mick in the kilts came closer. "No, wait, wait!!," he said, "it's not a leprechaun, it's a pay toilet!"
"What??" said the two others in unison.
"Yeah, man, look at the handkerchiefs and bill he's sportin' in his brim - I know this stuff from working in the Village - the little leprechaun wants to pay us to piss on him!!"
One of the cops got a lustful look in his eye, came up to me and put his finger on my lips. "Is that what you want, little leprechaun, a faceful of Irish cop piss?" In answer I briefly sucked in his finger and gave it a little slutty action with my tongue. "Mmm hmm," I purred.
He pocketed the twenty, hauled a living beer can out of his fly, and started to piss on my chest.
The kilted guy lifted up his kilt, hefted a big fat dick in his hand, and let loose on my face. "Mr. Leprechaun, I baptize you in the name of St. Patrick --- drink up, Sir Pissalot!," and he directed his flow into my open mouth while I guzzled down his watery beer piss and the three of them roared with laughter.
The other cop, more withdrawn than the other two, but meaner looking, came up to my side and pissed on my tenting crotch. Rivers of yellow ran down the sidewalk as the product of a day's worth of beer drinking came raining down on me. I was living a dream, being pissed on in public by a bunch of Irish cops on St. Patrick's Day!
As they finished, zipped up and continued walking down the street, the cop who had taken the twenty looked back loudly saying, "Thank you, Mr. Toilet!" "Ahh ..ha ha ha ha ha," and they reeled to the corner, laughing riotously.
I noticed that when they got to the corner, the quietest of the cops was making his goodbyes, and started walking to 86th St. and the subway, while the other two went in the other direction down the avenue to the next bar.
The night was getting late and not many of the revelers were still on the street. A light breeze wafted the smell of my pissy body to my nose. I was in dreamland.
After a few minutes, the quiet cop sidled back around the corner and walked up to me. He stood in front of me rubbing his crotch. "Okay, faggot," he said, slapping my face, "time to suck some cop dick," removing a wide-headed erect ten inch out of his fly. He bitch-slapped my face with this cudgel cock.
"Eat it, cunt!" he hissed, pushing it into my mouth. Never in my life had I had a harder, more luscious, more succulent, more precum oozing, more pheromone-producing, more sexy, more desirable penis in my mouth. He fucked my face and grabbed the back of my head.
"Ooooh, you fuckin' piss perp, you fuckin' living toilet, you hot mother fucker, take me, take me, take me!!" He started slapping my face hard as his dick went down my throat and back out, down my throat and back out. "Oooo yeah, swallow it, swallow it, swallow it!!," and he shot rope after rope of hot Irish cop cum into my mouth. I gulped down most of it, and the rest dripped from my lips.
After a moment of recovery, he smeared the dripping cum all over my face.
"Hey, faggot, you got come on your face!!" he sneered down at me. "Let me clean it up!"
And he pissed on my face again.
If you are an Irish cop or fireman in New York and want to do this scene, hit me up: jerryw@pipeline.com