Harry McLaurn's Lament

"No sir, you just lie there and look at the clouds, Bessie'll take care of that."

And so Harry McLaurn had lain, spread-eagled and naked as the day he was born atop the hay stack whilst the clouds scudded across the sky and Bessie Babcock attended to his cock. Nestled down in the hay he could not see anything but sky (and hay and of course Bessie—particularly the back of her head); he could not see the fields, the hedgerows, the woods or the occasional orange or grey roof of a house or cottage; it was as if Bessie and he were alone in the world, except for the occasional soaring lark, atop a haystack miles up in the sky.

They were not actually alone on top of the haystack for a rather small gentleman clad in red coat and breeches was peeping out at them from a burrow in the hay. Yes, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn had chosen that very haystack for his sojourn for the night. Now I am not saying this was a coincidence—though such things happen—because it was actually rather more by design. He had been watching Bessie, indeed had stayed close to her the night before (no, not that close) and knew she would be waiting there for Harry—given she had already entertained Charlie Creek there earlier in the morning. I shan't tell you what transpired because, as I have already mentioned, Charlie does not have a further appearance in our story. Suffice it to say that the meeting had not been as jolly or pleasurable as earlier joinings in the summer. Something seemed to have gone out of the meeting and indeed it was the last coupling Charlie was to have with Bessie Babcock: so I hope he made the most of it. Certainly, as Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn commented to himself, he made a lot of noise about it.

So what was Bessie doing to Harry? You want the details? Well she tickled him with a blade of grass. Where you ask? Right on his penis, not just any old where but right on the head, on that division of the head on the underside which goes by the technical name of the Fraenum. The what? Well I don't know a colloquial name but I'm sure you really know what I mean and just how sensitive it is there. No? Well you want to find out then. It certainly made Harry jump and Bessie giggle at his reaction. She kept up her play, tickling Harry's penis all over, shaft, head, everywhere. Just little touches with the end of the blade of grass with Harry not knowing where it was going to land next. Bessie tickled his balls as well, playing with the crinkled skin, teasing it with the blade of grass.

"Do you like that?" asked Bessie.

Harry could think of little better things to be doing than lying on top of a haystack in the summer sunshine, watching the clouds and having a pretty naked girl play contentedly and at length with his penis. It was simply something he would not have conceived of, let alone thought of enjoying, a week ago but now that is what he wanted to do.

After a time there was a change, the tickle was no longer from the blade of grass but, Harry realised, from the tip of Bessie's tongue tickling him in all the same places. The tickling light touches gradually changed to licking until the tongue concentrated its attention on the head. There was a pause. Harry was by now seeing not so much the shape of countries and animals in the clouds but erotic shapes, breasts, couplings, buttocks, penises. He felt the softness of Bessie's lips encircling the very tip of his penis, ringing the little hole and lightly pushing against the soft skin of his penishead and then slowly they slipped downwards as gradually his penis was absorbed into her mouth.

"Bessie, I'm...oh."

And Harry experienced that most delightful orgasm when the semen pumps into the waiting mouth as a tongue brushes backwards and forwards across the gushing so sensitive hole. An exquisite experience. Harry could not believe it—he was ejaculating into Bessie's mouth, he couldn't stop himself. The feeling and idea was delightful but he hadn't meant to, hadn't meant to come. What would she think? Yet she did not pull her head away, quite the opposite as she kept playing with him, her tongue stroking the head of his penis. It was only as he softened that she released him. Harry raised himself up a little so saw her mouth detach itself from his penis. What a sight to see and remember! And then Harry saw her swallow, yes swallow his semen and smile and wink at him.

"Told you I'd take care of that, Sir!"

It was a happy afternoon in the sunshine on the top of the hay stack. Lying there talking about all sorts of things and later, when Harry was ready again, engaging in sexual intercourse with Bessie lying back in the hay as Harry pushed down on her, releasing the sweet scent of the hay whilst his penis pistoned.

Part III

The envelope was still in his left hand, the letter in the right as if he was afraid to let them go. Harry sat down slowly in his arm chair with a broad smile under his moustache. It was not an offer, no far from it, not a job offer but it was an invitation to interview, it gave opportunity that, he realised, might come to naught but it was a chance and moreover someone, some school, well not just any school actually but rather a good one, was at least prepared to see him. He was not then totally over the hill. It was a very good prep. School, admittedly some way away but he could move house. He adjusted his tie feeling better, much better—Bessie and an interview—things were certainly looking up.

Bessie was, of course, a puzzle to Harry. Why was she interested in him, if that is what it was, he could not see she was playing a game with him though perhaps that might be it. Certainly, the experience was pleasurable, it was not one he would have wanted to miss and, really, he could not think that of her. After the last meeting atop the haystack she had not actually suggested another rendezvous but that seemed to be because she would be away for a time—or perhaps it wasn't and that was it. Still there was the interview and that in a week's time. He would have to ready the car for the journey.

A few days later found Harry McLaurn in town shopping, walking stick in one hand, shopping bag in the other. He had been having quite a good time of the weekly shop even flirting a little, if that is what a later fifties man in a tweed suit and moustache can do with young female shop assistants; to say nothing of his lengthy chat in the street with Anna Johnson and Jayne Simmons. Harry had been surprised to find himself thinking about what lay under their tee shirts and jeans whilst talking to them. Certainly Anna was most generously endowed and that tee shirt's neck did rather plunge and was Jayne's hair really that colour, he would so like to check her other hair to see, though her breasts really were rather small. His thoughts had rambled as he talked to them and he had walked off bemused at having been chatting to the two young mothers for a good ten minutes with his cock hard the whole time. It was all so unlike him but actually rather pleasant. Imagine being invited back to tea with Anna and Jayne and being lured into intercourse. No chance at all, of course, but the daydream was appealing. How might it happen, well it wouldn't... but say it did? His mind was speculating. Perhaps the conversation moving from, "Do have another slice of cake, Mr McLaurn—may I call you Harry," somehow to bra and cup sizes and the problems of fitting—something he had no idea about and a demonstration of what they meant. He could imagine, indeed did imagine, the lifting of tee shirts over heads and the display of large and small brassieres. This simple idea in Harry's mind was novel, not for him the complex fantasies of the experienced but jaded thinker, indeed any thought of sex was really quite novel to him—as perhaps it is to you? Anyway the idea of exposed brassieres appealed to him but he went further, imagining their removal, hands behind backs—he knew that much, and then the revelation as four breasts slipped out of the warm bra cups, Anna's slightly flopping forward and bouncing but Jayne's not moving at all. "You can see, Harry, how they vary in shape and cup size. Please hold them and see." And he could imagine, oh yes he could imagine, his hands reaching out and cupping first Anna's, lifting them slightly, feeling the hard points of her nipples in his palms and then Jayne's much smaller sweet round breasts but again with the little hard points of the nipples pressed in the soft flesh of his palms.

"That's actually rather nice, Harry, you do have such strong hands." It was his fantasy, after all, and he could imagine the compliments if he wished. "Breasts really are a bit of a bother for a girl and need holding to stop them moving about—a bit like, for men, your penis I suppose. Imagine that, Jayne, special little bra-like cups to hold their balls!" The girls giggled in an attractive and sexy way (in Harry's daydream).

"Well I don't think it/they need such support," ventured Harry in his mind.

"We'll see. Go on, we've showed you ours: now show us yours!" More giggling.

And Harry had, naturally in his daydream, been happy to oblige. He imagined, as he walked up the street, his disrobing as the two women watched; the giggling and pointing; him standing there exposed. Now, should he be ready erect or have himself grow in their hands? An option in his story. He chose the latter.

Anna's hand was the first to touch cupping his testes and lifting them with the ends of the fingers of each hand. "See, little cups like this, but how to support the penis?"

There was a giggle from Jayne, "No need—it's supporting itself!"

And, not surprisingly, Harry's penis was lifting itself upwards all by itself, foreskin rolling back and readying itself for business—just like it actually was as he walked along the street.

"Not so much a need for support as restraint!" replied Anna and with one hand she held it back against his stomach.

"Yes, you have to be firm with men, take them in hand!" They both laughed at this and Anna began moving Harry's foreskin up and down.

He could imagine reaching out and undoing their jeans—"Why Harry what are you doing?"—but not being stopped and discovering the secret of Jayne's hair colour and that Anna shaved (now where had that idea come from?). Touching them, feeling them, his fingers exploring opened thighs—"Why Harry what are you doing!" Being led on to intercourse. "Harry, lie on me, hold me down, take me..." But who should be first? Would he want to penetrate Anna as he sucked on her full breasts or start with Jayne with her appealing little round breasts and soft curly-haired mound? It was another choice to be made in his mind as he walked through the town, perhaps a little more self-absorbed than was his usual way.

Thinking of being lured into intercourse is a pleasing and jolly daydream but of course that is more or less what had happened to Harry with Bessie Babcock—twice, though perhaps 'led' might be more accurate a word than 'lured.' It was more Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn who had done the luring. Anyway Harry turned a corner, still immersed in his daydream, when the real thing was there right in front of him, walking up the street towards him. Harry stopped and raised his hat and was so delighted when Bessie broke into a big grin and began talking to him at a great rate about what she had been doing. He was so relieved she seemed pleased to see him.

"I was just going to make some tea," he said, "would you care to... I have a chocolate cake."

Well, of course, young girls are easily lured by chocolate cake and Bessie was no exception and very ready for a cup of tea after an afternoon's shopping but, you will appreciate, what with Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's spell on her, she was more than happy to go with Harry, in any case, back to his house.

Harry was quite excited, and showed it, at having Bessie in his cottage. It was not that big but a pleasant little old stone-built house in a terrace which had seen modernisation over the years and was certainly in good order. He busied himself with the tea things as Bessie chatted to him in the kitchen.

It was a pleasant little tête-à-tête with the tea and chocolate cake and went on well into a second pot of tea. Harry was surprised to learn Bessie wanted to see the first floor.

"Of course, but why?"

"I thought we might get into bed."

Well, despite Harry's daydreaming he had not actually thought of that. He was used, if two couplings could be said to be something he was used to, being naked with Bessie in the countryside. He hadn't thought she would want to go to bed that afternoon—but she did.

What a delight for Harry to watch young Bessie stripping off her clothes and slipping in between the sheets of his single bed. She had been surprised by him only having a single bed but he had explained he had never seen the need to buy a larger bed. He had not realised that so many single people preferred a double bed these days.

"It'll be a bit of a squash," he'd said.

"Nice," she'd replied.

And it certainly was nice getting into his own bed, admittedly very much earlier than he ever did, and being close and immediately intimate with soft warm femininity. They kissed for a long time just hugging each other; Harry conscious as much of the togetherness as the sexuality of the situation despite his penis being tight against Bessie's tummy as they held each other. Gradually kissing developed into stroking, the opening of thighs and the touching of penis to warm wetness. Even then there was no hurry over penetration, just kissing, holding and the gentle sliding of penis in Bessie's secret folds. It was Bessie rather than Harry who caused entry, slowly pushing him up into her. Their movement was relaxed and prolonged and after orgasm they lay quietly together, still joined as Harry's penis subsided within Bessie—indeed if they did not sleep for a short while they were certainly both not fully conscious for a time and in that space between reality and dream.

Harry was disappointed Bessie could not stay the night. He offered her a meal out but she had to go, had to get home but she readily agreed to come with him on his day trip to the interview at the Prep. School when he'd asked whether she would mind accompanying him. He thought she might like the ride and visit to the other town. It was in a couple of day's time.

Bessie met Harry in the morning of the interview early as arranged. He really was grateful to her for coming with him, providing company on the journey and support as well. Unusually for him he was nervous—a symptom of how the dismissal from his former post had affected him, damaged his self confidence, damaged him. He did not understand why he had been regarded as ready for the scrap heap and was none too sure many of his former colleagues did either. The new head teacher was not popular or, seemingly achieving better results.

"How old is that?" Said Bessie with some surprise, she had never seen the like. Nor had Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, but he wasn't much used to motor cars being more of a biker—as we shall see.

"Had it since '71. One of the last to be made I think. It's a good car." Harry was a bit defensive about the vehicle though people seemed less rude about it these days. Indeed he had had the odd request to buy it off him.

"What is it?"

"A Morris Traveller. It's an estate."

"But it's got wood on it."

And indeed it had, the highly distinctive feature of ash framing around the 'estate' rear part, a look that had prompted Dame Edna Everage to comment, whilst filming in Stratford-upon-Avon, on it being a 'half-timbered car.' The joke had made Harry smile.

The journey was uneventful and Harry was very happy to listen to Bessie's chatter. At first she'd been puzzled by the lack of a CD player. Indeed the car did not boast a cassette player or even an 8 track stereo cartridge player, which would have been seriously 'retro,' though it did have a radio. The sun was shining and, apart from his nervousness, Harry was really happy just driving along with Bessie beside him.

Now you may have been wondering what has been happening to the holidaying leprechaun, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn. Was he still asleep in the haystack sleeping off a flask or two of Sloe Wine, was he tramping through the countryside in emulation of Harry McLaurn's pastime, was he sketching in the fields? No, he was doing none of these things. He had become rather interested in Harry McLaurn and was, in fact, in the back of the car where Harry couldn't see him and looking out of a side window and making faces at children in passing cars who happened to spot the little man and point. It is easy to imagine the conversations in those cars:

"Daddy, Mummy there's a funny little elf in the car we just passed. He was ever so rude—he stuck his tongue out at me."

"Don't be silly Freddie."

"I think it was a House Elf."

"Humph, too much Harry Potter. There are no such things."

But of course Freddie was not being silly. Which just goes to show... something or other.

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn had no idea where they were going and no particular worry about that; he was an easy going sort of leprechaun and he knew his way home. He was also enjoying the experience of travelling in a motor-car, the break-neck speed at which they were travelling (a good 45 M.P.H.) and the scenery rushing by. He had gathered why Harry was travelling but it was not really the sort of thing, probably, he could help with and so Harry would be on his own.

The interview went rather well, or so it had seemed to Harry. He had liked the people, liked the headmaster and liked what he saw and heard. It was an environment, ethos and attitude that he could identify with and his answers and the supplementary questions as approaches to teaching were discussed and evidence of his experience demonstrated, seemed to flow very easily. He actually thoroughly enjoyed the meeting and would have been quite happy had the discussion gone on longer. The end result, having walked around the school and even taken an impromptu maths class—he had not been expecting that—was the offer of a job and a staff cottage in the grounds.

Harry's moustache was particularly firm and his head held high as he met Bessie again. They settled into a tea shop and Harry could not stop talking; his breaking of the good news and his appreciation of the school poured out with Bessie quite unable to get a word in edgeways. "I shall have to move, of course," he said and it was only then that it dawned on him that this would take him away from Bessie.

"Oh," said Bessie, "that's a pity." There was silence.

"Will you need a housekeeper?"

Well Harry had managed for a good 35 or more years without one but the offer and idea was appealing—very appealing. The cottage in the grounds certainly had two bedrooms and so was big enough but what would the school say? Well they weren't to know and it wasn't really their business in this day and age. But did Bessie really mean that?

Out of the tea shop, Bessie and Harry walked up the street passing the plate glass windows of the modern shops and the more interesting details of the older shops including an old arcaded front of a shop now selling all manner of shoes. They did not notice a rather strange little man, perhaps five foot three high clad in red coat, white breeches and cocked hat, frowning in disapproval at the wares. Now you might have thought someone clad in that old fashioned dress and wearing a hat of all things -- who wears a hat nowadays perhaps apart from Harry McLaurn with his tweed flat cap in the event of rain—might have attracted attention but it was Carnival Day and people were milling around in all sorts of dress. Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, for it was he that they walked past, had made himself rather larger than usual for a holiday, an easy piece of magic, you will appreciate, for a male leprechaun to do, and was examining the shoes and not liking what he saw at all. He was minded to make them all left feet, or possibly right—he had not decided—when his long nose caught the distinctive smell of beer and twitched.