Harry McLaurn's Lament

He had noted that Harry looked very happy and had concluded, rightly, that all was well so it would not really matter if he absented himself from Harry and Bessie and went in search of the interestingly beery smell. You know how it is, beer or women and beer wins every time. It was not long before Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn had that long nose of his in a glass; his feet tucked under a table and was surveying the other occupants of the Carnival beer tent over the glass. They were certainly dressed in all sorts of outlandish costumes. He felt a fellow feeling for the rather hairy gentlemen dressed in black leather from head to booted toe and they too warmed to him when he let slip he was a 'biker' too. Now quite how they got in their minds that he rode a motorbike when he meant a pedal bicycle and a very old one at that and he had not so much pedalled the contraption as sat on the handlebars whilst Feargus O'Dubhthaigh had pedalled like a mad thing up hill and down dale very much the worse for drink and all the time imagining there was a leprechaun on his handlebars leading him to a crock of gold—or so he had (unwisely) told the constable in the morning who had pulled him out of a ditch.

The bikers and Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn were soon telling each other taller and taller stories over more and more good beer. The more I think of it the more I feel there was a little bit of magic involved as it does seem difficult to credit the bikers would not have spotted Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's complete lack of technical knowledge regarding motorbikes as he wouldn't have known a Triumph Bonneville from a Norton Commando or Harley-Davidson Sportster. Somehow they thought he was into 'Harleys' and unwisely let him try one of theirs. I blame whoever it was started the thing up but he was off, yes Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn was off riding on a motorcycle and he loved it, the wind in his hair, the blur of everything as he speeded past, the beam of light showing him the way down the dark road out of town and into the country. On and on he went, faster and faster down the straight Roman road; he was intoxicated by the speed (and the beer) and certainly had no idea whatsoever how to control the thing, let alone what the black and white chevrons meant ahead or about cornering on very sharp corners...

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn flew through the air as the Harley came straight off the road and into a ditch. At one hundred miles an hour (almost) a leprechaun leaving a motorbike flies quite a long way as you can imagine. In his fright this leprechaun dropped right back to his smaller travelling size before flying into a tree, tumbling down through its branches and landing upside down to whizz round and round on his cocked hat just like a top until he was as dizzy as could be. It was quite a sight in the moonlight, or so the badger who saw the whole thing told me.

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn lay on the ground stupefied and it was only the bright light of the morning that woke the bedewed leprechaun with the throbbing head and—it has to be said—throbbing of much else besides due to the bruising. What would his sister have said? Well, almost certainly something about "serving him right" and "he should never be so stupid—what at his age" but she was never going to know, that was very much for sure!

Harry and Bessie had, of course, left the town a lot earlier and travelled back in the Morris, Harry still talking about the school with Bessie more interested in the cottage which, of course, Harry had not bothered to see. It was mid-evening when they returned and Harry had the pleasure of taking Bessie out to dinner. Naturally Bessie received approving glances, many understandably thought she was Harry's daughter or niece but those who know Bessie and Harry were puzzled by their dining together and would have been even more so had they known they would be sleeping together that night.

Indeed Anna Johnson out with her husband did see them both go through Harry's front door later that evening and it was certainly something she remarked on at the school gate to her friend, Jayne Simmons, the next morning and they were still talking about it when they ordered second mugs of coffee at the café later on.

Inside the house Bessie had kissed Harry long and hard and thanked him for a wonderful day and dinner, her hand had dropped to his trousers, stroking the material and the hardening item within and asked if she could stay the night. It was, needless to say, what he had hoped for.

"I'd like a bath," she'd said and Harry had shown her to it. It was not particularly an old fashioned bathroom but it did have a large bath. Bessie pushed the plug in and turned on the tap releasing hot water into the tub.

"If you wash my back, I'll wash yours."

To say the idea of sharing a bath was appealing to Harry would be an understatement. Of course he hadn't at all thought of the idea of sharing a bath but that was because thoughts of sex were all so new to him; now the idea of soaping Bessie's back and no doubt much else besides caught his fancy. The idea too of Bessie pink, warm, slightly damp and wrapped in a big bath towel was somewhat pleasing as well. Imagine such a thing in his own house, indeed in his own bedroom!

Harry just stood watching as Bessie undressed. He had not really thought before that a girl taking off her clothes was particularly interesting—now I'm not saying he had not recognised a pretty girl when he saw one but it just had not been his thing—now as Bessie undid her blouse he saw it very differently as his eyes followed button on button. The blouse slipped to the floor and Bessie reached behind her to unclip her bra. For a moment he was reminded of his fantasy with Anna and Jayne but this was real as were the two ample breasts revealed as the bra dropped to the floor. She stood there just in her skirt.

"You like them?" she said lifting her breasts in her hands.

Harry could but reply in the affirmative; he liked them very much indeed. Knickers and skirt followed and Harry began to undress himself as he watched Bessie bending over to regulate the bath taps. He supposed intercourse was possible animal like leaning over the women's back and applying his penis under her bottom. Well of course it was, he corrected himself, and he could imagine (and did) that it would be very pleasing to have Bessie's soft bottom pressed against his thighs as his penis sought entrance. Perhaps she'd let him try that later. He reached out and stroked her bottom cheeks and she turned to find Harry disrobed and in a state of excitement.

"You're always hard, Harry." And indeed he did seem to be hard so often these last few days—something difficult for him to explain.

We, of course, know the answer to the puzzle in the form of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn who had not only ensured a remarkable stiffness and longevity on that first meeting with Bessie by the stile but left him with a propensity for rigidity and regeneration that would be the envy of a younger man.

Bessie stepped into the bath and sat down. Harry watched as a pink flush showed her skin's reaction to the hot water.

"Well are you joining me?"

Harry got in. It was a little difficult working out quite where his legs and feet went but he was delighted with the sudden feel of Bessie's little pink toes on his scrotum. They wriggled which was most pleasing.

"Here's the soap," she said, "you won't forget my back." And she got up turned around and sat down between Harry's now stretched out and open legs and he began to soap her back. It was just lovely to be sitting there with this soft naked girl between his legs and feel her skin slipping soapily under his hands. You can imagine that it was not long before his hands had slipped around to Bessie's front (well wouldn't yours?) and he was soaping her breasts and squeezing them in his hands. Clearly they needed a lot of washing!

Then Bessie got up on her knees so Harry could reach her bottom. How very strange soaping not only those lovely round cheeks but the crack beneath and of course the little puckered bottom hole before washing between her legs, his soapy fingers slipping over curly hair and particularly soft skin. Then Bessie sat down again but a little further back up the bath, right on Harry's penis, squashing it. She wriggled a little and then rose a little, reaching under herself and holding his penis as if about to insert it into her.

"Oh, but we are meant to be washing," she giggled and stood up, "my legs now please."

That was enjoyable too, making her squirm as he washed and tickled her toes and soaping up her legs, touching her pretty knees and sliding his fingers up her soft thighs.

It was as delightful being washed by Bessie and feeling her gentle soapy hands all over his body and last of all on his penis. Much more playful washing and he would have come, a sudden squirting into her soapy hands.

Out of the bath, it was good wrapping Bessie in his big bath towel and, tying one around his own waist, Harry led Bessie downstairs for a nightcap before bed. They sat watching television, Bessie by his side all wrapped up in the towel, pink and warm from her bath. It was not something Harry McLaurn normally did, sitting on his sofa dressed just in a bath towel, far less to be sitting there with it tenting in front of him and as to having a pink girl in a bath towel curled up beside him, eyeing that very tenting... well no it was not something Harry had ever done before. Bessie plucked. Yes she put her fingers together over the tenting and squeezed the end. Harry smiled fondly at Bessie from under his moustache and watched as she tugged the towel aside to reveal his standing penis. They continued to watch television but now Harry had the distraction of fingers around his penis, fingers moving the skin so gently up and down, fingers moving lightly and with no hurry, a leisurely pleasing. It was some minutes before Bessie bent her head and slipped his penis into her mouth and slowly fellated him. Harry stroked Bessie's hair and smiled down at the back of her head. This, he thought, is utter bliss. Indeed what more could an ageing gentleman want: a glass of whisky in one hand, being seated on his comfortable sofa in his own (paid for) home, warm and comfortable, with a good programme on the television and a pretty girl clad only in a towel sucking gently on his penis with no urgency about rushing to a conclusion. Oh, you think a gentleman could want two pretty girls clad in towels, one on each side. Well you are just greedy.

Harry did wonder if he should be stroking Bessie in return—intimately rather than just her hair but the towel was tightly wound around her and there was no easy way in; and he could not reach far enough to slide a hand up into the towel from below but he was saved the need when all of a moment Bessie got up, straddled his legs, reached under herself to aim his penis and lowered herself right down upon it so it disappeared up inside the fluffy towel, indeed disappeared up into her hot wetness. She was as slippery as anything and had evidently—the evidence was clear—been building herself up into quite an excited state. And there he had her, this towel clad girl bouncing up and down on his thighs making the sofa creak. She was bouncing with enthusiasm, putting great effort into achieving lovely long strokes. He held her tightly to him as she moved up and down: the television, of course, quite forgotten. Harry could feel Bessie getting wetter and wetter and then that delightful shudder as she came, trembling in her bath towel. It was exciting and a signal to him to come, pumping spurt after spurt to add to her wetness.

"Oh, Harry that was lovely," Bessie said.

It was so strange. One moment he was having intercourse with this delightful girl and now they were sitting side by side again watching television, she still clad in the fluffy towel. He hugged her tight and took another sip of his whisky. The job contract would be with him in a few days. It would be marvellous to be working again and as to having Bessie as his housekeeper and, it very much seemed, sharing his bed, well, that was marvellous too. Harry felt himself a very lucky man.

The television programme over and the glasses and coffee cups tidied away, Harry followed the now towel less Bessie up the stairs watching with pleasure the movement to one side then the other of her bottom cheeks, the smoothness of her thighs and the occasional glimpse of curly hair as she took another step and was that—yes it was—he could see the trickle of his own semen creeping down a thigh. Yes his very own doing not half an hour before. He, Harry McLaurn, had been having sexual intercourse with this pretty young girl on the sofa in his own living room! It was incredible. The sight was deeply erotic and it had a restorative effect and by the time Harry reached the top of the stairs he was erect again. Bessie turned and her eyes opened wide at the sight. She smiled and raised her eyebrows,

"Time for bed!" Said Bessie Babcock.

And time for bed it is indeed for, like all good stories, it is time to draw it to a close and what better time to leave Harry and Bessie than as they make ready for bed. As for the other principal character of our story, the leprechaun Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, well we already know he has gone to bed or, more accurately at least, is lying flat out cold on the bare ground in the moonlight after his remarkable flight through the air. He is going to wake with a sore head in the morning and feel sorry for himself. Harry on the other hand is going to wake with Bessie in his bed in the morning feeling anything but sorry for himself and who knows what they might do then? Hopefully live happily ever after in the cottage at the school.

The lament of Harry McLaurn was threefold — a feeling of loss at no longer being a schoolteacher, indeed wondering if he had ever been any good at his profession; a degree of loneliness of an evening and finally a concern that he had never had much success or inclination with women. Well they say, and I am sure they are right, that should you be wily enough to catch a leprechaun then you are granted three wishes if you'll let him go. But I'd like to see you try and catch Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn in the first place -- whatever size he chose to be and whether on his motorbike or not! Harry, though, got his three wishes without so much as thinking of catching a leprechaun which shows the generosity of heart of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn despite what you might have heard from his sister.