Wee Hours Of The Morning

There is an isolated sandy cay along a stony inlet

on the Emerald Island off of Bantry Bay,

unknown to international tourists

Sharp rock strewn beaches

require rubber sandals to avoid bloody soles

A tavern bar with rooms upstairs looks out on the foggy seaside

The pub is well known to locals who drink their pints,

throw their darts and wile away eternity

After a few days you’d think you were in Brigadune

The first evening sitting in the pub,

drinking Guinness and Irish whiskey

I laid eyes on red haired Brigitte, a strong country lass.

Large breasts, like half moons arising from her bodice,

Skin as white as a porcelain lily, a touch of pink

Her face marked with tiny freckles, her hair swept back

Enchanting to watch, tall, long strong legs below her short apron

It was not her beauty that attracted me

It was the sexy way she cleaned the bar glasses

Pressing them onto a rotating bristle brush

I realized there was something going on

The way she licked her lips and smiled mischievously

as rotating brush penetrated the glass,

I could tell by her expression we were thinking the same thing

I watched fascinated by her play, hiding my erection

After a few days we became friendly

By the time the week had passed

we were making love twice a day

Bar maids are not permitted to fraternize

We didn’t care

In the wee hours of the morning

she’d tiptoed to find me in the small upstairs room

grabbing quickly for my cock as I’d opened the door

Pulling me onto the wooden bed

Spreading her limbs waiting to be impaled

The bed springs added an acoustic note

A metallic guitar twang for every thrust and counter

She was insatiable, in love with cock,

and at that moment in time, in love with mine

Pumping her tight cunt, she compressed my throbbing cock

as if fearing I’d pull out

Entering, exiting, as she lay beneath me

She the glass and I the brush

She reached her zenith

biting my shoulders even the pillow,

attempting to silence her excitement

Suspended in orgasmic union

Our bodies colliding like shooting stars,

a symphony of sounds, a radiant energy, we were glowing

We slept until noon, naked under white sheets

Sunlight stuck our eyes, we awoke,

showered and downstairs to the pub

chocolate filled croissants, strong coffee with a dash of Irish whiskey

Then it dawned on me, “We took no precautions”

“I’m a strict Catholic, don’t believe in birth control”

I left her my address but never heard from her

I often wonder if my midnight lover

thinks of me or was I just one of many?

I wrote to her a fortnight ago

Two years have passed

She responded with no written message,

only a picture of a healthy baby girl

with the face of my mother.