Hannah |

I hate those Saturday afternoons when there’s an international Rugby game in Dublin. Scots running around town wearing kilts shouting, “There’s nothing worn under ma kilt.”

If not, then it’s English fans singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. This features various gestures that they have to include. Get one wrong, and you have to knock a drink back. It usually ends up with both the fans and the pub in a mess.

I like the French fans. They just don’t give a fuck. They smoke those Gauloises cigarettes, and they have a ‘different’ smell, drink wine, eat bread, and stand around in groups salivating at any female that happens to walk by.

The Welsh fans, though, love a beer and a song. They all think they’re Tom Jones. They’re generally in good humour, but they aren’t the world’s best singers, despite what they’d have you believe

The best part for me is that between the Scots, The French and the Welsh, they have the three best, most rousing national anthems in the world. When sung at their home games, it’d make sour milk turn good.

Irish rugby has a traditional snot factor attached to it. They have their own national anthem, which is played after the Irish national anthem. It’s like a concert before each game. Irish rugby was mostly played by doctors and solicitors, way back when, and we never really had a lot of success. It’s mostly embraced by middle to upper class yahoos, sent to the D4 and D6 colleges by rich daddies, who revere excaptains of Ireland. Tickets are snapped up by corporate elites and private clinics which, essentially, means that the ordinary Joe Public has little opportunity to attend games. The games are played at Lansdowne Road stadium in Ballsbridge, and if you’re caught in a pub around there on a Saturday afternoon, it often makes for a messy Saturday night out.

We’d been caught out a couple of times and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Unfortunately unless you’re tuned into the rugby season, it’s easy to find yourself sitting in a pub in Dublin 4, surrounded by people who were drunk at lunchtime and progressively getting worse as the evening wore on. This was one such occasion.

I was out for the day with Peter Smith and Darren Ebbs, two workmates of mine. On occasional Saturdays, we’d meet at The Canal Bank Café for a leisurely breakfast at about 10:30. Around noon we’d amble down to Baggot Street bridge and get a coffee at one of the food trucks and drink it on the steps of the Canadian Embassy. We might smoke or we might not. We’d put the world to rights and watch the girls passing by as we voted for who the prettiest ones were.

It was scored in several categories such as breast size, shapely legs, coiffure, beauty, fashion sense, style, couture, cosmetics and fragrance. Usually anyone wearing jeans, trainers, stupid leprechaun hats or replica rugby shirts was ejected from the competition. We never had the heart to tell them, so they went about their business, content in their ignorance.

The judging was always confrontational, sometimes aggressive, but weighed astutely, before a winner was declared. Content with our decision, we’d amble down Baggot Street and head into either O’Donoghue’s or The Waterloo. We’d find a quiet corner and indulge ourselves in pints of goodness and lofty badinage. Everyone knew everyone and it was great craic. Until the rugger buggers found it and ruined it.

On this particular Saturday in March, just before Saint Patrick’s Day, the English were in town. We hadn’t forgotten that the game was on. We were taking advantage of the Saint Patrick’s holiday weekend and had put a lot of thought into it. We decided to opt for a quieter pub in the same orbit since we used Peter’s house as a control hub. Toners was the venue of choice, by a twotoone vote.

We arrived at a little after 1:00 and there was loads of space. They were expecting a big crowd given the amount of tv screens dotted around the pub. We chose a table as far away from them as we could but we knew we’d have to suffer some inconvenience. About an hour later, we were well into a discussion on the merits of onions on a burger. Should they be raw? Should they be cooked? Should they be red or white? Pickled or not? Cooked in garlic or not? Or should they use scallions instead. It’s a perennial problem that isn’t given much consideration at government level.

Halfway through this important discussion, a group of nine people ambled in. They stood huddled inside the door, heads on swivels to either see if there was a table big enough to cater for them or if anyone recognised them. Unfortunately, there was enough space in our corner, so over they came, with bright smiles and replica rugby shirts, and sat beside us.

We ignored them for a while but they became a nuisance quite quickly. Peter was a few pints into being happy,

“Ok, lads. I know we don’t really do this on a Saturday,” he said in a low voice, “but there’s six women and three men in this group.”

“So what?” Darren asked.

“Darren, surely to Christ you know, at this stage of your life, that the words, ‘separate one from the herd’, will find its way into this sentence at some point,” I said, regretting that I didn’t have a bet in place earlier.

“Mock me if you must, Tony, but you know I’m right and I know you’re thinking the same thing,” Peter said.

“Lads. There’s no way in hell that’ll work in here. They’re all down to watch the game on tv over a few pints. They’re not interested in being shifted,” Darren said.

“Don’t say that, Darren, it just sets him off,” I said, watching Peter’s general lustful attitude become more prevalent.

As they were discussing the tactics they’d use to ‘charm’ all six ladies, I took stock of the group. There were nine in all, three men and six ladies. All wore green favours to indicate they were Irish supporters. Some wore the requisite ‘vintage’ rugby shirt, some had the latest iteration, two just wore badges and hats, and one, a female, wore a nononsense good old green woollen sweater. The women sat while the men stood and quaffed pints while having a deep discussion on the merits of Brian O’Driscoll’s place as the best rugby player of all time.

The three women wearing the rugby shirts, sat together. They were seated closest to the where the three men stood. I assumed that they were married. The two women with the badges and hats chatted together, isolating the girl with the green sweater, who looked like she’d prefer to be anywhere else than here. She looked at me, raised her eyes, and smiled. I smiled back and nodded my head. Slowly, the married cohort of the party drifted out to smoke, leaving the other three girls to themselves. Peter and Darren immediately went to engage the pair who seemed to be friends, leaving the last one to try and look as if she was having fun.

She was very pretty. Dark hair to her shoulders, the greenest eyes I’d seen for a long time, clear skin, classic lips, and an undertone of makeup that didn’t beat you over the head. It was her eyes that drew me. They had the look of a deeply thoughtful individual. She looked at me a couple of times, and her eyes bore into mine, challenging me to either look away or be destroyed in the fire that would ignite at any random moment.

Our tables were side by side with a small gap between them. I sat at one end of ours, while she sat at the adjoining end of theirs. We were almost opposite each other. I took my phone and went through some messages. When I finished, I put it away and saw that she had been watching me. I smiled an embarrassed smile.

“No rest for the wicked,” I said.

She smiled.

“Busy man. I leave mine home on weekends.”

“I’d do that too, but then I’d have nothing to distract from the overinflated hype.”

“I don’t know why I came here,” she said. “I hate this.”

“You kind of get dragged along; it’s a very long day,” I said. “I have an idea that might work.”

“I’m open to anything,” she said.

“We could be out of here in thirty minutes with no guilt from our friends.”

“That sounds fantastic. What is it?”

“I’ll tell you, but don’t judge me. You can refuse if you’re uncomfortable, and there’d be no hard feelings.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” she said.

“Firstly, I’m, Tony,” I said and offered my hand.

“Hannah,” she said, taking it. “So what’s this devious plan?”

“It’s the most devious plan since Devious Gerald, the Fourth Earl of Devious, a confirmed carnivore, rode his horse through a vegan market and scattered the traders to the winds.”

“That IS a devious plan,” she laughed, and her whole face opened up.

“Ok, if we behave like we’re interested in each other and we leave together, nobody will bat an eyelid. In fact, our friends will hunt us down for the gossip the next day and we can tell them anything we like.”

“How do I know that this is not a devious plan to whisk me away and have your wicked way with me?”

“Simple, my dear Hannah, my way is not wicked.”

“Ooh! You are a one. Let’s do it.”

“The wicked way or the ethereal way?”

“The devious plan way,” she said, giggling.

“Ok. Either you come sit by me, or I come sit by you. Make it look like we’re interested in each other.”

“Ok, you come to me.”

“Good. Although, if you came to me it’d be a more natural kissing position. Just saying.”

“Do we have to kiss?”

“It’s not a deal breaker but it would dispel any lingering doubts.”

“You’ve got a silver tongue,” she said, blushing.

“Silver is not life threatening, Hannah, and the taste is quite nice too.”

“Oh, come on. Move over, Tony.”

She came and sat by me as her two friends, and mine, looked on open mouthed. I placed my arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear,

“I think it’s working. Your friends are gobsmacked.”

She lifted her lips to my ear and said,

“So are yours. You might be right about that kiss.”

We were both smiling as my lips met hers. It was a simple kiss that we held for no more than ten seconds, but I licked her lips as we kissed and her tongue touched mine before we broke apart.

“That was nice, Tony,” she whispered in my ear, “should we do it again?”

“Give it some time. We need to make them think that we’re getting comfortable with each other first. When I squeeze your shoulder you just laugh as loud as you can. We’ll follow that up with a slightly longer kiss. Then, I’ll gaze into your beautiful emerald eyes and kiss you again.”

“Ooh that sounds romantic. Squeeze my shoulder quickly.”

I squeezed her shoulder and she broke down laughing, attracting the attention of the four people watching us. Then she touched my face and kissed me again, this time I opened my lips as she met them and our tongues softly intertwined. We broke the kiss quickly and gazed into each others eyes, I touched her face and let my thumb shadow her left eyebrow to a bemused look from her smiling face,

“I just adore your eyes, Hannah, they are deep pools of liquid emerald,” I said, loud enough for them to hear.

We kissed again, this time she put her arms around me and went for it. It was a much longer kiss, and it was quite beautiful. I whispered in her ear,

“That was fantastic, Hannah. You even had me fooled.”

“I wasn’t fooling, Tony.”

“K. We’re about ten minutes in to this, Hannah, i’m not either.”

“I love your kisses.”

“I love yours.”

“Let’s get out of here, Tony.”

“We’ll have to wait a few minutes, love.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” I glanced quickly downwards.

She caught on and laughed uproariously, shocking her other six friends who were just returning from the smokestack.

“Do we need to kiss for the three couples?”

“I think we do, but this isn’t for them, Hannah, it’s for me.”

“And me.”

We kissed again, longer again. I began to lose myself in her lips. We slowly broke apart with some sweet butterfly kisses. She stood up and took my hand

“We’re going, kids, see you later.”

Peter Smith looked at me with naked hatred in his eyes, but his smirk told me otherwise. We got outside.

“Thanks for that, Hannah. We’re free!”

“Yes, we are. Will you walk me home?”

“I might not want to leave.”

“I might not let you leave.”

I took her hand as we walked through the busy pregame, pedestrian traffic. She pointed at an apartment building, and we headed for it. We took the lift to her floor and arrived at her apartment door. Before she put the key in the lock, she took the lapels of my jacket in her hands.

“Do you want to leave?”

I leaned in and kissed her on the lips in reply. My tongue met hers and she pulled herself to me.

Inside. I spent a few minutes taking in my surroundings. She had a beautiful home. It was spacious, had loads of natural light, was tastefully decorated and furnished, and it was spotless.

“I love your space, Hannah. You’ve done a fantastic job on it.”

“Thanks, Tony. I didn’t do it alone. Coffee?”

“Please. I think you’d look y in overalls.”

“You’d probably think I’d look y in a black plastic bag.” She laughed.

“Depends on how short it was.”

We kissed as the coffee brewed. It was a deeply magical kiss that made my head spin and caused her to make light humming sounds from her throat. As our tongues danced together, she pulled me tighter, enmeshing our bodies in an astral unity. We were off outside somewhere, sailing above the clouds, a light hissing sound enveloping us. She suddenly shrieked and jumped away. The coffee had spilled over. I cleaned the counter as she poured the coffee.

We took our coffee to the large beige couch in the living room. She laid her head on my shoulder as she sipped and clicked the match on the tv.

“Ah. You can’t beat watching a game played by 30 grown men with misshapen balls,” I said.

She choked and spilled some coffee over her sweater.

“That’s funny.”

“Your sweater will be ruined if you don’t clean that off, Hannah.”

“I know. I’ll go and change. Excuse me, please.”

She came back out.

“Tony, I’m not sure what to wear, can you help me?”

I’m nothing if not a great help to people, so I leapt into action. In her bedroom, she held up two similar sweaters and asked me to choose. I chose the light brown one. She thanked me and said she’d be with me presently. I went back to look at the match.

Five minutes later, Hannah came back. She walked around the couch and stood before me wearing an emerald green lace thong and a short version of the light brown sweater I had chosen.

“C’mon Ireland,” she said, and draped herself around me.

We were in a room with floor to ceiling windows along the whole front wall. I pointed at them.

“Let’s live a little,” she said.

I smiled and pulled her down flat on the sofa. I lifted her sweater over her head and threw it on the floor. She was naked underneath. She had beautiful breasts, snow white skin, and dark pink nipples that formed like a narrow cap of snow atop the peak of a majestic mountain range. They stood to attention, and my tongue and lips obeyed. She was wild in her movements as she slithered around on the couch beneath me, and it took me some time to calm her. I studiously ministered to both breasts using hands, fingers, lips and tongue, and she purred like a kitten as her lips sought mine. I took control of the kiss, and we were both out of breath as we broke.

“I’ve never been kissed like that, Tony.”

“You’re a fantastic kisser, Hannah.”

“I am now.”

I dipped my head down to the smooth, soft skin of her stomach, which tensed as my hand slid beneath the waistband of her thong. It was a beautiful garment, soft lace and smooth satinlike material. My fingers couldn’t get enough of the tactile beauty of it. Moving lower they found a tiny strip of hair above the lips of her labia as it curled up from beneath her. She was impossibly wet and she moaned as my fingers gloried in the dampness.

“You’re very aroused, Hannah.”

“I’ve just changed these. I’ve been leaking since you kissed me in the pub.”

“Can I take them off?”

“Please. What are you going to do?”

“First I’m gonna undress myself, to make it even.”

“Please. What then?”

“I’m gonna remove your thong.”

“Oh. Do it. What then?”

“I’m gonna take you to heaven with my tongue and lips.”

“Ooh.”

I quickly undressed as she watched me from the couch. I then kissed the inside of her thigh before sliding her thong off. She parted her legs, lifting one on top of the couch backrest. Her fantastic pink vulva opened to me and my tongue found its home between the lips of her labia. All it took was one slow and gentle journey the length of her vulva to push her over the edge and she lost all motor control of her body as she screamed and twisted herself almost double as I tried to hold on.

She rolled off the couch and joined me on the floor. I bent my head between her legs and continued to stimulate the walls of her labia and the soft puffiness of her aroused lips. She rocked her hips gently as she began another orgasmic journey which I pushed along by rolling on my back and sliding my tongue into her vagina, letting it rest there as her hip movement became more active and her voice pleaded for release.

“Please. Please. Please.” She begged, just before I rolled my tongue into a funnel shape, inserted it all the way and just reached her G Spot which yielded an explosive reaction of movement, screams and a cascade of fluid from within.

She was done. She crawled on top of me and lay there quietly, gently manipulating my penis with her hand.

“Jesus Christ, Tony. How did you do that?”

“You did most of it, Hannah,” I said and kissed her.

“You have a very talented tongue.”

“You have an absolutely beautiful vagina.”

“No man has ever told me that before.”

She kissed me. Looked into my eyes.

“A girl could fall in love with you very easily.”

“Most of them run away, but thank you.”

“I want you inside me. Hopefully your penis is as talented as your tongue.”

“One can only try.”

She straddled my hips and placed my tip at her entrance before sliding down to take me entirely inside her soft, tight vagina. I felt warm and safe and I pulled her to me.

“That’s beautiful, Hannah. Like a warm glove made from a cloud.”

I kissed her again and minutely moved inside her, soft short thrusts, stimulating her G Spot, receiving instant recognition of her reaction as she just held tight to me and screamed as another climax ripped through her. I rolled her on her back, her legs were wrapped around me. I needed the release that was building inside me. I needed to quell the glorious pain at the very tip, the sign of an impending eruption.

“I’m gonna come, Hannah.”

“I am too. Don’t pull out. Please. I want it all.”

My penis pulsed many times as my semen found the bottom of her vagina, each pulse causing tremors somewhere in Hannah’s body before she straightened up, lolled her head sideways, and, eerily silent, breathed deeply before suddenly falling forward and experiencing huge tremors followed by loud screams as she literally erupted in orgasmic ecstasy.

She lay there quietly and I wallowed in the feel of her soft skin as it melted into mine. I looked over at the TV screen.

“Ireland lost, love,” I whispered in her ear.

She just murmured a noise, and I let her rest for a little while. It took about a quarter of an hour before she could speak. Tears were rolling down her face.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just so emotional.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“Do you have to leave?”

“Not unless you want me too.”

“No. Please stay the night.”

“I will, as long as I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

She slapped me playfully.

“Can you do that again?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll cook us something before bed, if that’s ok.”

“I’ll help.”

“Tony, I need to tell you something.”

“Go for it, Hannah.”

“I’m engaged.”

“I assumed something like that was the case.”

“How?”

“This is an expensive property with a lot more money invested in furnishings and decor. Not many single girls could spring for it.”

“You don’t seem angry.”

“I’ve spent the afternoon naked with a beautiful woman, and she’s asked me to spend the night. Who’d be angry, Hannah?”

I held her to me and kissed her.

“I think I would if it were me.”

“Anger is a wasted emotion. Trust me. Nothing good ever comes out of being angry. Let’s cook something and see how the evening goes. I love being here with you, and I’d like to explore every little corner of you, if you’ll let me. I’ll leave then, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Will you stay the night?”

“If you want me too, I’ll be happy to.”