I arrive in Dublin, the city of Molly Malone and Guinness, find The Red Pussy Pub and phone Maire who promises to join me within the hour.
I take a seat in the corner where I can see all the comings and goings. The place is beginning to fill up with workers from the area. Plenty of pretty Irish lassies.
Is fucking red pussy important? I don't know – I haven't fornicated with a fuchsia flower cup yet! My mind is in turmoil but I know the only way to get rid of my obsession is to saturate myself in saffron snatch until sated, or spend a fortune on a shrink – and that won't be any fun at all.
Behind the bar is a gorgeous barmaid with freckles – a natural redhead, with hair the colour of the setting Irish sun! Her neckline is cut low showing off abundant tits with a hint of areolae – a great down-blouse photograph. Shakespeare would have described her as buxom. I imagine the hairy mound between her legs, but I mustn’t day-dream. I’m obviously in the right place.
She gives me a smile. "Welcome to Ireland, enjoy yourself. We Irish love to have a good time. What’s y’ name?"
"I’m Andy. Yes, I’ve heard you like to party with plenty of booze and music."
"I’m Fionnoula, luv."
The hand which she extends to shake mine is soft and warm. Her fulsome bosom looks, soft, comfortable and inviting. But I'm waiting for Maire.
Just then Maire walks in. Wow! Her picture doesn't do her justice, she's knock-dead gorgeous! There's not another word to describe her, unless I use a cliché about movie stars.
My cock and I stand up together. I adjust my trousers to hide the bulge then extend my hand to shake Maire's. She reciprocates by hugging me, pressing herself against the length of my body and kissing me on the mouth. I didn't expect that from an Irish girl. As she draws back she 'inadvertently' rubs the back of her hand against my crotch.