Cornelius Xavier Mcgillicuddy Esquire

by harry lime

Copyright© 2013 by harry lime

Romantic Story: A lonely Leprechaun meets his soul mate in Paddy's Pub just before St. Paddy's Day.

Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   .

Mac was planted flat on his backside under the shade of a fully leafed tree. In fact, it was the only tree of any significance on the rocky hillside. He often dozed there in the heat of the mid-day sun to gather his thoughts for his evening schedule.

Of late, Mac frequented Paddy's Pub on Shamrock Circle and his face was so familiar to the steady patrons that they considered him one of the regulars.

He had drifted down to this rural area from the more populous North and made a point of avoiding all persons of government connection, especially the Garda and anyone in uniform of any type. It was a habit that served him well making him virtually unknown and not on anyone's list.

Money was not a problem for young Mac.

His purse was somewhat bottomless and he always seemed to find a gold coin when he needed it to pay for the rounds of brew and snacks.

He really was a lot older than he looked but that was typical for his sort of type. His parents were back in the "Kingdom" in a region long thought deserted but still home to many types of creatures from times long forgotten. Mac couldn't stand the formality of the place and took the opportunity to go a roving as soon as he passed the age of independence.

He had left behind a veritable bevy of dew-eyed little golden princesses with shapely figures and comely faces. It annoyed him no end to discover not a single one had the desire to accompany him on his journey into the world of the human despoilers of Mother Nature.

Several times lately, Mac had been bedazzled by a fair young thing at Paddy's Pub. Usually, it was after the consumption of a sizable amount of liquid refreshment. His advances, which had been considered first rate in the Kingdom, suddenly seemed totally inadequate in the confusing give and take of social niceties conversing with young ladies who seemed interested in "Where do you work?" or "What do you do for a living?" His blank stare generally drove them off with no further effort on his part.

He was tempted to tell them of his magical member tucked safely away between his legs but it seemed far too much like boasting and he was a feared of being taken for a braggart.

So, poor Mac was surrounded by pretty girls, with loads of cash in his pockets and a tool of magnificent proportions, unable to convince a single female to let him sample her sweet honey.

The barman's daughter was a young lass of about 20 with the reddest hair he had ever seen.

She told him her name was Moira and that she wouldn't put up with any sneaky feels when no one was looking and didn't tolerate any ungentlemanly words being tossed in her direction.

He looked at her plump rounded buttocks with deep-seated regret, but obeyed her bidding without question.

One night, when it was really crowded with a rowdy, boisterous bunch of partygoers, he helped her clear some of the tables and even set up the bottles for distribution to the impatient revelers. When she told him to go down to the dark cellar for some new supplies, he didn't hesitate because the dark underground areas were more like home to him than the world above ground.

He was really surprised when she asked him to "Walk me home" at closing time.

The route to her cottage was dark and they had no light between them. To make matters worse, the moon was often hidden behind the swiftly moving clouds that foretold a storm approaching. As they turned into the gravel lane that led to her front door, she took his hand in hers and told him,

"You can kiss me if you want, Mac, I'm sure I wouldn't mind at all."

He was pretty inexperienced with human girls, but he gave it all he had and they seemed to stand suspended in time with their lips and tongues intertwined in a fluttering world of fast beating hearts and suddenly aroused flames of passion.

When they pulled apart, Moira hung onto his arm to keep from falling, she was that inspired by the ardor of his kiss. He had poured out his loneliness and desire and transferred the deeply felt emotions into her logical human soul.

She stood panting and silent in the dark holding him close but still keeping him at a distance as if she was afraid of her own lack of restraint.

Mac was overjoyed.

He could sense when a female was ready to mate and was attracted to his searching male desires for physical merging.

A light went on in the front window and a voice called out into the still dark gravel path.

"Is that you, Moira, love, It is fearful late and your sister is suffering from eating a spoiled bit of meat pastry at the church."

Moira looked up at Mac and pulled him in close to her body.

"Yes, Ma, I am coming. We had a busy night at the pub and my friend Mac walked me home."

She lifted her lips to him and whispered,

"Good night, Mac. I hope I see you tomorrow night."

He leaned down and pressed his hot lips to her soft, wet ones feeling her tremble just like the little princesses back in the Kingdom.

Mac made his way to the dry cozy cave just beyond the single tree on the hillside and fell asleep dreaming about the soft feel of Moira's bare shoulders and the taste of her ruby red lips.

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