Date: Thu, 25 Apr 2013 16:16:44 -0400
From: MICHAEL SOROS <bursa1994@gmx.com>
Subject: Breda's Little Helper Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This particular tale is the fruit of my imagination. None of
these characters have ever existed to my knowledge and the town and
surroundings will be found on no map. Please make a contribution to this
site to save it from commercialisation. If the site disappears where will
you go?


'And our thanks now there to all six members of the Killyweewee Quartet
Ensemble with their rendering of the old Irish ballad 'Whore among the
nettles roaring'. And what a fine rendering it was too' announced the radio
commentator in his beautifully modulated dulcet tones.

 Click!
 That was the sound of Breda switching off the wireless she kept in the
back room of the shop to keep her company during the slack times of the day
and to keep track of what was going on in the capital city or 'Up there' as
it was known locally.

"Only in Ireland can you get six people into a quartet!" she said to the
radio. It was another habit of hers.  Arguing with the radio announcers on
the finer points of politics or music. On her walk back into the main shop
from the back sitting room she reflected on the phenomenon of having six
musicians in a quartet and remembered quite a few of them from her youth -
the other two usually being the van driver or someone who owned an extra
fiddle. Putting her hand into the pocket of her cardigan she took out a
handkerchief and wiped her nose. Summer was here. Her nose had started
running. Weather forecasters were another enemy to Breda - over paid and
nothing but guessers. She tended to predict the weather fluctuations from
the movement or otherwise of various parts of her anatomy. Although
considered by most people to be a hindrance, Breda found the little bit of
rheumatism in her left shoulder to be quite handy for predicting rain - of
which there was always some either coming, about to come or just leaving.

She was in that 'in-between' time of the day - which was anytime between
4.30 and 6.30 in the evening. Add that time to a Sunday and you had double
misery. Her refuge was the radio at this time but that let her down since
they had changed the schedule from talk to music. Traditional Irish music
at that. Her mother always said it reminded her of squeaky prams - a view
with which Breda concurred.

"And how do they know when to stop or if they've played a wrong note?"

      On such profound thoughts as these Breda entered the empty shop (as
if such a space could be called by so modest a name) and turned on the
lights. Despite it being the end of June the sun rarely filtered through
the windows which gave it a Stygian gloom most of the time. One of the
light bulbs needed replacing but the socket had faulty wiring and was quite
dangerous. She was waiting for Dan 'The Man' McGuirk to come by some time
and she'd ask him to put in a new bulb in the hope that he might get
electrocuted as he owed her œ5 for petrol he took. There was no traffic
and the only sounds were the crows in the surrounding trees coughing. It
was quite soothing. She had to prepare for the evening shift when she moved
from the grocery side of the shop to the bar on the other half of the large
room. It was well stocked and had been quite a little earner in its day.
Such days had long passed and she'd be lucky to see one or two men tonight
and they were only in for one or two to build up their courage with the
local talent at some dance in the town tonight. Not like the old days when
the bar would be full most nights and the radio music blaring in the
background and the place alive and humming with men of all descriptions -
and none. Many of them left in pairs at the end of the night which Breda
encouraged in case she was done for overselling alcohol to the grossly
inebriated. She didn't want them falling into ditches on the way home. It
was nice to look through the window of the shop and see them holding one
another up, standing close, shoulder to shoulder. Even holding hands in
some cases. They were men's men in those days. Then her thoughts turned to
the boy.

      She had fed him earlier on in the day - much against her better
judgement - cabbage, bacon and potatoes as per Sunday usual. She wasn't the
best cook really and frequently had a Rennie for dessert. She'd read that
Oliver Twist had gone crazy and attacked a few people who'd taken him in
and the cause was thought to be meat. There may have been truth in it.  He
nearly licked the pattern off the plate after he'd finished. Breda had no
intention of having her Sunday afternoon ruined by having a boy on the
other end of the table eating so she had given it to him at the bar. Even
sitting on the bar stool he barely reached the counter. Breda was just that
bit grumpy today as someone had remarked that some of her beer was older
than the boy!
      "It's maturing" she replied sternly down her nose.
      "He isn't" was the prompt response - a remark possibly justified by
the figure of the boy standing beside Breda scratching his arse.
      "Look up there lad!" she exclaimed, pointing at the ceiling. When he
raised his head she smacked him on the back of the neck! Thwack!
      "Get out onto that forecourt and see if there's customers ya dope ya!
I'm not paying you to scratch your arse all day!" In reality of course she
wasn't paying him at all - full stop.
      She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of listening to Brendan
McIllhattan's suggestion to keep him on in the evening to work the bar. It
was troubling her whether it was a suggestion or some type of pressure,
either way she was a bit uneasy about it initially. She became less uneasy
about it when he started moving bottles from the stock room and shifting
the barrels of porter. He could wash up too. She had him in the bar
cleaning shelves and dusting off the older bottles of Guinness she hadn't
been able to shift. She had her own special bottles of whiskey too. Special
in that it was watered down and only served later in the evening. The boy
was eager and that was all and there was never any petrol business this
time of day on a Sunday. The men were asleep or watching sports of some
description on the television. Women rarely drove cars around here on the
grounds that they were women and liable to drive the car into the ditch at
best or drive off completely and never come back. Calling in for petrol was
considered a skilled part of driving as it involved the engine so women
were excluded. Driving tractors was allowed but didn't count.

      She was glad Brendan was bringing down some clothes for the boy as
she'd really seen enough of that skimpy tee shirt and those indecent
shorts. His bum was far too big for them and they kept riding up.  Breda
considered herself a woman of the world but fourteen year old boys in a
state of undress unsettled her - especially if there was nothing in it for
her. He was company at least she supposed. After his meal and the little
bit of preparatory work on how to open the bottles of porter and pour the
whiskey from the 'special measure' he had gone out of his own accord to the
front of the shop and continued to read his comics. He was enjoying the
Adventures of Spiderman at the moment. He spent a long time over the
pictures of the cartoon character in his skin-tight spandex outfit. She
presumed he was a slow reader.  Ernest Grabsby was quite taken with the boy
too for some reason. He had been down earlier on in the day and had spent
quite a long time chit chatting with him. He looked quite flushed when he
eventually came into the shop asking some questions regarding his standing
as an employee. He didn't pursue that line of enquiry for very long but he
commended her on her choice of petrol pump attendant. He only came these
days when it was work related but on his way out earlier he waved to her
and said he'd see her later on. He was coming down for a few drinks. That
was good news. Ernie could shift it and he had a friend Kevin something or
another who could put it away too. Now she thought of it Ernie had quite a
few male friends whom he collected from the bar at regular
intervals. Having the only public phone for miles meant she could listen in
on any conversation that took her fancy. She asked no questions. 'Needs his
services' she supposed on more than one occasion.

      She doubted she was going to sell any of these Sunday newspapers at
this late stage so she decided to tie them up and leave them out for the
distributor to collect in the morning. She put aside two of the more down
market ones - one of them English (if her father was alive now he'd turn in
his grave). There was a scandal she was following in the News of the World
involving boyscouts in London who were carrying on with some of those
homosensuals which she felt had a lot of mileage in it so she'd save that
for during the week. She heard a car horn and looked out the window. She
recognised the land rover immediately. The size of it. Nearly blocked out
the light. Brendan McIllhattan had arrived. Her heart lifted just that
little bit as it always did when she saw him. But he was different this
evening. The fact that he was here at all on a Sunday evening was strange
in itself but he had changed into a completely new outfit. The beautiful
suit was gone.  She rarely saw him dressed casually. Always formal clothes
or farming attire. He was wearing jeans, an open necked red shirt - top two
buttons undone - and a light black jacket. As usual he filled out the jeans
to perfection. He looked quite fetching and Breda instinctively looked in
the mirror behind her and arranged her hair. Looks like he had arranged his
too. He had put some brylcream in it and flicked it back as if trying to
look younger. If that was his intention then he had been successful. He
looked every bit the movie star! In Ballykillferrit if you had your own
teeth and hair and could see your feet at 40 you were movie star material
but Brendan was something else. She sighed for times past. Breda assumed he
was coming to meet someone in the bar and maybe go out for meal and a dance
in the town. At least she'd get first look at who she was.  But when he
locked the jeep's door he didn't head immediately for the bar but walked
self-consciously to the right, just out of Breda's view. There was nothing
there except the boy. He must be going over to say hello. He was so good
hearted that way. He had taken quite a large bag out of the back seat and
was carrying it over to the boy. She couldn't see what was going on and
didn't want to stare out the window. She had a reputation to maintain! So
she would wait. And she did. Twenty minutes. Listening to mumbled
conversation and the odd bit of laughter. What could they possibly find to
talk about? But he did a lot of sports coaching and was in the Lions Club
so he could small talk and mingle with the best of them.  Ka Ching!

The familiar sound of the shop's door bell sounded and woke Breda from her
apparent reverie. Like Macavity 'when you think she's half asleep, she's
always wide awake', Breda had raced back from the sitting room at the back
of the shop where she had been listening in on their conversation through
the side window.  Nothing worth noting. How long would he be working
tonight? Did he want a lift back home as 'it was on his way' that sort of
thing. So she knew she had to keep the boy here if she were to keep Brendan
drinking that was for sure. When she heard the boy's chair scrape along the
ground she made a run for the front of the shop where she was now just
being woken from a quiet sleep like a woman befitting her years.

	"Oh Brendan dear! Sure I wasn't expecting you this evening! I was
going to close the bar tonight as I'm just so tired from the hustle and
bustle of the day's work. I'm not as young as I used to be. Totally forgot
all about you. Amn't I terrible!" she said beating her breast.
      She looked directly into his face which was showing remarkably little
effect of 40 years passage. It was a handsome face still and he had a good
strong presence. He really filled out those jeans too. Beside him,
momentarily forgotten was Little Paddy McGinty carrying quite a large bag -
the one Brendan had taken from the jeep. He had that dumb wide open smile
on his face which was quite endearing strangely enough. He looked like a
flower blooming. Poor boy! All those freckles and hair on fire! What a lot
to contend with. The man had his hand over the boy's shoulder in a father
like way and was rubbing it gently.  Those shorts looked far smaller now
than they did earlier on as if he had filled out rather suddenly. Must be
the gloomy light.

	"Could I take the key toilet round the back there Breda? I've found
a few clothes for the boy. I just found them in the club house and didn't
even look at the sizes or what I was throwing into the bag. There might be
nothing here that fits or is suitable. I don't want to disturb you so we'll
go around the back and try them on. See if he'll wear any of it."

He had his big masculine hand opened flat in front of him.  "Oh they'll fit
alright" remarked Breda, looking directly at the boy. "Beggers can't be
choosers."  She pressed a button on the empty cash register much sought
after by the Ballykillferrit Cultural Museum, took out the key and put it
directly into Brendan's open hand. It had no sooner touched that smooth
skin when he turned and pushed the boy in front of him and opened the door
to shove him out.  "A lot of the stuff might be unsuitable. Don't know how
long I'll be. Give me half an hour at least will you?" said the man over
his shoulder. Breda didn't know why he was asking her permission. The
Sunday Play was on the radio shortly so they could take as long as they
wanted.  "Take your time son. Take your time. No rush. When I hear the bell
again I'll come out and serve you that drink you came down for and we can
have a bit of a chat! Test out the new barman anyway" she said nodding in
the boy's direction. He was moving at a fair rate of knots passed the
window and round to the toilet. He looked like his shoes were on fire. She
was just about to say something witty when she heard the door slam shut and
saw the back of Brendan McIllhattan's head through the window.

Probably in a hurry to get it over with and back in for his chat and drink
she thought. She did not know that a violent hunger had been awakened in
the man by our little assistant.....
      It could never be said that toilets were the most romantic of places
but at this moment in time for the boy and the man this toilet at the back
of Breda's shop and petrol pump was the most erotically charged place for
miles around. The sun had about two hours left in it and lit up the whole
building with a vibrant yellow light. Nothing could be heard except the
water filling one of the cisterns and the sounds of the birds arguing in
the trees surrounding the place. Some house martins had decided to make
their nests in the eaves of the toilet block and were whizzing in and out -
oblivious to the two people who had just entered. Brendan locked the door
behind him wanted no repetition of the last time. He now had no fear that
anyone would come upon the two of them suddenly.

      When he came through the second door he could see that the boy hadn't
waited to see what clothes the man had brought him. New clothes were a
rarity for him and he had to do with some charity shop garments or clothes
that his cousins had outgrown - all decidedly unfashionable by the time
they reached him. Paddy had removed his tee shirt immediately on entering
and was now bent over the large bag of clothes like a child on Christmas
morning. As he bent over to look in the bag his bottom had stretched the
tight shorts to their limit and they had risen up his bum revealing a nice
pair of little undies beneath. No sunset could compete with that!  "You
might need to try them all on. I just took anything that was at hand. You
might not want any of them.  What you don't want I'll take back to the
sports club" said Brendan.
      Truth be told he had very carefully selected the clothes. There was
no randomness in it. Brendan had chosen every item that he wanted to see
the boy wearing both at work and casually. He had big plans for Paddy
McGinty and intended seeing him a lot more and away from the watchful eye
of Breda McGovern.  He had a friend in the town, Michael Durkan, who owned
a large sportswear shop. He supplied all the teams for miles about and if
you couldn't get it there you couldn't get it. He'd called in a few favours
from Michael and drove to the shop on leaving Breda's place. Brendan had
brought Michael a lot of business - especially the expensive cricket gear -
so he wasn't going to say no.  Mike's shop had the largest selection of
underwear on display for all to see this side of the capital city. Brendan
had carefully selected some choice pieces from both the public displays and
some under the counter models as well. Mike had lots of 'end of line'
garments and clothes that were no longer wanted. He let Brendan take
whatever he wanted but he was intrigued as to who was going to be the
beneficiary of this largesse.

      The boy stood up straight and was stretching a lovely thin pair of
dark red bikini briefs, holding them up to the light. Putting them back
quickly he replaced them with some yellow and then some blue ones. He
wasn't rejecting them. He was just so overwhelmed with what was in the bag
that he didn't have time to look at any one item in detail. Now he had some
white cotton rugby shorts, now a pair of thin polyester football shorts. He
seemed a bit overwhelmed judging by the sounds he was making. Brendan was
too preoccupied with looking at this bum cheeks going up and down to notice
too much what he was holding in his hands. Then he took out a pair of
cricket trousers. Pure white with matching polo shirt. He put them over his
shoulder and rooted in the bag for a pair of white briefs to match. He
wasn't disappointed. There they were in a pack of three. It said aged 7 to
10 years on the packet but that was just a detail. He was going to look
just so cool in his all white outfit. He was going to be irresistible! Then
he noticed the red shorts. He could see 'Manch' on the side of them in
black. Could these be what he thought they were? He grabbed them and a top
came out with them. Holding it up to the light, and letting the cricket
whites fall to the clean floor Little Paddy McGinty - the much neglected
son of Maggie McGinty, star of every back seat in the town - was holding up
the football strip of Manchester United football team (size small). This
was beyond his imaginings. He would never have thought that he could wear
something like this. He had never even met anyone who could afford such a
strip. He would be the pride of his peers. If he'd had any.

	Brendan was standing with his back against the wall - just admiring
and basking in the happiness of the boy. It was not unpleasant in his mind
for the boy to be the focus of such intense professional
surveillance. Suddenly the boy turned sharply towards him and beamed! That
face just opened!

"Oh Mr Brendan! This is just so fantastic! I can't believe it. Can I try
them on now?"  "Well you have to try them all on now. What you don't want
or doesn't fit you I'll have to bring back. If they fit you sure you can
keep them."  The plan was of course that the boy would make sure everything
fit him - even if it didn't.

"I just have to put this on now" said Paddy already lowering his shorts
revealing his way too tight little briefs.  "Try wearing the red underpants
with the shorts Paddy. Red under red huh?"

      Paddy rushed at Brendan and presented him with the strip and the
shorts. He immediately turned back to the bag and found the little red
briefs. Without the least bit of self-consciousness he lowered the little
white undies he was wearing now and took them off, leaving them on the
ground. The man saw where they had landed and had every intention of taking
them home with him.
       He was now totally naked except for his old trainers. He couldn't
feel Brendan feasting on his body.  His eyes fixed firmly on the firm
football player's two round bum cheeks, perhaps one of the devil's gifts to
him. They were solid. Like two pears. From the back it was possible to see
how Paddy's chest tapered in at the waist and then went out again as the
buttocks expanded. Sheer bliss representing hours of fun if he played his
cards right. The young teenager bent over quite deliberately and started to
put on the little pair of red bikini briefs. He took longer than he
should. He had no idea the passions he stirred in the man. When the briefs
were up to his knees he stopped and widened his stand. He was aware now
that he was being watched and he remembered that Brendan had said to him at
lunchtime 'Tease me'. And he was going to start now!  "Let me help you
there" came the voice over his shoulder as the man stood over him, his back
pressing into his body. He could feel the man's belt pressing against his
bottom and the buttons of his red shirt on his back. Two large hands
covered his own and grabbed hold of the sides of the red underwear he had
stopped pulling up. He wanted him to do what he liked. Paddy McGinty wasn't
able to keep two thoughts together without one of them getting pushed
out. He was enjoying the thoughts of his new football gear too much to be
concerned with a handsome man helping him out. So he let go of his
underwear and allowed the man to pull them up. Which he did. Slowly and
with great concentration. He could feel the material - such as there was in
these undies - rubbing against his smooth thighs in little jerking
motions. The man was resting his chin on his shoulder and breathing in to
his ear. It was quite relaxing. He couldn't believe his luck! Speech for
the moment was unnecessary.

      Finally the little briefs reached his arse cheeks. Brendan pulled the
waist band out to accommodate Paddy's rather round plump cheeks. The
elastic pressed against the skin and excited the boy. The passing of the
material sent a signal straight to his cock and it was now as hard as
nails. And he didn't mind at all. It was hard most of the time anyway so he
could hardly tell when it wasn't.
      When he had the back of his undies smoothed over his beautiful pair
of smooth cheeks he moved his thumbs around the elastic to the interesting
front pouch which contained the boy's just as interesting balls and
cock. Brendan hadn't seen them in plain sight yet and was interested to see
and feel what was being offered to him. And he wasn't disappointed. He
stretched the front of the little red undies out, looked over the boy's
shoulder and down into the crotch. There was a much better sight waiting
for him down there than he had anticipated. Brendan, despite twenty years
of coaching cricket and under 16 rugby teams had very little direct
experience of seeing young teenagers naked. He rarely hung around the
dressing rooms. Here was his chance for some direct observation and
contact. He slipped his right hand over the boy's chest, down his smooth
stomach and immediately grabbed hold of his penis. It was hard. Rock
hard. The boy's hands, holding his new football strip which Brendan had
given back to him, were at his sides to give Brendan better access. When he
grabbed it, Paddy's lengthy cock was found to be more than the width of
Brendan's hand.  And he had big hands! That was good news at least. As he
looked down into the undies and saw the lovely pink head of the boy's penis
sticking out, dripping that lovely clear honey from the slit, the man just
noticed the slight amount of soft red hair at the base of his penis rubbing
softly against his thumb. It was like a small forest fire!

      Having passed the penis inspection with the crows crowing in the
silence of the evening sun, Brendan moved down to the boy's balls. They
were big. Bigger than he expected. After releasing the penis he moved his
hand directly under the balls and held both of them in his large hand. He
held them gently and, with his long middle finger he started to mildly feel
the soft white skin covering them. ~They were delightful too. A bonus. They
were also hanging low. They had descended some time ago by the feel of
them. How productive were they he wondered? He hoped for a good pair of
gushers with a fast recovery rate. Only time would tell. He could hear the
boy breathing now and his cock was jerking to the beat of his heart. The
clear honey was running down the underside of his penis and onto his
hand. He wanted to taste it but was satisfied playing gently with the young
teenager's balls and along that erotic no-man's land between balls and
bum. That was totally smooth and it was obvious the boy's erogenous
zone. He had never been touched there before - or anywhere else either -
and probably never even knew it existed. He did now.  Brendan slowly
tickled him there which brought a lovely smile to the boy's face. He had
his eyes closed and had relaxed into Brendan's arms.

      	This was not the place for lovemaking. He wanted the boy's first
time to be in much more salubrious surroundings so he would remember it
with fondness in later years. He suddenly removed his hand from the boy's
personal possessions, opening Paddy's eyes with a start. He was beginning
to drift into a place between sexual arousal and sleep. Brendan's cock was
rubbing harder and harder against those two lovely mounds of his arse. He
was bound to feel it. If he did, he wasn't backing away. He took his hands
out of the little red undies, which were now quite stretched beyond their
limit, and pulled them up by the waist band.
      "You've a lot to offer down there son! Very nice. Do you mind me
playing with it?"
      "If you want to" the boy replied. He didn't know how to respond. He
just wanted him to continue but wasn't used to being asked his opinion on
anything - even if it was his own body.

      They were looking at one another in the mirror over the sink; Brendan
towering over the young teen.  There was no shyness in the boy's face
anyway - possibly some in Brendan's.
      "Is that all though? Are we finished? I didn't cum yet! Do you want
me to wank for you Mr Brendan? I love wanking."

      Now that was a more interesting line of conversation. Brendan surely
liked his erotic conversations when he could get them and there seemed to
be no hesitation with the boy. Not many benefits to being raised by the
village bicycle but that seemed to be one of them - free and easy sex talk.

      "Nothing would please me more sweetheart, than to see you wanking to
your heart's content" - he was now running his fingers through the boy's
lovely long soft red hair - "but not here. Not now. I want you to enjoy
yourself. Taking your time. Cumming as much as you like. But not with Breda
on the other side of that toilet door son." (And did he say 'son'? Had
Paddy heard correctly?)

      The very word 'Breda' brought the real world back though. They had
seemed to be in a fog where the world couldn't see them. One woman's name
was enough to blow all that fog away.......they were now exposed. The boy
visibly tensed - largely in anticipation of another belt on the back of the
neck from Breda for wasting time in the toilet block like she did this
morning. Child nurturing was an uncomplicated business back then. Black and
white but more black than white with the McGoverns.

      "Never worry about Breda while I'm around, do you hear?" He was
staring into the mirror and directly into the boy's eyes.  "She just looks
hard and bitter but...." Brendan stopped mid-sentence. Actually now that he
thought about it - Breda actually was hard and bitter! He'd try a different
approach.

      "Just do what she asks of you and you'll be fine. We go back a long
way. Just do what she asks. I'll do the rest. Why do you're think you're
working tonight?"

      The boy's face looked disconcerted. He had never thought about that -
well he never thought about much above the hips really. Two thoughts took
up a lot of space and energy anyway and there were a lot of men's zips to
look at and Spiderman's outfit wasn't getting any looser either.

      He was tickled though that Mr Brendan had something to do with
it. Really delighted.
      "Well you can't stand there all night in your little red bikini
briefs as much as I'd like you to. Take them off for me and let's try on
something else. What about these lovely rugby shorts?"

      "Can I try on the white football shorts first? Please?" pleaded Paddy
looking into the mirror with that pixie face.
      "Anything that makes you happy Paddy" replied Brendan a little
disappointed really. He had a lot of erotic memories tied up with rugby
shorts from when he was the boy's age and he really wanted to try a few
ideas out with him later on. For now he desperately wanted to see what he
would look like in them but the lad was so willing that he let it go.

      "Just match the briefs with the shorts though. That's a little
fashion tip there for you son. You want to look attractive don't you?"
smiled Brendan into the mirror.

      Suddenly the boy was on the move! He pressed against Brendan's cock
which was still at his bum and reached down to the bag at his feet to
search for the football shorts. In bending down he made the little red
briefs ride up the crack of his arse and exposed more of those two lovely
cheeks to the man. Over whelmed by lust and testosterone, Brendan couldn't
contain himself, grabbed one of the boy's cheeks and gave it a hard loud
spank. The boy didn't even move. He continued to rummage in the bag. He
seemed to be unconcerned at being spanked. Brendan's cock got awfully hard,
harder than the remembered it being in a long time and he was wearing very
tight jeans so it had nowhere for it to go.

      Pushed by instinct again, he grabbed hold of the legs of the boy's
underwear and pushed them between those two beautiful firm mounds of his
ass. He jiggled them a little; they were like a birthday jelly shaking when
someone moves the table. When the cheeks had settled down he stood slightly
to the side of Paddy, admired the view briefly, raised his large farmer's
hand and brought it down sharply on the boy's bottom. He heard a
giggle. Then a laugh. He didn't stand up but opened his legs a little
wider. An invitation if ever there was one! And so he began. First one
cheek. Slap! Waited for it to stop wobbling, then the next.  Then the first
again and back to the second. Lots of giggling. Someone was enjoying
himself. Someone was leading a man down a path he had never been down
before.

      After six spanks Brendan stopped. He was worried Breda would hear him
if she was out and about in the forecourt. He was enjoying himself and
slightly worried about it. There was nothing to drown out the noise and a
spanking sound is fairly unique so he couldn't pass it off as something
coming from the cistern.  The boy was showing no distress at all but was
excitedly playing with a tight little pair of white briefs in the bag. He
was searching for unease in a boy whom nothing seemed to trouble. The man
stooped down to Paddy's ear and whispered:

      "Now aren't you the bad boy Paddy McGinty!"

      "Only for you Mr Brendan. I'm always told I'm bad but I'll be
specially bad for you if you want me to be. I think it's more fun being
bad."

      He was standing up slowly with the briefs in his hand. He reached
down and put the leg of the briefs through his towering teen cock so they
were hanging on it like a nail in a wall. He started laughing with one hand
on his chest - the other covering his mouth. He pushed his head
back. Brendan couldn't remember the last time he had heard a boy laugh -
and it was an appealing sound. He hoped he was going to hear a lot more of
it. It was strange seeing the little red undies and the white briefs
together on the one cock! And they still had the bag of clothes to get
through. Time was racing out of the toilet block quicker than a bishop from
a brothel raid. He had to move things along.
      "Listen. You'll be working tonight behind the bar. If you're there,
Breda will stay on the grocery side and go in and out to the siting
room. She also has visitors on Sundays from what I remember. Hopefully some
will be still above ground or at least talking to her. I want you to choose
something you think might go well on you tonight."
      Over whelmed by such a choice of fantastic clothes, Paddy McGinty was
uncertain what to try on next. He was divided though. There was what he
wanted to wear - those shiny little football shorts were calling his name -
or what might please Brendan McIllhattan. It was so rare he ever got to be
in a man's company. Most of his mother's male friends were on the clock or
were pushing him out the door with a bag of toffees. He didn't want to
wreck it and cause this beautiful man to leave him, even though he'd only
met him this morning - but he was trusted by Breda so he wasn't going to
hurt him. He reached out for the cricket whites but was stopped sharply by
a hand covering his own.
      "Don't try them on yet. I want you to save those. You can't really
wear cricket whites working at a petrol pump and I don't know what Breda
will think. They're for 'special occasions."
      He said the last two words in a rather conspiratorial tone. A 'just
between us' sort of thing. Paddy had no objection. Although he had never
worn such well-made creamy white clothes before. It looked exciting - if
not quite the right size. Paddy decided to opt for the rugby shorts. He'd
never worn those sort of shorts before and he thought it might be an
experience. He took them out of the bag and held them up. He may have been
wrong but the boy was sure he saw a risqu‚ little motion of the tongue
from the man standing close behind him. Examining the shorts Little McGinty
noticed that they have no inner lining and the legs are quite short and
wide. Must be the way these things are made. He laid them on the sink in
front of him. He bent over again to take the pair of white underpants off
this teenage cock and felt that rock hard lump pressing against his bum
again. It was not distasteful and it was exciting him that he was able to
excite someone like Mr McIllhattan.
      "Don't deny yourself anything. Your joy is my joy now" the man
said. "Try anything."

      Finally reaching down he holds up the little white boy briefs he's
been playing with. They barely fill his hand. How do they make them so
small?
      "Will I wear these then?" he said looking into the mirror to behold
an enthusiastic beaming face looking back at him.
      "The space between your hips is my happiness" was the response,
although it went in one ear and out the other. Must be a poem or
something. Brendan removed the little red briefs which were lodged between
the boy's ample bottom and let them fall to the floor. The boy lifted his
feet and moved them aside. He was now totally naked, bar the trainers, and
totally hard too.

      Brendan was reminded that time was passing and they had been there
nearly 50 minutes. Breda would be asking questions. They had to get
back. They would have lots of time during the week to experiment and test
out the contents of the bag. For now he had to be content with what he had
experienced so far.
      "I'll go back to the bar" he said anxiously. "Just wear what you like
and follow me in - but don't wear the whites" he said pointing to the
cricket gear on the sink top. "That's for later" he winked.
      "Just put the stuff in the bag and bring it in. You can bring it
home."
      He gave Paddy's wonderful pair of bum cheeks a nice hard spank,
kissed his shoulder and went out leaving the adolescent standing in front
of the mirror, erect, holding a little pair of skimpy white briefs.

      'Don't know how I'll get all this in there' he said to himself
looking down at his fairly substantial teen cock bouncing up and down. He
would though. If it unleashed the dark man in Mr Brendan then he liked
it. Mind you, it was unleashing the dark boy in him too. He liked the feel
of the clothes. He wanted to be looked at. To be appreciated and lusted
over - even if it was only for his long cock and beautifully formed bum -
probably the only blessing he inherited from his mother. And it was naughty
too. He wasn't totally an innocent of course. He'd spent 14 years watching
his mother use every trick in the book to keep men desiring her. If that
meant a chest that was gasping for air in a tight blouse well so be it. A
lot of her tricks had been absorbed by the teenager but he hadn't realised
it. He pulled on the lovely white cotton bikini briefs, stood and admired
himself in the mirror and pulled them up higher.
      'Nice!' he said quietly - in case the mice were listening. He could
see the pinkness left behind by that beautiful movie star man. His own
Spiderman. The pink and the white contrasted very well and were pleasing to
his eye.
      He took up the rugby shorts and tried them on - or rather slipped
them on. They had an elastic waist band and come only to beneath his balls
and the very top of his thighs. They were quite loose at the thighs too -
the boy not knowing that rugby players, even young teenagers, generally
have substantial legs. This left him very exposed and he could feel the
evening air swirling round his balls which in itself was a good reason to
wear them. There was a red tee shirt which he squeezed into but couldn't
tuck into the shorts as it was too short. He found a red pair of rugby
socks which came up to his knees. He thought he looked the business - even
if his family jewels were on show in the little briefs. Brendan wanted it
so that was it.  Filling the bag with the other clothes he picked it up and
marched out the door taking the key with him.
      Miss Fitt would be calling later on as was her custom these
days. Miss Fitt was a successful alcoholic of independent means. The means
being semi-derelict houses she rented out to social welfare tenants at
ridiculous rents. She spent the profits on vodka and Poitin which she
purchased from Breda's shop being too pissed to drive into the town most of
the time. Poitin was illegal unsurprisingly being Irish moonshine and
liable to collapse your liver in no time but killed all known germs - and
possibly some of the unknown ones too. Breda had a side-line in illicit
Poitin. She had an underground network of mostly elderly ladies who knew
how to brew up a batch from potatoes when the quarter rent was due. It was
no surprise that the customers were also elderly ladies - Miss Fitt being
one of the more important. The woman had been a close friend of Breda for
more than 60 years and recognised a kindred spirit when they saw one. Most
people remarked, rather unkindly, that they were like two survivors of the
Titanic hanging on to each other in case they went under.
      Miss Fitt usually arrived around 7 in the evening. Breda anticipated
a sale of her illegal brew and went to redeem a bottle from her bedroom, a
sanctuary unlikely to be breached by anyone local. She decided to close the
small window overlooking the back yard in case she forgot later on when her
own tasting of the devil's brew took hold. Hearing a strange noise from
outside she stood still. In between a gap when the crows were taking a
cigarette break she again heard a familiar sound. A long distance sound. A
sound going back to her youth. A sound more familiar to her brother than
herself. It was the sound of when he was spanked or leathered by her father
for some misdemeanour or other. These were usually set up by Breda just to
get back at him for being born male and being born at all. She had taken a
dislike to him early on and managed to get most of her pranks blamed on
him. She, being a girl, would never lie. She stood on her toes and looked
in the direction of the toilets where she sensed the noise was coming
from. Slap! Three times now. Through the open window in the out building
she could see a rather pert bottom leaning over and into a bag. To the
side, a rather large hand at the end of a red shirt and black jacket
slapping away at the two wobbling cheeks.

      "Interesting!" she said to herself, closing the window and
curtain. "Very interesting."