Date: Sun, 23 Jun 2013 16:37:46 -0400
From: MICHAEL SOROS <bursa1994@gmx.com>
Subject: Breda's Little Helper Chapter 7

From the last chapter:

The Cinematograph Emporium was the official title of the one dingy cinema
which graced the town of Ballykillferrit. It had seen much better days.  It
had seen Breda in a pair of dancing shoes with a brick in her handbag in
case any of the young men got frisky on a Friday at the Ballroom of Romance
night. That was before it was bought and transformed - on a budget mind you
- into a cinema for about 300 souls with no television or transport to
anywhere decent. By the time blockbusters reached the cinema the hairstyles
had gone out of fashion and some of the stars too. Nobody minded much
though. Apart from the ubiquitous gangs of kids who lived in it at weekends
the only adults who used it were courting couples and the girls 'who
might'. They were the ones who didn't have their bra straps welded shut - a
rare find in a rural town at the time. Before its transformation Breda and
Miss Fitt had spent many a night waltzing round the floor in their youth
carefully supervised by Breda's younger brother Donal McGovern. And it was
to this man that the town and its courting couples turned when looking for
someone to blame for hasty marriages and a stuffed orphanage. He was still
alive when Ernie was 40 and lusting after Little Paddy McGinty. He was even
more alive when a horny fourteen year old Ernie was brought into the
welcome embrace of the Emporium on its notorious Tuesday afternoon
showings.

Breda's Brother Donal McGovern some 40 years before the arrival of Paddy
McGinty to Ballykillferrit.  Donal McGovern, on hearing at age 16 that
Breda was to inherit the shop, bar and petrol pump left Ballykillferrit in
a huff and a boat and made his way to London seeking to make his fortune or
at the very least, a living. Not being particularly skilled in anything his
dream of idleness quickly began to fade - as did his magnificent hurling
figure. He realised too that his jet black hair, blue eyes, pale skin and
banter were in fact far greater assets than a school diploma - as indeed
was his meaty ass, pumped to perfection from years of chasing a small ball
at top speed up and down a playing field. He had liked the strong male
comradery 'all boys together' that hurling encouraged -'always be at
another man's back' - a frequent refrain, but he never saw the connection
between always being around men and teenagers and never having a
girlfriend, nor having the least desire to have one. His failure to find
work that didn't involve actual work lead to a crisis in his finances. The
few pounds of his inheritance given to him by Breda quickly dissipated. As
luck would have it, he was out strolling one afternoon in a local park in a
quite salubrious part of North London. Some minor functionary or other had
decided to leave a certain quiet portion of it grow wild and labelled it
'Nature Reserve'. Over the years it became the reserve of those of a very
different nature altogether. Donal McGovern was certainly suspicious a the
number of men who just happened to be strolling and taking air -
disappearing into the undergrowth and over growth at regular
intervals. Under normal circumstance she would have felt his pockets to
confirm that his money was safe. Under present circumstances he didn't have
to bother as he didn't have any. He was slightly amused by the same two or
three relatively young men that would follow him when he wasn't looking -
when he did look they would feign to be admiring a beautiful clump of grass
or the paint on a park bench. Donal wasn't dumb - he had inherited his
sister's sharpness and it hit him that he was being stalked. He couldn't
figure that out because the stalkers were better dressed than he was - it
should have been the other way round!

One of the men, who looked quite old to him, possibly nearly 40 and who
could jump into deaths carriage at any moment - made his heart flutter a
little. He kept looking at him and wanted to look at him more closely. He
was tall, well built, wide hips. It was the hips which attracted the boy's
attention. Good hips meant good butts in his experience of hurlers. But in
this instance the teenager's eyes were drawn to what was going on below the
man's waist line. He was obviously fiddling about with himself and trying
to draw the lad's attention to what he had hidden in there. Donal was
curious. And boned. And tired. Walking wasn't all it was cracked up to be
and nature reserves were just full of greenery. Chatting to the tall man
might pass an hour or two until tea time. Looking back one last time he
glimpsed the man disappear into a clump of thick bushes and trees. He
decided to follow him. He was a healthy, fit sporting lad so he could make
a run for it if anything untoward should happen. He could handle himself.
He had to having Breda as a sister.

When he entered the bushes he quickly realised that he was standing on well
trodden turf. The ground was flattened from much use and the tree at the
centre of the surrounding bushes provided a sheltering canopy from the
elements and the eyes of passers by. The tall attractive man, who didn't
look half as near death up close as he did from a distance - was leaning,
with seasoned experience, against the tree. He had unzipped and was slowly
stroking a lovely piece of male flesh which Donal wanted to see a bit
closer up because he'd never had the chance to play with any of his hurling
mates in any meaningful way. He approached the man in the hope of a close
encounter of the furtive kind and was met with a flat palm in his face.

"œ5 and not a penny more!" he said.

"Oh I don't think so" replied Donal picturing the dirty hanky in his
trouser pocket without money for company. If he did have a fiver it might
have been a small price to pay for access to that lovely piece of male
meat.

"OK then 10 pounds. You drive a hard bargain!" and with that, leaving his
throbbing member standing erect in the afternoon air, he reached into his
pocket and held out the money. Donal thought it was to be the other way
round!

The man was offering him money to do what he wanted to do anyway! Seemed
like a good business arrangement - one with which his sister would no doubt
concur. Anyway, down to business and down on his knees he went. He stared
at that very first thick throbbing man's cock, opened widely and sucked it
into his generous mouth and sucked for all the 10 pounds he was worth - but
not for long. He had only just got started when he felt a fierce pulsing
fill his mouth and an odd taste fill the back of his throat. He sucked and
swallowed rapidly, releasing the still rock hard cock from the grip of his
mouth.

"That was great son" came the polite English accent.

"Do you come here often?"

"Well I do now!" was the enthusiastic response.

And he did. Daily and nightly. Over that summer he perfected his
cocksucking skills to great financial rewards and wishing to move to a
better rooming house extended his services below his belt and obliged his
patrons with his own Vaseline. He could handle himself if one of his
gentlemen got overly randy and looked for something he was not prepared to
pay for. So he had no problems there. He was even able to send home money
to Breda which was used to put electricity into the shop and buy a nice big
piece of radio furniture with integrated record player. Much admired by the
folks in Ballykillferrit. Donal never did ever get to see it or dance to
any music that came out of it on Sunday evenings. The thought of getting a
real job never really crossed his mind as no job with his qualifications
could pay him what he considered himself worth. He continued along these
lines for the next 10 years building up quite a clientele and bank
balance. You can save up quite a lot living on cum and chips. At the grand
age of 26 and the best of him behind him, Donal took a client up on an
offer to invest in a notorious cinema in central London which had a
reputation for being a congregating place for 'that sort'. It was opposite
a main rail terminal so it attracted a rather broad clientele. He had been
sucking off the owner for the best part of a year before he was invited to
'learn the projectionist trade'. The truth was that the owner/manager much
valued Donal's beautiful butt and spending so much money shagging it that
it would work out cheaper for him to employ the lad where he could have
access to his talents and the young man would have access to as many of the
cinema's patrons as he could handle. Seemed like a fair deal. And it was
mutually beneficial to both parties.

Over the years his involvement and share ownership of the cinema - no films
with bright light or snow storms were ever shown - increased, as did his
skills and desirability. The money was a bonus for what he would have been
doing of his own will anyway so he still continued to pass his afternoons
off allowing the gentlemen of greater London enjoy his hospitality, mouth
and arse. He still received a gratuity from the more grateful members of
the audience.

After moving into management in his thirties, he eventually sold his share
in the cinema and moved back to his old home town, carefully avoiding
Breda's domain. In the centre of the town he had a dancehall converted into
a cinema (The Cinematograph Emporium) which was much loved by the town's
courting couples and even more appreciated over time by that section of
male society not catered for by the local bars - particularly on Tuesday
afternoons : Market Day.

To those increasing number of readers who are unfamiliar with Market Day in
a farming town suffice it to say that it brings together in one place the
world and all its peoples - within a 15 mile radius or so. It was
predominantly male - farmers, labourers and those associated with farm
business. It was held in the open air with various types of animals for
sale depending on the time of year. They weren't the only living things on
sale either by the way. There was no such person as a gay man in rural
towns at that time only bachelors 'waiting for the right woman to come
along' - and a fair few young men to fill the gap while they were
waiting.......

"Now there's a fine pair of balls on that one, wouldn't you say? You'll
need two hands to hold them beauties. Packed they are! When he shoots it's
like a fireman's hose"

Some of the farmers or labourers with skill in this area would reach out
and inspect what was obvious in front of them. Two enormous balls of a
prize bull hanging like two melons from an enormous sack. And they were
impressive enough. Unsurprisingly the bull had no objection to having an
experienced hand - or hands if the market was crowded - roam about and
inspect what was on offer.

"And will he cover many cows then?" was a common enquiry.

"Can't get enough of it. Day and night Sir. After one weekend with him
you'll have doubled your herd!"

And the banter would continue with the price much argued over and finally
settled with a handshake and a spit.

There were however variations on this banter entered into at the Tuesday
Farmers Market which only the initiated could possibly understand. The son
of the bull's owner, possibly the young Ernest Grabsby, would linger over
the size of the bull's balls and his fertility a lot longer than polite
society would deem necessary. If the enquirer showed no aversion to this
line of conversation, indeed prolonged it, it was understood that they were
no longer talking about the sexual availability of the bull at all.

"And if I didn't want use of bull for a weekend but just a short time,
possibly an afternoon, would that be possible?"

"Oh indeed it would" was the prompt response if the farmer looked like a
good bet and was easy on the eye. To the casual observer the bull was still
the object of the conversation but of course to both parties the balls in
question were now those of the boy with the bull which, although not as
impressive as the two on display, could give them a run for their money and
whose contents were available in the afternoon in the balcony seats of the
local cinema. It was this cinema which Ernest was introduced to 2 years ago
by a casual labourer who got tired of his constant demands for sexual
favours. He was part of the furniture on a Tuesday afternoon. And he wasn't
alone either. It was a magnet for any cock hungry country dweller for miles
around. This service was facilitated by the aforementioned Donal McGovern -
the much estranged brother of Breda McGovern, employer of Little Paddy
McGinty.

 Molly Tuttle had a food problem. Two hands and one mouth basically. She
told anyone that came close enough to her that it was caused by her glands
but most people knew it was caused by pies, pints and pizzas. Nobody said
anything to her face (and there was enough of that to talk to as well). She
was to be found six days a week wedged in the Box Office of the cinema
dishing out the tickets. The positive benefits for cinema goers -
especially the Tuesday crowed - were that she could never leave the booth
to follow anyone or check their ages from across the foyer. 24 stairs up to
the balcony had never seen the soles of her extra wide shoes either.

"They just make ladies shoes so dainty in Ireland. I have to get mine from
a catalogue" she'd say. A man's catalogue is what she didn't say. The one
and only full time usher, Phil McCavity, doubled as a part time prostitute
and came highly recommended to Donal McGovern from his previous place of
employment in a London cinema. He had left that job under a cloud and a
warrant. Not many men had shoulder pads sewn into the knees of their
uniform. He was largely passed his sell-by date and glad of a job - even if
he had to bring his cocksucking talents to a largely unsophisticated
clientele in the balcony of the Ballykillferrit Cinematograph Emporium. He
had the men's toilets looking immaculate though which wasn't surprising as
it doubled as his office. This combination of staff was much appreciated by
the Tuesday Afternoon Market crowd and the weekend evening courting
couples. Light bulbs took forever to be replaced when they blew and served
as a cover for the men who blew in the auditorium too. Dinny always pleaded
vertigo or a bad back interchangeably when finally asked to change them by
Donal - usually following a complaint from some poor unfortunate who went
on her ear in the dark after missing a step. It was into this atmosphere
that Ernest Grabsby, a delicate fourteen year old with a voracious
awakening appetite was introduced by the labourer in order to give himself
a break. The result was as expected. Ernie took to it like a priest to
whiskey and built up quite a following in the balcony on a Tuesday
afternoon. He believed that he saw that same desire and awakening in the
eyes and body of Little Paddy McGinty and he had every intention of
bringing the boy along. The boy seemed receptive to his subtle suggestions
and he had planned to seduce him that same Sunday evening he was working in
Breda's bar. Everyone knew that Breda had a fondness for Poitin on a Sunday
night so she wouldn't be about. Drunk or sober she missed little and she
had heard from her brother enough stories about Ernie as boy and man that
meant he could never argue with her. The other obstacle was that do gooder
Brendan McIllhattan. They were polar opposites. They knew of each other but
had never known each other and could barely occupy the same room. He hoped
that he wouldn't be at the bar that night. He was preparing himself for a
night of seduction but things didn't go quite to plan......