Date: Sun, 25 Aug 2013 15:39:09 -0400
From: MICHAEL SOROS <bursa1994@gmx.com>
Subject: Breda's Little Helper Part 8

Breda's Little Helper. Part 8

Disclaimer. The characters in this tale never existed. They are the fruit
of my imagination. The town will be found on no map.


Monday: The morning after the night before.

'And that was the Kilfenora Quartet Experience with their version of 'Ma
the Horse fell in the ditch again'. Later this evening join us for our
documentary: 'Shirley Temple: The Dark Side'.

Click

'About time someone cottoned on to her! Too sweet to be wholesome' mumbled
Breda to herself having just switched off the radio to make a return to the
shop. She'd heard the bell ring and instinct carried her in that direction
before she even thought about it. At the moment she felt that Shirley
Temple was possibly tap dancing across her frontal lobes with a bit more
effort than she ought. She didn't think that she'd had too much Poitin to
drink last night - not more than usual anyway and put the after effects in
her head down to a small piece of cheese she'd eaten with it. Probably gone
off.  Pulling the curtain separating hallway and shop aside - all done with
a dramatic flourish - she perked up eyeing the familiar frame of Brendan
McIllhattan. She'd last seen him yesterday night bring the boy home after
his stint behind the bar. She was amazed he could stand up but then that's
why he drove home. Too drunk to walk.

"Well Brendan. Is it yourself that's in it?" she said rather exaggeratedly
- possibly the side effects of the alcohol.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon. He's outside you know. Did you
see him?"

"Indeed I did" he replied.

 In fact he was the first thing his eye fell on when he drove in. But he
wasn't expected to work again until Thursday afternoon so Brendan was
delighted when he saw the familiar figure perched under his mop of blazing
red hair; legs open wide on a chair outside. He was carefully reading a
superhero comic of some description, passing his eye over the carefully
chiselled thighs of Superman and hoping to see signs of something he
shouldn't. But he'd still run his finger over the crotch - hoping.  He was
wearing white tight football shorts that had proved very popular the night
before and revealed a lot more than the darker ones he was wearing behind
the bar. He had waved to Paddy but headed straight for the shop - a little
worse for wear himself. He really couldn't face an embarrassing erection at
the moment as his trousers were light and loose and there was nowhere for
his cock to go.

When he pushed open the door the bell as usual sounded. The shop was empty
but he expected nothing more. But it was brighter. Bigger looking. Turning
to his left he saw that the shelves which had formerly stood there,
blocking the window, had been shifted to the back of the shop. Many of the
signs that had been stuck to the windows for years had also been scraped
off. They had advertised products that were no longer available or at least
came with major health warnings these days.

'Ranazol. Killing all known sarcoptic mange mites in sheep' being the one
he remembered from when he was a schoolboy. Not very encouraging having
that by the fridge. Normally the sun, when it did shine in between the
showers, had a lazy fight with the gloom within and more often than not
gave in and settled a few feet in from the door. Today it had obviously won
a major battle and filled the shop entirely.

"Do you know what Brendan? He's a keeper! The first time I said eyes on the
mop of red hair and that winning smile I said to myself 'Breda' I said '
That one's for the keeping. He's a worker with a heart after my own!"

"You have a heart?" is what he wanted to say but just nodded sagaciously
and said nothing.  Bang!  The sound of Breda's hand coming down hard on the
counter.

"God forgive me Brendan but I'm too soft. It'll be my downfall. Me and
Princess Margaret - often mentioned in the same breath! He turned up here
this morning at ten o clock 'Reporting for duty'. I told him he wasn't due
back until Thursday afternoon. And do you know what he said to me Brendan?

She had removed a hanky from her wrap round overall at this stage and
started wiping her eyes with it supporting her emotionally charged body by
leaning with the other hand on the counter.

"Sure I'll work for comics and a dinner Ms McGovern. And I can help with
the bar work too".

"How could I refuse those pleading eyes of an angel Brendan? I was moved to
my very foundations!"  Sniff. Sniff.

"And you'll be paying him of course?"

The sniff sniff stopped as suddenly as it had started. Putting both hands
across her chest with the dry hanky still grasped tightly she peered across
at him - and he stared back.

"I blush for you Brendan McIllhattan - I blush! Tainting a charitable deed
with common commerce.  Lowering the tone of the conversation with petty
money concerns! Tut tut tut" she replied wagging a finger in his direction.

"But you will pay him? You won't take advantage?"

"Ten to ten daily. Meals included. Comics in the box and he can keep his
tips. I'm not running an orphanage here" came the rather brusque response
from Breda.

"He made three pounds last night in tips alone and there were only six
people in the place"!

She knew of course that the boy could make a lot more than that if he
weren't so naive. But she wasn't. One of Breda's many good blessings was a
robust constitution and perfect senses. She could see a penny between two
floor boards - and wouldn't leave it there. In between Liberace tinkling on
the record player and updates on the misfortunes of others delivered by
Miss Fitt, Breda would pop out into the hallway and cast a cold eye over
the bar and shop just to see how the lad was getting on. Instinctively she
trusted him - she didn't think money was of any interest to him except to
buy luxuries like food and comics. She could hear everything said in the
gloomy bar last night, even the quiet whispers. She wondered why there were
periods of silence from time to time.  With both ears sucking up the room
and an eagle right eye peering through the curtains, she quickly learned
what was able to silence the six men at the bar. She also knew what was
able to stun her present visitor into silence too.

"That reminds me Mr McIllhattan. Your 'photography' magazines arrived
morning. I'll just pop back in and get them for you." The emphasis was
placed on the word photography the way you would emphasise standing on a
hard beetle.  And, like a magician's assistant, she disappeared behind the
curtain.

The previous night had started well. Breda and Miss Fitt had receded to the
drawing room with Liberace and some 'liquid refreshments' in the form of a
bottle of freshly distilled Poitin made from potatoes.

'Sure it's practically a health drink Miss Fitt'

He had the boy's presence all to himself and didn't anticipate many
customers arriving. He was wrong there though. The boy had allowed Brendan
to see what he was keeping tucked away in his tight little shorts. It was
his way of keeping the man interested and near him. Without once removing
his eyes from the curtain separating Breda from the shop he had lowered the
shorts and allowed Brendan to see him in his tight pair of red bikini
briefs. It certainly stopped him drinking the porter but not drinking in
the beautiful slim, smooth teenage skin of Paddy McGinty. Paddy's erection
was too uncomfortable to keep in those little briefs and he had released it
in an enticing manner letting the tiny undies settle below his perfectly
formed smooth pink bottom - two half- moons of soft delight.  He was being
unmerciful in what he was doing to the man by displaying so deliberately
his oversized, pert bottom. Brendan had to consciously remember to
breathe. He could hear his own heartbeat. He'd been waiting all day for
this to happen and Liberace was tinkling in the background caressing his
ears.

Without looking at the man at all, Paddy started to move his hand up and
down his rock hard pink cock. It wasn't going to last long. He knew
that. He was too excited to last. He could feel the eyes caress his
skin. He wondered why exposing to Brendan that alluring cleft between the
roundness of his cheeks excited him.

 With one hand ever faster wanking and the other running over his little
erect nipples, the boy shot three very high speed spurts of boy juice over
the bottles of stout below the counter. When he came down from his orgasmic
high he continued to stand there on display to his very own movie star -
his living version of Batman. He wanted to be admired even after his
orgasm. He wanted to give Brendan something to gladden his heart - and this
seemed to be what most excited him and froze him to the spot.

It was still early evening when Brendan found himself alone with the young
teen. Truth be told, he didn't really know where to go from here. They were
separated by the bar counter and someone could walk in at any moment so
realistically what could they do? Surprisingly Brendan wasn't too disturbed
being so near yet so far. He had really found the boy's lustful behaviour
thrilling and it made him as horny as he'd been in a long time. He had to
adjust himself a few times to settle his engorged erection. He knew it
couldn't last and expected the boy, now post orgasm, to tidy himself up and
start working. But he didn't ...... He let the very tight shorts slip down
his hairless football legs and cast them aside. With the evening sun dimly
shining through the shop front window, the slim boy stood there with his
red T shirt not making contact with the elastic of his little red
briefs. In fact the back of his undies only went part of the way up as the
fullness of his bum pushed the material out. It was a sight that kept the
man rock hard. Bending over suddenly, allowing Brendan a full view of his
little undies clad bottom, the red head started rummaging about in the
sports bag he'd received from the man earlier. He wasn't even sure what it
contained as he didn't have time to look in it carefully enough earlier on.
Brendan knew exactly what it contained. The bag contained the most erotic
of his underwear and shorts collection taken from his makeshift photo
studio up at the farm. He'd collected it from shops, locker rooms and
friends and had put it to good use on willing models he came across over
the years.

At that time very few people in rural Ireland had cameras and even if they
did they were reluctant to waste developing costs on kids. The offer to
have your son photographed formally was not an opportunity many an Irish
mother was prepared to let pass by lightly. The photographs presented to
the mother were invariably of high quality and in formal dress. The cost to
the boy was a set of photos that would never be seen outside the room. They
were invariably of the boy in various stages of undress or just in their
underwear, erect or soft, posing. He got them to wear uniforms he'd
collected - tennis shorts, football gear, cricket whites, scouts or
military uniforms from the days of school regiments. Rarely were any of the
boys naked - which he found somewhat distasteful. The bigger the better
though. He always got the boys to ejaculate for him - at their leisure and
in whatever way they wished - but he always insisted on cleaning them up
afterwards.

While these reminiscences were slowly parading through his mind he was
called back to himself by the sudden presence of the boy beside him at the
other side of the counter. He had put a small pile of the underwear from
the bag in front of him. Brendan recognised every piece and who it had
belonged to.

"Which one will I wear for you Mister?" came the grinning face opposite
him.  He was passing his hand through the small pile and licking his licks
unconsciously. He couldn't believe his luck . He was going to have so much
fun in his bedroom later on trying all these on and catching himself in the
full length mirror on the back of the door. His mother wouldn't be back
until the early hours of the morning.

"Keep the little red ones you have on you now sweetheart - but put on the
red football shorts in the bag. You'll look swell in those."

And he did of course. He would do anything he was asked to do knowing he
was wanted. Without any hesitation he gathered up the small pile of undies
and put them back in the bag. Searching quickly - with his bottom firmly in
Brendan's view he found the little pair of red shorts. 26 inch waist the
label read.

"They'll do nicely" he said under his breath and put them on as erotically
as he could. Once again because of his footballers thighs and his rounder
than average bottom it was a bit of a chore getting them up and over his
ass cheeks. But he managed - with a little encouragement from an admirer
across the bar counter.

"There you go babes! " he whispered. "Push your arse out and bend over
slightly and then just pull them up quickly"

And up and over they came. The back came over quick and almost covered his
cheeks but when he stood up straight, with a firm erection on display he
knew it would be difficult getting the front pulled up and everything
tucked in.

As with the last pair of shorts, the material on these little red ones
failed to cover his outstanding young bottom completely and left the lower
part of his cheeks exposed just below the red undies which could be clearly
seen too. The tightness and the fact that he could feel the air caressing
his butt was keeping him hard. It always did. He was lucky in that his
mother's neglect and self- absorption meant that she rarely bought him
clothes that fit. They were mainly cast offs from her sisters' families. He
never asked for new underwear and was happy with the pairs he had which
were getting tighter and tighter as he started growing and entering
puberty. They were riding up his bum faster than the Lone Ranger and he
liked the way they left the bottom of his cheeks exposed.  He was glad that
he had found someone who could appreciate them.

Putting the bag back under the counter he stood up and stretched himself,
wilfully letting the red tee shirt ride up his smooth stomach and exposing
his shorts to the best effect. He gave a rather artificial yawn, scratched
his arse and came over to Brendan. Every time he looked at the man's face
his stomach knotted. For once he was tongue tied. He generally had the gift
of the gab picked up from listening to his mother's partners, but when he
looked into Brendan's perfectly proportioned face, with those eyes and
partly protruding teeth , he felt he was back in the living room watching
all those black and white films his mother indulged in.

'Oh if you'd one like him you'd never walk straight Paddy' she'd say
distractedly while blowing a kiss at Montgomery Clift. Little Paddy felt
he'd found his own piece of Hollywood at Breda's place.  Because he wasn't
sure of what to say, and afraid he'd wreck things if he did say anything he
thought it best if he just conveyed his thoughts and desires in gestures
and movement. If he was exciting the man then he'd deep doing it - but only
out of Breda's gaze. He didn't want to embarrass her or cause her to be
shocked.

"I'll bring you home tonight after work. Is that ok with you?" Brendan
asked him.

Ok with him? OMG! He'd be in a fantastic car with a beautiful man and all
he had to do was nod. So he did - while staring straight into those eyes
and putting his hand on the front of his bulging shorts.  Nothing else was
said nor needed to be. He knew Breda would turf the drinkers out of the bar
about half past ten so she could go to bed. Nobody would argue with her
unless they wanted a cracked skull from the bang of a frying pan.

Bang!

Both boy and man were startled from their lust and looked across the room
to the source of the disturbance. It was Breda of course. How did she move
so quickly and silently? And did her image show up in a mirror?

"Short arse, come over here a minute" she grunted, pointing an index finger
at Paddy.

 Lifting up the counter top he ran across the darkening room and stood in
front of her. She'd noticed he'd changed his shorts. She didn't say
anything but darted a look at Brendan who was now looking a bit sheepish.

"And what's that on your shoes" enquired Breda with a long bony index
finger pointing down at Paddy's foot. Innocent as he was he followed the
direction of the finger and looked at the white liquid on his trainers.

Whack!!

"Ouch!" he said sharply, raising his hand to the back of his neck which had
just been slapped by an experienced hand.

"Dope. That's just payment on account. I'm sure you've been up to something
but I don't know what. Now get that fat arse of yours back behind the bar
and keep the customers happy and spending. I'm not paying you to do
nothing."

Actually she wasn't paying him at all. That thought usually followed
quickly on the first one but never in reverse. And so began Paddy McGinty's
first night as bar assistant at Breda's place.


Later on that same night.


Brendan pulled in a short distance past the cottage which passed as a home
for the McGintys. All was dark. There were no lights on in the cottage but
that was to be expected - his mother would be getting warmed up around now
down in the town and getting ready for an afterwards at some nightclub. The
country lane was in darkness too with lights confined to the main road -
and that sparingly. What would you want to see at that hour of the night
anyway? Stopping the engine Brendan turned to his left and stared into the
eyes of Paddy McGinty looking back. He had placed his hands behind his
neck, pretending that the last belt he had received from Breda still hurt
him. His tee shirt consequently rose up just above his belly button. When
his eyes adjusted to the darkness Brendan's gaze first went there. He liked
what he saw. But he liked even more the boy's crotch which was very
prominently displayed as the shorts had risen right up his smooth thighs so
they looked just liked underwear from this position. The boy had an
erection that was clear even on a dark night and he was aware the man could
see it because he was pushing himself as far back as he could on the car
seat. Brendan couldn't complain though as he was in exactly the same
situation except he was just that bit more uncomfortable. There was now an
embarrassing silence. The man had never been in such a situation before -
well not with a teenager this young and forward. He'd used his large
spacious car as a sort of mobile passion wagon over the years as a lot of
his pickups had been casuals - from public toilets and parks - so he knew
the routine to a tee. But the boy didn't really fill the car seat, he was
more cradled by it. Just looking at the sight was enough for now. Of course
he was really too tired and drunk to do anything worthwhile, that was the
frustrating thing about it. He had drunk a lot tonight, more than usual
anyway because he had to have something in front of him at the bar and he
wanted to spend the whole evening in the boy's company. He was fighting the
grasp of sleep and he was sure he was having little micro sleeps too. In
later years of course driving under this much alcohol would be unheard of
except for celebrities and High Court Judges. At this time however it was
the accepted wisdom that if you were too drunk to walk you took the
car. The boy of course was as sober as a cat. And frisky too by the way he
opened his legs slowly to allow his hard bulge to show itself in the
restricted light. And why wouldn't he be horny?  He had spent the last four
hours in the presence of six salivating men with nothing but lecherous
thoughts playing disastrously with their lose morals. None of them could
concentrate on their drinking or their conversation which for an Irishman
was practically unknown in Breda's Bar. All eyes were on that smooth skin,
those full round arsecheeks with the shorts riding up between the crack at
the back.

The policeman who had joined the assembly earlier on found those lips for
too inviting for their own good and he didn't think lusting after that
mouth and imagining what it could be taught to do was going to do his scout
class tomorrow night any good. And his trousers were the property of the
State too, now all stained with oozing pre-cum. The Corrigan cousins had
the boy sandwiched between them in their revelries but it was Ernest
Grabsby's thoughts which were way off the scale: there was nothing he
wasn't prepared to teach the boy given the opportunity. Except for that
damned do-gooder Brendan McIllhatten standing in the way. The boy knew he
was having an effect on all of them and played to the gallery making sure
his shorts were constantly hitched up to display his crotch and reveal the
elastic of his little red undies at the back. The downside of this was that
he couldn't wank behind the bar. And he really wanted to.


Without thought the man turned to face the boy and placed his right hand on
the soft smooth leg of the lad who had opened them as wide as he
could. There was nothing but silence and darkness with the light of the
moon seeping through the windows allowing some visibility. Brendan thought
the light on the boy's legs like snow on rolling hills. He ran his fingers
lightly up and down the inviting leg nearest to him, right to the hem of
the shorts. His fingers found their way up the opening and lightly grazed
the balls paced tightly into the briefs. But he was losing a battle with
sleep. Paddy was getting ready to drop the shorts by lifting his plump
little bottom off the car seat he felt the man remove his hand. Next he
could smell the Guinness as Brendan placed the hand on his shoulder and
leaned over to whisper into his ear:

"I'm too far gone sweetheart to enjoy anything. I want you to have a good
time the first time. Not in a car seat. Not like this."

Paddy felt a great disappointment fill his smooth chest and had the
immediate fire of youth that he was being rejected. He was enjoying
everything. He was also desperate to jerk off. His balls were as full as
they could be after the night he'd just had. How could he just be left like
this? This was just....

ZZZZZZZZ

The man had fallen asleep on his shoulder! He didn't know whether to laugh
or cry. He'd heard his mother talk about some of her men 'friends' that
this happened to and already it was happening to him. He shook Brendan by
the shoulder. He immediately woke up and scratched his head.

"Have to go lovely".

Paddy liked that. The lips of the man, without warning, lowered themselves
and landed on the young teen's fruitful lips. He instinctively closed them,
which didn't stop Brendan almost sucking them in his mouth.

"Don't worry honey. I'll teach you how to kiss...and not just lips!"  He
laughed to himself. Paddy couldn't see his eyes in the dark but he could
feel his hand returning to the front of his shorts and rubbing his rock
hard cock.

"Try save it for tomorrow so. Tomorrow."

Brendan bent over the boy who thought he was going to snuggle into his
crotch..... but he didn't. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door.

"I'll come down for you tomorrow. I'll make it up to you. Just be down at
Breda's in the morning".

With that, Paddy sadly got out of the car, closed the door and stood
there. The car rather crookedly drove off up the narrow lane. So, in the
silence of the night, under a half moon stood the dejected form of our
fourteen year old hero, soft in heart, hard in shorts. The thought did
briefly cross his mind to return to the bar to see if any of the others
were still there but he knew that would be foolish as both he and Brendan
were unceremoniously dumped out the door of the shop with Breda's footprint
on his arse. There would be no one there . He could wank in bed. But there
was still tomorrow. Dark thoughts were a stranger to the boy and rarely
could settle long in this head - it was too full of life for that.

Entering his little bedroom Paddy dropped his tight shorts and climbed in
between the cold sheets.  He pulled down the little undies below his balls
to give his lovely pink cock room to breathe. He let the back of his briefs
go below his wide bottom because the feel of them kept him horny. They were
very wet. He'd had an evening of pre-cum dribbling into them. It didn't
bother him. He was used to it but he really would have preferred the man's
wet briefs in his fingers. Tomorrow. What would happen tomorrow? Without a
thought he took out an old grey vest he used for mopping up his frequent
wankings. It was a bit smelly now but it would do. He lay it across his
belly, opened his legs wide and prepared for a long, slow wank. He loved
it. And he knew the man loved watching him do it too. His loss tonight
anyway. He put his fist around the hard stem and started to jerk it
roughly. He was boiling. He lowered his little briefs a bit more to let his
balls move about more. The feel of them swaying and hitting against his
thighs turned him on no end. But he really wanted to see and hold the man's
balls not his own. He wanted to let the man see them swaying as he wanked
and he would get to do that tomorrow. His thoughts went immediately to
sex. Sex in a dark, sheltered place.


The rapid pumping of his cock without any lubrication was based on his
experience of pumping water from an outdoor well or unblocking a drain. The
harder he pumped the more he became aroused - possibly because his cock and
balls were swaying about so much. He had few images to dwell over because
he had only ever seen underwear catalogues in the sports shop in the
town. He had seen a few well-worn pages torn from porn magazines brought
into school by one of his class mates with English connections but it was
only of women in various states of degrading poses. Paddy couldn't
understand why women would stoop so low - and why men wouldn't. He'd
certainly like to see Mr Brendan in a few of those degrading poses. That's
who his thoughts kept coming back to - but he had never seen the man naked
although he knew he had a substantial cock with a good pair of balls. He
wanted to see him naked, or almost naked anyway. The man was always dressed
in skimpy white underwear in his masturbation fantasies.  Without the man
even touching him he knew he could explode. He really wanted to see how
lovely his big sportsman arse would look - with and without underwear - and
what exactly would they do if they touched? Paddy reckoned there was a lot
of fun times to be had if he could get access to those beautiful full arse
cheeks which stretched Brendan's full bottom out so much. How would it
feel? Was it hard like his? Soft? Smooth?  He wanted to know. Needed to
know really. Needed to feel them, play with them, watch those big balls
swaying about from side to side under that thick hard cock. And how much
would be spunk?  What he do with it?


That was as far as his thoughts would go. He was too horny to last
long. His toes curled, his legs parted and he felt his bum hole contract
with the strength of his orgasm. Then everything went numb. He must have
passed out briefly because when he came round his teen cock was totally
soft but messy with his cum juices.  The vest was saturated - more so than
usual - and felt cold to the touch. He rolled it up, wiped his cock as best
he could and threw it under the bed. He'd wash it tomorrow. All was quiet
in the cottage. He wondered if he should start again. He never had a
problem with a second orgasm. It was the third in a row that could be a bit
tiring but immediately his thoughts went to Brendan and how he like to see
him jerking off.  He wanted to do it for him. The third time would be
easier knowing he was being watched by that tall, dark man. No. He would
save it up until the morning. It was back to Breda's shop in the
morning. He felt he belonged there. He was certainly at home in the
place. He was wanted - by the men anyway even if Breda never gave the
impression he was anything but a spare part and costing her money. He was
learning to stay out of arms reach as she had such experienced ways of
deceiving the boy into thinking she was sharing a confidence - pointing to
a light bulb and saying

"Do you see that son?"

As soon as he got it in his line of sight he'd get a slap on his neck.

"That's payment on account. Get back to work Redser." Then she'd laugh out
loud.


For an old woman she could nearly lift him off the ground with the belt -
much stronger than his mother ever could. But she used to slap his bottom
rather than his neck. It was the most obvious place as it was substantial
enough for a boy, round and filling . She stopped one year when she saw him
grab the front of his shorts to rearrange his erection. He never minded his
spankings but they didn't happen anymore and he sort of missed them. It was
one more erotic longing that Brendan had woken up inside him when he
spanked him in the toilets. He wanted more of that. But would he have to be
naughty to get spanked - be rude to the man? He didn't want to do that, but
how else could he get him to play with his hot little bottom? He was
getting hard again. He let his cock go, turned over in the bed and went to
sleep - the thoughts of Brendan's hands squeezing his two full mounds of
boy flesh while he leaned over a chair.



Earlier on with the evening closing in and five men propped up in the bar
the bell on the door went.  All eyes turned reluctantly away from Paddy
McGinty's beautiful curvy body to see who it was. The door frame was well
filled out with the broad shoulders of Garda Kevin Dowling, former soldier
in the Irish Army and cocksucker to the platoon or desperate -whoever came
first. He wasn't long in the town having been transferred from the capital
to the relative backwater of the town as a result of an indiscretion with a
male prostitute. As he was sleeping with the local detective at the time it
wasn't such a big deal but he had to be moved to keep his record clean.
The town only had one police car and that was in use by his superior who
was helping his sister move house. As it was a quiet Sunday evening he
thought he'd take the official police bicycle and cycle out to McGovern's
store for a secret quiet pint out of the watchful gaze of the locals. He
wouldn't really be needed until chucking out time later on tonight so he
felt it best to fill in the time constructively. He also liked the old doll
who owned the place. She was a bit intimidating alright but she always gave
him free drink.  She also knew every family in the town - seed, breed and
generation so that helped him get some background to who was who in the
town. Sunday evenings were usually quiet with maybe three customers. He
could see immediately that Breda wasn't there and the bar was full with
five men, four of which he knew and could guess at their inclinations
because they weren't too far off his own.


Walking up to the bar he took off his helmet and placed it on the
counter. He was a tall, broad man, well-muscled from boxing in the
army. Pleasantly attractive he'd never had trouble getting his fill of men
nor his men filled. Looking over the counter his eyes fell immediately on
the attractive inviting body of Little Paddy McGinty. Casting a quick
professional eye over that firm little body the garda decided he'd play it
cool and show scant interest - which wouldn't be far from the truth. He
wouldn't have said no if it were offered but he wasn't prepared to chase
after a redhead. He found red hair to his dislike and the boy's head looked
like it was on fire. He'd give this one a miss.  Anyway, he was in the
process of reorganising the town's scout troop having recently collected
the new scout uniforms from Durkan's sports shop in the town. The shorts
had been ordered from Germany and just to his liking - tight and just below
the crotch and bum cheeks to keep him hard during the drearier parts of the
instruction classes.


As a prominent citizen of the town of Ballykillferrit (meaning sober most
of the time and wearing a uniform) he felt it his duty to the town to help
the scout troop, elbowing out the pensioner formerly in charge of it. He
wasn't going to be deprived of 35 teenage boys in skimpy tight shorts twice
a week. And he had yet to get involved with the outdoor physical activities
which would require rather less clothes than regulations provided. He just
had to preface every dubious request with 'in the army' and he had 35 eager
boys thinking they were practically men. He had insisted that the scouts
change in the changing room to show respect to the uniform and this allowed
him to see the boy's semi-naked in their little briefs crammed in together
with him in the middle.

"Don't mind me boys. We're all equal in the scouts" he'd say while pressing
up against anyone who happened to be squeezing past. They didn't mind. They
thought he was a god. Most of their fathers had lost the battle with
gravity years ago so it was such a change for them to see what the male
body was actually supposed to look like. They all wanted to be him.

"A new bar man I see" he said. "What's your name then?"

"Paddy McGinty" he said proudly already pulling a pint.

 He'd been forewarned by Breda to give him what he wanted and ask for
nothing - it was always good to have something on the police - like
drinking on duty - should the need arise in future. She had also told him
to do whatever the man asked of him. She'd heard some things from her
customers and felt that the boy might be something else she could have over
him.

"He can get a bit over friendly" she'd warned him, with a rather hard grasp
of this shoulder.

"Don't let me down son or you'll be out on your arse quicker than a bishop
from a brothel raid. If he gets too frisky just come in the back room. I'll
be in the back with Glenn Miller and his orchestra."  Paddy had never seen
the room but thought it must be quite large to get that many people in
there.

"Your mother isn't Maggie McGinty of the Ballykillferrit McGintys is she?"
he enquired.

"Yes" he replied avoiding the policeman's eyes. He could feel the man's
eyes on his crotch. It was hard from just the smell of the uniform.

"Should have known. Like mother like son." he thought to himself. Now he
knew why this lot were here.

Tune in next time readers when we find out what Brendan has learned from
his photography magazines and how Paddy finds he has a talent for the
camera. The Corrigan cousins think they have a secret but don't and Breda
turns charitable. Sort of.