The rain was coming down in torrents, as only it could do in Northern Ireland. Dugan wondered again why he picked March for his first backpacking trip to the land he had dreamed about all his life. The weather this time of year, he had quickly discovered, was between the wet season and the miserably wet season. But here he was, trudging into a tiny village on a dark road late at night, soaking wet, hungry, and feeling sorry for himself.
Finishing college a quarter earlier than planned, he decided to reward himself with the trip he had dreamed about for years, to visit the 'homeland' his grandparents had talked about as long as he could remember. His quick decision to come now had not taken the weather into consideration and as a result he hadn't seen the sun for over a week.
The first couple of days the local folks had been good about picking him up as he trudged along the busier roads, but as he delved deeper into the sparsely populated countryside (and as he quickly began to look like a drowned itinerant) there were fewer and fewer offers of rides. Purely by chance he ended up standing in front of the only business that looked open for the last 5 miles—a dark and dreary looking Murphy's Pub.
Dropping his soaking backpack to the sidewalk, he wiped the rain from his face in a vain attempt to look half-way presentable before pushing the heavy door open and stepping inside. The air was pungent with the smell of stale beer, but the room was warm and he instantly felt better. Looking around for an empty table, he was amazed to see that the place was packed with men loudly enjoying their beer and ignoring him completely. He was about to elbow his way between a couple of elderly men at the bar to try ordering a beer he could drink standing up when a smiling barmaid shuffled up to him.
"Got room for one more?" he asked as she came near.
"Sure thing, Yank. There's room at the back where you can sit if you don't mind sharing a table. I'll pull you a draft and bring it back there in a minute."
Dugan gave her a grateful smile, picked up his pack and headed through the crowd. He could only see one small table that had an empty chair and he stopped before it.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked the young man sitting alone.
"My pleasure, friend. Sit ye down."
Dugan put his pack down and shoved it under the table with his feet before dropping wearily into the chair.
"Thanks. I'm amazed this place is so busy. It must be the only pub for miles around judging by the size of the crowd." He wiped his still wet hand on his jeans and reached out to the man.
"My name's Dugan," he said. "I really appreciate a chance to sit and warm up a little."
"I'm Thom," the man replied as he shook his hand. "You look like a drowned rat—glad to be of help," he smiled.
Dugan stood back up, struggling to remove his wet coat as the barmaid appeared and placed a stein of dark beer on the table before him.
"Here ye go, Yank. Enjoy!"
Dugan stood looking down as she wiped the table in front of him, her blouse widely gaping open to reveal a tantalizing view of a tiny lace bra barely containing her full breasts.
"Thanks. I'm sure I will," he stammered. He couldn't stop himself from blushing, certain that she had caught him peeking down her blouse.
She looked up and smiled warmly at Dugan, obviously not at all offended by his roving eyes.
"I'm Maggie, by the way," she said as she put out her hand and shook his firmly. "How about you, Thom? Think you can keep up with our Yankee friend here?"
Thom chuckled and winked good-naturedly at Dugan. "I'm sure I can keep up with anything you dish out for us, Maggie my dear."
As Maggie finished wiping the table he deliberately reached down and gently patted her ass.
"But perhaps we could just start with another Guinness for now," he grinned.
Maggie headed back toward the bar, turning her head and smiling when she caught Dugan's eyes following her. She winked and playfully exaggerated her walk as she stepped behind the bar.
"Nice ass, don't you think?" Thom chuckled.
Dugan grinned, relieved that his roving eyes hadn't come off as being too loutish.
"Aye, but the view down her blouse was even better. Wow, I thought her nipples were going to pop right out of that little bra. I think she caught me looking—sure hope she didn't mind me checking her out."
"Hell, she'd be disappointed if you hadn't looked," Thom laughed. "She likes the attention and knows what to wear to bring in the good tips."
Dugan took a long drink of his beer, finally feeling the chill in his bones start to thaw in the warm and muggy room. The noise of the men drinking around him was friendly and relaxing and he began to think about his long, wet week coming to an end.
"Hey Yank, cheer up. You look like you've just lost your best friend."
"Sorry, Thom. Didn't mean to go all gloomy on you. I was just thinking that this is my last day in Ireland, I'm wet and I'm cold; I don't have a place to stay tonight and I'll be heading home without really seeing the best of Ireland. I've dreamed about this trip for years and all I've seen is rain."
"Hey, you've seen Maggie's tits!" Thom laughed. "They're amongst the best of Ireland and if it hadn't been for the rain you probably would have missed them, too. So, drink up my friend, and be thankful for small pleasures."
"Well I wouldn't call them small pleasures," Dugan grinned.
He swallowed the last of his drink as he saw Maggie heading their way with two more steins of Guinness.
"But I agree—they certainly were the best I've seen in Ireland."
Dugan watched as Maggie put the beer down in front of them, hoping for another quick view down her blouse. Sure enough, it seemed like she purposely bent toward him while picking up the empty glasses, smiling and winking conspiratorially at Thom as Dugan enjoyed the delightful view he had hoped for.
"Maggie, me love. This poor yank is feeling sorry for himself. What can we do to cheer him up?"
"I think I've just done it," she laughed.
Dugan laughed along with her, relieved to see that she hadn't minded his obvious attention to her breasts.
"Well, perhaps we can offer him a nice warm stay when you get off work," Thom continued. "He hasn't a place to sleep tonight and flies back to the States in the morning. We might be able to show him Irish hospitality is alive and well. What do you think?"
Before she could answer, Dugan blurted out. "Oh my god, I didn't realize you two were a couple. I hope I haven't offended either of you."
"Hell, I'm certainly not offended," Maggie laughed. "And knowing Thom, I suspect he enjoyed teasing you as much as I did."
Maggie winked at her husband, a sly look of understanding passing between them.
"And since I've always had a soft spot for Yankees, I do think showing a poor, lost boy our special hospitality would be delightful."
Thom lifted his stein and clinked Dugan's. They both turned and drank in salute to Maggie, an unspoken agreement now heavy with inuendo.
*
As the evening wore down Maggie had little chance to spend time with Dugan and Thom other than smiling and winking as she passed by or refilling their drinks, her flirtation with Dugan somehow seeming to be more personal than she showed her other customers. Thom chatted constantly, filling him in with stories on how he and Maggie had met, their courtship, some of their youthful exploits and how long they had been married, leaving little doubt that theirs was a relationship that was way more liberal than their Catholic upbringing might have implied.
Dugan was definitely feeling no pain from his Guinness and soon found himself talking about his own life, surprising himself at how comfortable he was with Thom to be able to share information more personal than he had ever shared with a stranger. As their camaraderie grew, Dugan found himself wondering more and more about just what Maggie meant with her promise of special hospitality.
Mostly working men that were used to rising early for work, by 11p.m. the crowd had thinned out until there were only a few full tables left. Thom called the other barmaid over and asked if she could handle the last of their shift alone so Maggie could leave early, telling her that they wanted to take their "American Cousin" home and dry him out. When she graciously agreed, Maggie grabbed her coat and they headed out to the car.
During the 15-minute ride as Thom drove them home from the pub, Maggie sat turned from the front seat to face Dugan as he sat in the back with his pack beside him. She chatted like they were old friends getting caught up after a year apart—asking him about his studies, his trip, his family and if he had a girlfriend—all the while keeping her hand in Thom's lap. Dugan couldn't see exactly what her hand was doing, but was somehow sure it was not just lying there as innocently as it looked from his perspective.
When they pulled into the driveway of a small modest house, Maggie was the first to jump out of the car and rush inside. Thom and Dugan followed close behind and while Dugan dropped his pack in the hallway, Thom began to fiddle with the fireplace, trying to take the chill off the cold room.
"There's a bottle of Jameson's on the kitchen counter, Dugan. Pour us all a healthy glass while I take a quick shower," Maggie ordered as she disappeared into the back room.
"That'll warm us up quicker than that old fireplace."
Dugan went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard for glasses. Taking three out, as he turned to reach for the bottle of whiskey he looked up and caught a glance of Maggie as she ran down the hall to the bathroom, her bare ass peeking delightfully below her towel.
