The Lucy Leprechaun

The Lucky Leprechaun

This story is about an Irishman, who finds love, loses it, and then must search in Boston for what he lost. There are several sex scenes, but they are secondary to the story telling of his search for love.

Note that several characters speak in an Irish accent. There are some flashbacks which will appear in italics. There is one well-marked POV change near the end of the story.

The story opens in Boston, the day before St. Patrick's Day.

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Chapter 1 - A Visit From My Son

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It was March 16th. A frosty day, not uncommon in Boston. Every time Spring shows its face here in March, it gets slapped silly by Old Man Winter. My son, Johnny, had come to visit me and tell me about a young woman he met on the Internet. They had been exchanging emails and texts and photos, but he knew that kind of relationship could never last, especially since he lives in Florida, and she works at a pub in Dublin, Ireland. He came to me for advice.

We agreed to meet at the pub I own, called the Lucky Leprechaun. It's an old pub, and could easily pass for an Irish pub in a movie set, including dark paneled walls, private wooden booths, a long wooden bar, antique pull handles for the beer and ale, and a glass rail behind the bar stocked with scores of different Irish whiskeys. I waited in 'my booth' until Johnny showed up. I had on my favorite shirt, the iconic Irish grandfather's shirt, reserved for the eldest breadwinner in the family. This one had narrow blue and white stripes, no collar, and plenty of buttons in front.

"Howya Johnny boy! Welcome to my home away from home. I have spent most of my time here since your mother died three years ago. I've been coming here nearly every day for the past 32 years, and the regulars here are my family now."

"I know how much you loved her, Dad. I miss her too."

My life had been completely overturned when Orla unexpectedly died in a car crash three years ago. I was stunned by the loss and wandered aimlessly, without any purpose in life. Then one day, while I was sitting in the Lucky Leprechaun, the owner told me he was thinking of selling. I pulled together Orla's life insurance money and our combined investments, then sold our brownstone. I made him an offer, and he accepted.

Millie, the pert young brown-haired waitress approached us with her usual glowing smile, and in a strong Irish accent asked, "What ken I git ye."

"We'll have two pints of the Black Stuff, Millie!"

"I don't like heavy beers, Dad. Is there something lighter on tap?"

"Millie, this lad here is Johnny, my son. He's visiting me, but his Irish blood is thinning out under the hot Florida sun. Bring him an arf 'n arf instead."

"Coming right up," replied Millie with a wink.

"What's an arf 'n arf", asked Johnny.

"It's kind of like you Johnny, half of it is a good Irish stout, and half of it is a thin lager. Now, tell me more about this woman you're in love with."

Between sips, Johnny started telling me the same things he told me over the phone. I told him to skip over that part and tell me if he really loves her. Johnny replied, "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. So pure and magical. I dream about her every night, and think about her every day."

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Chapter 2 - An Old Friend

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"Hey, Michael!" came an unseen voice.

"Rory! I haven't seen ye face-to-face in donkey's years. Thanks for coming, old friend! This here's me son, John."

"Pleased to meet ye, John."

"Rory used to have the same flaming red hair as yer mother, Johnny, but as you can see, his ginger is fading away with age."

"I heard about yer cancer, Michael. I'm keeping ye in my prayers every night."

Life isn't all unicorns and rainbows. Last fall, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors said with aggressive treatments, I might last 12 months. I could extend the time if I gave up alcohol, but I told the doctor an Irishman would never consider such a preposterous thing.

"Thank ye, Rory."

"One more thing, Michael. I'm good with that thing we talked about yesterday on the phone. Just let me know when."

"Appreciate it, Rory. You're a good friend. Go see Millie at the bar and tell her whatever ye want is on me."

Rory nodded, then went toward the crowded bar, looking for an opening.

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Chapter 3 - Finding Someone to Love

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"Johnny, let me tell ye how I met your mother. It was the fall of 1991. Orla was a graduate student at Boston University and came to Ireland to work on her thesis about the Irish Rebellion of 1798 against the Crown. The Rebellion was inspired by the success of the American and French Revolutions. I was living in County Wexford at the time and several important Rebellion sites are located there. I was also giving tours of the castles to the tourists, and that's when I first saw her."

"Your mom was something back then with her flaming red hair. Every time Orla walked, or even turned her head, her hair would move with her, bouncing and shimmering. She had such incredible clear brown eyes. If ye looked into them ye could see her fiery passion for life. And her eyes weren't even the best part of her face. Her smile was amazing, able to light up a room and melt hearts, and it was matched by a personality that made everyone want to be near her."

"One of the places she wanted to see was the battlefield at Oulart Hill so I drove her there. That's where a mob of Irish patriots ambushed a column of British regular troops and won the first battle of the Rebellion. That got the Crown shaking in their boots."

"After walking over the battlefield, we lay down in the grass. She was perpendicular to me, writing notes in her journal, with her head resting on my stomach. But I didn't mind, as it gave me a perfect profile view of her beautiful face. When she finished writing, we talked about life in Ireland. She told me her family had lived in County Down in Northern Ireland and left for America during the Potato Famine. She also told me she was a Protestant. I cautioned her, that after The Troubles up north, she best not go around saying so in these parts."

I took a sip of Guinness and watched as a dribble of the creamy white foam slid back down inside the half-full glass. My mind became lost in my own story, and I drifted back to the memory of that day, and to that special place.

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Orla turned her head to look at me, then smiled. Then she rolled over onto her side, turning her back to me, before ending up facing my feet. I felt her dainty fingers run over my trousers and brush over my cock. I already had the beginnings of an erection just from watching her. Undoing my zip, her fingers slipped inside my trousers and I gasped. She began rubbing her hand slowly and gently along the length of my shaft, fingers on one side, thumb on the other. As my blood rushed to meet her presence, she wriggled my cock free and out into the sunshine. Unconfined, her fingers curled and squeezed and teased me.

As a devout Catholic, I had never gone this far with a woman. Her fingers danced along my shaft as her thumb traced the base of the head. Shifting slightly, her hand moved away, and it was replaced by her warm soft tongue, moving in semi-circles around the tip of my cock. Her fingers re-entered my trousers, cupping my ball sack. This was all new to me, and I was unsure of what to do. Should I start to thrust into her, or just let her remain in control?

In one smooth motion, she rolled over onto her stomach, taking half my cock into her mouth. Lifting her head, she turned and looked at me. Our eyes met, and she winked at me. She was already well beyond any need to seek my permission, but I smiled in confirmation. Her tongue began licking my shaft, not straight up and down, but rather in constant motion, mixing quick laps with kisses and slow circles. I had never felt anything so wonderful in my life, and precum gushed from me.

She cupped the tip of my penis with her palm, then spread the slippery fluid along my shaft, adding a dribble of her saliva. Her hand stroked up and down, and she owned my cock. Internal pressures mounted, tingles coursed through my whole body, and I yelled to her I was going to erupt. She pulled her head back but kept rubbing with her hand, and strings of white cream jumped into the air, landing on the front of my trousers. Orla slowed her pace, then gripped the base of my cock. Squeezing it tightly, her hand slowly moved up the length of my cock, milking even more white cream from the tip. I watched as it dribbled down her hand.

Orla leaned closer, extended her tongue, and lapped at it, picking up a large glob on the tip of her tongue. Pulling back, she stretched it thinner and thinner, and it grew to several centimeters in length before breaking away. Part of the string snapped back onto my cock, and the rest snapped onto her lips. But she didn't wipe it away. Instead, she extended her tongue and I watched as it began a sensuous rotation over her rose-colored lips as she cleaned everything away.

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Chapter 4 - Searching For a Love Lost

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"Dad! Are you alright?"

I was jolted back to the pub and once again looked at the white foam inside my glass. I stealthily reached my left hand under the table to adjust my erection. And my memories hadn't even gotten to the part where Orla and I had intercourse in the sweet green grass and warm sunshine atop Oulart Hill.

"Just remembering the good times, Johnny. That's what older people do. Now, where was I? Oh yes. I fell in love with Orla right away, and she quickly took to my Irish charms. We spent five wonderful days together, looking at historic sites and enjoying the Irish countryside. I discovered that she also liked the poetry of William Butler Yeats, and we took turns reciting our favorite poems from memory, and laughing at every misquote as we tried to remember his more obscure works."

"But it couldn't last, because Orla needed to return to Boston. We parted, thinking that was the end of it. After she left, I missed her so badly. There was no Internet back then, no cell phones, and no social media. She was completely gone. I finally came to me senses and decided to go look for her. I applied for an immigration visa, but the United States immigration laws were tough back then, making a visa damned near impossible to get. Frustrated, I bought an airline ticket and decided to fly to Boston and take me chances. I got stopped at the airport and immediately put back on a plane to Ireland. After that, I saved up some money and applied for an Irish passport. I finally received my passport near the middle of February, then flew to Boston to look for Orla."

"I knew Orla was a student at BU, but I had no idea where she lived or how to find her. I hung out on campus every day, hoping to spot her, but there were thousands of students passing by. I was frugal, but spent down nearly all my savings, and barely had enough left for a plane ticket back to Ireland. I hadn't eaten in two days, so I came here to the Lucky Leprechaun pub and ordered a big meal along with a couple of pints. I had no way to pay for it, so after eating, I tried to sneak out the front door. Just as I touched the door, a powerful hand grabbed me by the collar and pulled me back. Let me tell ye, when ye get horse-collared, it draws your attention mighty quick."

"The powerful mitt belonged to Big Sean, the owner of the pub. I had no defense. I was trying to cheat him out of a meal. I was scared and expected him to rough me up and dump me out in the back alley with a black eye and a broken nose. But instead, he sat me down, and as he listened to my story something stirred in his heart. He offered me a job cleaning up the place at night, let me eat whatever food was left over in the kitchen that day, and let me sleep on a cot in the back. Most of my work was done at night, which was perfect because it left my days free to search the campus for Orla."

"I finally did find Orla walking the commons and we began dating. I spent every free moment I had with her. I knew she was the one for me, and I hoped the attraction was mutual."

"One night in early March, Orla and I went ice skating at Frog Pond. Orla had taken figure skating lessons when she was young, but this was my first time on ice. The country was in the middle of a fitness craze, and Orla was dressed in warm tights and leg warmers. Along with her sweater and ear muffs, everything was pure white. She twirled and glided gracefully on the ice, so smooth and flowing, almost fairy-like. Her arms would stretch out, not for balance, but instead to convey a story with her hands, much like a ballerina. Meanwhile, I spent most of the night on my arse. I had purchased one of those cheap pocket cameras and had it with me, so I took a picture. Here, let me show you this photo I took of her looking down at me and laughing. I carry it with me all the time now. Ye can see from the smile on her face we had great fun."

"After we finished skating, I brought her here to the Lucky Leprechaun for a couple of hot toddies, and to meet Big Sean. He squeezed himself into this very booth, right where you are sitting, and we swapped stories for over an hour. He had become my mentor and was almost like a father figure for me here in America. He was a great man, Johnny, and I could tell by the way he smiled at Orla, that he approved of me choice."

"St. Patrick's Day was a week away. Big Sean told me Boston went all out on this day, and that 1992 was going to be very special, because the famous Irish band, U2, would be playing at the Old Boston Garden. Orla said it was her favorite band, and that students all over campus were begging for tickets, but none could be found because no one was selling. Think about it. Here was the most famous Irish band, playing in the most famous Irish city in America, playing on the most Famous Irish Day! It was going to be amazing."

"Big Sean excused himself, went behind the bar, and came back with a small envelope. He handed the envelope to me and I opened it. Inside were two tickets to see U2. I couldn't believe it and neither could Orla. Big Sean said one of his regulars had fallen behind on his tab, so he traded in the two tickets to square things up."

"The day finally arrived, and after stopping at the Lucky Leprechaun for corned beef sandwiches, Orla and I went to the Garden. It was chaos outside with a huge crowd of people hoping to find tickets and get in. But only a handful of scalpers had any tickets to sell, and they were asking for an arm and two legs. Orla and I picked our way through the crowd and found our seats. They were great! Loge seats overlooking the stage. Nearly everyone in the audience was dressed in green and Irish flags were draped everywhere. When the band came out the crowd went wild. Both the band and the audience were full of energy. It was loud. it was great. It was fun. And the crowd made U2 do four encores before letting them leave the building."

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Chapter 5 - Climb Highest Mountains

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"Can I git ye gents another round?" asked Millie.

"Another one for me, Millie!" I said.

"I'm good", replied Johnny.

"You remember everything about that night, don't you, Dad?"

"You're right about that, Johnny. All I have left now are memories, and telling stories helps bring Orla back to me, at least for a while. But, let me get this tale going again. After the concert, I brought Orla back here to the pub for some drinks. There was an open microphone for anyone willing to sing, and we heard a mix of good old Irish songs. I had an idea, so I walked up onto that same small stage ye see over there, whispered something to the DJ, and then grabbed the microphone. I was going to sing 'I still haven't found what I'm looking for', by U2. At the concert, Orla's eyes lit up when the lead singer, Bono, sang it and she reached over to hold my hand. I began singing, and a fair number of other people in the pub joined in.

I have climbed highest mountains

I have run through the fields

Only to be with you

Only to be with you

I have run

I have crawled

I have scaled these city walls

These city walls

Only to be with you

"The music suddenly stopped, but the other voices in the pub kept going, singing the next line, 'But I still haven't found what I'm looking for', before tailing off to silence. There were plenty of puzzled looks on their faces. I nodded thanks to the DJ for cutting the music. I stood there on the stage, as scared as I've ever been in me life. But then I found me courage."

"I spoke into the microphone, 'May I have your attention, please? Bono still hasn't found what he's looking for, but I have, and she's sitting right over there at that table. Orla, will you marry me?'"

"I held my breath and my heart stopped beating. Orla looked at me and yelled, 'Yes!. So, as everything turned out, getting collared by Big Sean was the luckiest day in my life, and hearing Orla say yes was the happiest day in my life."

"That's really sweet," said Johnny.

I nodded. "I want you to listen carefully to the words of that song, Johnny. They mean different things to different people, but to me, the meaning is clear. It's about a man who climbs, runs, and crawls so he can be with the woman he loves. Now, compare that to you sending your Irish lass an email. You'll never win her heart that way. It doesn't take any effort and she knows it. It's a man's duty, once he finds the woman of his heart, to pursue her no matter the cost. I walked through hell to find Orla, but it was worth every step of the way. Go to Ireland and find your lass, even if you have to swim all the way across the Atlantic Ocean! Once you get there, and she sees what you did, she'll know how much you love her. If you don't go, it'll be something you regret for the rest of your life."

Johnny replied, "You're right, Da. I've been a fool. I'll start making travel plans tomorrow."

"Before you go, I have a couple more things. Rory has some flats in Dublin that he set up for short-term lettings. He said you're welcome to stay at one with no charge. You won't need a travel visa to Ireland, so ye can just get on a plane and go. And don't worry about a car rental, you'll be in Dublin and a car will be more hassle than it's worth. All ye have to do is pack yer bag and buy yer airline ticket. Here, I want you to have this, too." I reached into my pocket and handed Johnny a check.

"Thank you, Da. Did you already have the check made out?"

"I did. I can be very convincing, Johnny. After all, I convinced your mother to marry me. Now get yerself going!"

Johnny smiled and said, "Thank you for everything, Da."

I watched as Johnny got up and left the pub. It was good to hear Johnny call me 'Da' once again. He had stopped doing it years ago. To us Irish, 'Da' is more than just another name for father. It symbolizes the connection between generations and the passing down of family traditions. The love, laughter, and shared memories of spending time together. It's me taking Johnny to his first game at Fenway Park. Riding the Swan Boats. Walking the Freedom Trail. Taking him to play ice hockey. Showing him how to eat a lobster. And now, helping Johnny find the woman he loves is one of those things a father has to do. I only hoped I had enough time left on this green earth to see Johnny walk her down the aisle.

I took a sip of my Guinness and watched as a dribble of the creamy white foam slid back down inside the half-full glass. My mind once again became lost in my story, and I drifted back to the memory of St. Patrick's Day in 1992.

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After Orla said 'Yes', I went over to our booth and we kissed. She was smiling and crying at the same time. I took her hand and told her how much I loved her. We stayed like this, whispering Yeat's love poems to each other in between our kisses. It got to be right around closing time, but I knew there would be a mess in the kitchen, and I needed to stay to clean up. Big Sean chased the last patrons out and said Orla could stay as long as she wanted and help herself to anything in the bar. After Big Sean left, Orla took me by the hand and we stood.