Gay erotic short stories with explicit language. Seven stories written in celebration of the Irish-American holiday of St. Patrick's Day (not necessarily for the Irish), they range from encounters with leprechauns to adventures that could only happen to the Irish!
Following is an excerpt from "The Leprechaun's Gold:"
The Irish air was the sort that could only come in early spring, filled with the greens of freshly sprouted grass, the verdancy of the trees with their new-born leaves, the birds were busily staking out the territories where they would find their mates and build their nests. Soon, the trees would be filled with freshly-laid bird eggs! He could hear the songs in the trees, the many birds chirping and trilling and...what was that?
Martin stopped and held his breath, cocked an ear carefully. Who was that singing?
“Oh, the shoemaker’s hammer goes rap-rap-rap!
“The shoes he makes go tap-tap-tap!
“The gold they bring goes clink-clink-clink!
“Fills my pot o’ gold to the brink-brink-brink!”
A leprechaun? Martin marveled. Surely it couldn’t really be a leprechaun! Could Martin really be so lucky as to have found a leprechaun at last? But that thin, reedy voice, what else could it be?
“Steal up softly upon him.” he told himself. “He’ll be over in that set of bushes, he will. If I can but snatch the cap from him, he cannot vanish away, and will be forced to grant me a wish.” And what man wouldn’t wish for the leprechaun’s pot of gold? With that much money, he could finally live the life he wanted, instead of that house filled with rags and broken pots that his mother kept filled with scraps. He was tired of scraps!
The singing kept up, and Martin was as careful and quiet as he could be. He crept up, quiet as a mouse. There was the leprechaun, working away on his shoes. Leprechauns used up a lot of shoes, what with their all-night dances, any leprechaun would wear out ten pairs of shoes in a night. So plenty of them lined their pockets with cobbling shoes.
A small man sitting at a cobbler’s bench, the shoe in front of him. His little hammer was going tink-tink-tink-tink-tink as he hammered in the minuscule nails into the sole. It was delicate work even for his little size, and he was so intent on his work that Martin got up very close. The leprechaun’s hat was hanging on a flower stalk near him. Martin inched closer, closer....
And the leprechaun saw him, turned, snatched the hat, put it on his head, and poof!
Martin blinked from the flash of light...and the clearing was empty.
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