The promise of a possible Irish tryst comes true among the hills and valleys of the Emerald Isle.

Never believe the hype, right? I know this for a fact as I work for a PR firm. I can spin gold out of straw and make the mundane sound magical. But in this case, I really wanted to believe. Against my better judgment, I’d listened to Becky, my travel-agent girlfriend, who had sold me Ireland as an emerald wonderland of nonstop cock cheerfully provided by a local population of handsome young bucks.

Well, she hadn’t lied about the color. Ireland was green, all right.

“Oh, those Irish studs,” she’d said one afternoon, smiling over the brim of her café au lait. “I tell you, Denise, I’d hop out of one bed in the morning, and before it was suppertime, some new randy lad... Read More