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 would have swept me off my feet. I’d spend the night riding him raw. I didn’t once stay at an inn.”

“His big shoulders pushed wide her thighs. She felt his breath on her already slick pussy, then the swipe of his tongue.”

Even that day I knew I was being conned, at least a little bit. But Becky painted such a romantic picture it was fun to get caught up in the fantasy. Besides, I was overdue for a vacation, and Ireland had always held a place in my imagination.

“Okay, then,” I said, lifting up my own cup. We were at Becky’s condo. “Who out of this seemingly endless parade of virile, brogue-talking men stands out most in your memory? Who was your best Irish lay?”

Part of me was hoping for a gotcha moment, but the other part really wanted a saucy story from her.

“Sure,” Becky said immediately. “Let me tell you about Eoghan.” She smiled sweetly.

The name was pronounced “Owen,” but she spelled it for me, eyes twinkling. She had met Eoghan right in the middle of her two-week venture across the Irish countryside. She vividly described the scenery, the bucolic green of the hillsides, the brisk weather. For a moment I thought she was stalling, then she proceeded to tell me all about her lover.

He was a tall male, broad of shoulder. A handsome face, but one that had seen exposure to the elements. Strong hands, big-knuckled. His jaw was squarish, flecked with stubble. He wore country clothes that could have come from any time out of the past hundred years — a cloth shirt, boots, suspenders holding up well-traveled corduroy trousers. He even had a cap atop his mop of curly red hair.

With a smirk I asked, “Did central casting send him?” Secretly, I was enthralled by her portrait of a rugged Irishman.

“I pulled up to this tavern,” Becky said. “It was out in the middle of nowhere. Ireland’s got lots of middles of nowhere for such a small country. I was looking for a midday meal, and as I stood there stretching, I noticed this man coming in from an adjacent field.”

He was as Becky had described him. He stepped over a low rock wall and strode up to her, taking off his cap and smiling. He told her the tavern was closed until the evening. She asked where she could get a bite to eat, all the while checking out this latest comely specimen of the Emerald Isle.

With a courtly bow he told her to follow him. He led her toward what she soon realized was a house.

She stopped him. “Oh, I meant a restaurant of some sort.”

His grin was broad. “What you be wantin’ restaurant food for? Fast food tastes the same the world over. Besides, I’d be honored to share my humble table with such a fine lady as yeself.”

I laughed at her imitation of an Irish accent, but I was anxious to know what happened next.

Of course, I knew what was coming — literally, coming. Becky is a vivacious woman, with a fine, curvy figure. She exudes a frank sexuality. Any straight man in his right mind would want her.

This Eoghan evidently wanted her. After serving her a tasty plate of potatoes and fresh eggs, he made his move. Becky found herself sitting on the edge of the sturdy wooden kitchen table, her legs wrapped around the Irishman’s waist as they kissed deeply, passionately. She could feel his tantalizing hardness straining inside the corduroy pants. She herself was flushed with lustful heat.

She tugged his suspenders off his shoulders, then attacked the buttons of his shirt. He shucked her out of her blouse. He pushed up her skirt, delighted to find she wore no panties. Becky’s bare ass rested on the table’s varnished planks. She tore at his trousers and smiled wickedly as she beheld his gloriously erect cock.

He kissed her throat. He worked his way down to her tits, dotting each nipple with a tender peck, then flicking her stiff pink tips with his tongue. She looked down with mounting pleasure as he moved across her abdomen. His big shoulders pushed wide her thighs. She felt his breath on her already slick pussy, then the swipe of his tongue.

Her whole body bucked. He licked her folds with expert precision, taking his time, arousing her properly. She clamped her knees around his muscular shoulders as he feasted on her.

She reached down and grabbed a handful of that wavy red hair. He had zeroed in on her clit and was driving her out of her mind with ecstasy. Her butt bounced on the wood. She ground her pussy against his face, loving the scrape of his stubble. Her flesh seethed with a wild agony of desire.

“Strong shoulders, taut thighs, manly hands. His wet red hair was plastered all over his skull. He had a rugged but attractive face.”

Becky came hard into the man’s mouth. He drank up her juices eagerly.

As she lay limp on the tabletop, he stood up.

“He lifted me by my hips and eased me toward the edge of the table. I lay back, letting it all happen. It was like a dream. I mean, I’d had some good fucks, but this was special. There I was in this rustic kitchen, with this manly Irish farmer sticking his big cock into me. The air was fresh coming through the open windows. I looked up at the ceiling’s hand-carved wood beams.” Becky sighed. “It felt like something out of a steamy romance novel.”

I grinned at her. Her story definitely had piqued my excitement. I halfway felt I was there, like I was the one getting fucked on the Irishman’s table. Becky described the thickness of his dick, how he took his time once again, sliding in and out of her.

He was strong, solidly built, with veins standing out on his oak-hard arms. His big hands gripped the backs of her raised knees. He stroked into her, his handsome face torn into a grimace of pleasure. She felt fresh orgasmic bliss rushing over her. The deep rapture took hold of her, shaking her at her bones, and she cried out.

After, she again lay limp. Again, Eoghan took charge.

This time, to Becky’s delight, he gently turned her over. Her drew her legs over the table’s edge so that her toes dangled to the floor. He moved in behind her. With the side of her face and her hands pressed to the waxy wood tabletop, she gave up another elated cry as she felt his cock again sliding home into her.

As he started to fuck her again, she realized the slow buildup was over. He pounded her now. She felt the sharp spank of his balls against her clit. His large-knuckled hands gripped her around the waist. The slam of his thrusts shook the table underneath her. Her vision was swimming. The air seemed alive with crackling energy.

This semi-hallucinatory euphoria drove her onward, toward what was sure to be a truly shattering orgasm. Her ass quivered. Her fingernails raked the table. Eoghan was hammering into her.

When she felt the splash of his come, her climax ripped through her. She writhed on the table, only staying pinned there by the farmer’s fierce cock as he continued to release his cream inside her.

My coffee had gone cold. I’d been holding the cup the whole while. With a shaky hand, I put it down. My heart was still beating fast.

“Then,” Becky said with a luxuriant shrug, “I thanked him for his hospitality and went on my way. And that was my best Irish lay, Denise.”

I found my voice. “Book me a trip to Ireland,” I told my travel-agent friend.

Ireland was a land of exquisite scenery. But after days of driving around, I had yet to meet a single man to fulfill my erotic fantasies. Mind you, people were very friendly and pleasant, and I was having a fine time, but I felt I was missing out.

On a whim, I took my rental car off the roadway onto a rutted lane, just to see where it went. I got out and walked in the vibrant green countryside, no sign of civilization in any direction.

When I came upon a small natural lake, an impulsive urge seized me. I decided on a swim. No swimsuit? No problem! I shucked my clothes and dove in. The water was bracing, but I swam the length several times, enjoying the exertion, working off some of my frustration.

Not all of it, though. As I emerged, dripping and naked, I felt another urge. I looked around at the empty land. Gingerly, I lay down in the tall grass, put my head back, lifted my knees, and started to finger myself. My eager body responded immediately. Pleasure flowed through me.

The sun was high and warming, but a breeze cooled my wet flesh, hardening my nipples. I delved myself with two fingers. This wasn’t exactly the sexual adventure I’d been looking for, but it was still pretty audacious, masturbating outdoors. As my climax approached, I heard a distant splash. I ignored it, figuring it was a bird landing on the lake.

I cried out, really letting loose, as a great warmth spread outward from my dripping pussy.

Suddenly, there came more splashing, and my half-lidded eyes sprang open wide as a figure appeared. He was wading hurriedly toward the shallow edge of the lake, near where I was. He was looking around with concern, wiping water out of his eyes. Oh, and he was buck-naked, too.

I was low enough in the grass that he didn’t see me right away. If I went to grab my clothes, the movement would have given me away. So I studied him. He had a mouth-watering musculature, but it looked developed from labor rather than gym visits. Strong shoulders, taut thighs, manly hands. His wet red hair was plastered all over his skull. He had a rugged but attractive face.

And his cock hung enticingly …

Finally, an Irish hottie! I was thrilled.

I made a sound, and his eyes shot toward me, going as big as mine had. I didn’t cover up but let him see my wet, recently fingered pussy.

“Oh, uh, um,” he stammered, blushing. “I thought I heard someone crying for help … “

“You did,” I said and gave him a grin.

After a moment, he returned it. At the same time, his cock started to stir. I beckoned him toward me invitingly.

He strode out of the water. Obviously, he’d come to this secluded spot for a skinny-dip of his own. I watched him step up onto the land and come toward the flattened bed of grass where I lay. Water droplets clung to his body, each glowing with the sunlight. I saw the fine hairs on his flat belly, the hard knot of his navel. His forearms and biceps were mapped with veins.

He was about to say something, but I motioned to him to be silent. I wanted this to be a pure experience, unsullied by the kind of phony preliminary talk I’d have to endure if I were still back home. Let me just have my sweet Irish fuck.

I was still sitting. He’d halted several feet away, face filled with wonder, evidently delighted with my body. By now his cock had twitched halfway hard, the crown rolling up his strong thigh. His wet pubic curls glinted with red undertones. Again I gestured, bringing him closer.

When he was near enough, I reached out and took hold of his shaft, which surged instantly into full hardness. He yelped in surprise but didn’t back away. I gave him a few tentative jerks. I moved up onto my knees, aiming that gorgeous cockhead right at my face. A dribble of milky pre-come dotted his tip. I flicked it up with the tip of my tongue, savoring the exquisite tang of salt.

I brought my lips to his staff, letting them hug his thick crown. I swirled him thoroughly with my tongue, feeling his shaft twitch. My hand cupped his damp balls, leaving the way free for my mouth as I started sucking in his length.

The squiggly veins along his upward curving shaft pulsed under my tongue. His girth spread my lips into a familiar cocksucker’s “O.” He tasted of the fresh water of the lake. As I swallowed him down to his hilt, his balls quivered in my gentle grip. His cockhead throbbed in my throat.

Somewhere above he made a groan, accompanied by a single word, which was: “Lass … “

Somehow that excited me as much as anything.

I rode my mouth up and down his delectable cock. I kept up a good suction, cheeks flattened in around his pole. My forehead butted his taut abdomen. I worked his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure. One of his hands fell atop my head, then the other. His fingers slipped in my wet hair, taking a grip. His hips started moving. I grunted encouragement. Soon he was fucking away at my hungry face. I took him to the root with every thrust.

Right at the end, he made some effort to pull away, but I was having none of that. I blew him mercilessly, sucking him deep and hard, and seconds later the first great splash of come filled my mouth. I swallowed avidly, loving the liquid heat of him. He followed with jet after jet. It was bliss. His masculine essence poured down my throat.

Eventually, I lifted my mouth off him, looking up dreamily. I felt a single drizzle of his cream slip down my chin as he gazed down on me with dazed amazement.

I lay back in the grass. He seemed to collect himself, and without any ceremony or words he dropped down onto the ground, on his belly, and elbowed forward until his big shoulders were pushing my thighs apart. His fine face was lit with anticipation as he dropped his mouth on my waiting furrow.

My whole body jumped as his stubble rasped my clean-shaven cleft, but I liked the prickly sensation. He gave my folds a complete licking, and excitement coursed through me. Deep passionate needs awoke. I’d been denied too much. I wanted it all now — the whole carnal experience.

The red-haired stranger pleased me with his nimble tongue. The long grass blew gently around us. Blades of it brushed his back, his ass, as I looked down on his ferocious feasting. I thrust my pussy against his beautiful mouth. He was a real talent.

When he zeroed in on my clit, he was as ruthless as I’d been when he was about to unload. He sucked on my sensitive nub, flicking me tirelessly with his tongue, making moaning snuffling sounds that added to the experience.

I reached down and seized his hair in two fistfuls. I bucked my hips wildly. He only ate me harder. When I slammed my legs tight around his shoulders and started to convulse with pleasure, he lapped up my flowing juices. The sky sparkled overhead. I heard birdsong and the rush of the wind. I shivered through a major orgasm, then fell back limply on the grass.

A handsome face, glistening with the evidence of my own pleasure, loomed above me. I smiled and opened my arms. He lay down on top of me, and I enjoyed the weight of him, the hardness of his muscles. His callused hands fondled my breasts. I wasn’t surprised that his cock was up again. I shifted accommodatingly, and he slotted his rigid shaft into me.

I shook with preparatory pleasure. It had been one thing to have that gorgeous meat in my mouth. But now I really appreciated the healthy size of him. As he filled me, nerve clusters awoke all over my body. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist. With my arms crossed behind his neck, I pulled him down for a deep kiss. I tasted myself on his warm tongue, and he probably won a residual sampling of his own carnal flavor.

He started stroking into me in a hypnotic rhythm.

“I gave him a few tentative jerks. A dribble of pre-come dotted his tip. I flicked it up with the tip of my tongue, savoring the exquisite tang of salt.”

It was transcendent to lie there in those shivering grasses. I felt the vibrant air. I heard the soft lap of the lake water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d fucked outdoors, but this was especially inspiring. I was in a foreign land, surrounded by lush scenery, and I was having a scintillating sexual encounter with a studly local. That makes for a good vacation!

He plowed me deep, not rushing anything. My interior walls gripped him possessively. I streamed with fresh excitement.

By now the sun had dried the water off our flesh. But we were both damp with sweat, with the lovely exertion of our joining. I rocked beneath him, taking up a perfect counter-rhythm to his agile thrusts. The ground made a fine bed, the grass appropriate bedclothes. The high bright sky was the ceiling of our bedchamber.

My lover rose and fell on me. His face twisted with pleasure. I gushed in response. I felt like I’d at last truly plugged into this emerald-hued land, ancient and beautiful, hopeful and mischievous. The cock inside me was that ultimate connection.

I sighed, still utterly aware of the present. He pounded into me. His body writhed, muscles pulling taut. I shook and wriggled, and a profound thunderous joy rapidly gathered up inside me. My tits jounced as he slammed into me.

When he reached his peak once more, elation broke out all through me. A monstrous climax quaked me. I held on desperately to my lover, like he was a rock in a storm. The ecstasy inside me reached an incredible crescendo. He howled as he came, and I joined him, our cries mingling as he emptied into me.

Once we quieted, there were only the sounds of nature — birds and water and wind. It was a peaceful moment of bliss, and I knew this adventure would stay in my memory forever.

We lay awhile together, and eventually started to talk. He acted a little embarrassed, but I put him at ease.

Finally, I asked him what he did.

“I’ve got me a wee farm.”

I traced his square jaw with my fingertips. “I’m Denise. What’s your name?”

He murmured something in his lyrical brogue that sounded like “Owen.”

I blinked and sat up slowly onto an elbow. “Say, darling, would you mind spelling that for me?”