An Irish experience

Thursday 17th July 1986

The drive across the centre of Ireland was a revelation to me. I hadn’t expected such a backwoods environment. The roads were barely paved between some villages though every village had a church and a public bar. The style of Ireland hit me early on during my ride with the very bright eyed and eager Noel.  It was easy to notice that every town and village had two place names. Noel explained to me that many had an Anglicised name of the original Gaelic name and that some names where what the old English landlords and their Irish dupes, had given the names which more often or not had no link to the area.

As much as I tried to get Noel to talk about Ireland during our journey be was full of the action the previous nights. His first rimming both as receiver and giver and his discovery that nipples were sensitive and somehow wired to his balls seemed totally occupy his head and he was constantly asking if we could do it again that night in the hotel that had been booked. I liked the guy and his eagerness and wanted to give him a great treat by really heavily filling his sexy backside. Fortunately, I had a few condoms with me, something that was shockingly banned in the Catholic Republic of Ireland, and I was determined to use some of them on Noel.

We stopped in a town called Nenagh, which was nothing to write home about except for its castle, a ruin with a rounded central turret, and not much else of interest. We’d parked outside a small café in the town and I’d picked up my cassette tape recorder to sit down and to speak some notes of my impressions of the journey so far from Dublin. I had excused myself from Noel for a few minutes after we had ordered some food and drinks as was recording my thoughts in Italian and French when we were approached by a middle-aged man who insisted in a very broad Irish accent by asking me what I was doing? Noel explained that I was a Swiss Radio journalist visiting Ireland to find out about the Irish popular music scene. The guy seemed to be satisfied with the answer and disappeared out of the café. I completed my thoughts just as the food and drink arrived and I’d hardly swallowed the first bite of the food when the Irish guy returned to the café with an elderly priest in tow.

“Dat’s der stranger der father”, he announced pointing at me. There was no greeting and I was asked by the priest what I was doing in Nenagh.  

Noel let out a huge sigh.

“Minding my own business”. I told the priest rather haughtily. I was getting rather tired of nosey priests.

“What were yer saying into the tape recorder yer’ll be telling me”, the vicar was demanding.

“Minding my own business”, I told the interfering old man.

“And that business is”?

Nearly shouting, and wanting to eat in some peace with the now timid Noel, I told him

“My business and nothing to do with you”. I was close to using some very choice words.

“We’ll find out about that sure enough to be sure”, the priest told the café in general and he turned to the middle-aged man and told him to “Fetch the Gardai”.

Inside I was fuming. The was nothing polite about the priest. He hadn’t even introduced himself, or offered his hand in greeting. He just entered the café determined to interrogate me.

Noel now had no interest in his food but I was determined to eat, even if it was not in peace. The café owner a meek and mousey sort of woman came over and spoke in Gaelic to the priest in a subdued manner but was seemingly brushed aside briskly by the elderly so-called man of God.

Noel whispered across to me. “They’re getting the Police”.

“Let them”, I said out loud so that all could hear me “I’ve done nothing wrong and committed no crimes”. Then I let out a stream of rapid Italian, making it sound as dramatic and angry as I could, surprising everyone in the now full café. Word had got out throughout the small town and everyone had wanted to see what was going on between the priest and myself. I was taller than the religious man and a much bigger build and I was standing above the old man and jabbing my finger right in his face. Something I was sure he’d never experienced before.

I was still ranting in Italian when the Gardai arrived, and I turned on him, explaining in Italian that I had done nothing wrong, committed no crime and had received no friendly greeting from the priest nor any favourable welcome contrary to what we generally perceived in Europe and in Switzerland to be the norm in friendly Ireland. I even pulled out my Swiss passport and thrust under the astonished policemen’s face and shouted out in Italian that I wanted the Swiss ambassador to Ireland here in his town to report what was happening. I was pointing to the priest, calling him every name under the sun that I could think of

I threw in words like “Ambasciata, Diplomatico, Ambasciatore, Console.” Embassy, Diplomatic, Ambassador and Consul, very loudly, knowing very well that they were words that sounded very similar in English and Italian. I was in fact sounding more southern Italian in temperament rather than the more placid Ticinese, the Swiss Italian half that am.

The poor policeman didn’t know what had hit him. Noel was looking at me astonished but with an Irish twinkle in his eye. I could tell even through my faux anger that he was enjoying the display.

The old priest was now looking a little concerned. He knew I spoke some English but not that I was fluent being half British. He was talking in the Irish Gaelic to the policeman and I had no idea what he was saying. Noel gave me re-assuring looks.

The policeman approached me talking loudly at me in simple English, asking me what the problem was. Still ranting in Italian, I pointed at the priest saying that I was being accused of something illegal by speaking in my natural tongue into my cassette recorder.

Switching to equally rapid English, I said that I was minding my own business when the priest entered the café like a member of the Gestapo or the KGB, without greeting me or even introducing himself and wanting to know what I’d been saying into my recorder. It was none of his business what I was saying and I had no intention whatever of telling him what I was saying and that I had never encountered such rudeness and that I was going to raise the matter with the Swiss Embassy in Dublin and have an official complaint made to the Irish authorities.

At the mention of the Embassy, the Gardai, told the priest to get out of the café and to go and do some praying pretty fast. The policeman would sort out the problem. Gathering is long cassock the old priest left in a huff.

“Finish your meal and pay up and we’ll forget what has happened won’t we”. The policeman tried to be placatory. I was having nothing of the sort. A protest would be lodged at RTE and at the Irish ministry of Foreign Affairs. I was a Swiss journalist and interpreter on official business in his country was from a friendly country. What had happened was an insult and I’d be making sure what had occurred to be well documented.

The policeman was stunned. It was obvious that he didn’t want the hassle caused by the priest.

“Of course, you and your companion are very welcome here in Nenagh and I apologise for the action of the priest. He does have a very high and mighty attitude”. I accepted the apology from the policeman but told he to keep a watch out from the interfering and high-minded vicar who needed is wings and tongue clipped. I’d be leaving the village and I demanded to know the name and address of the priest’s bishop.

“Well I don’t know about that”. The Gardai was really eager to be rid of me and Noel, who he must have thought was a fellow Swiss.

“You’ll see”. I told the policeman standing up and making to the door. I told the café owner that the priest had ruined my meal and that he could pay and I walked out of the door with Noel to a stunned silence. Nothing like this must had ever happened in Nenagh before. No one had the guts to stand up to the priest. In my head and heart, I hoped that this would be the start of a change in the town.

Back in the car, Noel and I had a huge laugh as we drove towards Limerick.

“I’ve never seen anyone stand up to a father like dat”. He told me.

“No Italian would put up with a man of God interfering like that, and they certainly would not treat a visitor to their town be treated like that. I hope it’s not like that in Limerick and Cork”.

“Limerick is a friendlier city and it even has an unofficial gay bar if you’d like to visit it as we drove on towards Limerick.

I was happier when we arrived and we checked into a decent hotel with rooms next door to each other and a bonus, there was a connecting door.

I sorted out my things, checked my earlier recording from in the café and added a few more notes, and washed.

Noel tapped on the connecting door and I let him in. Immediately he was embracing me and kissing me. “Gawd, I’ve been wantin’ dis all day”. I was happy for the contact too. The priest and the gardai had made me feel dirty and some good male to male contact made me feel much better.

It wasn’t too long before we were naked and hard rolling around on the bed, Noel with his face in my backside and in a sixty nine position offering me his sweet hole to lick and moaning with joy as I titillated his pick anus.

This time I really wanted to fuck him and it proved difficult to get him away from my hole.

“Come on mate”, I urged him, “Give my cock some head too”.

“Yer want me to suck yer”?

“Yes, let’s see how much you can take. You can eat my hole again to make me shoot later”. It was an idea he hadn’t considered. “I also want to fuck you”.

“Yer wanta put all that in my arse”?

I wasn’t going to tell him a yes or no. “If I can get it all in”. and I left my reply like that giving him no chance to object.

We got into some great cock-sucking and body worship. He’d forgotten about nip play and my hard biting of his lovely taut nips brought back the memory to him and soon he was attacking my nips as well.

“How do you want me to fuck you”? I phrased the question as if he was demanding I do it.

He hadn’t thought of it and after a few seconds he told me he’d like me on top. “I want to see yer and yer body”. He told me in his deep Irish accent. “Yer have der rubbers”?

“And the lube”. I reassured him.

“Let’s do it”. And he was on his back, legs in the air holding them with his hands like he had done it hundreds of times before.

Soon I had three fingers twisting around deep in his tightish hole. My cock was bursting with excitement and before too long, I was above him, his white legs now resting on my shoulders and my rubbered cock ready to pierce his hole.

“Aw for fucks sake Mario, get yer cock into my hole and come here and kiss me man”. He was complaining that I was too slow.

I cursed him in Italian and before he could ask what I had said I rammed my cock most of the way into that really tight hole. I push it in so hard that I must have hurt him but he showed no pain and was soon grabbing my head to pull me down to kiss me. We’d kissed before but this was a kiss that defied description. It was full of want and passion. Pulling away and starting to pump into his tight hole he was almost star struck. Urging me on with every stroke and I pushed in deeper and deeper into him and kissing me with more passion. At one point he was almost scratching my back and I had to tell him to jack himself off or work my nips for me. Noel was very apologetic. “Oi’ve never been as excited as I am with you”, and he tightened his hole around my cock and pulled me down for another kiss.

Over the next half hour we changed positions over and over again and soon he was ready to shoot. Sitting down on me and riding me cowboy style he was bouncing himself all the way down to his balls against my groin and furiously wanking his cock.

I was disappointed in how he shot his load. It wasn’t as explosive as I’d hoped or a lot of volume but Noels reaction to shooting was huge, and he was calling out his pleasure. He dropped down against my body and was breathing hard. “Fek, dat was good, Fecking good”.

I was happy but now I wanted more from him.

“How about rimming my hole until I shoot”? His eyes shone.

“To be sure I’ll do dat fer yer. How use like it”?

I volunteered to sit on his face and to shoot all over him.

He became very excited again. “I want to see yer shoot it on me”.

“Sure”. I told him smiling. “And talk to me in yer Italian lingo, it’s so sexy. Tell me how I’m doing”!

“Sdraiati sulla schiena sul letto”.

“Oh wow, what does dat mean”?

“You didn’t ask for a translation”. I smiled at him. “So get down and lie on the bed on your back”.

He obeyed and I sat down on his face as he lapped away at my hole. For someone for whom it was only the second day of rimming and who had never even come across the concept, he was an expert already and what was more, he was enjoying it. I was liking it too, praising him and urging him as I jacked off. He had no idea what I was saying but each time I spoke the urgency of his rimming grew. Then I was close to shooting.

I remembered that he wanted to watch me shoot and I stood up and turned to face him standing above him waving my cock in the air as I felt my balls boil over and gently stroking it to orgasm.

“Fek, you look great”, Noel was excited still and was also jacking on his cock again.

“Lo vuoi”? I looked down at him. “UH Lo vuoi? Si?” I nodded my head. Did he want it? He soon understood.

“Yes” he whispered a little uncertainly.

“Ecco qui. Tutto”, and I shot out my load all over him. Over his chest, and face. He closed his lips tight and shut his eyes as it splattered all over him. He was still jacking himself and speeded up his wrist action and soon afterwards he was shooting a second load, a lot more powerfully that his first load.

“Feckin hell, Fecking hell, Dat’s on hellova lot of jizz”.

He was covered in the stuff and was awkwardly trying to get off the bed without spreading the cum over the sheets. I told him not to worry, his mother wasn’t going to have to wash the bedding, it was the hotels job.

Noel staggered to the shower and was soon cleaning himself up. I followed him afterwards; the shower wasn’t built for two.

We went down town into the city of Limerick. It was bustling even in the mid evening. We found a simple place to eat and Noel took me to the unofficial gay bar. It was busy, and the crowd was very young, mostly student types.

I was aware that I was being noticed by several people, mostly amongst the younger guys. Noel clung to me like I was a rescue buoy at the lake or seaside. I was trying to get him to relax. I wasn’t going to dump him. What I did notice was a difference in the general look of the people. They were subdued, and their build was slight and they looked pallid in complexion and their clothing could not be said to be fashionable in any sense.

I needed him to show me around Limerick and the music scene there and to get me down to Cork to have a look around there as well. I also had use of his body and his newly discovered talented tongue, and I also wanted to see him show off his new gift on another guy.

 

The next day we wandered around the city of Limerick and I was introduced to a couple of self-styled “Impressario’s” who managed a couple of nightclubs in the city and a handful of the local showbands and singers. Strangely they were not interested in the ‘pop’ groups that were popular in Dublin. They all had hopes that they could make a breakthrough in the UK. One of the managers, told me quite openly that he could make a lot of money from the Irish clubs in Scotland and England with his performers especially now that he had banned the priests from his venues. This interested me.

The interference of the church also extended to the Irish venues overseas in the Eastern seaboard of the USA as well as in the UK and even to Australia. “I’ll not have the bastards poke their noses into my business. They can rot in hell as far as I am concerned. Twenty five percent of the business they demand for nothing except stopping my customers from enjoying themselves. They have a far better time here without the nosey safety police telling them what they can and cannot do when spending their hard-earned money enjoying themselves at my venues”. He told me. “And what’s more they tell me so as well”.

I mentioned that I’d had a run in with the clergy both at RTE and even eating and recording my thoughts into my cassette recorder. The guy was decent enough to let me record him and gave me a couple of discs of his bands to play back home in Lugano.

The second manager I spoke to was a lot more guarded and secretive. He’d say nothing about the priests and their influence but had the same attitude to the pop sound in Dublin and the profitability of the Irish bars and clubs outside of the republic, though he’d have nothing to do with the Protestants in Northern Ireland. The Catholics were different.

That night Noel and I went back to the first night club and stayed for a couple of sets and watched the audience dance in an old-fashioned way to the music and I did see that they were enjoying themselves with little care in the world. It was strange watching teenagers and the young in their twenties dancing arm in arm like in a ballroom in the Nineteen fifties and sixties, but I did realise that Ireland was in a different time zone to the rest of Western Europe.

Noel and I went back to the hotel via the gay bar and I tried to get him to relax more than the previous night and I was approached by a couple of the more adventurous customers of the bar, which was interesting.

Back in the hotel, we slept in our connecting rooms, and the next morning we set off south to the second largest city in Ireland, Cork.