Harry McLaurn’s Lament, or
The Leprechaun, the Teacher and Bessie Babcock
Part II
by Maximilian Cummings
The former teacher, Harry McLaurn, stood at the stile watching the steadily reducing figure of Bessie Babcock as she walked away down the dusty road. She really was a lovely thing and, despite what had happened, he could scarce believe he knew what lay beneath that gently swinging cotton dress. He most certainly knew and moreover, and that was even stranger, was interested in what lay beneath! He rubbed his moustache. This was so very different from what he had been feeling that morning and so unlike him. What could possibly have happened? It was like magic. Perhaps this was the start of things getting better again. Throwing his coa t rather casually, for him that is, over his shoulder he set off down the road for his cottage, his house in the town.
That evening found Harry McLaurn standing in his bedroom looking at his reflection in the full length wardrobe mirror. This was an unusual thing to do, possibly only something he would have done had he had put his dinner suit, Marcella shirt and black bow tie on for a function. He was not dressed like that now: indeed he was not dressed at all. Perhaps, he was thinking to himself, he did not look too bad, considering; at least, there was no running to fat—though there was no disguising his age. It was very difficult for him to credit what had happened that day. To have been intimate with a woman was quite difficult to contemplate, let alone a young woman and a pretty, comely lass at that. He had never been interested in women—nor in men either for that matter. Oh yes he had wondered if he was... but there had been no feeling there either. He had been indifferent. Yes he liked people, had friends enough but not felt that way about anyone. He had seen how others behaved and had concluded he was asexual. Frankly it had never worried him. What you’ve never had and don’t desire you don’t miss. But now?
Now his mind seemed to turn readily to women and particularly Bessie Babcock. He had been in his bath and as soon as he thought back to the afternoon and her standing all naked and wet by the river up had come his penis, all ready and interested. Now towelled dry he was still erect. He had walked out of the bathroom priapic and stopped to look at himself in the mirror—look at this unaccustomed sight. It was a pity Bessie was not there to help him—she had been so helpful and obliging in the fields and by the river. He smiled and lightly touched his cock. It certainly was firm, something to be proud of at his age perhaps? He turned and looked at his profile. Yes, it would be quite delightful to have Bessie staying the night. They could go out for a meal, perhaps a candlelit table and then, and then imagine what it would be like to have her all cuddled up in bed, warm, cosy and intimate.
Dinner in a restaurant! Tucked up in bed.... what was he thinking of, he was old enough to be her father—grandfather indeed. What would she want with him and what would people in a restaurant think? He pursed his lips; well actually they would think he was treating his daughter or granddaughter to dinner. But the rest—crikey it was only just legal. No, it was mere fantasy to imagine that Bessie might... yet, yet she had asked him where he was walking tomorrow, he began to stroke himself, yes, he would certainly follow the route he had outlined.
Not only did Harry enjoy a solitary wank before sleep but had a wet dream to boot. Neither had happened since he was a lad. No really!
It was another gorgeous day with only a few clouds scudding high up across the sky. There was a certain spring in Harry’s step, though he had hardly been shuffling along throughout the summer. His pace remained brisk but there was a definite something. You could see it as the loss of his virginity, if you like.
Mrs Anna Johnson had remarked on it to her friend Mrs Jayne Simmons as he had passed them in the market place. He had raised his hat to them which was not at all unusual, ever Harry McLaurn the gentlemen, but there was something else and the two friends, fresh from dropping the children at school and about to be ‘Mums who do coffee’ commented on it.
“You know, Jayne, I had the strangest feeling, something I have never had before with that man.”
“What, as if he was mentally undressing you, Anna?”
“Exactly so. He was looking at my breasts not my face I’m sure.”
“Me too, but Harry McLaurn! It can’t be!”
And they were not the only ladies who felt the same. Nancy Mitchell who had known him since he was a boy, indeed had once hoped he was going to ask her out—she had been eighteen at the time—thought he looked at her quite differently; rather more like she had wanted him to do decades before and just the few words he had spoken seemed to have a hint of the flirtatious; but Harry McLaurn? No, it couldn’t be, that was not the man.
The bus dropped Harry miles out into the countryside in accordance with his plan so he could walk back to town. He watched the departing bus and then, stick in hand, turned from the road and across a field. It was not unpleasant having the opportunity to walk and walk exploring the countryside though, he reflected he did miss school and having a job. The walk was therefore enjoyable and there was also the interesting possibility of meeting Bessie Babcock again, not that she had said she would meet him but she had asked where he was walking. He would keep to his planned route.
It was about eleven thirty when he came across some hikers coming the opposite way to him. A pair of enthusiastic girl hikers with backpacks, walking poles and everything. As they came closer Harry found himself admiring their long brown legs and the attractive way their breasts were restrained by the backpack strapping. They were pretty to boot and Harry was pleased when they stopped to chat and he was able to ask them where they had been the night before, were they camping, where were they going and what they thought of the weather?
Harry stood watching the girls retreating backs as they headed on their way, they turned and waved and he waved back. He had the most vivid image of them walking away from him naked with rounded buttocks alternately rising and falling as they walked; the glimpse of (restrained) breasts and nipples as they turned to wave at him. A most surprising idea for him to have – just not the sort of thing his imagination would ordinarily have come up with. The idea of them equally naked in their tent came to him, hot, sweaty bodies after a day’s walking now in close confinement, brushing against each other as they readied for their sleeping bags, perhaps the unintentional brush of an arm against a nipple causing it to rise. Harry was surprised at his thoughts. It was not like him, leastways not before yesterday. What on Earth had happened to him? Had the fairies put a spell on him? He was erect now, actually had been since the girls got close to him. They were almost out of sight now and certainly couldn’t see him. He released himself, allowing his erect cock out into the open to stand proud in front of him. It was a relief to touch it. He thought of the girls in their sweaty tent looking at each other, saying ‘shall we?’ and deciding to be daring and escaping the confines of the tent to hurry, naked in the moonlight of a hot summer’s night across the farmer’s field, down to the stream to splash and cool together. Harry liked the image of the two monochrome moonlit bodies splashing, the moonlight reflecting off the water on their skin. He imagined himself, the farmer, watching as he leant on a stick in the shadow of a hedge, watching the naked play before stepping forward to speak.
The girls, surprised, embarrassed yet surprisingly docile as the farmer almost herded, yes he liked that word, herded, the girls to the farm kitchen to sit together on the wooden bench, a towel draped over their shoulders, and sip cocoa and whisky as the farmer talked of his life farming the land, the richness of his fields and the fecundity of his cattle. Was that really likely, thought Harry, that these young girls would consent to go into the farmhouse like that with the old farmer, still less do what his daydream was leading to? His hand stroked, yet Bessie Babcock had yesterday, most definitely consented, no led him on with the swimming and the touching so stranger things did happen. Was it magic? He certainly did not feel the same; think the same as he had done the day before yesterday. He would never have dreamt of, let alone thought of, standing like this on a field footpath exposing his cock and stroking himself whilst thinking about naked girls in a farm kitchen.
Would the farmer make the first move, had he already made it? Two plump little heifers ready to be covered? Would the girls be surprised, frightened by the calloused hand lightly resting on their breasts, go running across the field to their tent. Would that save them, would the farmer round them up with his dogs, herd them back into the kitchen or into the barn to be tied ready to be put to the bull—or rather the farmer himself?
Harry liked the image of the two girls bent over the old scrubbed pine kitchen table, a table that was perhaps not unused to such activity in its long sojourn down the years at the centre of the farmhouse kitchen, the very centre of the farm. Bent over so the farmer could service each in turn; his trousers removed and clad only in his old shirt, penis pointing from it, seeking the warm moist softness of the girls’ vaginas; taking first one, then the other in a rhythmic and purposeful motion. Harry could imagine himself as the farmer, moving from one soft bottom to the other, reaching under to squeeze and play with the hanging udders and teats of the plump little heifers.
It was of course, all too strong imagery for Harry and a spray of creamy semen flew from his penis to fall, pitter patter, on the grass as his hand moved quickly.
Harry felt a little cross with himself, a little down in spirit as he reflected that he had rather wasted his erection when he might meet Bessie at any moment. Though, actually, meeting her was really rather unlikely. Yesterday had just been odd. It was hardly likely such a young pretty girl would seek out an old, useless, teacher like himself, still less likely she would seek him to have sex with him when there were virile, fresh boys like Charlie around.
The day, though, was yet quite young and Harry’s spirits revived as he stepped out and covered the miles, crossing stile and road, copse and field, ditch and meadow before reaching the river again. As he stood on a footbridge, looking down at the water, he remembered the day before when he had gone swimming in the cool water. His walk had taken him quite a bit down river from the swimming point of yesterday and the river here was wider. A little down from the bridge a patch of gravel showed an easy way in and Harry was very tempted to swim, to cool himself in the water as he had done the day before. The footbridge, river bank and indeed the path he had been following were free of other people and Harry succumbed. Feeling less self conscious than he would have been the day before yesterday, and perhaps not thinking completely straight he stripped off, folding his clothes neatly, and stepped out into the water to lay down, letting the soft water flow over him. It would have been most pleasant for Bessie to have been there and to have watched the water flow over and around her brown body. He was pleased to find himself rising to the thought, his cock regenerated from its morning exercise in the field when Harry had been thinking of the farmhouse kitchen and the girls bent over the table. It would not do for them to come by on the footbridge now and see him naked and erect in the river but that would not happen as they had been walking another way. The thought made him conscious of his position too close to the footbridge and as if to confirm his concern he heard voices and two women stepped onto the bridge. Harry turned over in the water hiding his tumescent penis—just in time because he saw one of the women pointing. There was laughter and waving. Harry waved back and was relieved to see them pass on their way. They seemed unconcerned and so was he—not like the old Harry at all.
Dressed once more, but cooler, Harry crossed the footbridge and turned first along the far bank for a mile or so and then turned away from the riverbank and up and across a hay field that sloped upwards away from the river. He moved steadily up the path across the field, the sun right in his eyes, towards the silhouette of a hay stack standing at the top of the field. He paused in the shade of the stack and looked back at the belt of trees hiding the river. It was funny, he thought, how things could be so hidden. From his vantage point the river was quite obscured by the trees and if you had not known it was there you might have missed its existence. Indeed, very like the day before when he had not realised how close he had been before Bessie led him down to the river.
It is indeed funny how things can be hidden yet can suddenly reveal themselves. All of a sudden Harry heard Bessie say from above him, and you can imagine it made him jump,
“Hallo, Sir, I hoped you’d be coming this way.”
Harry looked up in astonishment and there was Bessie leaning over the edge of the haystack, copper curls all falling around her head and naked bosom peaking over the top of the hay.
“Well, are you coming up to join me?”
It was not an offer he was going to refuse, indeed the prospect of seeing and being with Bessie had been uppermost in his mind all day. Without a hint of his age, Harry was up and atop the haystack in a trice. What a delight he found—Bessie as naked as the day she was born but rather more womanly now, her round, round breasts, full lips, inviting thighs and so interesting patch of curly orange hair catching the sunlight and showing copper gold.
“Hallo Sir,” she said and put her arms around him and kissed him just below his moustache right on his lips, “I’ve been waiting for you.” The invitation was plain.
“I’ve been lying up here all afternoon in the sun; you can feel how warm my skin is.”
Harry touched her arm; the skin was soft, hot with just a hint of dampness—perspiration from the sun.
“I’m warmer here.” She moved Harry’s hand to her breast and begun to unbutton his shirt.
It was, like yesterday, such a strange experience for Harry to be naked in the open air. Here he was on the soft top of a haystack, the sweet hay all around him, feeling the sun all over him. He was, of course, erect and had been since he clambered up onto the stack, Bessie’s placing of his hand on her breast had not lessened his excitement. Naked now and with Bessie he was somewhat unsure what to do. Yesterday Bessie had taken the lead and, he was relieved to find, today was no different.
“No sir, you just lie there and look at the clouds, Bessie’ll take care of that.”
And so Harry McLaurn had lain, spread-eagled and naked as the day he was born atop the hay stack whilst the clouds scudded across the sky and Bessie Babcock attended to his cock. Nestled down in the hay he could not see anything but sky (and hay and of course Bessie—particularly the back of her head); he could not see the fields, the hedgerows, the woods or the occasional orange or grey roof of a house or cottage; it was as if Bessie and he were alone in the world, except for the occasional soaring lark, atop a haystack miles up in the sky.
They were not actually alone on top of the haystack for a rather small gentleman clad in red coat and breeches was peeping out at them from a burrow in the hay. Yes, Bearach Candlestick O’Floinn had chosen that very haystack for his sojourn for the night. Now I am not saying this was a coincidence—though such things happen—because it was actually rather more by design. He had been watching Bessie, indeed had stayed close to her the night before (no, not that close) and knew she would be waiting there for Harry—given she had already entertained Charlie Creek there earlier in the morning. I shan’t tell you what transpired because, as I have already mentioned, Charlie does not have a further appearance in our story. Suffice it to say that the meeting had not been as jolly or pleasurable as earlier joinings in the summer. Something seemed to have gone out of the meeting and indeed it was the last coupling Charlie was to have with Bessie Babcock: so I hope he made the most of it. Certainly, as Bearach Candlestick O’Floinn commented to himself, he made a lot of noise about it.
So what was Bessie doing to Harry? You want the details? Well she tickled him with a blade of grass. Where you ask? Right on his penis, not just any old where but right on the head, on that division of the head on the underside which goes by the technical name of the Fraenum. The what? Well I don’t know a colloquial name but I’m sure you really know what I mean and just how sensitive it is there. No? Well you want to find out then. It certainly made Harry jump and Bessie giggle at his reaction. She kept up her play, tickling Harry’s penis all over, shaft, head, everywhere. Just little touches with the end of the blade of grass with Harry not knowing where it was going to land next. Bessie tickled his balls as well, playing with the crinkled skin, teasing it with the blade of grass.
“Do you like that?” asked Bessie.
Harry could think of little better things to be doing than lying on top of a haystack in the summer sunshine, watching the clouds and having a pretty naked girl play contentedly and at length with his penis. It was simply something he would not have conceived of, let alone thought of enjoying, a week ago but now that is what he wanted to do.
After a time there was a change, the tickle was no longer from the blade of grass but, Harry realised, from the tip of Bessie’s tongue tickling him in all the same places. The tickling light touches gradually changed to licking until the tongue concentrated its attention on the head. There was a pause. Harry was by now seeing not so much the shape of countries and animals in the clouds but erotic shapes, breasts, couplings, buttocks, penises. He felt the softness of Bessie’s lips encircling the very tip of his penis, ringing the little hole and lightly pushing against the soft skin of his penishead and then slowly they slipped downwards as gradually his penis was absorbed into her mouth.
“Bessie, I’m...oh.”
And Harry experienced that most delightful orgasm when the semen pumps into the waiting mouth as a tongue brushes backwards and forwards across the gushing so sensitive hole. An exquisite experience. Harry could not believe it—he was ejaculating into Bessie’s mouth, he couldn’t stop himself. The feeling and idea was delightful but he hadn’t meant to, hadn’t meant to come. What would she think? Yet she did not pull her head away, quite the opposite as she kept playing with him, her tongue stroking the head of his penis. It was only as he softened that she released him. Harry raised himself up a little so saw her mouth detach itself from his penis. What a sight to see and remember! And then Harry saw her swallow, yes swallow his semen and smile and wink at him.
“Told you I’d take care of that, Sir!”
It was a happy afternoon in the sunshine on the top of the hay stack. Lying there talking about all sorts of things and later, when Harry was ready again, engaging in sexual intercourse with Bessie lying back in the hay as Harry pushed down on her, releasing the sweet scent of the hay whilst his penis pistoned.