Gratfton Street Late Joys

The bar just off Grafton Street was pretty full.
I glanced at the fat old tart sitting next to me.
Jesus, what a bag.
We started chatting.
She was fun.
She had a great sense of humour.
I laughed like a drain as she told me filthy joke
After filthy joke and I nearly pissed myself twice.
I wondered what she would look like spread-eagled naked on my bed.
I nearly crapped myself with laughter at the thought of that.
Kicking-out time arrived and we were standing on the street.
"Where to now, me darlin'?" she enquired, swaying drunkenly In the night,
Clutching boozily onto my arm.
"I could manage another Jameson's or two.
Me ould man won't be expecting me home for another hour
As he's after shagging one of the goats in the back field."
So I invited her back to my flat for a quickie.
It was only five minutes away, she could have staggered no further.
She plumped herself down on the sofa with an erotic grunt
And I went to get us a couple of glasses of the amber nectar.
When I returned, she had taken off her cardigan and undone her blouse.
Her ample, mottled mammaries were bursting out of her bra.
It was one of those old-fashioned nursing bras
And she unhooked the clasp in the middle,
And the bra separated with a relieved gasp
Allowing her huge pendulous breasts to flop forth,
Like two enormous over-ripe aubergines.
Bugger me! You could have tied a reef knot in them.
She patted the seat next to her invitingly;
I sat down and she knocked back her whiskey in one shot.
I stared in fascination at her horror.
She reached over, undid my belt without a word,
Unzipped me and carefully took out my semi-erect unwashed cock.
She leant over, examined my bulging penis,
Pulled back the cheesey foreskin carefully
And took me in her mouth greedily
Like a dehydrated mountaineer
Slurping at the barrel of brandy
Proffered by a trust St Bernard rescue hound.
In between nosiy sucks, she told me to fondle her tits.
"Squeeze them nipples hard, my love,
Squeeze them and I'll come for you.
But don't shove yer hand up me skirt
Unless it's a fistful of raspberry jam you'd be after."
After a few minutes' deliriously skilful scarfing
I shot my heaving spunk into her slobbering mouth
And she gobbled my semen down hungrily.
She lifted up her head and I watched in fascination
As her face contorted in pleasure
At her mighty nipple-induced orgasm,
The bestial expression on her lined old face
When she climaxed was the most loathsome sight
Of my entire life apart from the time I caught my mother
On the job with two of the uglier district dustmen.
I could barely believe it when the ould bitch
Let out the most enormous wet fart
I had ever heard in my entire existence.
O but the noisome stench was indescribable.
How I feared for my fucking sanity.
"Oh sweet Jasus," she exclaimed in wonder,
"But I do think I have crapped meself again, so."
 And her hand dipped down into her panties
Only to emerge with severely stained and odorous fingers,
Dripping prolific and pungent anal oozings.
After wiping the shit off on the Axminster carpet,
She reached out and finished my glass of whiskey
With a resigned yet satisfied gulp.
"As me mother said, Jesus rest her soul,
There's no taste better on God's green earth
Than a mixture of good honest salty spunk
And yer finest Irish whiskey" she declared
Before dressing herself and asking me to call her a taxi.
I noted she did not wash her shitty paws,
But at least we did not need to shake hands on parting.
I never saw her again, thank Christ.
But I reflect on the fact that
The best blow-job of my life was delivered
By the ugliest and most repellent old bag In all of holy Mother Ireland.
Thank God I had videotaped it for posterity.