Paddy gets a wake up visit. Part 1. - Sex Stories

Paddy gets a wake up visit. Part 1.

... relentlessly, even after she died of cancer twelve years ago. When I returned to Ireland a few years after her death in a London hospital, I continued to attend daily morning mass at my local chapel and never lay my head down to sleep at night without reciting the Lord's prayer and a few Hail Marys. That was until the following events changed my life forever and I realized how much of a misguided soul, my dearly departed Martha was, and how much I had contributed, by my passive acceptance of her dogmatic rule over our household, to the creation of another dysfunctional family and the estrangement of my own two children. I have formed the opinion that blind devotion to a supernal cause can be just as harmful as addiction to an earthly vice, and more odious given that devotion is a choice, addiction is not. Prior to the events which follow, I had my daily routine of morning mass, walks in the Phoenix Park not far away and my daily newspaper and books to read. I was physically comfortable and secure, with adequate stimulation for my modest intellect, but I was immensely bored. I say I was bored and not lonely because that wasn't, in effect, my emotional state, but I sometimes found it difficult to fill the empty hours of the evening if there was nothing good on the television, which was mostly always. There you have it, all the pertinent circumstances, for this part of the story, of my past life up to that point, a few weeks after my sixtieth birthday, which had fallen on the ...

... eighteenth of July two thousand and eight. It was an unseasonably chilly July afternoon, if chilly July afternoons can be considered unseasonable in Ireland, when I received the visit that would ultimately drive me from my previously pious path and onto a more, ethically questionable but heterogeneously enlightened highway. The devil's highway, my Martha would have called it, no doubt, but one which would lead me back into the embrace of my beloved children. A highway to that end could be, for me, nothing other than a righteous path to redemption and forgiveness, acceptance and tolerance and one I was happy to take and remain steadfastly on. At first I thought the young lady was an official of some sort from the housing association or other such institution, perhaps a health inspector, as we used to get them occasionally. I estimated her to be in her mid twenties, she was attractive, with long black hair, about my own height of five nine in a pair of shiny black high-heeled shoes, the sort my Martha would have described as nonsensical and inappropriate. She was dressed businesslike in a dark, pinstriped knee-length skirt suit over an open necked blouse and her legs were clad in dark, sheer-nylon tights. I surmised they were tights, assuming that a lady of her obviously important position would not demean herself by wearing 'nonsensical and inappropriate' stockings. My appraisal of her attire and general appearance at the time was merely an attempt to discern her purpose for ...