Chinaman's Chance - Sex Stories

Chinaman's Chance

... when it was good Irish whiskey he wanted." That got another laugh. The crowd was warming to me...I hoped. I still had to convince their leader. "Out I come from the womb looking like a heathen Chinese. The midwife fainted. My mother fainted. I had to chew through the umbilical cord myself and me with no teeth yet. Do you realize how difficult that was? The first time my father saw me, he kicked my mother's bum right up between her shoulders. She still walks funny to this very day." There was a cheer and some applause. I knew the Irish appreciated a good story telling. "Well," my antagonist said, "it sure sounds like you have kissed the Blarney Stone, but if you're an Irishman then I'm a Hottentot." In fact, I did kiss the Blarney Stone as a twelve-year-old tourist with my parents. "What? Do I have to dance a jig to convince you? Does anyone here have a fiddle?" "How about a tin whistle?" someone yelled. "Fine," I yelled back. "Play something." I knew some Irish step dancing, although I was pretty rusty at it. It was hard enough wearing sandals, but I didn't make a complete fool of myself. When the music ended I almost curtseyed, but I covered it up with a little stumble and bowed. The audience was appreciative. "I'll be damned if you ain't Irish and if anyone wants to dispute it they'll have to deal with Brian O'Hara. I'm buying this lad here a drink!" My new friend slapped me on the shoulder and I almost collapsed. "I can't drink on the job, but I'll have a sarsaparilla ...

... with you, if you please." "It does not please me," Brian declared. "Bring out the good stuff." Geez Louise! This must be a test of honor or Irishness or something like that. I looked to Mrs. Crabtree seeking help, but she just shrugged her shoulders. My boss was already walking toward us with a bottle and two shot glasses. She set the glasses on a table and then poured. "I have lived to see Hell itself freeze over," the woman said. "The house is buying this round." I was no teetotaler. I had done plenty of shots at frat parties, but it was always on a full stomach. I was running on empty again. "Erin go Bragh!" I shouted and downed my drink. It was good stuff. "Erin go Bragh!" Brian and everyone else chorused and cheered. "Curly here has some chores to do now and I imagine you lads have to get back to work," Mrs. Crabtree announced. There were some grumbles, but no one disagreed. I was glad for the rescue and the saloon owner led me back to a cubbyhole she used as an office. We sat down and I was glad to take a load off my feet. "Things could have gone wrong again if you had refused that drink with Brian," my boss said. "I'm glad you were up to it." "I kind of figured it was something like that," I replied. "I'm just glad that there wasn't a follow up round. That would have done me in for sure." "I don't know how you did it, but you made friends of that bunch. Brian O'Hara is more likely to break a Chinaman’s skull with a cudgel as look at him. He's such a nice man otherwise." ...