The Lucky Leprechaun - Sex Stories

The Lucky Leprechaun

The Lucky Leprechaun

This story is about an Irishman, who finds love, loses it, and then must search in Boston for what he lost. There are several sex scenes, but they are secondary to the story telling of his search for love.

Note that several characters speak in an Irish accent. There are some flashbacks which will appear in italics. There is one well-marked POV change near the end of the story.

The story opens in Boston, the day before St. Patrick's Day.

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Chapter 1 - A Visit From My Son

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It was March 16th. A frosty day, not uncommon in Boston. Every time Spring shows its face here in March, it gets slapped silly by Old Man Winter. My son, Johnny, had come to visit me and tell me about a young woman he met on the Internet. They had been exchanging emails and texts and photos, but he knew that kind of relationship could never last, especially since he lives in Florida, and she works at a pub in Dublin, Ireland. He came to me for advice.

We agreed to meet at the pub I own, called the Lucky Leprechaun. It's an old pub, and could easily pass for an Irish pub in a movie set, including dark paneled walls, private wooden booths, a long wooden bar, antique pull handles for the beer and ale, and a glass rail behind the bar stocked with scores of different Irish whiskeys. I waited in 'my booth' until Johnny showed up. I had on my favorite shirt, the iconic Irish grandfather's shirt, reserved for the eldest breadwinner in the family. This ...

... one had narrow blue and white stripes, no collar, and plenty of buttons in front.

"Howya Johnny boy! Welcome to my home away from home. I have spent most of my time here since your mother died three years ago. I've been coming here nearly every day for the past 32 years, and the regulars here are my family now."

"I know how much you loved her, Dad. I miss her too."

My life had been completely overturned when Orla unexpectedly died in a car crash three years ago. I was stunned by the loss and wandered aimlessly, without any purpose in life. Then one day, while I was sitting in the Lucky Leprechaun, the owner told me he was thinking of selling. I pulled together Orla's life insurance money and our combined investments, then sold our brownstone. I made him an offer, and he accepted.

Millie, the pert young brown-haired waitress approached us with her usual glowing smile, and in a strong Irish accent asked, "What ken I git ye."

"We'll have two pints of the Black Stuff, Millie!"

"I don't like heavy beers, Dad. Is there something lighter on tap?"

"Millie, this lad here is Johnny, my son. He's visiting me, but his Irish blood is thinning out under the hot Florida sun. Bring him an arf 'n arf instead."

"Coming right up," replied Millie with a wink.

"What's an arf 'n arf", asked Johnny.

"It's kind of like you Johnny, half of it is a good Irish stout, and half of it is a thin lager. Now, tell me more about this woman you're in love with."

Between sips, ...