The Cafe

It was a glorious spring day in the west of Ireland, a perfect day for driving. It's over three hours from my granny's place in Donegal Town to Galway City and I was only about halfway home. The best little cafe in County Mayo was coming up, so it was time for some rest and refreshment.

I pulled Sally, my fourteen-year-old Corolla, into the parking lot, where the reliable old darling practically parked herself. I kissed her steering wheel. 'If you had a clit, babe, I'd go down on you.'

The few steps from car to cafe lifted my spirits even more. There were only a few fluffy clouds in the sky, and the temperature was a balmy eighteen Celsius. A light breeze soughed softly through a nearby copse of birches, backed by happy birdsong.

Inside I ordered a chocolate croissant and a full-fat latte. 'Here's your croissant, miss. Just find yourself a seat, and your coffee'll be along in a minute.' The kid on the till, bless him, tried his best to keep his eyes off my tits.

'Thanks.' I flashed a smile, dropped a Euro in the tip jar and took a look around. There was no shortage of empty tables, but where did I want to sit? By the window? In the alcove under the bookshelves? Or on one of the plush sofas beside a funky coffee table?

That's where he was parked and it took a second look to be sure it was him and a few seconds more to get over the sudden shock.

Lionel Walters, my former professor of philosophy and a Dubliner to the bone, was the very last man you'd expect to see west of the Shannon River. Damn! He was as gorgeous as ever, and there he was, sitting all alone, working at his tablet.

I strode straight over before my awe of his intellect, his sophistication, and, yes, his looks could paralyze me yet again. It helped that I didn't want to fuck him nearly as badly as I used to. 'Professor Walters?'

'Yes?' He glanced up. 'Oh my God! It's you!' He jumped to his feet and shook my hand with both of his. He had not changed an iota since my graduation: medium of height, slender of build, with fine, light brown hair, dark blue eyes and a boyish, endearing smile. His wardrobe dripped the same understated elegance, a casual and slightly rumpled off-white linen jacket over a pale blue, silk shirt, tan slacks and fawn suede loafers.

'You remember me?' Grinning like a star-struck pre-teen, I took his warmth as an invitation and sat. I didn't at all mind that he was unbuttoning my shirt and stripping off my bra with his gorgeous eyes. I'd forgotten how straightforward he could be, and it was quite the rush to be so blatantly admired. I crossed my legs and twisted slightly to the side so he could ogle my mamas in profile.

'Let me think,' he said. 'Ancient Greek Philosophy, The History of Existentialism, Ethics, and one other - don't tell me - yes! Introduction to Phenomenology. Am I right?'

I laughed. 'You are! I am so flattered!''

'How could I possibly forget a student who took four of my courses? And who always took the same centre aisle seat, on my right, third row from the front.' He glanced at my legs. 'You're in jeans now, I see. Pity. Those little skirts of yours! Oh, my God! Your legs used to drive me insane! It was merciless, how you tortured me with them without ever, not even once, introducing yourself to me.' My face was burning but he was far from the first to comment on my fondness for mini-skirts.

He laughed, and leaned over to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 'And quite rightly so. I mean, student-teacher relationships are such a toxic minefield, as well as an ethical nightmare - oh dear! Did I just mix my metaphors? Are minefields toxic? What is your name, by the way? And I'd say you're a Dubliner by your accent? Am I right?'

'It's Ruth. Ruth Donovan. From Donegal originally, but yes, I grew up in Dublin.'

'Ruth? How interesting! Did you know Naomi Maguire? She was one of my teaching assistants.'

My heart stopped for a moment. Did he know about us? 'Naomi? Sure. I was in her tutorials.'

'Well! That explains a lot. It's no bloody wonder you had no time for me. Got along well, did you?' There was the hint of a leer in his voice, but his face held its mask of innocence.

'Well enough. Why?'

'Do you read the bible?' I shook my head. 'Try the Book of Ruth. Her mother-in-law was called Naomi.'

I shrugged. 'And... ?'

His grin widened. 'And they were lovers.'

'There's a bible story about lesbians? And one of them cheated on her husband with his mother?'

'It's a legal case study on how the law provides for widows and orphans, so nothing quite so lurid. What did we always say about original sources? Read it yourself and decide. For what it's worth, I find it hard not to think of the "Song of Ruth" as the most beautiful love poem ever written.'

'I'll keep it in mind. Thanks.'

'Naomi and Ruth, a woman and her daughter-in-law, a tutor and her student. Here I am in Mayo chatting with Ruth, and this morning I was in Galway talking to Naomi. What are the gods trying to tell me?'

He'd seen Naomi? A million questions begged to be asked. 'That's amazing. How is Ms Maguire?'

'Well enough, I suppose. She's an assistant prof in what passes for a university down there. But we have a plan!'

'A plan?'

'Oh yes! We have an opening waiting for her in Dublin. She'll fit right in.'

Shit! Too stunned to speak, I forced a smile. He carried right on. 'She'll have a far better income. I'll be her mentor again, and she'll have a much higher profile that'll make it so much easier for her to get published. We have the best libraries and access to all kinds of archives. You know yourself what I mean. All the usual benefits of the big city.' As he carried on, I couldn't help noticing the sheen of his pomade, the tell-tale grey at his roots, and the gleam of his unnaturally white teeth. What the hell else was going on? Bodyshaping underwear? He was just another strutting little peacock after all.

'When is she moving?'

'Not just yet I'm afraid. She's been dithering for months, but she's close. Very close.' Months? What the fuck! 'So, Ruth. What are you up to these days?'

'Nothing much.' I looked at my watch. 'Hell's bells! Look at the time!' I drained my latte and wrapped my croissant in a napkin. 'Sorry, Lionel, I'm late already. It was lovely seeing you again.' I bolted for the door.

The Church

A ferocious wind, whipping in from the Atlantic, was driving a lashing rain, the birds had scarpered, and Sally did not look like a happy camper. I wanted to cry but I had to get away from there as fast as I could. There was a church with a generous parking area just down the road and Sally got me there in less than a minute.

Inside, I sat at the back, in the corner by the wall, just under the Eighth Station of the Cross.

I cried. Naomi, my brilliant, gentle, sweet, and much-loved Naomi, was leaving me. Misery welled up like shit from a blocked sewer. She was tired of Galway. No, tired of me. She'd rather be back in Dublin working with Lionel fucking Walters. Why? To get away from me, that's why.

If I was part of her plan wouldn't she have said something? Like, months ago? It was just like her to protect me, to put off hurting me for as long as she possibly could. What had I done wrong? Why was she tired of me?

I looked up at Jesus warning the women of Jerusalem of harder times to come, but it looked more like he was consoling them. 'Hey, pal! I need a hug.' He didn't look down or say a word, so I just sat there weeping and feeling sorry for myself in the hard, stone-cold, and oddly peaceful silence. I don't know how long it took me to calm down. Maybe I'd drifted into a light sleep or maybe I'd just been daydreaming, but when I came out of it the panic had passed but I was still bloody miserable.

Goddamn her! Why couldn't Naomi have had Lionel's scruples? She should have left me the hell alone!

University

We'd been together ever since that autumn Friday about a month into my second year at university. The last tutorial of the week had just ended and Naomi had paused beside me on her way out. She was then a part-time teaching assistant and a full-time graduate student closing in on her doctorate. To this day I don't know what made me do the math, but that made her somewhere around seven or eight years older than me. But she was so much wiser, and so very much more mature.

'Ruth, could you drop by my office later? Around five?'

'Sure. See you then.'

'Thanks,' she said and left me to finish packing up my stuff.

I arrived a few minutes early. She had her coat on and was trying to stuff far too many student essays into a satchel that was much too small. 'Homework?' I asked.

'Don't you know it? Come, walk with me. Can you take some of these please?' I grabbed her overflow. 'Where are we going?'

'My place, the grad students' residence.' It was only a ten-minute walk to her tiny flat. It had a living room with a two-seat sofa and an armchair, a kitchen with two stools and a table almost big enough for one. She had a small office that used to be a bedroom and her very own bathroom. Compared to my digs, this was pure luxury.

'You can dump the kindling in the office,' she said, 'and you can leave your jacket there as well.'

In those very few seconds she'd dropped her coat on the chair and was twisting the lid off a bottle. 'This is Lillet,' she said. 'My aperitif of choice, but I can offer you a dry sherry or mix you a Campari and soda if you prefer.'

'I think I'll pass. Thanks anyway.'

'Do you have plans for dinner?'

'The college dining hall.'

'We can do better if you want to stay for dinner.' She poured her drink and joined me on the lumpy sofa. 'I'm having tuna. Is that all right?'

'Perfect. Thanks a million! Mind if I ask what you wanted to see me about?'

'Oh! Right.' There were no coffee or end tables so she put her glass on the floor. 'Where's my bag? Oh yeah.' With that she reached across me, stretching her scrawny little body over my lap. 'It's there, on the floor beside you.' She seemed perilously close to rolling off and falling on her ass, so I put an arm around her for support. Her slender body felt surprisingly firm. There was something so sensual, so right, about the feel of her slender waist under her cashmere sweater and the firm flesh under her tweed skirt that I didn't want to let her go.

'There you are, you little beggar!' She made no effort to sit up, and still lying across my lap, she rooted around and produced a slim blue folder. She dropped her bag and squirmed onto her back with my arm still around her waist and held it out to me with a triumphant smile. 'This is yours. It's an English lit essay that I found tucked in with your paper on Socrates. So there you are. I meant to bring it to class but kept forgetting. Sorry about that.'

I looked down at her, still cradled comfortably in my arm, her head somehow resting on my breast. She looked cozy. Comfortable. Snug as a bug in a rug. It felt like Our Moment, and I so wanted to kiss her.

I froze. I'd long since figured out how to hump a pillow to orgasm, and in due course, I'd found a guy to release me from the shackle of virginity. Shortly thereafter, I kissed my first girl to sate my curiosity. I'd liked it well enough to get naked and very down and dirty with my roomie in our first year when we were between boyfriends.

I soon came to prefer her skilled and endlessly inventive fingers, lips, and tongue to the clumsy boob-groping hands, the hungry cocks demanding pussy and/or mouth, and the rare and scarcely-there bits of oral on offer from guys. Plus she smelled a whole lot better.

But Naomi! She was a woman and there was something far deeper and much more important going on, something a tutor might only offer but once to a humble student. 'Thanks,' I said and hoisted her back up.

Her smile faded. She sighed. 'I took the liberty of reading it. It's very good.'

'Thanks.' The feel of her thigh and her waist was still warm on my hands. They were itching to be on her body again, to be cradling her. The silence was a little awkward.

'Are you sure you won't have a glass of wine?'

'I'm sure, thanks.' Bloody hell. Why didn't I take it? It would have taken us through an awkward moment, brought us back to happy and informal, but I was sure of nothing, except raw lust and jittery nerves. I wanted her and the way she looked at me said she wanted me as well. But what if I was totally wrong? Fuck and God-damn it!

Then she reached out and put a hand on my knee. I glanced at it, then looked into her eyes. She didn't look away or move her hand so I covered it with mine, holding it in place. She didn't quite smile, but her features softened a little.

Her fingers tightened gently and when she spoke it was with the confidence and authority I so admired. 'You have the potential for a brilliant academic career, Ruth, but for real success, my darling, you must understand the social norms. In the humanities, we drink wine. The pure science people go for high-end whiskeys. The social scientists get Belgian ales and the engineers are happy enough with their lagers. The others are a mixed lot, totally rudderless.' I chuckled.

She reached for her glass and glared at it. It was dripping condensation. 'Much too cold! It's supposed to be chilled, not frozen.'

'You've been out all day. I'd say it's an improvement on room temperature.'

'You are absolutely right! Much better than the alternative.' Her smile faded. With her eyes locked on mine, she stood to face me, looking down at me and barely breathing. Again she seemed uncertain and her hand trembled a bit.

I leaned forward, returning her gaze, reached out and touched her. 'Yes,' I said. It was an answer, not a question.

Her smile flickered back to life. Ever so slowly, so seductively, she hitched up her skirt and knelt on the sofa with her knees straddling my hips. I was thrilled and all on their own my grateful hands found her butt. Her breasts were above my eye level but I couldn't tear my eyes away from hers. She ran her fingers over my cheek. 'Rumi says, "Love is Reckless" and I am feeling so very fucking reckless.' She took a generous sip, leaned down and kissed me, her breasts pressing on mine.

My lips parted for her, and ice-cold wine trickled from her mouth into mine. I gasped. The warmth of her lips, the cold shock of the wine, its sweet scent and flavours of honey and citrus and something herbal sent a sudden and far from gentle surge of pleasure through my whole body. The kiss went on and on, spreading a most pleasurable warmth all around and through me.

Finally, our lips parted. 'That was incredible!' I said.

She gave me another kiss, all too brief, dismounted and took her seat beside me, our shoulders touching. I put an arm across her and hugged her to me. She brought her feet up and turned and leaned across me with an arm around my neck. She kissed me again, the lightest touch of her lips to mine. 'So glad you liked it.'

'I did! Very much.'

'I'm not trying to seduce you, you know. I really just want to spend some personal time with you, to get to know you with the hope, on my part at least, that it might grow into something special.'

'You're making a piss-poor job of not seducing me.' I leaned down to kiss her but she turned her head away.

'I am so damn clumsy! Too much! Too soon! I won't lie to you, Ruth. I am attracted to you, and I want you, all of you. Do you see? Your body, of course, but also your, soul, your heart and your mind. One-offs in the sack have no appeal. Just so you know. If that's all I am to you, maybe we should have our dinner and let it go at that.' I half expected her to pull away from me, but instead, she pressed against me even closer and more intimately, almost as if trying to hide her eyes from mine.

I cupped her chin, lifted her face, eye to eye. 'No fucking way do I settle for tuna without dessert.' And I kissed her, long and slow and tender.

She sighed a sigh that was like a cross between a purr and a happy little murmur and stroked my inner thigh just above my knee. 'You do like your skirts short.'

I kissed her forehead. 'My legs are my best feature.'

'You're a beautiful woman from head to toe.'

'I wish I had bigger boobs.'

She fondled my C-cup and gave my nipple a delicate pinch. 'Not if you compare yours with my pancakes!' I stroked her almost boyish chest. Her nipple was surprisingly long and hard. 'I want a taste,' I said.

It was as if she didn't hear me. 'Do you know that when you're about to say something interesting in class you either scratch the underside of your left breast or you part your knees?'

'I do?'

'You do. And you always sit the table right across from mine. They're not desks. They're just tables, four of them, laid out in a rectangle. Four tubular legs and a slab of laminated plywood and a lot of empty space between my eyes and your crotch.'

'I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was putting on a show.'

'Don't be sorry, dear. I kept hoping the knicker flashing was a secret signal meant for me and only me. Beautiful lingerie is my paraphilia, and you have such a lovely collection! Even if I weren't gay, they'd light my fire.'

'You're not so modest yourself, you know.'

'Not true! When I part my knees, it's deliberate! I am mirroring you and it's a signal you're meant to notice.' This time the touch of her sensually yielding lips on mine was longer and firmer, and she capped it with the merest touch of tongue to my lower lip. I sighed contentment, squeezed her tiny breast and rolled her nipple between my fingertips.

'I'm still confused, Naomi. How is feeding me mouth to mouth not seductive?'

'Let me show you.' Her hand was still on my breast and her head was resting on my shoulder. She stretched up and kissed my neck ever so lightly as she squeezed my breast and toyed with my nipple. The fingers of her other hand became feathers tantalizing the back of my neck and making me moan. She touched my throat with her tongue and then kissed it again. Ever so slowly and deliberately, her full, soft lips moved a millimetre or two and she kissed me again. And again. And again.

My heart rate was climbing and my breath quickening. She was turning my whole body into one massive erogenous zone. I squirmed and moaned and suddenly, somehow, my hands were under her sweater and her braless breasts and her long, stiff nipples were in my clutches. I tried to copy her skilful fondling and failed. My groping felt clumsy compared with her delicate and perfect touch but I made her catch her breath all the same.

Warm air from her nostrils caressed my sensitive skin and lit little fires with her every kiss. My breathing was laboured, almost gasping, my nipples were as stiff as hers, and my breast had swelled to a size I liked the feel of. I whimpered and moaned. She went on kissing my throat, teasing my neck, squeezing my breast as gently as she'd hold a newborn. I gasped, wanting her to squeeze harder, to dig her fingers deep into my swollen breast, to kiss me rougher, to bite down and leave her mark on me. But her lips were still maddeningly slow and gentle.

She reached my ear, nibbled my earlobe and licked behind it and then flicked her tongue too briefly within. I gasped and whimpered. Her lips teased on, across and down my face, kiss after maddening kiss, ever closer to my lips until she finally brushed hers across mine. Mad with desire, I took hold of her by the back of her neck and returned her kiss, pressing my lips hard against hers and then her tongue was in my mouth, probing, licking, teasing.

Again I moaned and when I squeezed my thighs together, my clit screamed and a wet surge from my pussy soaked my knickers and dampened my thighs. Suddenly she broke it off and pushed me away not minding that she had me panting for more.

'That, my darling, is what we grownups call seduction.'

'And before?' I gasped.

'A mere invitation.' She twisted out of my arms and knelt on the sofa facing me. 'Which I think you've accepted.' I nodded. Holding my face between her hands, she kissed me lightly, and with a hand on my chest, she pushed me down and onto my back. She stood and in seconds her sweater, skirt and knickers were on the floor and she was nude, apart from her stockings. Her slim body looked every bit as fit, firm and strong as it had felt in my hands and who knew stockings, all on their own, could be so damn sexy?

My denim mini was short enough so I just lifted my butt to strip off my thong. 'Don't!' she snapped. Then, more gently, 'Please. Leave it on. For me?' I smiled, nodded, and parted my thighs to give her something to look at. She did, and more. Kneeling between them, with her nostrils flaring, her fingertips stroked my thigh, crawling slowly from knee to crotch. It took forever, and she had me moaning and squirming all her way up.

As dainty fingers began to caress my vulva and clit through the filmy material her other hand started teasing its way up my other thigh even more slowly and mercilessly. She reached my knickers but slipped past and up to my tummy and delicately began to trace my bikini line. I whimpered like a baby. The other slid under my waistband to massage my juicy vulva. Knowing fingers stroked, tickled, and kneaded my inner and outer lips, penetrating deeper at times and at others tracing maddening circles around my clit.

She bent down to start kissing her way up both my thighs, first one, then the other. When her lips had almost reached my knickers, her fingering focused solely on my clit, flicking, teasing and rubbing slow and soft, then fast and hard, and lifting me to my limit. I think I screamed a few times and then her mouth was on my undies and both her hands were under my blouse and fondling my breasts and nipples.

She was kissing and sucking my labia and licking me through my knickers and then her open mouth was covering my clit and a good part of my vag. She exhaled a long, gentle, slow, and insanely hot breath through the flimsy material. Nuclear pleasure! I hit the roof, and spasmed into a prolonged, violent, screaming orgasm and then we were lying side by side, and I was crying tears of utter joy as she wrapped me her arms, ever so gently and tenderly kissing me.

The sofa was a pull-out, so after a delicious dinner we opened it, undressed each other and made prolonged love, our faces lovingly buried in each other's pussy. She produced a garish bright red lipstick and my skimpy thong stayed on, of course. I have not worn them since nor will I ever allow her brilliant lip-prints to be laundered out. When we eventually fell asleep we were snugly wrapped in each other's arms, our legs interlocked, pussy on thigh, and thigh on pussy.

We have been together ever since. Until now.

I looked up again at Jesus with tear blurred eyes. He was looking back, with the barest hint of a smile that showed more in his eyes than his mouth. He winked at me and suddenly I knew that everything was going to be all right. Right on cue, and as if in answer to a prayer, my phone rang. It was Naomi.

'Hi, Naomi. How's things?'

'Grand. Listen hon, are you on your way home?'

'I'll be there in about an hour or two.'

'Just so you know Janice called an impromptu faculty meeting so I probably won't be here when you arrive. Is that all right?'

'Sure. No bother. How long will you be? What would you like for dinner? I can have it ready for you.'

'She promised we'd be done by six, latest, but don't bother cooking. We're eating out.'

'Burgers at Fergie's? What time?'

'Nope! We're going to An Blath Beag. We're expected at first seating, 7:00 PM sharp. Do not be late! The reservation's in my name.'

'Are you kidding me? The place that just got its third Michelin star? Can we afford it? And how did you score a reservation? Isn't it like a four or five-month waiting list?'

'I blew the Maitre d' of course. And yes, we can afford it.'

'You WHAT?'

'Joke alert. Gotcha! There will be wine aplenty so take a taxi. Do not drive. Gotta run, sweetie and remember, I love you more today than I did yesterday but not as much as I will tomorrow.'

'Love you too. See you later, sweetie.'

'Bye-bye.'

Looking up at Jesus with tear flooded eyes, tears of joy, tears of love, I said, 'Thanks, pal. I owe you one,' and to this day I swear I heard him, in a light Connacht accent, say, 'no bother, gran.'

It took me a few more minutes in the church to run a web search on my phone and check out 'The Song of Ruth,' Lionel's favourite love poem. He was not wrong, and I found out why Jesus called me his 'gran.' I bade him and the women a fond farewell and set off for home with a singing heart.

An Blath Beag (The Little Flower)

There was, Naomi explained, no printed menu. The fare was an umpteen course tasting menu with the sommelier's choice of wine pairings with each. 'Little' was exactly the right word. The room could only seat a dozen or so diners at a time, and we were all having the same courses with the same wines at the same time. It was like being back in a home ed class, only with better food. And wine.

'How's the family?' she asked as we were being seated.

'They're all grand. Mam and dad came over from Dublin and they all send you their love. They're insisting I bring you along the next time.'

'Aah, that's so sweet! To think the idea of meeting a girlfriend's family used to scare the living shit out of me!' She sat back, grinning at me like the cat that swallowed the canary. Waiting.

I caved. 'All right. Spill. What the hell's going on? How can we afford a €5,000 meal all of a sudden?'

'You're exaggerating and it ill becomes you. We're celebrating.'

'What exactly is it we're so damn happy about?'

'Our paper has been accepted for publication, and you'll never guess by who!'

My heart leapt and my eyes bulged. 'That's great! Fan-fucking-tastic! But I have absolutely no idea by WHOM and what's with this 'our' shite? "A Philosophical Analysis of the Theology of the Body" is all yours.'

'You did a lot of the research and your contributions and insights were vital. Plus you edited it for me. Mercilessly I might add. You have a co-writing credit. Full stop. End of. Now. Who do you think is publishing it? Go on. Take a guess.'

'Is it The Alice Secondary School Press in County Wonderland?'

She chuckled. 'No, it's not quite up to that level, but it's a prestigious journal all the same. The Oxford Philosophy Review.'

I clapped my hands, laughed and squealed. 'No way!' She opened her handbag, took out an envelope and handed it over. I grabbed it from her and devoured the contents with greedy eyes. Naomi's big toe finding and fondling my clit was quite the distraction. 'Behave yourself!' I snapped, 'or I'll be slipping off the damn chair next.' Nevertheless, I clamped my thighs shut trapping her bare foot exactly where she and I both wanted it.

'You still haven't told me how you got this reservation so damn quick.'

'Courtesy of Janice, our favourite department head. Congratulations on getting published sort of thing. She had the University spring for the bill and I'm pretty sure she had a hand in convincing the Chancellor to reschedule his reservation.'

Just then the sommelier arrived to explain to the whole room the first of our many wine pairings, soon followed by the first of our many courses.

Home at Last

'Lionel Walters came to see me today.' Naomi dropped that little bombshell as soon as we'd settled in front of the telly on our settee, she with my arm around her and her head on my shoulder.

'Really? Sorry I missed him. Had a nice chat, did you?'

'Not so much. He has a hard-on about getting me back to Dublin. He's been bugging me for a while now. You know the drill. Big money. Great resources. Him mentoring me.'

'Oh. I see. Are you going?'

She shrugged. 'I put him off the first few times, hoping he'd just go away. But he is so fucking persistent. But I didn't want to slap him down with a firm and final NO without asking you first. We had a lot of great craic when we were living over there and, let's face it, you are a Dub. So if you'd like to go back, then fine, yeah, we can go. Otherwise, I'm fine right here.'

'Did he really say he wants to mentor you? Like you're still a student?'

'Yeah. That was a bit over the top.'

'Has he ever been published in the Oxford Philosophy Review?'

'He'd've been damn sure to let the whole world know about it if he had.'

'So who should mentor who?'

She grinned. 'Isn't that whom? And is that our "no thanks" to Dublin?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'Put your feet up and roll over so I can cradle you.' She looked puzzled but obeyed. When her head was resting comfortably on my braless breast, I kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

'Now what?' she asked.

'Unbutton my blouse and make love to my left breast, the one over my heart.'

She smiled. 'Why am I not surprised?' She started fondling and kissing me through the silk as her deft fingers slowly and teasingly exposed my proverbially heaving bosom. In far more time than it takes to tell her lips and teeth and tongue found my impatient nipple already erect. She circled my areola with her tongue then alternated little nipple kisses with flicks and hard, deep sucking and tonguing of my whole boob.

Riding an ecstatic wave of pleasure, I moaned and parted my legs. 'Now,' I said, 'strip off my panties and finger me. Finger me good, darling.' For once she didn't insist on leaving my knickers on and when I lifted my ass off the seat, off they came. I took them from her and stroked my breast and her face with them.

`Yes!'

'Finger me, darling! Finger me deep and finger me hard!'

'Holy shit, girl. You are so wet!'

'Get in there!'

She did. 'There's something in here. What is it?' I said nothing. It was up to her now. 'I felt her fingers pulling out the little present I'd brought her from Donegal. 'It's a ring!'

'It was my mam's engagement ring and before that, it was my gran's, and her mam's before that. She gave it to me to give to you. It's yours now. If you'll have me?'

She said nothing but got down on her knees between my thighs and buried her mouth in my pussy, then straddled my lap as she had the very first time she'd kissed me with a mouthful of cold wine, and when she kissed me this time it was with lips sopping wet and slick with my own juices. 'Yes,' she said, at last.

We lost track of time firing and sating each other's desires. We played and wrestled and laughed and she took me over her knee and spanked me heartily and deliciously. We cuddled like playful pups and between cuddle times we took turns humping each other's tits and faces and it was well into the wee hours when we'd had our joyous fill of each other.

Lying together in bed, I took her face in my hands and stared into her eyes in the dim light. 'As another Ruth said to her Naomi:

"Where you go, I will go;
where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
and your God my God.
Where you die, I will die and there will I be buried."

'Right here. In Galway,' she added, with an angelic smile on her lovely face.

I kissed her. 'We'll be just like them,' I said.

'Yes,' said my Naomi. 'We will be together forever.'