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  Hot, Strong, and Irish

  An Erotic Collection

  Hot, Strong, and Irish

  Copyright © 2014

  Published by Dark Hollows Press

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  Hot, Strong, and Irish

  Copyright © 2014 Selena Cooper, Rider Jacobs, Tavish Lee, Susan E. Scott, Danielle Summers, Diana Sheridan, Shannon West

  Edited by Ashley Kain

  ISBN 10: 1940756294

  ISBN 13: 978-1-940756-29-5

  Original Publication Date: March 2014

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2014 by Dark Hollows Press

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  HOT, STRONG, AND IRISH

  THE GREEN MAN DANIELLE SUMMERS

  DREAM LOVER SUSAN E. SCOTT

  THE LEPRECHAUN’S LADY SELENA COOPER

  SNOW AND RED RIDER JACOBS

  THE HAUNTED PUB TAVISH LEE

  LEP-PRICK-CHAUN DIANA SHERIDAN

  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR SHANNON WEST

  THE GREEN MAN

  DANIELLE SUMMERS

  Part 1: Aaron’s Story

  This trip was just supposed to be a simple spring break jaunt to Ireland, I scribbled in my journal, but it had become so much more. I wasn’t supposed to really find the Green Man, a mythical symbol of rebirth, fertility and male power.

  Hmm, I should scratch out the word, “mythical.”

  I wasn’t supposed to let him seduce me with his irresistible eyes and, oh, that mouth. My best friend Joe and I were just supposed to spend some quality time together camping and traipsing about the Irish countryside before I finished up my doctorate in folklore and went to teach at whatever school would hire me. Joe would marry his girlfriend. Maybe we would stick our dicks in each other’s mouths when we were alone in our tent, but nothing serious. We had been doing that since we were kids. It certainly wasn’t anything we discussed with anyone else.

  I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start from the beginning.

  ***

  I’m a gay man, and Joe is straight. I love him. We decided to spend a week in Ireland around St. Patrick’s Day. Neither of us is Irish. Actually, Joe is African-American with long dreadlocks. He loves all kinds of music, including traditional Irish music. He thought coming to Ireland to look for the Green Man would be nothing but a wild goose chase, so I persuaded him to come along with the promise of music. He’s tall and lean. His muscles are long and sinewy, and I always like licking his muscular chest. That’s another thing we do but don’t talk about. And he’s good with cars. We do talk about cars sometimes. He works as an auto mechanic.

  I’m working on my thesis about Irish folklore, specifically, the Green Man. Most people, if they know anything about the Green Man, know images of him on buildings, including churches, in Ireland. In Celtic folklore, the Green Man was associated with spring and rebirth. Yeah, that should make me a Ph.D., and, you know, a doctorate in folklore always leads to a power job and big money. Oh, and I’m an American mutt. I’m white. Hanging out with Joe always makes me look pasty, but I have some good muscles for an academic. There’s a really good chance there was someone Irish in my family a few generations ago. Maybe.

  Okay, we’re an odd couple who met in kindergarten. He ate one of my crayons, and we’ve been friends ever since. We used to spend a lot of time together. But then we went to different high schools. I went away to college. Joe went to a local community college. I came out as gay. Joe admitted he was straight. I guess that explains why we never had any conflicts over girls. We still see each other, but really only on special occasions or when we get to travel together. I guess that’s one of the hazards of adulthood.

  So, we flew into Dublin. We rented a car. We flipped a coin and the loser had to drive. We were heading to a small port town on one of Ireland’s peninsulas. Much of the folklore of the Green Man that I study was set there. I went there to smell the air and to see what we would see when we looked for the Green Man.

  I lost the coin toss and quickly had to figure out how to drive on the left. Sometimes I had to really concentrate hard. Sure, there was the scenery that could be distracting, but Joe kept putting his hand on my thigh. I talked as if it wasn’t there.

  I had always been in love with Joe, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew I had to find someone else if I wanted a husband, and I do someday. For the moment, I enjoyed my time with Joe. I enjoyed his touch. I had to enjoy it and him while I still could because he and his current girlfriend were getting serious. He hadn’t said, but I thought he was going ask her to marry him. I actually liked her. Her name was Denise. It would be easier, all of this would be easier, if I didn’t like her. If there were something objectively unlikeable about her, it would be easier for me to entertain fantasies of breaking them up. But I can’t because I loved Joe, I liked Denise, and I wanted them to be happy. And, besides, not talking about the sex and intimacy that Joe and I have had has been the bedrock of our relationship for years. I didn’t want to mess that up.

  And I didn’t want to mess up navigating Irish highways and roundabouts. How many roundabouts did a country need? Oh, we were going around again!

  All the while Joe kept his hand on my thigh. I started to get a little turned on so he gave my thigh a squeeze.

  “You’re doing great,” he said. “Thanks for driving.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grinning.

  I was jetlagged, and he was distracting me while I drove on the left at 100 miles an hour. Really, was that how fast I was driving? No, we were in Ireland. They were metric. I was driving 100 kilometers an hour, which is about 60 miles an hour. That was still pretty fast, but we needed to get to the bed and breakfast. I needed a nap.

  We drove past rolling hills, the ruins of Norman castles, and sheep, lots of sheep. The sky was a silver grey. The sun never quite got overhead. The road narrowed. What started out as a four-lane highway in Dublin turned into a two-lane road the closer we got to our destination. A two-foot high wall was all that kept us from driving into the deep blue water of the bay.

  At one point, I heard Joe snoring. He was such an asshole sometimes.

  We finally arrived at the Lantern Inn, a squat bed and breakfast with a pub that’s painted garish red, where we had made a reservation. I was so exhausted I didn’t even know if I would have the energy to suck Joe’s dick tonight. When Joe’s dick got hard, it had a slight curve that I thought was so cute. His dick was a slightly lighter brown than the skin on his arms. I loved it.

  It was around 4 p.m. local time. Our goal was to stay up until 8 p.m. or 9 p.m., sleep a normal nig
ht and then wake up done with jet lag and ready to go camping. I knew jet lag didn’t work that way, but one could only hope. We needed our energy to look for the Green Man.

  Despite our yawning and jet lag, we managed to check in and ended up with a room with one bed. “That’s all we’ve got,” said the lady behind the counter with a heavy Irish accent and a wink as she handed us the key. She probably thought we were a couple, and I didn’t argue. We dumped our stuff in the room. After several hours of Joe squeezing my leg and hard driving, I was horny, exhausted and hungry. Joe looked a bit ragged, too. He grinned at me with that beautiful smile. Joe and I did lots of things, but we had never kissed. I would have loved to change that, but I liked to stay realistic. And, like I said, not mess with something that works.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” he said.

  We decided to keep it simple and ate and drank at the pub at the bed and breakfast. A couple of minutes after we ordered, we heard a local speaking behind us.

  “Hey! Americans!” he said gruffly.

  It didn’t take an abundance of brains to guess we were Americans. I decided to play it friendly.

  I turned and said, “Yes, we’re Americans. My name is Aaron. This is Joe.”

  The man, burly and squat, swaggered over to our table and grabbed a chair. He smiled and took a seat.

  “Name’s Eamon. Eamon McDermott,” he said and shook hands with both of us. “What brings you fellas to our little corner of the world?”

  Eamon’s hands were large and rough. You could tell they had been blistered over and over again until the skin had hardened for protection. He had a beer in one hand. The other he used for wild gesticulating.

  “Are you hunting for the Green Man? That’s why most of you Americans come here,” he blurted out. Then he said in a sing-song voice, a nasally approximation of an American TV show accent, “Have you seen the Green Man? We wanna see the Green Man!”

  He kept talking without letting us answer.

  “You fellas need to be careful. The Green Man is dangerous. I’ve seen him.”

  And I realized that the hand he was waving about, the one without the beer, only had four fingers. It looked like an old injury.

  Suddenly he flinched. The bartender had clopped him on the head with a rolled-up magazine.

  “Eamon! Stop talking shite!” she said, staring at us. “Don’t you be listening to him. He hasn’t been right in the head for years.”

  And then she turned to Eamon. “Am I going to have to kick you out again? We can’t have you hassling tourists. We depend on them around here for our livelihood.”

  “Really, it’s all right,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  Eamon stood and grunted. “You be careful is all I’m saying. The Green Man exists, and he comes out around this time of year looking for food...and young meat.” Then, he pointed at us with his missing index finger. It was somewhat creepy. “And he isn’t always nice,” he said as he shuffled away and the waitress brought our food.

  Creepy. I wondered if Eamon lost his index finger during an encounter with the Green Man.

  The waitress stayed and chatted for a few minutes. She was pretty, but looked tired. She had a friendly way about her.

  “No one has ever seen the Green Man, at least no one telling the truth about it has ever seen him” she said. “That’s just legend, but, if you’re going out looking for him...” She lowered her head and her voice so she was whispering just a couple of inches from our faces. She clearly didn’t want anyone else to hear her, especially the bartender. “You be very careful. Don’t ever be out rambling alone. Sometimes he’s nice, but sometimes he’s not. Some say he can cast a spell that makes people fall in love. Sometimes the spell just brings out the love that people already feel. Enjoy your meal.”

  We tried to eat, but it was always tough with travel. On the one hand, you wanted to try local food. On the other hand, you wanted to be nice to your stomach. The recent creepiness was not helping. I risked a glance over my shoulder at Eamon and saw him pointing at us with his missing index finger. I turned back to my food and wolfed down the clam chowder and burger I had ordered. So much for being nice to my stomach. Joe had a curry. He liked things spicy.

  Slowly the jet lag kicked in. I looked at my watch. Was it really only 5 p.m.?

  “Joe,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll make it much longer.” I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, but I saw Joe cock his head towards the stairs that led up to our room.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We don’t have to stay up much longer.”

  And off we went, saying our goodnights to the waitress and the bartender. We nodded to Eamon, who was grumbling to himself in a corner, still waving his hand with the missing index finger.

  The room was fairly unremarkable, except for the bed. It was only a double, not an American style king or queen. We’re both American-sized. This was going to be tight. That was okay. I was okay with any excuse that got me closer to Joe. That night, or should I say early evening since we were in bed by 6 p.m., we spooned. We got naked, and Joe got to be the big spoon as we tried to squeeze ourselves into the Irish-sized double bed. He nibbled my ear, occasionally sticking his tongue in. He really knew how to turn me on. He had been doing it for so long. I felt safe in his arms. Joe’s cock was rock hard and pressed into the crack of my ass.

  The next morning, the sun streamed in through the lace curtains. I had woken up a few times in the night. Jet lag was evil, but by 7 a.m., when the sun’s rays broke through, I was more than ready to get up and go. I wanted to find the Green Man. I had always known him to be a myth, but maybe he was real.

  We made a fairly quick getaway. Eamon was still sitting in the same corner, but now he was snoring. He really was a fixture of this place.

  We started hiking through…were they moors here or dales? I didn’t know. We followed the trail along the sea wall. We saw old Roman Catholic Churches and more sheep. The rising sun made the rollicking waves of the bay glisten. We saw a few other hikers, but we knew we had to get off the beaten path if we were really going to find the Green Man.

  A few times, Joe yelled, “Here, Green Man! Come to papa!”

  I didn’t think he was taking this seriously. I must admit that I probably would have felt a bit embarrassed if we didn’t have a Green Man sighting.

  We left the trail. We found a waterfall. I even dipped my toes in the water. Freezing! That didn’t last long. And slowly the fog started to roll in bringing the smell of sea air with it.

  I guessed that was how I lost Joe. We were talking and laughing. We lost track of time. The fog kept getting thicker. Maybe I went too far ahead. Maybe he was too far back. But at some point, I stopped hearing his voice. Now, all I could think about was finding Joe. Never mind the Green Man. Where the hell was Joe?

  There was this movie that my mom and Aunt Jill really loved, called “Brigadoon.” I kept thinking about that movie as the fog rolled in and I lost track of Joe. I seemed to remember that the hero in “Brigadoon” ended up in some parallel world or something when he was out and about like this. I didn’t want to get stuck in a parallel world. I wanted to keep all my fingers, and I wanted to find Joe.

  I wasn’t thinking about the Green Man anymore. I was thinking about just about everything else when I saw a shadow starting to lumber out of the thick mist.

  “Joe? Is that you?” I yelled. “Where have you been?”

  I should have known it wasn’t Joe. The figure’s shoulders and chest were broad. And, all of a sudden, the air smelled of chlorophyll, green and sweet.

  The figure kept coming closer. He was about Joe’s height, but there was so much that was different. It wasn’t just the broader shoulders and chest. I found myself eye to eye with the Green Man.

  I had nothing to say. All I could do was stare into his beautiful eyes. They were like white and green psychedelic pools. The Green Man smiled. First of all, he was, well, green. Green like peat moss but s
melled so sweet. He was naked but covered in vines and leaves that wound around his limbs, his head, really, his entire body. He reached out his hand to touch my face and smiled.

  Honestly, I was just kind of frozen. The Green Man was a myth and here he was touching my face. And I was realizing that, beneath the vines and the leaves, he was really handsome and had a really, well-defined body.

  He pulled my face closer to his. He touched my cheek, touched my forehead, rubbed his hands all over as if making sure I was real or something. Then he did something I never could have imagined. He kissed me with his surprisingly soft lips. Damn, it felt good. I dropped my backpack. My journal fell out, but I didn’t care. I reciprocated the kiss and the touch. He hadn’t said one word. His skin felt soft like silk. The leaves and vines were delicate. He was so handsome. I ran my hand down his arm, down his chest, down his belly, down to his, ummm, lovely penis. It was a dark green too and big and beautiful. And it was slowly hardening.

  I felt his hand on my crotch. He massaged my cock and balls through my jeans. He bore down on them a bit hard, but that was okay. It felt good.

  We were still kissing, and I opened my mouth and let his tongue in. After several seconds, I pulled away.

  “What do you want?” I said and smiled.

  He didn’t speak, but he turned me around and bent me over a large rock. He pushed me down to my knees. Next thing I knew, he had unbuckled my pants and pulled them down. He did it so smoothly that I got the feeling that he had done this before. My ass was fully exposed to the fog, the wind and his cock. My own cock and balls kept brushing against the cold boulder. His hands were big. I heard him spit, and then I felt his fingers starting to work my asshole. They slid in and out so easily.