Excerpt for When Irish Eyes are Smiling by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

When Irish Eyes are Smiling

Andy Carpenter is a pen name

Copyright 2018 Andy Carpenter

Published by Andy Carpenter at Smashwords

See my website and blog at http://www.andysirishadventure.weebly.com

All foreign words, unless in italics, are in the Oxford English Dictionary Online Edition

If you enjoyed this book and it wet your pussy or gave you a hard-on please leave a review at your favourite retailer and tell your friends, so they can buy the book and feel the tingle too.

Many thanks to my friend and fellow writer Trixie Dubois who helped with ideas and editing.

This is a work of fiction and none of the characters are real.

The restaurants Starbucks, The Blue Strawberry Bistrot, The Clarence Hotel with its restaurant The East Cleaver, Arthur’s Pub and The Shelbourne are real. The menus were taken from the Internet and were correct at the time of writing. The Red Pussy is a figment of the author’s imagination as is the Ocean’s Jewel


The author has never been to Ireland and this book is in no way meant to denigrate the Irish or Irish women or women in general, for whom the author has the greatest love and respect. The author used Ireland as the Irish are famous for having many redheads.


Sex between consenting adults should be fun and any sexual act should be consensual and mutually enjoyable.


Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading and reading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorised retailer. Thank you for your support.

Contents

Chocolate is Better than Candy

Sexy Sirens

A Wet Dream Comes True

Stormy Weather

I Love London Town

In Dublin’s Fair City, Where the Girls Are So Pretty

The Bus Station

Wooden and Other Antiques

The Cuntryside

A Monthly Mouthful

Glorious Gloria’s Gorgeous Gash

Bloody Hell!

The Interrogation

Dervla

Calling Home

Back to Business

Enjoying My Time with Margery – Again!

The Trial

Time to Say Goodbye – in Style

Home Again




Chocolate is Better than Candy





I’m obsessed with hairy pussy; bushy triangles of soft downy fur covering soft smooth silky-skinned thighs. I love looking at it, smelling it; burying my face deep between succulent labia, eating it and tasting the ambrosial nectar. Ecstasy is sliding one, two or maybe three fingers and then my cock, into the juicy channel. More recently I've got a fetish for velvety vaginas covered with curly red hair. The Internet is a pornucopia of copper-coloured cunt, but I'm a doer not a voyeur. When I see the occasional real redhead I can't help but imagine the fleecy beauty between her legs, I get a tingle in my tool. I live in South Africa where there aren’t many hairy terra cotta-coloured crevices. There's lots of black beaver of course, which as yet I’ve not had the opportunity to sample. Of course all pussy is lovely and pink inside, but the colour on display, like a well-dressed shop window is what entices the customers; figuratively of course; I’ve never paid for sex and never intend to.

I’m in my mid-twenties too young to settle down quite yet. By trade I’m a carpenter, so my sawing action is very smooth, in and out, in and out and I’ve also drilled a few holes in my time. I'm not your ordinary carpenter, but a high-end furniture designer and antique furniture restorer. I fancy myself as a South African Lord Linley; and I'm building a reputation. I've decided to have some fun first – pursuing pussy – red pussy if possible, but I won’t refuse other pussy if I'm offered. Although I live South Africa, I was born in the U.K., so I have a British and EU passport. I would be lying if I said I’m not attractive to women. I’ve never had any trouble finding fanny. I want to sniff out and sample the best source of red hairy pussy in the most concentrated area. The Scots and Irish share the same Northern Spanish ancestors. The Scots have more redheads than any other nation, but Irish women are hotter; or so I’ve been told. So I’m heading to Ireland – to get head. Why Ireland you ask? Because that's where there's lots of red pussy as well as several top furniture designers and restorers whom I've contacted and they're willing to offer me a month's internship with board and lodging, if I need it. But with a bit of luck I can get pussy and a place to live at the same time. Any woman willing to let me eat her fuzz and fuck her will give me a place to kip and feed me. Maternal instinct always prevails, even if they are fucking the men they are "mothering”.

I’ve decided to work my way from South Africa on a cruise ship to The British Isles. Being one of the staff I can mix with the young women crew members without compromising their employment – maybe I'll be lucky and find a redhead. I've heard crew members are forbidden to get intimate with passengers and visa versa.

I board the train at noon which leaves at 12:30 for the twenty-six hour journey from Johannesburg to Cape Town. I settle in my compartment with five other men of different ages, all white. They all look decent enough blokes. Men are OK to have a beer with, but I prefer the company of women.

All long-distance trains in South Africa have a restaurant car where meals are served, but in between meals, they serve tea, coffee and other refreshments as well as alcoholic beverages.

I make my way to the dining car which is empty except for one or two older couples. Sitting down, I look out the window. We are only a few miles out of Johannesburg. The scenery is drab. The grass, what there is of it, is mostly brown, with shoots of green here and there. The Highveld climate does not encourage greenery, especially in the dry winters. The few bridges cross over mostly sandy river beds, but occasionally there is a thin trickle or stagnant pool of greyish-brown muddy water to be seen.

I order a beer. Spirits; gin, whisky, brandy, are not my thing.

An African woman, about my age, tall and slim, very sexy and very beautiful, well dressed and accompanied by a little girl of about four approaches me.

"May we sit with you, please?"

"Sure, it’s a free country." I’m a bit surprised, but in the fifteen years since apartheid was scrapped there are no bars on the mixing of the races. During the apartheid era, sexual contact between whites and blacks was prohibited by the Immorality Act, but strangely the worst offenders were those white men who supported the government which passed the law.

"I didn’t want to sit alone, and everyone else is so old. I’m recently divorced and still a bit depressed by the whole business. I like company. I hope you don’t mind. My name is Winnie, like in Mandela – my parents admired her very much – before her fall from grace – Winnie Shabalala." From her accent, which is similar to mine, I can tell she’s educated.

"Hi, I’m Andy."

"Where are you going Andy, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"I’m on the first leg of a trip to Ireland. I’m signing on a cruise ship in Cape Town and working my passage by sea to Britain. I can afford to pay, but I'm doing it for the fun and the experience. I’m not in a hurry, so if it takes a bit longer, I don’t mind."

"That sounds like quite an adventure, I wish you luck."


Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-5 show above.)