Date: Sun, 25 Aug 2013 15:39:09 -0400 From: MICHAEL SOROS Subject: Breda's Little Helper Part 8 Breda's Little Helper. Part 8 Disclaimer. The characters in this tale never existed. They are the fruit of my imagination. The town will be found on no map. Monday: The morning after the night before. 'And that was the Kilfenora Quartet Experience with their version of 'Ma the Horse fell in the ditch again'. Later this evening join us for our documentary: 'Shirley Temple: The Dark Side'. Click 'About time someone cottoned on to her! Too sweet to be wholesome' mumbled Breda to herself having just switched off the radio to make a return to the shop. She'd heard the bell ring and instinct carried her in that direction before she even thought about it. At the moment she felt that Shirley Temple was possibly tap dancing across her frontal lobes with a bit more effort than she ought. She didn't think that she'd had too much Poitin to drink last night - not more than usual anyway and put the after effects in her head down to a small piece of cheese she'd eaten with it. Probably gone off. Pulling the curtain separating hallway and shop aside - all done with a dramatic flourish - she perked up eyeing the familiar frame of Brendan McIllhattan. She'd last seen him yesterday night bring the boy home after his stint behind the bar. She was amazed he could stand up but then that's why he drove home. Too drunk to walk. "Well Brendan. Is it yourself that's in it?" she said rather exaggeratedly - possibly the side effects of the alcohol. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon. He's outside you know. Did you see him?" "Indeed I did" he replied. In fact he was the first thing his eye fell on when he drove in. But he wasn't expected to work again until Thursday afternoon so Brendan was delighted when he saw the familiar figure perched under his mop of blazing red hair; legs open wide on a chair outside. He was carefully reading a superhero comic of some description, passing his eye over the carefully chiselled thighs of Superman and hoping to see signs of something he shouldn't. But he'd still run his finger over the crotch - hoping. He was wearing white tight football shorts that had proved very popular the night before and revealed a lot more than the darker ones he was wearing behind the bar. He had waved to Paddy but headed straight for the shop - a little worse for wear himself. He really couldn't face an embarrassing erection at the moment as his trousers were light and loose and there was nowhere for his cock to go. When he pushed open the door the bell as usual sounded. The shop was empty but he expected nothing more. But it was brighter. Bigger looking. Turning to his left he saw that the shelves which had formerly stood there, blocking the window, had been shifted to the back of the shop. Many of the signs that had been stuck to the windows for years had also been scraped off. They had advertised products that were no longer available or at least came with major health warnings these days. 'Ranazol. Killing all known sarcoptic mange mites in sheep' being the one he remembered from when he was a schoolboy. Not very encouraging having that by the fridge. Normally the sun, when it did shine in between the showers, had a lazy fight with the gloom within and more often than not gave in and settled a few feet in from the door. Today it had obviously won a major battle and filled the shop entirely. "Do you know what Brendan? He's a keeper! The first time I said eyes on the mop of red hair and that winning smile I said to myself 'Breda' I said ' That one's for the keeping. He's a worker with a heart after my own!" "You have a heart?" is what he wanted to say but just nodded sagaciously and said nothing. Bang! The sound of Breda's hand coming down hard on the counter. "God forgive me Brendan but I'm too soft. It'll be my downfall. Me and Princess Margaret - often mentioned in the same breath! He turned up here this morning at ten o clock 'Reporting for duty'. I told him he wasn't due back until Thursday afternoon. And do you know what he said to me Brendan? She had removed a hanky from her wrap round overall at this stage and started wiping her eyes with it supporting her emotionally charged body by leaning with the other hand on the counter. "Sure I'll work for comics and a dinner Ms McGovern. And I can help with the bar work too". "How could I refuse those pleading eyes of an angel Brendan? I was moved to my very foundations!" Sniff. Sniff. "And you'll be paying him of course?" The sniff sniff stopped as suddenly as it had started. Putting both hands across her chest with the dry hanky still grasped tightly she peered across at him - and he stared back. "I blush for you Brendan McIllhattan - I blush! Tainting a charitable deed with common commerce. Lowering the tone of the conversation with petty money concerns! Tut tut tut" she replied wagging a finger in his direction. "But you will pay him? You won't take advantage?" "Ten to ten daily. Meals included. Comics in the box and he can keep his tips. I'm not running an orphanage here" came the rather brusque response from Breda. "He made three pounds last night in tips alone and there were only six people in the place"! She knew of course that the boy could make a lot more than that if he weren't so naive. But she wasn't. One of Breda's many good blessings was a robust constitution and perfect senses. She could see a penny between two floor boards - and wouldn't leave it there. In between Liberace tinkling on the record player and updates on the misfortunes of others delivered by Miss Fitt, Breda would pop out into the hallway and cast a cold eye over the bar and shop just to see how the lad was getting on. Instinctively she trusted him - she didn't think money was of any interest to him except to buy luxuries like food and comics. She could hear everything said in the gloomy bar last night, even the quiet whispers. She wondered why there were periods of silence from time to time. With both ears sucking up the room and an eagle right eye peering through the curtains, she quickly learned what was able to silence the six men at the bar. She also knew what was able to stun her present visitor into silence too. "That reminds me Mr McIllhattan. Your 'photography' magazines arrived morning. I'll just pop back in and get them for you." The emphasis was placed on the word photography the way you would emphasise standing on a hard beetle. And, like a magician's assistant, she disappeared behind the curtain. The previous night had started well. Breda and Miss Fitt had receded to the drawing room with Liberace and some 'liquid refreshments' in the form of a bottle of freshly distilled Poitin made from potatoes. 'Sure it's practically a health drink Miss Fitt' He had the boy's presence all to himself and didn't anticipate many customers arriving. He was wrong there though. The boy had allowed Brendan to see what he was keeping tucked away in his tight little shorts. It was his way of keeping the man interested and near him. Without once removing his eyes from the curtain separating Breda from the shop he had lowered the shorts and allowed Brendan to see him in his tight pair of red bikini briefs. It certainly stopped him drinking the porter but not drinking in the beautiful slim, smooth teenage skin of Paddy McGinty. Paddy's erection was too uncomfortable to keep in those little briefs and he had released it in an enticing manner letting the tiny undies settle below his perfectly formed smooth pink bottom - two half- moons of soft delight. He was being unmerciful in what he was doing to the man by displaying so deliberately his oversized, pert bottom. Brendan had to consciously remember to breathe. He could hear his own heartbeat. He'd been waiting all day for this to happen and Liberace was tinkling in the background caressing his ears. Without looking at the man at all, Paddy started to move his hand up and down his rock hard pink cock. It wasn't going to last long. He knew that. He was too excited to last. He could feel the eyes caress his skin. He wondered why exposing to Brendan that alluring cleft between the roundness of his cheeks excited him. With one hand ever faster wanking and the other running over his little erect nipples, the boy shot three very high speed spurts of boy juice over the bottles of stout below the counter. When he came down from his orgasmic high he continued to stand there on display to his very own movie star - his living version of Batman. He wanted to be admired even after his orgasm. He wanted to give Brendan something to gladden his heart - and this seemed to be what most excited him and froze him to the spot. It was still early evening when Brendan found himself alone with the young teen. Truth be told, he didn't really know where to go from here. They were separated by the bar counter and someone could walk in at any moment so realistically what could they do? Surprisingly Brendan wasn't too disturbed being so near yet so far. He had really found the boy's lustful behaviour thrilling and it made him as horny as he'd been in a long time. He had to adjust himself a few times to settle his engorged erection. He knew it couldn't last and expected the boy, now post orgasm, to tidy himself up and start working. But he didn't ...... He let the very tight shorts slip down his hairless football legs and cast them aside. With the evening sun dimly shining through the shop front window, the slim boy stood there with his red T shirt not making contact with the elastic of his little red briefs. In fact the back of his undies only went part of the way up as the fullness of his bum pushed the material out. It was a sight that kept the man rock hard. Bending over suddenly, allowing Brendan a full view of his little undies clad bottom, the red head started rummaging about in the sports bag he'd received from the man earlier. He wasn't even sure what it contained as he didn't have time to look in it carefully enough earlier on. Brendan knew exactly what it contained. The bag contained the most erotic of his underwear and shorts collection taken from his makeshift photo studio up at the farm. He'd collected it from shops, locker rooms and friends and had put it to good use on willing models he came across over the years. At that time very few people in rural Ireland had cameras and even if they did they were reluctant to waste developing costs on kids. The offer to have your son photographed formally was not an opportunity many an Irish mother was prepared to let pass by lightly. The photographs presented to the mother were invariably of high quality and in formal dress. The cost to the boy was a set of photos that would never be seen outside the room. They were invariably of the boy in various stages of undress or just in their underwear, erect or soft, posing. He got them to wear uniforms he'd collected - tennis shorts, football gear, cricket whites, scouts or military uniforms from the days of school regiments. Rarely were any of the boys naked - which he found somewhat distasteful. The bigger the better though. He always got the boys to ejaculate for him - at their leisure and in whatever way they wished - but he always insisted on cleaning them up afterwards. While these reminiscences were slowly parading through his mind he was called back to himself by the sudden presence of the boy beside him at the other side of the counter. He had put a small pile of the underwear from the bag in front of him. Brendan recognised every piece and who it had belonged to. "Which one will I wear for you Mister?" came the grinning face opposite him. He was passing his hand through the small pile and licking his licks unconsciously. He couldn't believe his luck . He was going to have so much fun in his bedroom later on trying all these on and catching himself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. His mother wouldn't be back until the early hours of the morning. "Keep the little red ones you have on you now sweetheart - but put on the red football shorts in the bag. You'll look swell in those." And he did of course. He would do anything he was asked to do knowing he was wanted. Without any hesitation he gathered up the small pile of undies and put them back in the bag. Searching quickly - with his bottom firmly in Brendan's view he found the little pair of red shorts. 26 inch waist the label read. "They'll do nicely" he said under his breath and put them on as erotically as he could. Once again because of his footballers thighs and his rounder than average bottom it was a bit of a chore getting them up and over his ass cheeks. But he managed - with a little encouragement from an admirer across the bar counter. "There you go babes! " he whispered. "Push your arse out and bend over slightly and then just pull them up quickly" And up and over they came. The back came over quick and almost covered his cheeks but when he stood up straight, with a firm erection on display he knew it would be difficult getting the front pulled up and everything tucked in. As with the last pair of shorts, the material on these little red ones failed to cover his outstanding young bottom completely and left the lower part of his cheeks exposed just below the red undies which could be clearly seen too. The tightness and the fact that he could feel the air caressing his butt was keeping him hard. It always did. He was lucky in that his mother's neglect and self- absorption meant that she rarely bought him clothes that fit. They were mainly cast offs from her sisters' families. He never asked for new underwear and was happy with the pairs he had which were getting tighter and tighter as he started growing and entering puberty. They were riding up his bum faster than the Lone Ranger and he liked the way they left the bottom of his cheeks exposed. He was glad that he had found someone who could appreciate them. Putting the bag back under the counter he stood up and stretched himself, wilfully letting the red tee shirt ride up his smooth stomach and exposing his shorts to the best effect. He gave a rather artificial yawn, scratched his arse and came over to Brendan. Every time he looked at the man's face his stomach knotted. For once he was tongue tied. He generally had the gift of the gab picked up from listening to his mother's partners, but when he looked into Brendan's perfectly proportioned face, with those eyes and partly protruding teeth , he felt he was back in the living room watching all those black and white films his mother indulged in. 'Oh if you'd one like him you'd never walk straight Paddy' she'd say distractedly while blowing a kiss at Montgomery Clift. Little Paddy felt he'd found his own piece of Hollywood at Breda's place. Because he wasn't sure of what to say, and afraid he'd wreck things if he did say anything he thought it best if he just conveyed his thoughts and desires in gestures and movement. If he was exciting the man then he'd deep doing it - but only out of Breda's gaze. He didn't want to embarrass her or cause her to be shocked. "I'll bring you home tonight after work. Is that ok with you?" Brendan asked him. Ok with him? OMG! He'd be in a fantastic car with a beautiful man and all he had to do was nod. So he did - while staring straight into those eyes and putting his hand on the front of his bulging shorts. Nothing else was said nor needed to be. He knew Breda would turf the drinkers out of the bar about half past ten so she could go to bed. Nobody would argue with her unless they wanted a cracked skull from the bang of a frying pan. Bang! Both boy and man were startled from their lust and looked across the room to the source of the disturbance. It was Breda of course. How did she move so quickly and silently? And did her image show up in a mirror? "Short arse, come over here a minute" she grunted, pointing an index finger at Paddy. Lifting up the counter top he ran across the darkening room and stood in front of her. She'd noticed he'd changed his shorts. She didn't say anything but darted a look at Brendan who was now looking a bit sheepish. "And what's that on your shoes" enquired Breda with a long bony index finger pointing down at Paddy's foot. Innocent as he was he followed the direction of the finger and looked at the white liquid on his trainers. Whack!! "Ouch!" he said sharply, raising his hand to the back of his neck which had just been slapped by an experienced hand. "Dope. That's just payment on account. I'm sure you've been up to something but I don't know what. Now get that fat arse of yours back behind the bar and keep the customers happy and spending. I'm not paying you to do nothing." Actually she wasn't paying him at all. That thought usually followed quickly on the first one but never in reverse. And so began Paddy McGinty's first night as bar assistant at Breda's place. Later on that same night. Brendan pulled in a short distance past the cottage which passed as a home for the McGintys. All was dark. There were no lights on in the cottage but that was to be expected - his mother would be getting warmed up around now down in the town and getting ready for an afterwards at some nightclub. The country lane was in darkness too with lights confined to the main road - and that sparingly. What would you want to see at that hour of the night anyway? Stopping the engine Brendan turned to his left and stared into the eyes of Paddy McGinty looking back. He had placed his hands behind his neck, pretending that the last belt he had received from Breda still hurt him. His tee shirt consequently rose up just above his belly button. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness Brendan's gaze first went there. He liked what he saw. But he liked even more the boy's crotch which was very prominently displayed as the shorts had risen right up his smooth thighs so they looked just liked underwear from this position. The boy had an erection that was clear even on a dark night and he was aware the man could see it because he was pushing himself as far back as he could on the car seat. Brendan couldn't complain though as he was in exactly the same situation except he was just that bit more uncomfortable. There was now an embarrassing silence. The man had never been in such a situation before - well not with a teenager this young and forward. He'd used his large spacious car as a sort of mobile passion wagon over the years as a lot of his pickups had been casuals - from public toilets and parks - so he knew the routine to a tee. But the boy didn't really fill the car seat, he was more cradled by it. Just looking at the sight was enough for now. Of course he was really too tired and drunk to do anything worthwhile, that was the frustrating thing about it. He had drunk a lot tonight, more than usual anyway because he had to have something in front of him at the bar and he wanted to spend the whole evening in the boy's company. He was fighting the grasp of sleep and he was sure he was having little micro sleeps too. In later years of course driving under this much alcohol would be unheard of except for celebrities and High Court Judges. At this time however it was the accepted wisdom that if you were too drunk to walk you took the car. The boy of course was as sober as a cat. And frisky too by the way he opened his legs slowly to allow his hard bulge to show itself in the restricted light. And why wouldn't he be horny? He had spent the last four hours in the presence of six salivating men with nothing but lecherous thoughts playing disastrously with their lose morals. None of them could concentrate on their drinking or their conversation which for an Irishman was practically unknown in Breda's Bar. All eyes were on that smooth skin, those full round arsecheeks with the shorts riding up between the crack at the back. The policeman who had joined the assembly earlier on found those lips for too inviting for their own good and he didn't think lusting after that mouth and imagining what it could be taught to do was going to do his scout class tomorrow night any good. And his trousers were the property of the State too, now all stained with oozing pre-cum. The Corrigan cousins had the boy sandwiched between them in their revelries but it was Ernest Grabsby's thoughts which were way off the scale: there was nothing he wasn't prepared to teach the boy given the opportunity. Except for that damned do-gooder Brendan McIllhatten standing in the way. The boy knew he was having an effect on all of them and played to the gallery making sure his shorts were constantly hitched up to display his crotch and reveal the elastic of his little red undies at the back. The downside of this was that he couldn't wank behind the bar. And he really wanted to. Without thought the man turned to face the boy and placed his right hand on the soft smooth leg of the lad who had opened them as wide as he could. There was nothing but silence and darkness with the light of the moon seeping through the windows allowing some visibility. Brendan thought the light on the boy's legs like snow on rolling hills. He ran his fingers lightly up and down the inviting leg nearest to him, right to the hem of the shorts. His fingers found their way up the opening and lightly grazed the balls paced tightly into the briefs. But he was losing a battle with sleep. Paddy was getting ready to drop the shorts by lifting his plump little bottom off the car seat he felt the man remove his hand. Next he could smell the Guinness as Brendan placed the hand on his shoulder and leaned over to whisper into his ear: "I'm too far gone sweetheart to enjoy anything. I want you to have a good time the first time. Not in a car seat. Not like this." Paddy felt a great disappointment fill his smooth chest and had the immediate fire of youth that he was being rejected. He was enjoying everything. He was also desperate to jerk off. His balls were as full as they could be after the night he'd just had. How could he just be left like this? This was just.... ZZZZZZZZ The man had fallen asleep on his shoulder! He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He'd heard his mother talk about some of her men 'friends' that this happened to and already it was happening to him. He shook Brendan by the shoulder. He immediately woke up and scratched his head. "Have to go lovely". Paddy liked that. The lips of the man, without warning, lowered themselves and landed on the young teen's fruitful lips. He instinctively closed them, which didn't stop Brendan almost sucking them in his mouth. "Don't worry honey. I'll teach you how to kiss...and not just lips!" He laughed to himself. Paddy couldn't see his eyes in the dark but he could feel his hand returning to the front of his shorts and rubbing his rock hard cock. "Try save it for tomorrow so. Tomorrow." Brendan bent over the boy who thought he was going to snuggle into his crotch..... but he didn't. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door. "I'll come down for you tomorrow. I'll make it up to you. Just be down at Breda's in the morning". With that, Paddy sadly got out of the car, closed the door and stood there. The car rather crookedly drove off up the narrow lane. So, in the silence of the night, under a half moon stood the dejected form of our fourteen year old hero, soft in heart, hard in shorts. The thought did briefly cross his mind to return to the bar to see if any of the others were still there but he knew that would be foolish as both he and Brendan were unceremoniously dumped out the door of the shop with Breda's footprint on his arse. There would be no one there . He could wank in bed. But there was still tomorrow. Dark thoughts were a stranger to the boy and rarely could settle long in this head - it was too full of life for that. Entering his little bedroom Paddy dropped his tight shorts and climbed in between the cold sheets. He pulled down the little undies below his balls to give his lovely pink cock room to breathe. He let the back of his briefs go below his wide bottom because the feel of them kept him horny. They were very wet. He'd had an evening of pre-cum dribbling into them. It didn't bother him. He was used to it but he really would have preferred the man's wet briefs in his fingers. Tomorrow. What would happen tomorrow? Without a thought he took out an old grey vest he used for mopping up his frequent wankings. It was a bit smelly now but it would do. He lay it across his belly, opened his legs wide and prepared for a long, slow wank. He loved it. And he knew the man loved watching him do it too. His loss tonight anyway. He put his fist around the hard stem and started to jerk it roughly. He was boiling. He lowered his little briefs a bit more to let his balls move about more. The feel of them swaying and hitting against his thighs turned him on no end. But he really wanted to see and hold the man's balls not his own. He wanted to let the man see them swaying as he wanked and he would get to do that tomorrow. His thoughts went immediately to sex. Sex in a dark, sheltered place. The rapid pumping of his cock without any lubrication was based on his experience of pumping water from an outdoor well or unblocking a drain. The harder he pumped the more he became aroused - possibly because his cock and balls were swaying about so much. He had few images to dwell over because he had only ever seen underwear catalogues in the sports shop in the town. He had seen a few well-worn pages torn from porn magazines brought into school by one of his class mates with English connections but it was only of women in various states of degrading poses. Paddy couldn't understand why women would stoop so low - and why men wouldn't. He'd certainly like to see Mr Brendan in a few of those degrading poses. That's who his thoughts kept coming back to - but he had never seen the man naked although he knew he had a substantial cock with a good pair of balls. He wanted to see him naked, or almost naked anyway. The man was always dressed in skimpy white underwear in his masturbation fantasies. Without the man even touching him he knew he could explode. He really wanted to see how lovely his big sportsman arse would look - with and without underwear - and what exactly would they do if they touched? Paddy reckoned there was a lot of fun times to be had if he could get access to those beautiful full arse cheeks which stretched Brendan's full bottom out so much. How would it feel? Was it hard like his? Soft? Smooth? He wanted to know. Needed to know really. Needed to feel them, play with them, watch those big balls swaying about from side to side under that thick hard cock. And how much would be spunk? What he do with it? That was as far as his thoughts would go. He was too horny to last long. His toes curled, his legs parted and he felt his bum hole contract with the strength of his orgasm. Then everything went numb. He must have passed out briefly because when he came round his teen cock was totally soft but messy with his cum juices. The vest was saturated - more so than usual - and felt cold to the touch. He rolled it up, wiped his cock as best he could and threw it under the bed. He'd wash it tomorrow. All was quiet in the cottage. He wondered if he should start again. He never had a problem with a second orgasm. It was the third in a row that could be a bit tiring but immediately his thoughts went to Brendan and how he like to see him jerking off. He wanted to do it for him. The third time would be easier knowing he was being watched by that tall, dark man. No. He would save it up until the morning. It was back to Breda's shop in the morning. He felt he belonged there. He was certainly at home in the place. He was wanted - by the men anyway even if Breda never gave the impression he was anything but a spare part and costing her money. He was learning to stay out of arms reach as she had such experienced ways of deceiving the boy into thinking she was sharing a confidence - pointing to a light bulb and saying "Do you see that son?" As soon as he got it in his line of sight he'd get a slap on his neck. "That's payment on account. Get back to work Redser." Then she'd laugh out loud. For an old woman she could nearly lift him off the ground with the belt - much stronger than his mother ever could. But she used to slap his bottom rather than his neck. It was the most obvious place as it was substantial enough for a boy, round and filling . She stopped one year when she saw him grab the front of his shorts to rearrange his erection. He never minded his spankings but they didn't happen anymore and he sort of missed them. It was one more erotic longing that Brendan had woken up inside him when he spanked him in the toilets. He wanted more of that. But would he have to be naughty to get spanked - be rude to the man? He didn't want to do that, but how else could he get him to play with his hot little bottom? He was getting hard again. He let his cock go, turned over in the bed and went to sleep - the thoughts of Brendan's hands squeezing his two full mounds of boy flesh while he leaned over a chair. Earlier on with the evening closing in and five men propped up in the bar the bell on the door went. All eyes turned reluctantly away from Paddy McGinty's beautiful curvy body to see who it was. The door frame was well filled out with the broad shoulders of Garda Kevin Dowling, former soldier in the Irish Army and cocksucker to the platoon or desperate -whoever came first. He wasn't long in the town having been transferred from the capital to the relative backwater of the town as a result of an indiscretion with a male prostitute. As he was sleeping with the local detective at the time it wasn't such a big deal but he had to be moved to keep his record clean. The town only had one police car and that was in use by his superior who was helping his sister move house. As it was a quiet Sunday evening he thought he'd take the official police bicycle and cycle out to McGovern's store for a secret quiet pint out of the watchful gaze of the locals. He wouldn't really be needed until chucking out time later on tonight so he felt it best to fill in the time constructively. He also liked the old doll who owned the place. She was a bit intimidating alright but she always gave him free drink. She also knew every family in the town - seed, breed and generation so that helped him get some background to who was who in the town. Sunday evenings were usually quiet with maybe three customers. He could see immediately that Breda wasn't there and the bar was full with five men, four of which he knew and could guess at their inclinations because they weren't too far off his own. Walking up to the bar he took off his helmet and placed it on the counter. He was a tall, broad man, well-muscled from boxing in the army. Pleasantly attractive he'd never had trouble getting his fill of men nor his men filled. Looking over the counter his eyes fell immediately on the attractive inviting body of Little Paddy McGinty. Casting a quick professional eye over that firm little body the garda decided he'd play it cool and show scant interest - which wouldn't be far from the truth. He wouldn't have said no if it were offered but he wasn't prepared to chase after a redhead. He found red hair to his dislike and the boy's head looked like it was on fire. He'd give this one a miss. Anyway, he was in the process of reorganising the town's scout troop having recently collected the new scout uniforms from Durkan's sports shop in the town. The shorts had been ordered from Germany and just to his liking - tight and just below the crotch and bum cheeks to keep him hard during the drearier parts of the instruction classes. As a prominent citizen of the town of Ballykillferrit (meaning sober most of the time and wearing a uniform) he felt it his duty to the town to help the scout troop, elbowing out the pensioner formerly in charge of it. He wasn't going to be deprived of 35 teenage boys in skimpy tight shorts twice a week. And he had yet to get involved with the outdoor physical activities which would require rather less clothes than regulations provided. He just had to preface every dubious request with 'in the army' and he had 35 eager boys thinking they were practically men. He had insisted that the scouts change in the changing room to show respect to the uniform and this allowed him to see the boy's semi-naked in their little briefs crammed in together with him in the middle. "Don't mind me boys. We're all equal in the scouts" he'd say while pressing up against anyone who happened to be squeezing past. They didn't mind. They thought he was a god. Most of their fathers had lost the battle with gravity years ago so it was such a change for them to see what the male body was actually supposed to look like. They all wanted to be him. "A new bar man I see" he said. "What's your name then?" "Paddy McGinty" he said proudly already pulling a pint. He'd been forewarned by Breda to give him what he wanted and ask for nothing - it was always good to have something on the police - like drinking on duty - should the need arise in future. She had also told him to do whatever the man asked of him. She'd heard some things from her customers and felt that the boy might be something else she could have over him. "He can get a bit over friendly" she'd warned him, with a rather hard grasp of this shoulder. "Don't let me down son or you'll be out on your arse quicker than a bishop from a brothel raid. If he gets too frisky just come in the back room. I'll be in the back with Glenn Miller and his orchestra." Paddy had never seen the room but thought it must be quite large to get that many people in there. "Your mother isn't Maggie McGinty of the Ballykillferrit McGintys is she?" he enquired. "Yes" he replied avoiding the policeman's eyes. He could feel the man's eyes on his crotch. It was hard from just the smell of the uniform. "Should have known. Like mother like son." he thought to himself. Now he knew why this lot were here. Tune in next time readers when we find out what Brendan has learned from his photography magazines and how Paddy finds he has a talent for the camera. The Corrigan cousins think they have a secret but don't and Breda turns charitable. Sort of.