Date: Sat, 20 Apr 2013 15:57:54 -0400 From: MICHAEL SOROS Subject: Breda's Little Helper Part 4 Disclaimer. This story is entirely the fruit of my own imagination. These people have never existed and the town exists on no map. Please try making a contribution to Nifty to keep the site going and free of commercial sponsorship. If it went - where would you go? Enter Ernest Grabsby. "And who was that?" said Ernest Grabsby as he closed the door of Breda's shop and looked out the window at the back of the woman in a red mini skirt. They were like two people looking into an aquarium. She had a large bag on her shoulder and a far too tight top. She was on her way to a car waiting at the entrance to the forecourt. She didn't look back. She was a woman who had bitterness as a close friend and had struggled, schemed and fought to climb onto the bottom rung of the ladder with a constant fear of falling off it. "The boy's mother" said Breda with a sigh, once again straightening the Sunday newspapers on the counter. She didn't look up. She didn't need to. She'd been dealing with Ernest - or Ernie to his friends - for the last 15 years or so and they had become accustomed to one another. He was her accountant and business advisor officially. Unofficially it was the other way round. There are two sorts of very focused minds in the world. Those who know they are going to die in the morning and those with a dread of losing what savings they have to the tax man. Breda of course was the latter and would have many years to go before she became the former. Tax laws for her were elastic at best and a mind game at worst. She invariably won out over the tax man and felt she had one up on Al Capone who obviously had let his guard slip. Ernie was the happy honest face of the accountancy profession hiding the devious face of Breda and her profession. In the meantime Ernie eyed the bum of the oldest profession as it got into the battered old car waiting for her with the battered old driver in it. 'Bit of a slut' he thought. And then his mind quickly returned to the offspring of the miniskirt to whom he had been chatting only a few minutes before. "She came to collect his wages" Breda interrupted. "Bang on 5 as I thought she would. She was looking for more than the agreed price of course but I have expenses and I don't need to hire him. Just doing her a favour. I'm feeding him too and keeping him in comics. I'm turning into an orphanage here Ernie. Comes of being too soft hearted. People take advantage." It took Ernie a moment to realise she was talking about herself. He didn't normally associate soft hearted and being taken advantage of with Breda. "Two pounds. Not a penny more. Not a penny less! She'll drink the lot anyway. The lad won't see a penny of it. I told him he could keep any tips he got so he'll have something to show for it. He'll be lucky to see her 'til the early morning. There's a music festival on in the town so she'll have her hands full tonight". She coughed, cleared her throat and pulled her cardigan across her bosom. "So, speaking as your accountant Breda, he's over 16 and he has an employment contract?" said Ernie, knowing exactly what the response would be. "He said he was 16 and he'll sign the contract later on sometime" said Breda, narrowing her eyes and looking directly into Ernie's soul. He wasn't going to tackle her on the details of employing a 14 year old on way less than the basic wage and for hours way outside the law. It was more than her account was worth. He nodded approvingly. Also, for the first time possibly, he actually agreed with Breda on her employment practices. He wanted her to keep the boy at all costs. Ernest Grabsby lived 5 miles outside the town and two miles further out from Breda's bar grocery and petrol pump in a rather remote area. He had built the house himself with privacy in mind. He was just one of a number of accountants in the town of Ballykillferrit but he had enough from his share of the family farm not to have to depend on the income too much. "Ernest Grabsby Accountant. Servicing the local farming Community" the notice outside his office proudly proclaimed. And it was more accurate than many of his customers knew. He'd been servicing a fair few of the farmers for the best part of 15 years in that office and felt that he was, in some ways similar to the miniskirt that had just departed, offering a much needed community service. Because Ernie was, to use a phrase current in the more dramatic newspapers on sale in Breda's shop 'a known homosexual'. He had often wondered what an unknown homosexual was but didn't reflect on the matter too long. He was well known to those of the same persuasion within a 15 mile radius of Ballykillferrit and was happy with it. He was also unknown to those men not of his own persuasion. Ernie was very much a 'man's man' as they say. Very au fait with sport of all sorts. Knew all the results and what the results should have been. Great friends with some of the finer hurling men of the county. Some he knew better than their wives did. He could hold his whiskey with the best of them - nothing better to raise yourself in the local community's eyes the fact that you could finish off a bottle of whiskey and still not choke on your own vomit. His family was also deeply ingrained in the local town and had owned one of the local farms from as long as anyone could remember. Ernie was the third son, his two siblings being twins. There was a 6 year gap between them and himself so they had never really been close. His mother passed away when he was only four years old. His father's world collapsed at that point and he went into mourning for the rest of his life slowly pickling himself in alcohol. He was a nice drunk though. Softly spoken. Polite. Generous. But he rarely saw Ernest between the farm work and the mourning. Ernie knew from infancy that he wouldn't inherit the land - that would go to the elder of the two twins - so he had to prepare himself to work outside the farm. However he decided to specialise in farm accounts and business advice so he kept it in his blood. He was relieved actually. If he had inherited the farm he would have had to produce an heir and that would have been intolerable. The heir wouldn't have been so bad if it had turned up in a box but the whole process of having a woman involved was just out of the question. The only woman he had ever been able to tolerate was Breda because she was effectively a man in a woman's body. Or part of a woman's body at least. Seeing the boy on the forecourt this evening had brought his own early teenage years back to him rather vividly. He hadn't thought about himself at that age for a long, long time. Ernie had just pulled into Breda's for cigarettes. He'd spent Sunday afternoon, as was his custom, with Kevin Dowling, his part-time married sex partner for the last 15 years. He'd noticed the boy immediately. There was something provocative about him. The way he sat on the chair by the wall of the shop. His legs were wide open. One leg on a barrel the other on the ground. He had one hand on his comic and the other under his tee shirt, feeling his chest. He didn't stop feeling himself either when Ernie got out of the car and approached him. Ernie's eyes went directly to the leg of the boy's much too tight shorts. He followed the smooth white thigh up through the opening to see the beginning of the boy's white underwear - a sight which gave Ernie an instant erection. He could see the outline of the boy's penis. It was tucked into the elastic of the football shorts. Even Ernie had used that old trick. It fooled no one. Eventually, as one must, Ernie had to look at the rest of the boy. He had a nice small waist leading to a tight chest. But as Ernie's eyes moved ever on up his gaze fell upon a most beautiful sight. A lovely small compact face. Two full red lips beneath a nice button nose. A few freckles for decoration, lovely heavy blue eyes all topped by the brightest mop of red hair he had ever seen. He looked like he was on fire. The eyes were looking at him too. The boy relaxed and opened his legs just that bit wider and fell back into the plastic seat. He was like a flower enticing the bees without the slightest effort. Nature had breathed on him beauty of hair and bloom of youth not to mention those two inviting lips. Time had stood still for Ernest Grabsby. He just wanted to keep looking at the picture of teenage perfection in front of him all afternoon. He wanted to examine it a bit closer. He wanted this boy. He loved the sort of young teenager unencumbered by knowledge or education. Staring Paddy directly in the face he saw that he was looking at two faces really. The one of a boy and the one below the surface. He recognised it because he had such a face once too. It is said by those Christians of a tolerable and benevolent persuasion, the Cure of Ars came to Ernie's mind often on this matter, that a sinner who repents while falling between the bridge and the river will be saved. Ernie was counting on this being true rather than speculation as he intended falling from the hospital bed to the floor when his time came and hoping for the best. He'd had the best of course. The best that the district and beyond had to offer in the way of sexually available men and teenagers 'having a go'. He'd been available since he was no older than the boy in front of him now. It was because of the fact that Ernie had been built on a similar line to Paddy McGinty here that he was not put off having a shot at him should the opportunity arise. No one could tell what went on behind the fa‡ade of a friendly open face. However spreading your legs provocatively so that all and sundry could see your underwear and eyeing the crotch of every man that approaches you was a bit of a giveaway. He'd been the same himself hadn't he? "And you are....?" Enquired Ernie looking directly into that beautiful warm open face of youth. "Indeed I am." Came the prompt response. The boy seemed proud of his answer despite the fact that it meant nothing. Ernie was looking at the lips rather than what was coming out of them. "Are you working here or Ms McGovern's relative?" He thought he'd have another go. He didn't mind as it gave him longer in the boy's presence and that wasn't a bad thing. "Started yesterday I did" he replied, taking his leg from the barrel and placing it on the ground but not closing his legs. He took his hand from underneath the fading tee shirt and placed it on his knee. Ernie could still plainly see the boy's underwear and he had a feeling that the boy knew it too. "I'm Ernest Grabsby. Ms McGovern's accountant. Pleased to meet you!" said Ernie extending his hand. The boy put his comic down on the ground, stood up and put his soft hand into the offered one. He allowed it to stay there a lot longer than social custom permitted. He was in no rush to remove it. He also had an obvious erection which was more than pleasing to the accountant. "Well I hope our paths cross a lot more frequently. I come out here quite often as I live two miles further on out and call in most days to buy a few things. Where do you live then?" This was a lie. He passed the shop every day on the way home but he rarely called in unless he had business but he was prepared to make an exception if there was more on offer than decaying vegetables and out of date tins of beans. "We live up the lane over there" he said vaguely pointing across the road. "Paddy McGinty's my name. We're from the town although we haven't lived in it really. From everywhere really I think." He was still holding Ernie's hand who wasn't listening to him anyway. He could get all the details from Breda. "Big family then?" he enquired. "Just me and mam. My father's a sailor sailing round the Specific Ocean somewhere. He can't come back as he's wanted by the British secret service. That's what mam says." "Well there's a lot of that about" replied Ernie. Quite a good yarn anyway. He was surprised the kid still believed it. He was filling in the gaps as the kid was speaking. No siblings. No father. Living on the outskirts of a town she left years ago. Seen a fair few of those over the years. He made a few more enquiries and completely forgot that he was still holding the boy's hand. He was so engrossed with the lad's face and just the feel of his hand and his presence that he didn't realise he was sweating quite heavily. He remembered being that age. Having that small a world that it extended no further than what you could see and no further than the evening. The boy didn't realise he was a statistic waiting in some social worker's book. He had a bed, food and comics. All immediate needs met. Well, maybe not all of them. He'd had the same trouble himself at that age. Discovering in himself a violent hunger. Lusting after men and getting nowhere because he didn't know what to do or how to go about 'doing it' as he didn't know what 'doing it' really entailed. He was a farmer's son and was surrounded by men coming and going on the farm so he had plenty to look at from his bedroom window. His masturbation fantasies were all a bit vague and involved a lot of rubbing up against one or other of the labourers on the farm. These never translated into anything concrete. Until the summer of his fourteenth year. His father had hired a milking hand for the summer as the regular one had emigrated. He was attractive in a rough sort of way. Unrefined. Uneducated but pleasant. Nicely built too. Stocky. Curly hair. Thin lips. Short. For Ernie he was lust on legs. To anyone else he was non-descript. Could be any man in a bar. But he began to occupy more and more of Ernie's thoughts and jerk off fantasies. He had no idea why. All his available mental energies were focused on him. His every move watched from his bedroom. Ernie wondered what he got up to in his room over the stables where the casual labourers slept. There was no television there. He was never seen with a book but he was always contented looking and smiled a lot. Smiled a lot at Ernie anyway but they never occupied the same space at the same time. That was until his father decided that it was time Ernie started to earn his living and help with the summer milking. He was put on morning rota which would give him the evenings free to come and go so it wasn't too onerous. He didn't care because it gave him the opportunity to work with the new labourer. He wouldn't have to fetch the cows. His job would be confined to the milking parlour. The parlour was quite long and high with the holding pen down one end having capacity to hold about 40 of the herd of 160 milkers at any one time. The rest of the building contained the milking machines - twelve on each side with a trench running down between both sides. It was deep enough for a man to be eyelevel with the cows' udders and attach the suction pumps without too much trouble. The cows were always desperate for their morning milking and some of the milk could be clearly seen coming out of the udders in anticipation before they got anyway near the pumps. It wasn't lost on Ernie that his own little suction pump dribbled in anticipation of his proximity to the labourer hours before he actually was so he had something in common with them. Something he had never thought of before he started milking in earnest - just how long the cows' teats were. Some of them were almost as long and as wide as his own little pecker, but of course never as hard. And that was what started it. Standard dress for the milking parlour was a sweater under a pair of overalls tucked into a pair of wellington boots. Not terribly erotic and not much room to make it sexy. Ernie's overalls were a bit too big for him but he was able to get away with just wearing a tee shirt under them. A tee shirt and a pair of his tightest white undies. It was as sexy as he could make it even if it did look unflattering. He tried to keep the overalls lose so anyone could look down the front of them and see his underwear. Well not just anyone. The labourer in particular. On the first day the labourer was wearing almost identical clothes. Ernie stood as close to him as possible and tried to look down the sides of his overalls to see what he was wearing underneath. He couldn't see much though. Disappointing. The first week had gone well enough with little talking as milking so many cows took up all the time and effort and Ernie had a lot to learn. One of the cows took a dislike to the pumps one morning and really let fly at the kick bar which prevented the milkers getting a bang of a hoof on the head while putting on the pumps. No matter how hard he tried the cow just wouldn't allow it. The labourer, who was generally down the other end of the trench heard the noise and came down to see what was going on. He smiled at Ernie and took one of the suckers off the teat leaving the others to suck out the milk from the other teats. "You've found the dancer then" he said in an unfamiliar accent which made him even sexier and more exotic to the boy. "She gets ticklish sometimes from anticipation. It's making her - you know" he was getting redder in the face and looking directly at the udder "a little bit horny. Here. Watch." At the same time he leaned over and grabbed the cow's teat and started to stroke it up and down in his big hand. The cow stopped banging the kick bar. No milk was coming out though. Ernie stood to one side to get a better look but avoided the hooves of the neighbouring cow who may be getting ideas that she was being deprived. "Tramp!" he laughed. Ernie wasn't quite sure what was going on but it made the man laugh so he guessed it was fine. Suddenly he felt the man's big cold hand on his smaller hand. Without saying a word it was placed on the teat that the man had been pulling up and down with such a calming effect. "You do it." He could feel him standing behind him, smell him and feel his breath on his ear. "Just keep pulling on the teat, harder and harder and you will begin to feel something inside" said the labourer. "That's mastitis that is. I'll go and get the special cream we use" and off he went, leaving Ernie totally lost, as hard as nails pulling the teat of a cow, who, by the way had stopped kicking was having a nice time of it. Very shortly the man returned and once more stood very closely behind the boy, nestling up against his back. He placed himself snugly up against his bum cheeks, grabbed Ernie's left hand and placed it into the jar of thick transparent cream which he had never seen before. "Grab a handful of that son and bring it back up to the teat." Ernie responded in earnest. This was exciting. This was new. He'd never been so close to any man before and he could hear his heart beating over the sound of the hypnotic pumping machines. The man put his hand over Ernie's and totally covered it. Then he started to squeeze it. "Press hard son. Feel the teat. She won't mind. The gel is antiseptic. That lump you can feel in there is mastitis and it will be painful for her. Rub it well in to the teat. Up and down. Up and down! Don't hold back". And he didn't. However he could tell by the way the glass jars above them were filling up that this milking session was coming to an end for these twenty four cows which would mean they would have to finish up this thrilling experience which Ernie really didn't want to end at all. Obviously the labourer was thinking the same thing as he eyed the glass jars too. "Well that's a good lad" he said pulling himself off the boy and standing up straight. He removed his hand from the boy's and wiped it in his overalls. Ernie was still moving up and down on the cow's teat. He suddenly felt the breath of the man against his ear. He was too excited to move. "You can stop now lad. Nothing is going to come out. She doesn't shoot anything. It's not like wanking. You must be quite experienced in that are you?" He was only whispering but the boy felt that everyone, including the cows were listening and could hear what he had just said. "Just now and then" he said. Whispered really. He was so embarrassed that the man had even used such a word. He rarely even heard that word in the school yard. His father would be really angry if he heard him use it. But he did like it. It was forbidden. Actually everything in young Ernie's life seemed to be forbidden. To hell with it! He was going to answer. This was a farm labourer surrounded by cows and bulls all the time. He wasn't going to be squeamish. "Now and then?" replied the man, suppressing a laugh. Suppressing it badly. "When I was your age I was at it all the time. I used to watch the bull go mad with the cows. Very entertaining. No better way to pass a few hours than pulling your own teat huh?" Ernie refused to look at the man but he really liked where this was going. His own little boner was hurting him a bit and it was visible now pushing out the front of his overalls. The man was watching too. "Try using the gel next time too. It will make it a million times better. Yours must be only as big as the cow's now but it will get bigger and stronger. You'll need this" he said handing the jar to the boy. "Put it in your pocket and use it later on". And he did. He felt at that moment that a bond had been created between the two of them. He didn't really know what was linking them but he liked the talk. How much more talk like this was there he wondered? The cows on this batch were finished and they had to urgently detach the suckers and get the next twenty four in. Ernie decided to park what he had just learned in the part of his brain dealing with 'secret things' and wait until he was alone. One of the dangers - if it could really be called that - of milking was the times that the cows decided to 'let rip' as the more experienced farmers would say. Basically they would just clear their bowels out while happily while being milked and eating the nuts in the feeding trough in front of them. All quite civilised for them no doubt but really really messy for the person underneath it all. It was a gentlemen's agreement to warn each other when the tail went up - sure sign of an evacuation. For some particular reason the labourer decided not to shout the warning even though he saw the tail of the cow go up and knew Ernie was standing directly beneath it. It wasn't a nice thing to do but then he had a plan which he had been thinking up in his room ever since he saw the boy's interest in him. Today was his lucky day - although it wasn't Ernie's lucky day. Poor Ernest! He had his face looking down at the cow's hooves when he felt an awful wet sludge pour all down this back. Most of it went down the outside but quite a bit went down his back and into the overalls. When he stood up his head, neck and back were covered in green cow shit - fresh and courtesy of the abundant Irish countryside! It felt awful. When he came to his senses he could hear a subdued laughter quite near him; He knew who it was. Who else could it be? "That's your baptism of fire lad. Baptism of fire! Lots more of than to come! " He felt an arm around his shoulder pulling him away from the cow which was oblivious to the disturbance behind her. She had nuts in front and a soft pulse on her udder so she was happy enough. The man directed the boy out of the trench to the office at the other end of the shed. It was small and warm with one window looking on to the milking machines. He didn't wait for any permission but immediately undid the straps of the boy's overalls and pushed them down. Ernie didn't object. They had to come off. "We have to be quick" he said. "That milking has just started but I can't finish it without you. Step out of the overalls and take the tee shirt off." The boy did as he was told without question. He wasn't able to see too well because his head was still covered in cow shit. Then he felt a towel of some sort begin to wipe it off very rapidly. An experienced hand. He was standing behind him again just like when he was showing him how to pull the cow's teat. He was very close and very powerful. He liked it despite the rather peculiar circumstances. The door of the office was closed but he could still hear the gentle hissing of the milk being pumped into the glass jars on the ceiling. Strangely, mingled with the strong smell of the green slush from the cow, he could make out the scent of the man. He was getting hard. In the middle of all this his little cock was pushing out the front of his little boy briefs. But he wasn't concerned. He was standing in his tight underwear and the labourer with his hand s on his shoulders now. He ran his hands quite matter of factly down the boys back and onto his bottom. He was sure that he had squeezed it quite gently but he couldn't be sure of that because he was still in some type of shock. "You'll be fine in a minute" he heard. He didn't want to move now. The man had brought one hand across his chest and was rubbing his belly slowly. His hands were rough but he didn't mind. The other hand was on his inner thigh and was going up and down to the elastic of his underwear. A finger was pushing the elastic out every time he went up. Ernie wasn't moving away. "I think your overall is destroyed with the cow shit. You should take it off. I have another pair of overalls in the locker. You can put them on." The man went to the corner of the room and picked up a pair of milking overalls that just 'happened' to be there. They were far too big for the boy. They were a pair of his own. He stood against the wall with one eye on the boy and one eye looking out at the cows. The glass bottles were now half full. With the boy's back to him he put his hand in his overalls and adjusted his own large cock which had been as hard as nails from the moment he had entered the milking parlour. It was always hard around the boy. Oversized overalls hid a multitude! He looked at the sight before his eyes. Perfect. Absolutely perfect! A beautiful, unblemished smooth skinned boy with the sweetest of plump little arses barely hidden in the boys little white briefs. They weren't destroyed thankfully. He wanted them kept on and he had none to spare. None here anyway. He had stolen a pair of the boy's little blue undies from the washing line and had been using them to catch the fruit of his numerous orgasms. They were in a bit of a nasty state in his room under the mattress. If the boy was willing, and he believed he was, he wouldn't have to use them again this summer. "Here! Quickly. Put these on" he said, handing a pair of his old overalls to the boy. He had cum in them the night before while he was preparing this scenario and he liked the thought that his substantial cream would be rubbing against the boy's crotch as he milked. "I've no tee shirt and we've no time to go back to the farmhouse to get one. This milking is coming to an end and we've s till a lot to get through. Can you manage in just your undies and my overalls. I think it still smells of me a bit but it's only just the once off." There was no hesitation. Ernie grabbed it and tried to smell the man's scent without him seeing it. It was true. He could smell him on the cloth. He put them on with the man's help who was free enough with his hands, holding Ernie up at the shoulders. They were of course way too big for him - which is just as the man intended. His plan had been to have the boy in just his underwear milking the cows with him but that could never happen. This was the next best thing. Because the overalls were so big he could look down the front and back as much as he liked. He could also see the boy's lovely smooth chest with those two light brown nipples standing erect. And it was what he saw erect that convinced him that he was in for a nice long summer of happy milking with the boy. The boy's little cock was as hard as a nail all through this ordeal. It hadn't gone down at all and was pushing the front of his little pair of briefs out wonderfully. This wasn't the time to play with it. That would come later. For now it was enough that he was going to spend the rest of his morning lusting over the boy's lovely slim pure body knowing he could look down the front and see that little bulge of his or the back and see the most beautiful pair of full round bum cheeks he had seen in a long time - outside of his wank fantasies anyway. The boy never moved away from him when he touched his shoulders or back so he had every intention of feeling him up each time he passed him in the trench. Yes. It was lust among the cow pats! The thoughts of his first physical contact with a man filled Ernie's mind as he walked away from Little Paddy McGinty and towards the shop. He liked that face. He loved the freckles. A face without freckles is like a night without stars. He liked the look in the boy's eyes. It must have been how he had looked to the labourer that first time he saw Ernie as a fourteen year old - longing. Desperate. Trying to say you were available even if you didn't know what for. He had a long good summer that year. The labourer was very experienced and started Ernie on a long road to sexual discovery. That would be the polite way of putting it. The more accurate way would be that the man brought out the latent slut in him. He loved sex. He loved the control he knew he could have over men. They wanted him. This man could teach him how to make himself wanted. Desired. All he had to do was go with the flow. And everything certainly flowed for Ernest Grabsby that summer. He suspected that time had come full circle and it was now his turn to awaken the darker side of Little Paddy McGinty just as the labourer had awoken it in him. But he had to pass through Breda first and that wasn't to be an easy task. He knew nothing of Brendan McIllhattan's plans either. As he opened the door of the Breda's shop and was nearly floored by the boy's bitch of a mother Brendan was filling a bag with clothes for the boy from his supply in his photography studio on his farm. He was going to bring them down to Breda's Bar later on hoping for a show. He wasn't anticipating competition for the boy's affections. He was anticipating a plump round bottom in a lovely pair of football shorts putting on a little show for him. And he wasn't disappointed.