ST. PADDY'S DAY PUB CRAWL
by Jerry Weiss
Note: If you are still just a growing toilet or budding feeder please wait until you are of age before reading this story.
By the next year's St. Patrick's Day, my reputation had spread through the NYC Police and Fie Departments. The "Golden Shower Leprechaun" was now a legend and a subject of locker room banter.
I decided to up the ante by doing a pub crawl along Second Avenue and hanging out in the men's rooms of places like Tin Lizzie, Swig, Mollie Pitchers, and Jack Russell's. Beer goes down throats in mighty gulps on St. Pat's Day in those places, and where there's beer, there's piss.
As I mentioned, the annual parade ends in my neighborhood, centering on 86th and Second Avenue in Manhattan, and the Irish bars along the avenue is where the paraders congregate to drink away the rest of the day and night. Swarms of Irish cops, firemen and kilted bagpipers take over the streets, drunkenly strutting their stuff.
It's always seemed to me that to a lusty Irishman, it's like the pope had issued a one-day carnival-like dispensation from the usual Catholic proscriptions on St. Paddy's day, and anything went. Remembering how many burly, drunk Irish would show up at the old Beacon Baths on this day in the past to get their cock sucked and ass licked, I decided to see if I could get any action without leaving my neighborhood.
So dressed all in green, I stationed myself on a commode in the men's room of the first of these bars, and waited to see what would go down (hopefully, me). As it happened, soon after I arrived, the NYPD bagpiping contingent piled in, having completed their march, kilts swirling.
Soon enough, four tartaned big guys walked in and headed to the trough urinal against the wall, opposite the line of semi-exposed commodes where I was sitting.
After they finished pissing, one particularly big bruiser, 6'6" or so, lingered at the urinal. His pals said, c'mon, let's go, but he tapped one on the shoulder and said "Hold, on, I want to say hello to this guy here." He lifts the back of his kilt exposing a massive set of glutes which he reaches back and spreads, backing up to the commode and into my face. What's a guy to do when presented with a cop's ass? Lick it, that's what, which I proceeded to do. I buried my face between those two humungous mounds, spread them as far apart as I could, admired his pooched out ass lips and plunged in. His ass muscles closed around me as I dug into his hole with my tongue, his massive ass almost completely surrounding my head. He moved his keister up and down, washing my face with his amazing anus. Talk about cops and doughnuts! Man, I was eating doughnut hole!
I reached into my pocket and found the twenty and the rubber band I had stashed there, reached around and wrapped the twenty around his fat cock, securing it with the rubber band. As it started to plump up in my hand, he exclaimed "Now you're talkin'!!," turned around and plunged his pussy pleaser down my throat. Turning to his fellow kilted bagpiper cops, he winked at them and said "I been gettin' paid for it since I was fourteen!" Looking down at me, he tousled my hair. "Suck it, little fella!"
The other cops in the men's room had hiked up their kilts and were jacking away. "Hey," said a flaming natural red head, "this must be the Golden Shower Leprechaun!" They started gathering around cop number one and putting their arms 'round his shoulders as he started heaving and dumping gobs of cum down my throat, and pulling out, all over me. "Too bad we just pissed...but we'll let all the guys in the bar know you're here. You bring lotsa cash?"
I reached to my side and pulled up the kettle I had filled with bills and dollar coins and joints of Acapulco gold. (I like to live dangerously...I figured on St. Paddy's Day they would let it go.) "Here's my pot of gold! Dig in!!"
They all reached in and came up with handfuls of bucks and gold coins and joints, and started laughing uproariously. A blond cop of about twenty-seven crooned "you're a good kid. If you're lookin' for a kiss, you've come to the right place!"
"I'm all yours, dude," says I, and he bends down and plants one right on my lips, sticking the tip of his tongue inside my mouth. Holy shit, I thought, I'm sucking face with a big blond cop on St. Paddy's Day. I must be in paradise!
Breaking the kiss, he and the rest of them pile out of the restroom, guffawing and slapping each other on the back.
Sure enough, a parade of kilted cop pissers started coming into the men's room and pissing all over me. "Are you the pay toilet?," asked one, and I handed him a fistful of bills. "Open your mouth, I got you a drink," he says, and sticks it through my lips. Soon a forceful stream of beer piss starts going down my throat. "Oooo -- you little fucker...drink all of it, drink the fuckin' finest piss, guzzle it bitch!!"
He stopped the flow and pulled me up and heaved me into the trough urinal. "Lay in the piss, cunt!" Continuing his blast of piss on me, he encouraged other cops to join in, which they did with whoops and hollers, even starting a contest to see who could get his stream closest to right between my eyes.
As I lay there covered in piss with strong streams of recycled beer raining down on me from the giant schlongs of a barful of burly, bawdy Irish cops in kilts and tartans, I was pounding off -- the cops aiming for my dick as I came. Ah, to lay in a public urinal trough on St. Paddy's Day being mick-turated on by a bunch of rowdy Irish muscle cops -- how close is that to heaven?
(to be continued)