I hate those Saturday afternoons when there’s an international Rugby game being played in Dublin. We get thousands of Scots running around town wearing kilts shouting, “There’s nothing worn under ma kilt.”

If not them, it’s the English fans singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, a song, or chant, that features various gestures that tradition dictates they have to include. If you get one wrong, you have to knock a drink back. It usually ends up with both the fans and the pub in a chaotic mess.

I like the French fans best. They just don’t give a fuck. They smoke those evil smelling Gauloises cigarettes, and they have a ‘different’ smell. They drink wine, eat bread, and stand around in groups, openly salivating at any unfortunate female that happens to walk by and catches their eye.

The Welsh fans, though, love a few beers and a song. They all think they’re Tom Jones, but they’re generally in good humour, and they aren’t the world’s best singers, despite what they’d have you believe.

The best part for me is that between the Scots, The French, and the Welsh, they have the three best, most rousing, national anthems in the world in my opinion. When sung at their home games, it’d make sour milk turn good and a lesbian almost turn straight.

Irish rugby, however, has an endemic snot factor attached to it. They have their own national anthem, which is played after the official Irish national anthem and it’s like a fucking concert before each game. Irish rugby was mostly played by doctors and solicitors, way back when, and we never really had a lot of success. It’s mostly embraced by middle to upper class yahoos, sent to the D4 and D6 colleges by their rich daddies, who revere the ex-captains of Ireland and the entitlement bestowed upon them by their gaudified forebears.

Match tickets are gleefully snapped up by corporate elites and private clinics which, essentially, means that the ordinary Joe Public has little opportunity to attend games. The games are played at the Aviva Stadium on Lansdowne Road in Ballsbridge, and if you’re caught in a pub around there on a Saturday afternoon, it often makes for a messy Saturday night out.

We’d been unwittingly caught out a couple of times and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Unfortunately, unless you’re avidly tuned into the rugby season, it’s easy to find yourself sitting in a pub in Dublin 4, surrounded by people who were drunk at lunchtime and progressively getting worse as the evening wore on. This was one such occasion.

I was out for the day with Peter Smith and Darren Ebbs, two workmates of mine. On occasional Saturdays, we’d meet at The Canal Bank Café for a leisurely breakfast at about 10:30. Around noon we’d amble down to Baggot Street bridge and get a coffee at one of the food trucks and drink it on the steps of the Canadian Embassy. We might have a smoke or we might not. We’d put the world to rights and watch the girls passing by as we voted for who the prettiest ones were.

It was scored in several categories such as breast size, shapeliness of their legs, coiffure, beauty, fashion sense, style, couture, cosmetics, and fragrance. Usually anyone wearing jeans, trainers, stupid leprechaun hats or replica rugby shirts was ejected from the competition. We never had the heart to tell them to their face, so they went about their business, happily content in their ignorance.

The judging was always confrontational, sometimes aggressive, but weighed astutely, before a winner was declared. Content with our decision, we’d amble down Baggot Street and head into either O’Donoghue’s or The Waterloo. We’d find a quiet corner and indulge ourselves in pints of goodness and lofty badinage. Everyone knew everyone and it was great craic. Until the rugger buggers found it and ruined it for everyone else.

On this particular Saturday in March, just before Saint Patrick’s Day, the English were in town. We hadn’t forgotten that the game was on, but we were taking advantage of the Saint Patrick’s holiday weekend and had put a lot of careful thought into it. We decided to opt for a quieter pub in the same orbit since we used Peter’s house as a control hub. Toner’s was the venue of choice, by a two-to-one vote.

We arrived at a little after 1:00 and there was loads of space available. They were, however, expecting a big crowd given the amount of tv screens dotted around the pub. We chose a table as far away from them as we could but we knew we’d have to suffer some inconvenience at some stage of the afternoon or evening. About an hour later, we were well into a discussion on the merits of onions on a burger. Should they be raw? Should they be cooked? Should they be red or white? Pickled or not? Cooked in garlic or not? Or should they use scallions instead? It’s a perennial problem that divides the population but isn’t given much consideration at government level.

Halfway through this important discussion, a group of nine people ambled into the pub. They stood huddled inside the door, heads on swivels to either see if there was a table big enough to cater for them or if anyone recognised them. Unfortunately, there was enough space in our corner, so over they came, with bright smiles and replica rugby shirts, and sat beside us. We ignored them for a while but they became a nuisance quite quickly, and Peter was a few pints into being happy,

“Ok, lads. I know we don’t really do this during a Saturday session,” he said in a low voice, “but there’s six women and three men in this group to my right.”

“So what?” Darren asked.

“Darren, surely to Christ you know, at this stage of your life, that the words, ‘separate one from the herd’, will find its way into this sentence at some point,” I said, regretting that I didn’t have a bet in place earlier.

“Mock me if you must, Tony, but you know I’m right and I know you’re thinking the same thing,” Peter said.

“Lads. There’s no fucking way in hell that’ll work in here. They’re all down to watch the game on tv over a few pints. They’re not interested in being shifted,” Darren said.

“Don’t say that, Darren, it just sets him off,” I said, watching Peter’s general lustful attitude become more prevalent. “Women only wear rugby jerseys when they go to a match. They have no knowledge or interest in the game. They think that an up and under is something that happens from behind with their knickers around their ankles. They’re here to be seen and for no other reason, except if they feel like getting shifted.”

As they were discussing the tactics they’d use to ‘charm’ all six ladies, I took stock of the group. There were nine in all, three men and six ladies. All nine wore green favours to indicate they were Irish supporters. Some wore the requisite ‘vintage’ rugby shirt, some had the latest official iteration, two just wore badges and hats, and one, a female with dark hair, wore a no-nonsense, good old green Aran sweater. The women sat while the men stood and quaffed pints while having a deep discussion on the merits of Brian O’Driscoll’s canonisation as the best rugby player of all time.

The three women wearing the rugby shirts, sat together. They were seated closest to the where the three men stood. I assumed, correctly as it transpired, that they were married. The two women with the badges and hats chatted together, isolating the girl with the green sweater, who looked like she’d prefer to be anywhere else in the world than in that pub at that moment. She looked at me, raised her eyes, and smiled. I smiled back and nodded my head.

Slowly, the married cohort of the party drifted out for a smoke, leaving the other three girls to themselves. Peter and Darren immediately went to engage the pair who seemed to be friends, leaving the last one to try and look as if she was having fun. She was very pretty with dark hair to her shoulders, the greenest eyes I’d seen for a long time, clear skin, classic lips, and an undertone of makeup that didn’t beat you over the head. But it was her eyes that drew me to her. They had the look of a deeply thoughtful individual. She looked at me a couple of times, and her eyes bore into mine, challenging me to either look away or be destroyed in the fire that would ignite from them at any random moment.

Our tables were side by side with a small gap between them. I sat at one end of ours, while she sat at the adjoining end of theirs. We were almost opposite each other. I took out my phone and went through some messages. When I finished, I put it away and saw that she had been watching me. I smiled an embarrassed smile.

“No rest for the wicked,” I said.

She smiled.

“You’re a busy man,” she observed, nodding at my phone. “I always leave mine home on weekends.”

“I’d normally do that too,” I said, “but then I’d have nothing to distract me from all of the overinflated hype on a Rugby Saturday.”

“I don’t know why I even came here,” she said. “I hate this.”

“You kind of get dragged along don’t you? It can turn into a very long day,” I said. “But I have an idea that might work some of the time.”

“Really? Well I’m open to anything,” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

“If it works, we could be out of here in thirty minutes with no guilt from our friends.”

“That sounds fantastic,” she said. “What is it?”

“Ok, I’ll tell you, but don’t judge me,” I said. “You can refuse if you’re uncomfortable, and there’d be no hard feelings.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” she said.

“Firstly, I’m, Tony,” I said and offered her my hand. “Tony Harris.”

“Hannah,” she said, taking it. “So what’s this devious plan you have, Tony Harris?”

“It’s the most devious plan since Devious Gerald, the Fourth Earl of Deviousness, a confirmed carnivore, rode his horse through a vegan market and scattered the assembled vendors to the winds.”

“That is a devious plan,” she laughed, and her whole face opened up.

“Ok, Hannah,” I said conspiratorially, “if we behave like we’re interested in each other and we leave together, nobody will bat an eyelid. In fact, our friends will seek us out for the gossip the next day and we can tell them anything we like.”

“How do I know that this is not just a devious plan to whisk me away and have your wicked way with me?” she said, semi seriously.

“That’s simple, my dear Hannah,” I said, “my way is not wicked.”

“Ooh! You are a one,” she said with a grin, “It’s worth a try, I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“The wicked way or the ethereal way?” I asked.

“The devious plan way,” she said, giggling.

“Ok. Either you come sit by me, or I come sit by you,” I said. “We’re trying to make it look like we’re interested in each other.”

“Ok, you come to me,” she suggested.

“That’s good, Hannah,” I said. “Although, if you came to me it’d be a more natural kissing position. Just saying.”

“Do we have to kiss?” she asked.

“It’s not a deal breaker, but it would help dispel any lingering doubts.”

“You’ve got a silver tongue,” she said, blushing.

“Silver is not life threatening, Hannah,” I said, “and the taste is quite nice too.”

“Oh, come on then. Move over, Tony.”

She came and sat by me as her two friends, and mine, looked on open mouthed. I placed my arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear.

“I think it’s working,” I said. “We’ve got their attention; your friends are gobsmacked.”

She lifted her lips to my ear and said, “So are yours. You might be right about that kiss.”

We were both smiling as my lips met hers. It was a simple kiss that we held for no more than ten seconds, but I licked her lips as we kissed and her tongue touched mine before we broke apart.

“That was nice, Tony,” she whispered in my ear, “should we do it again?”

“Give it some time, Hannah, don’t make it seem like you’re over eager,” I said. “We need to make them think that we’re getting comfortable with each other first. When I squeeze your shoulder you just laugh as loud as you can. We’ll follow that up with a slightly longer kiss. Then, I’ll gaze into your beautiful emerald eyes and kiss you again.”

“Ooh that sounds romantic, Tony,” she said. “Squeeze my shoulder quickly.”

I squeezed her shoulder and she broke down laughing, attracting the disbelieving attention of the four people watching us. Then she touched my face and kissed me again, this time I opened my lips as she met them and our tongues softly intertwined. We broke the kiss quickly and gazed into each other’s eyes, I touched her face and let my thumb shadow her left eyebrow to a bemused look from her smiling face,

“I just adore your eyes, Hannah, they are deep pools of liquid emerald,” I said, loud enough for everyone near us to hear. “What’s that fragrance you’re wearing? Is it Black Opium?”

She looked at me with a start, smiling in surprise.

“Why yes it is,” she said with a curious look on her face, “How can you distinguish it from the Opium scent?”

“As memory serves, Hannah, I believe the original Opium scent was developed and released in the late 70’s and, to my mind, would be impossible to mistake for something else.,” I said, touching her face as our audience listened with rapt attention. “Black Opium, on the other hand is attempting to re-invent desire in a new, contemporary light and has been reshaped, if you will, for the modern woman.”

“Is it all that distinguishable to the nose?” she asked.

“It is, Hannah, but not in an obvious way,” I said, stroking her hand as I looked deep into her eyes. It has a floral gourmand scent that captivates the senses, twisted with dark, roasted notes of black coffee, for vigour and vitality. There’s energy and sensuality married with the unique YSL edge. The signature black coffee accord is paired with sensual vanilla, enriched by the softness of white flowers and orange blossom, set against a base of patchouli, and comforting white musk, a daring contrast of light and dark, for a women’s fragrance that bewitches with its trail.”

“Are you an expert in fragrances?” she asked quietly.

“Far from it, Hannah,” I said, inhaling her scent again. “I’m merely an amateur with an appreciation of how a beautiful woman goes about enhancing that beauty in an unassuming and understated way. The top notes of pear accord and mandarin essence, heart notes of vanilla, orange blossom and white flowers and base notes of black coffee accord, cedarwood essence, and patchouli all blend to enhance and entrance. I’m getting an after note of white musk now: it’s simply beautiful.”

I lifted her hand and turned her delicate wrist to my nose, inhaling her gently as she watched me expectantly.

“You’re using it correctly too, Hannah, I continued. “An added intensity is achieved when applied directly to your pulse points or hot spots such as your wrist, inner elbow, and lower neck, allowing the heat of your body to allow the fragrance to reveal its full trail. Some girls include their shoulders and back to intensify your perfume trail, but you have correctly decided not to. It lacks sophistication and elegance in my view.”

she leaned into me, her eyes searching mine. Her arms slipped around me and pulled me to her as our lips met in a deeper, lingering and more intense kiss. It was quite beautiful. I whispered in her ear,

“That was fantastic, Hannah. You even had me fooled.”

“I wasn’t fooling, Tony,” she said, her breath raspy and her face nuzzling mine.

“Ok, we’re about ten minutes into this, Hannah,” I said. “I’m not fooling either.”

“I love your kisses, Tony,” she whispered.

“I love yours, Hannah.”

“Let’s get out of here, Tony,” she said.

“We’ll have to wait a few minutes, love.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why do you think?” I glanced quickly downwards.

She caught on and laughed uproariously, shocking her other six friends who were just returning from the smoke shack.

“Do we need to kiss for the three couples?” she asked.

“I think we do, but this isn’t for them, Hannah, it’s for me.”

“And me.”

We kissed again, longer this time. I began to lose myself in her lips until we slowly broke apart with some sweet butterfly kisses. She stood up and took my hand.

“We’re going kids,” she said to them all, “I’ll see you later.”

Peter Smith looked at me with naked hatred in his eyes, but his smirk told me otherwise. When we got outside I kissed her again.

“Thanks for that, Hannah,” I said. “We’re free!”

"Yes, we are. Will you walk me home, Tony?” she asked.

“I might not want to leave,” I said.

“I might not let you leave.”

I took her hand as we walked through the busy pre-game, pedestrian traffic. She pointed at an apartment building about 200 metres away, and we walked towards it. We took the lift to her floor and arrived at her apartment door. Before she put the key in the lock, she took the lapels of my jacket in her hands.

“Do you still want to leave?” she said.

I leaned in and kissed her on the lips in reply. My tongue met hers and she pulled herself to me. Inside, I spent a few minutes taking in my surroundings. She had a beautiful home. It was spacious, had loads of natural light, was tastefully decorated, and furnished, and it was spotlessly clean.

“I love your space, Hannah,” I said. “You’ve done a fantastic job on it.”

“Thanks, Tony,” she said, “but I didn’t do it alone. Coffee?”

“Please. I think you’d look very sexy in overalls.”

“You’d probably think I’d look sexy in a black plastic bag,” she laughed.

“It depends on how short it was.”

We kissed as the coffee brewed. It was a deeply magical kiss that made my head spin and caused her to make light humming sounds from her throat. As our tongues danced together, she pulled me tighter, enmeshing our bodies in an astral unity. We were off outside somewhere, sailing above the clouds, a light hissing sound enveloping us. She suddenly shrieked and jumped away. The coffee had spilled over. I cleaned the counter as she poured the coffee.

We took our coffee to a large beige couch in the living room. She laid her head on my shoulder as she sipped and clicked the rugby match on the TV.

“Ah. You can’t beat watching a game played by 30 grown men with misshapen balls,” I said.

She choked and spilled some coffee over her sweater.

“That’s funny.”

“Your sweater will be ruined if you don’t clean that off quick, Hannah,” I said.

“I know, I’m a clumsy mess sometimes,” she said. “I’ll go and change. Excuse me, please.”

She came back out quickly and called to me.

“Tony, I’m not sure what to wear, can you help me please?”

I’m nothing if not a great help to people, so I leapt into action. In her bedroom, she held up two similar sweaters and asked me to choose. I chose the light brown one. She thanked me and said she’d be with me presently. I went back to look at the match. Five minutes later, Hannah came back in. She walked around the couch and stood before me wearing an emerald-green lace thong and a short version of the light brown sweater I had chosen.

“C’mon Ireland,” she said, and draped herself around me.

We were in a room with floor to ceiling windows along the whole front wall. I pointed at them questioningly.

“Let’s live a little,” she said.

I smiled and pulled her down flat on the sofa. I lifted her sweater over her head and threw it on the floor. She was naked underneath. She had beautiful breasts, snow white skin, and bright pink nipples that formed like a narrow cap of snow atop the peak of a majestic mountain range. They stood to attention, and my tongue and lips slowly worshipped at them for what seemed like a blink of an eye.

She was wild in her movements as she slithered around on the couch beneath me, and it took me some time to calm her. I studiously ministered to both breasts using hands, fingers, lips, and tongue, and she purred like a kitten as her lips sought mine. I took control of the kiss, and we were both out of breath as we broke.

“I’ve never been kissed like that before, Tony,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re a fantastic kisser, Hannah.”

“I’m learning, Tony,” she whispered.

I dipped my head down to the smooth, soft skin of her stomach, which tensed as my hand slid beneath the waistband of her thong. It was a beautiful garment, made of soft lace with enhancements of a smooth satin-like material. My fingers couldn’t get enough of the tactile beauty of it. Moving lower they found a tiny strip of hair above the lips of her labia as it curled up from beneath her. She was impossibly wet and she moaned as my fingers gloried in the dampness.

“You’re very aroused, Hannah,” I whispered as I kissed her soft abdomen.

“I’ve just changed these. I’ve been leaking since you kissed me in the pub.”

“Can I take them off?” I asked.

“Please. What are you going to do?” she asked.

“First I’m gonna undress myself, to make it even.”

“Please. What then?”

“I’m gonna remove your thong.”

“Oh. Do it. What then?”

“I’m gonna take you to heaven with my tongue and lips.”

“Ooh, God help me,” she said in a raspy voice.

I quickly undressed as she watched me from the couch. I then kissed the inside of her thigh before sliding her thong off slowly. She parted her legs, lifting one on top of the couch backrest. Her fantastic pink vulva opened to me and my tongue found its home between the lips of her labia. She was so aroused that all it took was one slow and gentle journey of my tongue along the length of her vulva to push her over the edge and she lost all motor control of her body as she screamed and twisted herself almost double as I tried to hold on to her.

She rolled off the couch and joined me on the floor where I’d landed when I slipped off. I bent my head between her legs and continued to stimulate the walls of her labia and the soft puffiness of her aroused lips. She rocked her hips gently as she began another orgasmic journey which I pushed along by rolling on my back, pulling her with me and sliding my tongue into her vagina, letting it rest there as her hip movements became more active and her voice pleaded for release.

“Please. Please. Please.” she begged, just before I rolled my tongue into a funnel shape, inserted it all the way and just reached her G-spot which yielded an explosive reaction of movement, screams and a torrent of fluid from within.

She was done. She crawled on top of me and lay there quietly, gently manipulating my penis with her hand.

“Jesus Christ, Tony. How did you do that?” she asked.

“You did most of it, Hannah,” I said and kissed her.

“You have a very talented tongue.”

“You have an absolutely beautiful vagina.”

“No man has ever told me that before.”

She kissed me and looked into my eyes.

“A girl could fall in love with you very easily,” she said.

“Most of them run away, but thank you, Hannah,” I said.

“I want to feel you inside me,” she said. “I hope your penis is as talented as your tongue.”

“One can only try,” I said modestly.

She straddled my hips and placed my tip at her entrance before sliding down to take me entirely inside her soft, tight vagina. I felt warm and safe and I pulled her to me.

“That’s beautiful, Hannah,” I whispered. “It’s like a warm glove made from a cloud.”

I kissed her again and minutely moved inside her with soft short thrusts, stimulating her G-spot, and receiving instant recognition of her reactions as she just held tight to me and screamed as another climax ripped through her. I rolled her on her back, her legs wrapped tightly around me. I needed the release that was building inside me and I also needed to quell the beautiful torture at the very tip of my penis, the sign of an impending eruption.

“I’m gonna come, Hannah,” I breathed more than spoke.

“I am too, Tony. Don’t pull away. Please. I want to feel it all inside me.”

My penis penetrated her fully before it pulsed many times as my semen found the inner reaches of her vagina, each pulse causing tremors somewhere in Hannah’s body before she straightened up, lolled her head sideways, and, eerily silent, breathed deeply before suddenly falling forward and experiencing huge tremors followed by loud screams as she literally erupted in orgasmic ecstasy. She was still, lying quietly and I wallowed in the feel of her soft skin as it melted into mine. I looked over at the TV screen.

“Ireland lost, love,” I whispered in her ear.

She just murmured a noise, and I let her rest for a little while. It took about a quarter of an hour before she could speak. Tears were rolling down her face.

“What’s wrong, Hannah?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing, Tony, it’s just so emotional.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

“Do you have to leave?” she asked.

“Not unless you want me too.”

“No. Please stay the night, Tony,” she said.

“I will, as long as I don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

She slapped me playfully.

“Can you do that again?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yes,” she said, a look of doubt or concern crossing her face. “I’ll cook us something before bed, if that’s ok.”

“I’ll help.”

“Tony, I need to tell you something.”

“Go for it, Hannah.”

“I’m engaged,” she whispered, not looking at me.

“I assumed that something like that was the case,” I said.

“How?” she asked.

“This is an expensive property with a lot more money invested in furnishings and décor, Hannah,” I said. “Not many single girls could spring for it.”

“You don’t seem angry,” she said.

“I’ve spent the afternoon naked and making love with a beautiful woman, and she’s asked me to spend the night. I’m not angry, Hannah, your fiancée may have a different view however.”

I held her to me and kissed her.

“I think I would be if it were me,” she said. “I don’t regret it one bit, though.”

“Anger is a wasted emotion. Trust me, nothing good ever comes out of being angry. Let’s cook something and see how the evening goes. I love being here with you, and I’d like to explore every little corner of you, if you’ll let me. I’ll leave then, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Will you stay the night?” she asked again.

“If you want me too, I’ll be happy to.”

“I want you to,” she said.