Guilty Pleasures

by Bertrice Small

  “No,” Essie said. “We have a house account and pay monthly. I just need you to pick it up. It’s a big order.”

  “Santa’s going to bring me a dump truck that really can dump,” Sean Michael informed Maureen as she drove him to nursery school.

  “He’ll only be bringing that truck if you are a good boy,” Maureen reminded her little charge, looking at him in her rearview mirror. When they arrived at the school, Maureen unbuckled Sean Michael and brought him inside to his teacher, Mrs. Gundersen. “Santa’s bringing him a dump truck,” she said, grinning at the teacher.

  “So I’ve heard every day since December first,” Mrs. Gundersen replied with a smile and a chuckle. “Do they have it yet?”

  Maureen nodded, and then with a wave, she was off to the butcher counter at the grocery store to pick up the meat order for Essie. There was no one at the counter when she arrived, but there was a bell with a little card that read Ring Me for Service. Maureen smacked her palm down on the bell twice. She waited but no one came. She smacked the bell again, this time more loudly.

  Suddenly the door behind the counter swung open. “Keep your drawers on now,” she heard a distinctly Irish voice say as a man came out into view.

  “That’s hardly a proper way to greet a customer,” Maureen said sharply.

  “Glory be!” the man said with a chuckle. “It’s a wee Irish lassie.” He was very tall, with blue eyes and black hair that was cropped short and neat.

  “I’ve come for Mrs. Devlin’s order,” Maureen said in frosty tones. “Is it ready?”

  “For you, darlin’, yes! Mrs. Devlin’s prime cut of beef, loin of pork, and five pounds of chopped chuck are ready. Where’s Essie, and where do you come from? There’s a bit of the north in your voice.”

  “You’ve a lot of questions for a butcher boy,” Maureen replied pertly. “Monaghan, if it’s any of your business, and it isn’t.”

  “I’m a Donegal man myself. Toryn O’Donel is me name,” he told her

  “My name,” she corrected him. “Stop trying to sound like something people make us out to be. You’re Irish, not an actor from the Abbey like Barry Fitzgerald or Victor McLaughlin. You’re an educated man if you grew up in Donegal. Where did you get a name like Toryn? It’s hardly a saint’s name.” Toryn! His name was Toryn? The coincidence sent a shiver down her spine.

  “And a good thing too,” he said with a laugh, “since I’m no saint. It’s an old family name. The family claims we have an ancestor who was called Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures.” He handed her a large shopping bag over the counter. “On account, right?”

  Maureen grew briefly dizzy with his words. “Yes,” she said, pulling herself together. “On Mrs. Devlin’s account.”

  “Hey, are you all right? You’ve suddenly gone pale as milk,” Toryn O’Donel said. Then he came around the counter and took the bag from her. “Let me help you out to the car with this, lass. It’s heavy. I don’t even know your name, but you know mine.” He took the shopping bag in one hand and her arm with the other, then led her back through the market and out into the parking lot.

  Maureen had to admit the steadying hand was welcome. Certainly there couldn’t have really been a man known as Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures. She had made him up out of whole cloth. Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures was a figment of her imagination. The cold air helped clear the dizziness away. “I’m Maureen Flynn,” she introduced herself. “You don’t really descend from someone called Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures, do you?”

  “So it’s said in Donegal,” he replied. “Was it the thousand pleasures that made you faint, Miss Maureen Flynn? Certainly a proper nanny wouldn’t have any knowledge of such things. Or do you?” Toryn O’Donel grinned down at her. He had to top her by a few inches, she suddenly realized.

  Maureen pressed the key remote. “You can put the bag in the backseat,” she said.

  “Yes, madam,” he replied. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go to a movie sometime. Do you like the cinema?”

  “With the likes of you?” Maureen sounded indignant. “I don’t keep company with strangers, Mr. O’Donel. Thank you for your help.” She got into the car and drove off, but she couldn’t help peeking in her rearview mirror. Lord, he was handsome!

  Essie thanked the young woman for picking up the roasts. She inspected the delivery, nodding with a smile. “That new young butcher they have really knows how to cut meat,” she said in an approving voice. “Look at the prime rib. Just the right amount of fat on it to roast beautifully. What’s in the case is trimmed too fine to satisfy both the food police and the weight-conscious.”

  The following Saturday evening, Maureen went to the five o’clock mass. Afterward, as she was leaving the church, she felt a hand on her elbow. She turned and found herself facing Toryn O’Donel. “I’ll be thanking you to take your big paw off of me, Mr. O’Donel,” she said sharply.

  “I thought you might change your mind and take in a movie with me if I introduced you to someone who could attest to my character,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. “Ah, Father Porter, there you are. Will you please tell this stubborn lass that I’m a respectable fellow and won’t eat her up if she goes to the films with me?”

  The priest chuckled. “Why, Toryn, don’t tell me Miss Flynn has put you off.”

  “He says you’ll attest to his good character,” Maureen said, smiling.

  “Well,” Father Porter said, “he’s my nephew, so I’m apt to be prejudice.”

  “You’re not Irish!” Maureen exclaimed.

  “No, I’m a Yankee-doodle dandy,” the priest responded, “but my oldest sister married an O’Donel and has lived in Ireland for almost forty years. Toryn’s a good fellow, and if he misbehaves, you’ll be sure to tell me. I think you’re safe for a movie.”

  “I haven’t said I would go,” Maureen replied.

  “But you haven’t said you wouldn’t,” Toryn said. “Will you?”

  “Well, I was planning to meet my friend Jane for supper,” Maureen said. “I’d hate to disappoint her. She’s a nanny like me and alone in this country.”

  “Is she the little blonde who looks after the Blairs’ little girl?” he asked.

  Maureen nodded.

  “If I could get my friend Gary from the Produce Department to join us, do you think this Jane would come?” Toryn inquired.

  “Well,” Maureen considered, “it is a bit late to ask, isn’t it? Perhaps another time, Mr. O’Donel. Good night. Good night, Father.” And Maureen hurried off.

  “Well, now,” the priest said, smiling, “I believe that’s called a put-down, nephew. She’s a fine girl, however, and if she’ll finally agree to go out with you, remember she’s a lady and treat her as such. She’s not one of those light skirts peopling the Salty Pig.”

  “Now, Uncle, what would you know of the Salty Pig?” Toryn teased his uncle. “A good priest such as yourself.”

  Father Porter smiled. “I’m called on to minister to all souls, not just the ones who come to mass on Sundays and saints days, Toryn. I should tell you that I’m responsible for Miss Flynn since I’ve gotten into e-mail correspondence with her brother Father Seamus Flynn. I hope, however, that won’t deter you.”

  “It won’t,” the younger man replied. “I intend on marrying Maureen Flynn eventually, Uncle. I knew she was the one the moment she came to the butcher counter to pick up the Devlins’ order the other day. But, for pity’s sake, don’t say anything to my mother yet. She’ll be planning a wedding and naming the children for us.” He didn’t want to encourage his mother until it was a done deal.

  Father Porter laughed heartily. “Indeed, she will. You’re her youngest, and she wasn’t happy when you up and came to the States. But she’s like all mothers. She wants you happy and settled with a good woman. Now, since you’re not taking Miss Flynn to the pictures, will you come and share supper with your uncle?”

  “I will!” Toryn O’Donel responded, his eyes lingering on Maureen’s retreating fi
gure as she went to the car and got in.

  Maureen felt his eyes on her back. It had been a long time since she had had time for a boyfriend. Of course, he wasn’t her boyfriend. He was a fresh-as-wet-paint Irishman, but he was so handsome. A lot like her fantasy. Maureen swore softly to herself as she drove to meet Jane for supper at the luncheonette. How the hell could that be? She had never set eyes on the butcher boy until the other day.

  Jane was waiting for her in a booth. “Are you relieved of your sins?” she teased.

  Maureen slid into the booth. “Do you ever go to the IGA?” she asked.

  “Sure. Mrs. Blair has Mrs. Bills cleaning that big new house of theirs, but I do the marketing for her with the little one,” Jane said.

  “What do you think of the butcher?” Maureen asked.

  “Karl? He’s nice for an old guy. Why do you ask? Oh! My! God! It isn’t Karl. It’s that hot new butcher! He’s Irish, isn’t he? Do you like him?”

  “I neither like nor dislike him,” Maureen said. “He’s very fresh, I’m thinking.”

  “He’s hot,” Jane said in her clipped English accent. “And he’s nice. He’s always giving a slice of bologna to the little kids. Did he come on to you? Oh, you are so lucky! I would love to have a nice boyfriend.”

  “Did you know his uncle is the priest at St. Anne’s?” Maureen said. “I suppose that makes him respectable after a fashion. He asked me to the pictures after mass.”

  “And you said no?” Jane’s jaw dropped with surprise.

  “Of course I did. We were meeting for supper. I wasn’t going to leave you high and dry. He did offer to get his friend Gary and make it a foursome.”

  “Gary from Produce? Well, it wouldn’t have been so bad, I suppose,” Jane allowed. “I’ve noticed Gary eyeing me. He seems harmless.”

  “I told the butcher boy maybe another time. I don’t want him thinking we’re easy and can be picked up with no notice,” Maureen said. “Besides, I have other plans after we eat.” She smiled mysteriously.

  “You girls know what you want?” The waitress was by their side.

  They ordered.

  “What plans?” Jane asked when the girl had gone.

  Maureen leaned forward. “Do you know about the Channel?” she asked Jane.

  Jane’s blue eyes grew wide. She nodded, and then said, “Don’t tell me you have the Channel? Oh, you are so lucky!”

  “I asked Mrs. Devlin for it before I agreed to come over,” Maureen said. “I only use it Saturday nights since I have Sundays off, but it’s wonderful to have it.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Blair ever heard of the Channel,” Jane said. “I wouldn’t have dared to ask for it. Besides, I never even met the Blairs before I came to work for them. They hired me through the agency Mrs. Blair’s sister-in-law, Mrs. St. John, used to work for when she was a young girl. You are sooo lucky.”

  Their food came, and the two girls ate while chattering about the households in which they worked. They made plans to go into the city and see the decorations before the holiday season was over. And afterward they parted to return home, Jane to watch reruns of True Blood and Maureen to access her fantasy of the Celtic warrior called Toryn and the first-century AD village of Ennis. Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures was suddenly becoming more real now that she had met his twenty-first-century descendant.

  Snuggled in her comfortable bed with its soft and pretty pink flannel sheets topped by a warm down comforter, Maureen pressed the A button on her remote and awakened naked amid a bed of furs, his warm lips pressing against her lips. She sighed contentedly as his big hand caressed her full round breasts. Then her heart beat faster as that same hand swept down to her mons, two fingers pushing past her nether lips and into her vagina. He began to frig her, the long, thick fingers slow at first, and then moving with increasing speed until she sobbed a small release and begged him, “More!”

  He smiled into her face and withdrew the two fingers, then pushed them into her mouth. She sucked on them, her eyes closing with pleasure as she imagined another digit in her mouth. As if he read her thoughts, he positioned himself over her chest, withdrew his fingers, and replaced them with his cock. He had discovered that Maureen had the most skillful mouth and tongue when it came to pleasuring a manpart. Now it was his eyes that closed.

  Reaching up, she fastened her two hands about the twin cheeks of his ass and began to knead the flesh, her fingers pressing deeply into his muscles. Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures felt his head spin with the pure deliciousness of it. Her mouth urged his cock onward, her hands stroking and massaging his flesh. Then she surprised him by thrusting a single finger into his fundament. He groaned loudly and, unable to prevent himself, spilled his seed into her mouth. Maureen swallowed it eagerly.

  “Sorceress,” he whispered in her ear, even as he realized he was still as hard as a rock. “Release me and get on your hands and knees,” he commanded her.

  Obeying him, she waited, breathless, to be impaled upon his great cock. He did not disappoint her, one hand resting on the back of her neck to keep her position submissive, the other guiding his manpart into her. She gasped as she always did at his entry. He simply filled her, and the walls of her vagina tightened and released as he began to fuck her. The pleasure rose up to consume her until she was certain she was dying, but she never did. Instead it burst over her in a shower of magical stars that always left her to wallow in her satisfaction until she was forced to release her hold on it.

  And he came again with a roar like a beast, his juices spurting hard into her as she cried out. “The gods, little one! How is it you can unman me so easily?” he groaned as he fell away from her, pulling her back against him as he did so, a hand moving to clasp one of her breasts.

  Maureen laughed weakly. “If I had known that fucking was so wonderful, I would have started doing it years ago,” she told him.

  “It is only perfect because it is between us,” he told her. “We are life mates, and always will be. We will grow old, and die one day, little one, but we will return eventually to human form, and I will find you again though it take a thousand or more years to do so. You are mine!”

  His words startled Maureen. “Fantasy end!” she said, and she was back once more in the lovely room that was hers in this house. Outside her window she could see the moon glistening on the snow. I will find you again though it take a thousand or more years to do so. You are mine! His words echoed in her brain. Had there really been a Toryn of the Thousand Pleasures who once lived in an ancient Ireland of Druids and gods? And was Toryn O’Donel his descendant, or even that Toryn reborn? She didn’t know, and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with anyone. At least not right now. Maureen sighed, and fell into a restless sleep.

  Christmas came. Her first holiday away from home. She had always gone home for Christmas. She called her mother, and to her surprise, Mrs. Flynn was not her usual dour self.

  “Your brother tells me that the priest there is keeping an eye on you,” she said.

  “Father Porter,” Maureen replied. “He’s a very nice fellow, Mum. You can tell my sister that I do attend mass every Sunday.”

  “I will,” Mrs. Flynn replied. “Frankly, she’s a wee bit too holy for my taste, Maureen, but she seems to have a calling. I hear your priest has a nephew.”

  Oh, Lord! “Yes, Mum.”

  “And he’s a butcher. It’s an honest trade. You could do worse,” her mother said.

  “Mum! I’ve not even gone out with him yet.”

  “Has he asked you?” came the pointed query, and Maureen knew her mother knew the answer to the question, so she couldn’t lie.

  “Yes, but it was very last-minute, and I had promised to meet my girlfriend for supper, Mum. I’ve told you about Jane, who’s a nanny here too. We both get off half Saturday and all of Sunday.”

  “Is she a good Catholic girl?” Mrs. Flynn wanted to know.

  “She’s an Anglican, and goes to St. Luke’s every Sunday morning,” Mau
reen said.

  “Well, I suppose even if she is English she’s all right if she goes to church. I’ll ask your brother to inquire of Father Porter.”

  “Are you having a good Christmas, Mum?” Maureen wanted to bring this conversation to a close as quickly as possible now.

  “Oh, yes. Your brothers are all here, and what do you think? Michael’s gone and found himself a girl to marry.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mum. Give him my congratulations. Do you know her?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a good local girl. Flora Bailey,” Mrs. Flynn responded.

  “Of course. I knew her in school,” Maureen said. “Well, that’s surely a fine Christmas gift for you, Mum, isn’t it? Did you get the packages I sent?”

  “You shouldn’t spend your money like that, Maureen,” her mother scolded. Then she relented a bit. “Everyone was delighted with your choices.”

  “I’m glad you all had such a good Christmas. I’ll have to ring off now, Mum. It’s almost two o’clock here, and we’re having Christmas dinner. I’ll write you all about it.”

  “Yes, do,” her mother said. “I read your letters to the family.”

  “Merry Christmas again, Mum,” Maureen said.

  “Go out with that young man, Maureen. You can’t be a nanny forever, living in someone else’s home instead of your own,” her mother advised. “Merry Christmas, my daughter, and God bless you.”

  “You too, Mum,” Maureen said and rang off.

  Toryn O’Donel called her the day after Christmas.

  “How did you get my number?” Maureen demanded to know.

  “Father Porter, who got it from your brother,” he said, laughing. “They’re quite a club, the priests are. Will you go out with me on New Year’s Eve?”

  “I can’t. Mrs. Devlin and her husband are going to a party. I have to be in the house to babysit the children,” Maureen said with genuine regret.

  “Do you think they would allow me to come over and keep you company?” he asked her. “What if I ask my uncle to speak with them and vouch for me as a respectable citizen who’ll not kidnap their wee ones or ravage their nanny?”