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Lingus, The National Tourism Board of Ireland, and the Dublin
Chamber of Commerce.
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The dark clouds scudded across the lowering sky, propelled by the bitter wind rolling in from the North Atlantic. The sky seemed only feet above the verdant rolling hills with their low scrub bush and gnarled trees.
Through the stones that littered the land like broken Dragon's teeth, a small, hunched figure labored to move up the steep hillside, the dark woolen shawl flapping in the brisk wind. One wrinkled hand held the tattered garment close, vainly trying to retain the little body heat that the aged body produced.
Finally, the figure reached the negligible shelter of the ruins atop the hill, and slumped on one of the square, moss- covered rocks long fallen from the wall.
"Oh, Saint's bless my poor old joints." Colleen O'Shaunessy sighed as she rubbed her gnarled old hands together, trying to warm the one that had been exposed to the weather. Her arthritis was acting up again - as it did more often than not, these days.
Colleen had been the name she'd been baptized with, lo those many years ago, but she would have been hard pressed to find any who could remember that. Now, to almost all, she was known simply as `Old Mother' O'Shaunessy, having born sons and daughters who had begat yet more sons and daughter in profusion. Now, drawn by the milder climate and better employment of the South, her kin had left their ancestral home - hovel, to tell the truth - and forgotten their roots. They'd begged and pleaded with her to join them, and still occasionally came by to renew the offer, but Old Mother O'Shaunessy had been born in that low stone cottage, and - God willing - would die there.
With a sigh, she pushed of the rock and slowly knelt to begin digging around the base of the ancient stones, looking for the low, hardy roots and herbs from which she made `Washer-woman Tea', since she couldn't afford the actual Tea leaves that the - May God see fit to send them all to the `other place' - English sold in their fine stores in Dublin.
To tell the truth, she had brought this chill and pain on herself. Living with her was Brianna, a lovely lass of a tender eighteen years, whom Old Mother had taken in a decade ago when poor Brianna's parents had been killed during a long, bitter winter. Brianna - strong, tall beautiful Brianna - always begged Mother O'Shaunessy to let her go, but Mother insisted. Mother told Brianna that it was because only she knew where to find the right herbs and roots - but the truth was that the day she couldn't collect her Tea was the day she would lay in her bed and wait for the Angel of Death to claim her. When a person was no longer of any use, then it was time to go see the Lord in person, she firmly believed.
So, here she was, her eighty-three year old knees complaining as she knelt on the sod, searching for the ingredients to the bitter, weak tea that was all she could afford.
That's when she heard the voice.
It was rolling and grandiose, albeit a trifle unsteady, and filled with both humor and pathos. It spoke in the old tongue, which was still in day-to-day use in this part of the country, despite what the English taught in their `oh-so-fancy' schools.
"Aye, and you're a sight for sore eyes, Old Mother, for one such as me." It said, and Mother turned and peered at whence the voice came, spotting it's owner in a nonce.
He was portly of build and florid of face, his nose and eyes shot through with red veins. A worn waist-coat with big brass buttons stretched over his prodigious stomach like a kettle drum, and his dark green trousers fell to his scuffed black shoes with their big brass buckles. He held his black cap in hand, as befitting a gentleman speaking to a lady.
He was also but one span tall, and down the hole behind one of the ancient stone blocks, blinking blearily up the distance of his earthen prison at Old Mother O'Shaunessy.
Now, Mother was of the old generation, who not only knew about the faerie folk and their ilk - but believed in them as fervently as she believed in the saints and the Savior. So she batted not an eye at the sight, but snorted mightily at the Leprechaun.
"All three of me, you mean to say. Shamed you should be, to be found in the grip o' the grape like this." Mother said in the voice she'd used on her kin when they'd been naughty.
The Leprechaun waved a hand depreciatingly. "By the Name of Brian Boru, I only had a wee drop o' the creature this morn, Mother O'Shaunessy." He discreetly hiccouched into one meaty hand, and excused himself.
"Aye - and how much this afternoon?" Mother said. "And a fine gentleman you are - addressing me by name when I know you not from Adam himself."
The portly leprechaun managed a courtly bow without losing his feet. "Aye, and an unpardonable act it be. Michael Nauganeen, at your service." He straightened unsteadily, and winked up at Mother. "Though, perhaps you might consider being of service to me, Old Mother. If you could see fit to...?" He waved a hand towards the lip of the hole.
"And why should I be helping the likes of you?" Mother asked archly. "You were able to get in by yourself well enough - why not get yourself out the same?"
Michael sighed. "Aye, well enough I got in. But the falling is easier than the climbing, I have found." He sighed anew. "If you should see fit to help a poor man in a bind, I suppose a reward is order, Mother." He narrowed his eyes at her. "But the three wishes only, mind you - not me pot o' gold."
With a sigh, Mother slowly unwrapped her shawl and dropped it into the hole, painfully bracing her aged legs on the stone so she could bear the weight of his diminutive body as he struggled from his hole. Once out, he fastidiously brushed the dirt from his rainments, and bowed.
"Very well, Mother - I am a man o' my word. You did your service to me, and well. Now, ask that which you wish."
Mother slowly straightened, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders. "Nay, I'll not be holding you to a promise made in the grip o' the creature, Goodman Nauganeen. `Twas a simple act o' charity, and let it be at that."
Michael straightened his beefy shoulders. "Now, no such thing, Mother O'Shaunessy. A promise made is a promise kept - at least, for Michael Nauganeen, it is." He crossed his arms. "Until me promise is discharged, I shall keep an ear to your voice, Mother. But make your wishes, wherever you may be, and I shall hear." He winked. "And, out o' the goodness of my heart, a little something that was keeping me company in that wretched pit."
And then Michael started spinning, faster and faster, until he was but a blur - then was gone.
And where he had stood lay the very roots and herbs Mother O'Shaunessy was searching for.
Painfully, Mother gathered them up with a whisper of gratitude, then began the trek back to her cottage, and the warm hearth therin.
"Oh, Mother ye look have chilled through!" Brianna said with a gasp as Mother entered the cottage. Quickly she took the herbs bag and shawl from Mother's wizened hands and bustled her to the chair before the blazing hearth, clucking as if she were the mother, and Mother the child.
The warmth that filled Mother's heart came not from the fire, but from the sight of Brianna. Tall and slender as a sapling, yet her simple cotton blouse strained over her extremely full bosom - and not a few local lads wished to relive that strain! - and her angelic face was crowned by a full mane of glorious red hair. In truth, such a buxom, proud beauty as Brianna should have found a suitor before now, but her devotion to Mother forbade her from courting. Mother loved Brianna as if she were her daughter, and Brianna loved Mother as much.
"I'll brew up some tea for us, Mother. No milk for it, I'm afraid, and no sugar, but the water we have." Brianna said with the smile that rarely left her full lips, despite the hardships of their life. "'Tis good you were able to find the tea so quickly - `tis not a fit night for man nor beast."
"Aye - and that is a story itself, dear." Mother said with a sigh, and related the events that had befallen her atop Castle Hill while Brianna brewed up the tea.
Brianna looked wide-eyed. "A leprechaun? Are you sure, Mother O'Shaunessy?" She asked, hesitant to doubt Mother's word, but finding it hard to believe.
Mother laughed wearily. "Aye - I'm sure, lass." She cocked her head. "I know you young ones know the stories, but place little faith in them these days, but the truth in them is still there. `Tis only us elders who still truly believe, mind you."
"Oh, you're not so old, Mother O'Shaunessy" Brianna scolded, as she always did.
And Mother answered as she always did. "Aye, mayhaps not - but I sometimes wish I were as young and beautiful as you, my dear Brianna."
Only this time, their habitual compliments became more. Because, the instant the words left Mother's mouth, she gasped as a strange sensation took her frail body, as if all her limbs and body had been asleep, and just awakened.
Brianna gasped, one dainty hand flying to her full lips as she watched Mother change.
Her wrinkled skin became soft and smooth, with a creamy complexion infused with the rosy glow of health.
Wrinkles smoothed around tired old eyes that became a vibrant, shining emerald as they widened in surprise. The wrinkled framing the withered lips also faded as the lips blossomed into womanly fullness.
The dry, silver hair seemed to be stirred by a non-existent breeze, becoming thicker and softer as the hue flowed back into it - but not the chestnut of Mother's youth, but the bright, vibrant shade of red famed in song and tale.
Mother's hands - now soft and slender, flew first to her waist, which was tightening and narrowing. Then they rose higher, trying to restrain what was occurring as her old blouse began to strain, it's worn fabric pushed outwards by what was occurring beneath it. The two withered, sagging dugs that hung limply on her chest were swelling, the wrinkles smoothing out as the skin over the breasts were stretched over the swelling mounds, becoming firmer and softer. The small nipples began to swell as well, becoming thicker and longer, little pink tips atop girlish, fresh breasts. The pressure on the buttons was to great for the worn threads the held them, and one by one, the popped from the blouse and flew across the room, and the garment fell open to expose two firm, smooth breasts with pert, rosy nipples. These creamy globes continued to swell, filling Mother's dainty hands, then spilling over, only stopping when they were as big as the worn cushion on which Mother sat. They hung, their weight new and unfamiliar to the renewed woman, who, even in her youth, had never possessed such large endowments. The long, thick nipples were standing out, engorged and erect in the chill air of the drafty cottage. Mother stared down in amazement at her full, sensitive new breasts, as large and firm as any she'd ever seen.
Exactly as large and firm, in fact, as Brianna's own full, womanly bosom.
"Saints above!" Brianna whispered. "You... You look exactly as I!"
It was true. Each woman was the mirror image of the other. The same long legs, the same womanly hips, the same slender waist. Both woman possessed breasts that were remarkably full and firm, as large as the stew-kettle in the fireplace, but infinitely softer. And each woman had the same beautiful face with the crowning glory of flame-red hair that fell in gentle waves to slender shoulders.
"Heaven's above!" Mother exclaimed in a voice that matched Brianna's. "`Tis a wish I made!" Vainly, she tried to hide her full new bosom, finding the touch of her hands upon her large nipples bringing back the ghosts of consorts long passed, and trying to ignore it. Confusion and surprise warred within her - as did the wonder and awe at the vitality and life of her youthful body, and the extremely pleasant sensation that game from it.
"Aye - a wish indeed." A voice said from near the fire. "The first of three."
The identical flame-haired lasses turned to where Michael leaned against the cobbled hearth, gallantly averting his eyes from the extremely pleasing sight of Mother's - Colleen's - exposed endowments.
"`Tis true!" Brianna gasped at the sight of Michael. "A leprechaun!"
Mother, however, wasn't a stricken with awe. "Aye - a leprechaun." She said. She turned to Michael. "`Tis good to feel the blossom of youth one again, Goodman- but `tis not right. How would I explain this?" She shook her head. "And so, `tis my second..."
Michael looked hurt. "It would be cruel of me indeed to make such a wish come true without thinking of that, Colleen O'Shaunessy." He declared indignantly. "'Tis only you and she that shall know that ye have changed. As far as the world shall know, ye are Brianna and Colleen O'Shaunessy, Grand-daughter o' Old Mother O'Shaunessy - who lies in her grave these two years past, God rest her soul." He theatrically clasped his cap over his heard, then smiled unabashedly at the startled women.
Brianna and Colleen exchanged a look between identical emerald eyes. "Sisters, is it?" Brianna asked.
"Aye. With long and hearty lives a'fore ye both." Michael said generously. "And now, I shall be taken my leave of ye lovely lasses. If ye have need of the wishes two, make them when you will, and I shall hear."
And once more the tiny gentleman spun like a child's top, until he was a blur - then was gone.
Brianna's face lit up, and she embraced her new sister - not noticing the odd look on Colleen's face as their full bosom's pressed against one another - and exclaimed happily. "'Tis glorious, Mother.... I mean, Colleen! Young again!"
"Aye..." Colleen whispered, still trying to accept her youth and beauty. "Glorious, indeed."
Brianna pulled away. "Come, Colleen - without a doubt one of my dresses should fit you now, and you'll be needing it."
And fit perfectly it did indeed.
For the next fortnight, Colleen found every moment of her life new and full of awe as she experienced a renewed youth.
One thing which she found hard to accept was the attentions of many of the strong young men in the county. Word of the two beautiful sisters apparently had spread far and wide, for suitors came from all through the county to vie for her and Brianna's attention. Colleen walked through it at first, feeling disbelieve that such strong, virile young men were showing favor in her. That disbelief was put to an end behind the Cudahy's barn one warm afternoon by Sean Cudahy himself, the tow-headed youth who's strong body took hers in it's muscular arms. Colleen had never realized that such pleasure could be had from such a simple thing as her breasts - but Sean was most attentive to them, and Colleen, flushed with guilty pleasure, made no argument at his attentions, which led to a long, leisurely bout of love-making that left her flushed and delighted.
Colleen and Brianna became even closer. Since many of their suitors found the two identical lasses to be interchangeable, the two woman would sit in front of the hearth and giggle of the comparisons the made of the lovers who had taken them that day. Their initial guilt over their promiscuity soon faded in the face of the pleasure the were experiencing, and their courtiers, unwilling to risk the good thing they had going, were discrete - to the point, in fact, that each suitor thought he was the only one, a fiction the women strove to maintain, sharing their guilty secrets and watching over one another.
So things went, until a certain night, when the two women, flushed with the day's successes, returned to the cottage for a cup of tea and giggling discussion of the days events.
"'Twas Sean Cudahy's buggy that you went out in, Colleen, but Padraig Cudahy's that returned it!" Brianna giggled as she sipped at her steaming cup - filled with real English Tea, a gift from a suitor. "You'd not be telling me that you shared the bed of both father and son in a single day!"
Colleen blushed brightly. "Aye - `Tis true. In my younger days - my other younger days - I had noticed Padraig, but was too old - and mayhaps too strait-laced." Colleen giggled. "'Twas but a bit of luck, besides. After sharing myself with Sean in the barn, he remembered he had the crop to bring in, and hurried off, leaving me with Padraig, who knew not what we'd been doing. Despite him no being fifteen years my senior, he's still a man with his charms - and he wooed ME!"
"'Tisk!" Brianna laughed. "And...?"
Colleen lowered her voice. "'Tis God's own truth - the senior was the better man than the junior! Though, he twasn't as fond as Sean with my breasts - a shame, I am thinking, as I enjoy it mightily."
"Aye - me too." Brianna giggled, and sipped again at her tea.
Colleen sipped hers also, then sighed. "'Twas kind o' Liam to give us the tea. But I wish we had some fine, rich milk to put in it."
Brianna gasped. "Colleen! Ye wasted a wish!"
Colleen also gasped, realizing too late what she'd done. Then the two women gasped again, as a strange tingling seemed to fill their bosoms - one that was new to Brianna, but that Colleen had felt once before.
Brianna was wearing a dress of green velvet, and expensive gift from another suitor, while Colleen was wearing a white shift dress - which was faster to remove. Now, each stared at the other's chest as the fabric began to heave.
Their already large breasts began to swell, and the two women found that their clothing was also changing to accommodate their expansion as their breast filled out even more. Not only did they become larger, but heavier. They felt full, swollen, and their large nipples strained outwards, becoming twice the length and breadth of the women's thumbs as they pushed outwards against the fabric.
Hurriedly, the two women pulled their clothing away, exposing their identical mounds, now massive and heavy. The extra weight caused them to sag somewhat, but they remained remarkable full and firm.
Then small, whitish droplets formed at each of the women's nipples.
"Colleen - ye must watch what ye say!" Brianna said with a gasp. "Now we do have milk - but this is nay what you meant, I'll be thinking." Gently, Brianna squeezed one large, swollen nipple atop her now massive breasts - and gasped in inexpressible pleasure as a milky stream shot from the rosy nipple.
Colleen, seeing the look of purest pleasure on her `sister's' face, also squeezed one swollen nipple. And also moaned in the pleasure it produced.
Gently, Colleen kneaded bother her nipples, finding it difficult to aim the streams of milk into her cup simply because her body shuddered with pleasure each time she did it.
But soon she had added what she wished to the cup, and tried the steaming brew. Her face became wreathed in pleased surprise at the wonderful taste that filled her mouth.
"Brianna - you must taste the tea with the milk!"
Brianna looked uncertain, but added the rich milk from her own massive endowments and tried it - and her face, too, lit with astonishment.
"Never have I tasted such a thing!" she exclaimed, only the heat of the drink keeping her from swallowing it in one draught.
"Aye - a fine thing indeed - but now, two wishes gone. Fine wishes they were, even if not what I had intended." Colleen blushed at the thought of just how fine the first wish had been, and the events that had followed. "But, now what do I wish on the third?"
"Mayhaps ye should wish for fortune, or health, or long-life, lass." A voice spoke from the corner. "And I'd be minded to grant it forthwith - for your two wishes have already given me such lovely lasses to gaze upon."
The two women turned to where Michael sat complacently. This time, he made no move to avert his eyes from their rich, full breasts, heaving with excitement, nipples extended in the chill air, fat droplets of milky liquid hanging from their tips.
"I must admit, my dear Colleen" Michael said, "The first wishes I granted exactly as asked - but with a wee bit of... discretion in how they be granted. I have always had a bit o' the wandering eye for the buxom lasses."
Colleen blushed. "Aye - so I thought. But I'll not be complaining, as the outcome was to my liking as well."
Michael bowed. "Then all is well. But, Colleen O'Shaunessy, the third wish is still wanting voice, and I think ye'd not be asking for anything larger, as ye may want to be able to stand without help in the future."
Colleen blushed. "Aye - though I think I'd not have trouble finding help, should I need it. But I have me third wish aright, and here it be..."
And Michael, a man of centuries of wine, woman and song (more the former than the latter) found himself clasping his hands in glee as he laughed his cheerful laugh, granting the third and final wish exactly as asked, without the slightest trickery or deviousness.
Now, Dear Reader, you might have read the above with an indulgent air, finding it of mild entertaining interest, and nothing more.
Just a fable, you'll say, and not to be taken literally.
And I won't say anything to dissuade you from this thought. But perhaps I could tell another little fable, spin another tale for your ears.
Perhaps another tale of Ireland? Oh, but not the Emerald Isle of old, fabled by Bard and Book. No, the rather mundane hustle and bustle of Ireland as it is today, with it's educated people, who laugh at stories like mine with a merry laugh, knowing it to be little more than half-distorted views of ancient fables.
And into such a town as Dublin, a foreigner might venture, enjoying the wonderful atmosphere and accents while on vacation. A traveler from afar, not unlike... well, not unlike yourself, say.
And this nameless soul might wander down the street in Dublin tow one find eve - and chance to spy a pair of lovely young ladies. Ladies with hair as red a beaten gold seen at sunset. And possessing endowments that defy the imagination - not to say gravity.
And, having read an amusing tale in the not so distant past, you might become intrigued, and stop into the store from whence the two buxom lasses emerged, and inquire about them. And the shop-keeper - once supplied the correct denominations - might venture a vague memory of these women taking a week-long vacation in Dublin once every two months or so.
And, if that traveler were so inclined, he might follow the two flame-haired lasses with their eye-catching endowments. Might follow them over hill and dale in a rented car, thoroughly lost as he delves deeper into the North of Ireland.
This self-same traveler might find himself in a small, rural town, with no sign of the two lasses whom he pursued - merely on a whim, of course. And it would only be natural to inquire about them in the town.
It is possible that the town's women will give you but blank stares. And the elderly gents might acquire a far-off look and reminisce about two lasses like that - but that was many years ago, in their youth.
But should you ask a younger man, one still in his prime and not uncomely, he might give you an appraising look. And, if you - that is, I should say, that traveler - is not unhandsome, nor two young or old, the local lad might lead him down a dark alleyway that the traveler could not recall seeing earlier. The dark alley that leads to a small, but prosperous looking pub by the name of "O'Shaunessy's".
And inside this pub, mayhaps those beauties would be found. They will draw you a pint of bitter at request - but would highly recommend the Irish Coffee, made with a thick, rich cream.
And it might turn out to be one of the most amazing things that you would have ever tasted.
And perhaps, after a few more, one or the other of the lasses may take a shine to the tilt of your shoulders or the glint of your eyes, and take you to a very special, very private room in the back, furnished with a very large, very soft four-poster bed, and demonstrate why O'Shaunessy's pub may have a fairly small clientele - but an awful lot of repeat business.
And, if you are somehow able to tear yourself from the wonderful `hospitality', it is - perhaps, you understand - slightly possible that, on your way out, you'll see another man, obviously not a son of the sod, seated in the back booth, chatting with a man that - if your eyes don't deceive you - appears to be only a few inches high.
And the other foreigner, who has a lap-top computer in front of him, might look up and inexplicably give a slight wink.
Perhaps.