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The Ulleann Pipes are real and the music that comes from these simple reeds and covered or uncovered finger-holes is haunting. Some of the pieces still claw at my soul. Here are YouTube titles, for those that want to hear such music for yourselves:
Davy Spillane – Caoineadh Cu Chulainn Uilleann Pipes.flv
I am asleep (Air) & The Clumsy Lover (Reel) Uilleann pipes Chris McMullan”The Gael” Uilleann Pipes Caleb Cox
Uilleann pipes – Chris McMullan – Sliabh Na Mban & The Bunch of Keys
Braveheart Theme by Eric Rigler
Uilleann Bagpipers (Gay McKeon, Emmett Gill, Amy Campbell) | LIVE at The Kennedy Center
Must see!! Best Off Uilleann-Pipes – Celtic Duelling
Titanic – Hymn to the sea Uilleann Pipes remember [Andzull]
“Pipes Solo – Lark in the Morning”, Cillian Vallely & Alan Murray
Davy Spillane – Boolavogue (Buaile Mhaodhog)
Port na bPúcaí – Slow air on Fiddle and Uilleann Pipes
A Gift of a Thistle (Braveheart)
Uilleann Pipes and Bodhrán
Uilleann Pipes (Jigs) When sick is it tea you want & Paidin O’Raifeartaigh chris mcmullan
The boat referred to is a 39 foot outboard powered Sharpie houseboat – see Mark V Designs.
This is a sex story. There’s a lot of it here. For those who still want wall-to-wall ultra-graphic sex on every page, I ask that you get a life. For those who are easily offended because I didn’t write exactly what you wanted to read, I’ll say the same thing.
Plus, for those of you who will say this work is just a ‘stroke’ story (yes I know who you are, Anonymous and others), about all I can reply is that you have never had a long-term, married relationship with a ‘darksome wench’. What I have written here is mild compared to the reality.
Angie had only one soft-side case for clothes and stuff. She collected her last check from the family member of her late charge and left the elderly woman’s apartment forever. In the late afternoon, it took me about an hour to get down to the marina area of Philadelphia, where I parked mom’s car. So, we walked down the dock, where I carded her past the electronic gate, then over to my home … which floated.
Angie’s eyes went wide, as I pointed out my watercraft-home to her.
Now, for the ‘nitpickers’ who read this tale, let me make something clear. Yeah, there is a exact, large vocabulary for boating-specific terms associated with watercraft. The pointed end is the ‘bow’ and the other end is the ‘stern’. Yeah, I know that, after about ‘5 bells of the 3rd dogwatch’, you should ‘splice the mainbrace, when the sun is over the yardarm’ (i.e., have an evening drink). Ya wanna read nautical terms and then pick them apart and argue definitions, go read someone else’s book. I speak and write American English.
Thus, my floating home was 38′ 9″ long and the boat sat on it’s flat bottom, only 12″ deep in the water. She was long and narrow (all watercraft are ‘she’). There was a cockpit in the rear (aft), which had seats to either side, long enough to let a 6′ 6′ person sleep comfortably.
Why that particular length? Because it’s the longest and widest that can be trailered down the Interstate without a wide-load permit, as well as being loaded on a standard railroad flatcar, for overland transportation between oceans, rivers or big lakes.
Inside, on the left, while facing to the front, there was another couch, which easily made into a double bed. Just to the front of that (forward) there was an area for a composting ankara escort bayan toilet (the ‘head’). In front of the head area was a small dinette area, which could be made into another bunk-bed.
On the right side, there was storage, a small desk area, a pantry and a cooking area (the ‘galley’). In the marina, water came from pipes with a faucet. When cruising, water was in bottles and jugs. The boat’s driver (the ‘helmsman’) sat just ahead of the galley. A step up and a door-window (‘a port-companionway’) gave out onto a flat surface, which housed anchors, storage and other stuff.
As described, this didn’t sound like there was much area for standing around. Well, no, there wasn’t. Like a well-designed efficiency apartment, everything essential had been built in and there was storage everywhere. Just no shelves, furniture, or walls on which to hang pictures.
In the back (stern) of the boat was the motor, which was a diesel outboard in a wall and two tanks for fuel. I could cruise at 8 knots (just under 9 mph) with a 25 hp engine and keep running under power for several 24-hour days, at need. On top, I had a small rowing/sailing boat, about 12′ long, to service my floating home and for fun. My floating home had standing room inside for a person 6′ 8″ tall, with plenty of window space, which could be closed off with blinds and curtains.
Because it was so shallow, when out on the water, I could go places other boat could not and anchor in secluded spots, even those that ‘dried out’ at low tide. There were no ‘holes’ in the boat that could loosen or let water inside, so I was pretty safe afloat.
Therefore, right now, I was tied up at the Philadelphia marina, while I attended to Mom’s needs, when she was alive and now, after her death. I’d been there for months (and was ‘itching’ to get away). So I had electricity, water and electrical heat/AC as needed, with showers available at the marina office. Afloat, I basin-bathed and I used electricity sparingly and kerosene or candles, except for reading or computer usage. I had satellite internet connection as needed, plus radio communications. There was radar, for traveling at night. I had a depth sounder and GPS for telling me where I was on the water. Plus my own good sense.
A large solar-cell array provided about 100 watts of electrical power, which was captured by a small bank of lithium-cell batteries, through a controller.
I explained all this to Angie, as she prowled around the boat, opening things and generally making herself at home. I showed her how to use the ‘head’ (sit, shit & do 6 turns of the crank … lean forward to piss … empty the compost 3x a month). I noted that all the ‘windows’ were double-pane and that the boat was pretty-well soundproofed. There were two main doors, front and back, mostly for ventilation: once closed up, we were a tightly-corked bottle.
I also showed her where the boat’s safe was, in a locked box near the engine, marked ‘old batteries’.
I also emphasized to her what I did NOT have: A mortgage. Furniture. A lawn or a mower. Shrubbery. A flowerbed. A demanding, white wife or in-laws. Snarky, greedy kids. A bar or wine storage. Yard furniture. A job. A commute. Country Club membership. Or any expectations of a social life.
Her reply: “Yummy!”
She had been aboard my floating home for just about an hour, when it was early night. Pointing to the door that led to the cockpit, grinning, Angie said, “I promise, once that door is closed and we’re private, I’ll turn into a total, no inhibitions cum-slut and you eryaman escort can pump rivers of jism inta me while I scream out loud and want more. OK?”
Then, standing in the kitchen, she got what I could only have said was a wicked gleam in her eye, as she clearly said, “Slut!”
In three swift motions, she stepped out of her nurses’ shoes, and pulled down her dark-red scrub pants. She was totally bare. She directed my hand to her pussy opening, where I felt only smooth self-lubricated skin.
She said, “I took a chance and I re-shaved myself in my screamer’s bathroom, just before I left. Put your finger inside me. Please, feel my pussy. Please, please.”
She was drippy, oozing wet. I said so. She replied, “That’s really good. You’re hard. I know it. You’ve been hard since I walked into your Mom’s apartment. Now look at me.”
Angie put her arms behind her and hopped onto the galley’s counter surface, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide open. Her swollen pussy lips were separated a little, and I could see the skin under the outer lips glistening. Then she flipped her top off and flung it in the corner. She reached behind her, and unsnapped her bra, which was popped off by the thrust of her large boobs.
Maybe I’m slow, but I just gaped at her display. Then I smiled, and started to strip down to my skin, exposing my hard cock, which bounced and swung from side to side. The counter seemed to be just the perfect height, and I positioned my straining cock-head against her pussy lips.
I thrust gently, holding the tip down, and my hard manhood slid inside my new fuck-buddy girlfriend. A dozen gentle thrusts later, and Angie was penetrated to the maximum depth of my cock, as she moaned and gasped, sitting there on her galley counter.
Without having to do a thousand pushups against gravity, I started a gentle but forceful in-and-out thrusting, as I tugged, kneaded and held her large tits, and licked her nipples, still thrusting. I looked into her half-closed eyes, as I took my pleasure from her hot wet cunt, and said, “Feels good, doesn’t it. Come on, you’re aboard now. No one can hear you enjoy being had, being laid. Except me, and I’m enjoying you so much.”
She smiled at me, a really wide, genuine smile, as I worked my cock into and out of her liquid sexual body. “Ooooh yeah, that’s right, nice and deep. I thought you’d want me, just as soon as I came aboard, and so, here you are, inside me. Ahhh, I love it, love being used, being your slut, being fucked.”
“It’s gonna happen, yeah, right here, that’s right, just like that, oh, just like that, I’m gonna cum, yesyesyesyes, now nownownownow …”
Her face twisted up in orgasm as her blood pressure shot up in obvious orgasm, and my cock-shaft was gripped by her spasms of cuntal pleasure.
She slumped a bit, and then straightened, as I continued thrusting inside her. She said, “You’d have to be a woman to know what you feel like inside. You’re so damn big and you’re thick. I love that.”
“I’m being laid, sitting up. I’m being fucked, and my cunt is gonna cum again, soon, and you’re to blame.”
“I’m living just the way I want, ’cause I’m a slut for you and that’s the way I want it.”
“Oh, God, here I go again, it’s so soon, ah shit, I’m cumming, yesyesyes …”
She shook and squealed again, and then settled into a steady pattern of squealing and screaming, and cuming about every two minutes, as I gradually increased the pace of my pleasuring her.
Again, she was too sexy, too slutty, for me to last long, etlik escort and I started slamming my weight into her, forcing her thighs even wider, and feeling my cock get even harder, in preparation for that last minute.
Angie let out a long squeal, and gasped out, “Yeah, cum in me, cum inside me, your tall, black, girl slut-fucker, I want it, I need it, pour your stuff into me, that what real slutty women need, we need meat, hard meat, give it to me, lay me, fuck me!”
I shot my orgasm into her, screaming about sluts and ho’s and I don’t know what, as the waves of pleasure crashed over me. I kept this up for what seemed like a long time, but finally had to stop, in order to breathe. Then I sagged against her, there on the galley’s counter-top, and we both waited, gasping for breath, as my cock softened and eventually fell out.
She pointed at her distended pussy opening, where I’d been just recently, and we both watched the thick drops and drool of semen flow out of her, and drop to the kitchen floor.
The smell of sex and spilled jism permeated the boat.
As before, after the cream-pie, she dropped off the countertop and squatted down, her legs still widely spread, as she tongued my droopy cock, and sucking off our collected fluids and tastes, until my penis retreated down and into my crotch.
Licking her lips, and holding her now engorged breasts and nipples, she swayed across the few square feet of the galley floor and then over to the couch, just behind (after) the head partition wall.
We looked at each other. She was my mature fuck-buddy girlfriend, and I was her fuck-buddy boyfriend. She sat and then levered herself onto the couch, and I followed suit.
She asked, out of the blue, “I wanna come live with you on your boat. Fuck me all over the boat. When it gets warm, we’ll go outside, and you can fuck me on the cabin-top at night. We can do it outside, in the grass, too. I’ll pose for you and drive you crazy, and then you can rape me, as much as you want.”
“We can take pictures, and watch porn, too. I love porn, at least some, ’cause they give me such naughty ideas. I’ll do dress-up for you, and then you can fuck me under my mini-skirts with no panties, and my net cat-suits and my sexy things.”
“Cum let me love you. Please?”
I grinned down at her, and answered, “you’ve got a deal, little slut girlfriend, but I get to buy you a lot of the dress-up stuff you want. And I can cook for you a lot of the time. Please?”
I added, grinning wickedly, “You can start by putting your arms around me and spreading those legs, so I can see your pussy, and look at and play with your boobs.” This went on for a delicious time.
Angie sat there, her eyes wide open, due to the orgasms she’d had from my attentions to her boobs, nipples and clit, which now protruded a little from her slit. She said, “You are oversexed! You said that was one of the complaints of your ex-wife and kids. You said they even wanted you castrated.”
She added, “You love sex. You’re giving me so many cums, even when you’re down and soft. Your ex-wife was such a fool, and now, I get all the benefits. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. You’re using me for sex, and I love it. I’m being felt up and I want to be, sooo bad. I wanna offer you so much of hot-to-trot tall, big-boob me that your head’ll swim. I wanna be a sex toy for you.”
She manipulated my cock, which got rubbery, but not usefully hard. She giggled at that, and waved a finger at me, her eyes half closed as she worked herself up toward yet another titty orgasm. “You just wait until it gets hard on its own. Don’t you force it. When it gets hard, I’ll know, ’cause it’ll be up inside me somewhere.”
I was yawning, and, held tightly by my new black girlfriend, I drifted into sleep.
END of PART 3
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