The bar just off Grafton Street was pretty full. I glanced at the fat old tart sitting next to me. Jesus, what a bag. We started chatting. She was fun. She had a great sense of humour. I laughed like a drain as she told me filthy joke After filthy joke and I nearly pissd myself twice. I wondered what she’d look like spread-eagled naked on my bed. I nearly crapped myself with laughter at the thought of that. Kicking-out time arrived and we were standing on the street. “Where to now, Bertie,” she enquired, swaying drunkenly In the night, and clutching onto my arm. “I could manage another Jameson’s or two. Me oul’ man won’t be expecting me home for another hour.” So I invited her back to my flat for a quickie. It was only five minutes away, she could have staggered no further. She plumped herself down on the sofa with an erotic grunt And I went to get us a couple of glasses of the amber nectar. When I returned, she had taken off her cardigan and undone her blouse. Her ample, mottled mammaries were bursting out of her bra. It was one of those old-fashioned nursing bras And she unhooked the clasp in the middle, And the bra separated with a gasp And her huge pendulous breasts flopped out, Like two enormous over-ripe aubergines. Bugger me! You could have tied a reef knot in them. She patted the seat next to her invitingly; I sat down and she knocked back her whiskey in one shot. I stared in fascination at her horror. She reached over, undid my belt without a word, Unzipped me and carefully took out my semi-erect unwashed cock. She leant over, examined my bulging penis, Pulled back the foreskin carefully And took me in her mouth. In between nosiy sucks, she told me to fondle her tits. “Squeeze them nipples hard, Bertie my love, Squeeze them and I’ll come for you. But don’t shove yer hand up me skirt Unless it’s a fistful of raspberry jam you’re after.” After a few minutes’ deliriously skilful sucking, I came into her slobbering mouth And she gobbled my semen down hungrily. She lifted up her head and I watched in fascination As her face contorted in pleasure At her mighty nipple-induced orgasm, The bestial expression on her lined old face When she climaxed was the most loathsome sight Of my entire life (to date). I could barely believe it when She let out the most enormous wet fart I had ever heard in my entire existence. The stench was indescribable And I feared for my fucking sanity. "Oh sweet Jasus," she exclaimed in wonder, "But I do think I have crapped meself again, And all, and all." And her hand dipped down into her panties Only to emerge with severely stained and odourous fingers, Dripping prolific and pungent anal oozings. After wiping the shit off on the Axminster carpet, She reached out and finished my glass of whiskey With a resigned yet satisfied gulp. “As me mother said, Jesus rest her soul, There’s no taste better on God’s green earth Than a mixture of good honest salty spunk And yer finest Irish whiskey,” she declared Before dressing herself and asking me to call her a taxi. I noted she did not wash her shitty paws, But at least we did not need to shake hands on parting. I never saw her again, thank Christ. But I reflect on the fact that The best blow-job of my life was delivered By the ugliest and most repellent old bag In all of holy Mother Ireland.