The Luck of the Irish – Part 1: A Walk Back in Time

The Luck of the Irish – Part 1: A Walk Back in Time

The Luck of the Irish

Part 1: A Walk Back in Time

I’ve always been keen on hiking. Whether on a day-walk or a longer expedition, I usually go alone, or with one close friend. I love the solitude and the sense of communion with nature. Being in a remote area, especially in the mountains, puts us humans in our place as only a very small part of the universe. What’s more, I find the experience of reaching the summit after a long climb to be more than exhilarating. For me it is a mixture of achievement, satisfaction and sexual arousal.

I’ve become so addicted that I start planning the next hike on the way home from the last one! This time I’m planning on walking somewhere in Ireland. My favourite areas are the wilds of Donegal and Connemara. Not so long ago, I hiked Slieve League and One-Man’s Pass. It was “One Woman’s Pass” on that trip! Just me, and nobody else to be seen all day. Just as well too, as One-Man’s Pass is a razor-back saddle that has steep drops on both sides, with no room to pass anyone else. It was scary, challenging, exhilarating and, as I said before, arousing.

The mist started to clear as I reached the summit, to reveal the might of the Atlantic Ocean crashing on the rocks 600m below. It was, literally, an awesome experience. I put my pack down, stood on the very edge of a rock overhang just near the summit, stripped off my shirt and bra, and stood there, leaning a little into the spray-laden wind with my arms outstretched. It was wonderful… the sting of the cold salty air against my breasts – hardening my nipples, the goose-bumps all over my body, and the flick of my damp hair against my cheeks. I’m getting hot, moist and tingly now just recalling it as I write.

Tempting though it was to return to Donegal, this time I’d decided to go to County Kerry. I’d recently broken up with an Irish boyfriend, Colm, who was from there, and enthused poetically about the Ring of Kerry, the Dingle Peninsula, and mountains with curious names – such as ‘MacGillycuddy’s Reeks’ and the ‘Paps of Anu’.

It seems he was fixated on the Paps of Anu because of their shape – two rounded mountains that looked like breasts from a distance. And he was intrigued by the ancient cairns, one on each of the two summits. These neolithic structures have been described as "stone nipples on the great breasts".

Colm just loved being in the great outdoors, and he especially enjoyed sleeping in a tent. Like me, he seemed to experience some sort of sexual arousal from a challenging climb especially when paired with a magnificent vista. He was a bit weird, though, which ultimately led to my breaking up with him. When we ‘bedded down’ after a long day of exertion, what he always wanted was for us masturbate, lying naked beside each other, while making sounds as though we were actually fucking.

He’d say something like: “Close your eyes and pinch your nipples, and imagine that I’m licking and nibbling them.” And he’d be stroking his growing cock as he watched me. He’d add: “Moan with pleasure… out loud.”

When I did, he’d respond with a loud and lustful: “Oh God, I love your breasts. The way your nipples harden when I lick them really turns me on. “ And he would make kissing, slurping and groaning noises, as if he were really burying his head between my breasts and kissing, licking and nibbling my nipples.

Then he might say, huskily, something like: “Honey, put your mouth around my cock. Lick me. Suck me.” To accompany this, he’d encircle the head of his cock with his thumb and index finger, sliding it up and down, groaning as he did so, with periodic exclamations like “Oh God… yes… YES!” and “That’s fantastic,” and “Slow down… I don’t want to come yet.”

It was quite a turn-on, I’ll admit, once I got over the weirdness of it and managed to set aside the feeling that what I wanted most was him inside me. Watching him pleasuring himself while describing the fantasy going on in his head was very arousing for me, and I had to keep suppressing the strong desire to leap astride him and lower myself down on his ramrod… my hot wetness lubricating him as I slid down.

They were always a bit different, the scenarios he created. He might say: “Now lick your finger and slide it into your crack. Circle it round your clitoris and then slide it in. Now the next finger. Imagine it’s my cock, aching to get in. Moan. Come on… say what you’re feeling.” I’d close my eyes and play with myself alright, but the verbalizing didn’t come easily. I was usually silent when masturbating by myself, with my favourite fantasy scenarios and sounds playing inside my head, not out loud.

To give credit to Colm, I did indeed find it very stimulating when I managed to release my body from my brain and allowed myself to moan, pant, and yell things like “fuck me deeper” or “you are SO hard” or “come on… faster… pump your load into me” to accompany the sensations I was creating with my fingers and hands. It always ended with an exhausted “yes, yes, YES” as I reached the summit and my orgasm swelled up and devoured me.

Colm got most turned on when there were other hikers camped within earshot as we were doing this. He liked to imagine them believing that we were really fucking, a bit like Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm scene in ‘When Harry Met Sally’. I think he was quite an exhibitionist and got off on it but I didn’t find this so stimulating myself. I was always a bit embarrassed with the knowing looks from the other campers in the morning.

Anyway, Colm’s fake fucking exhibitionism became weirder with each camping trip, with him wanting us to ‘sound out’ ever more extreme scenarios. I did enjoy the experience the first few times, and then played along for a couple more without really getting off on it. But what sounded the death knell for our relationship was when he announced that he’d organized for a threesome on our next trip. A real threesome. He’d invited an old girlfriend to join us, and he was enthusing about what a great scenario we could create with all of us masturbating while sounding out our imagined 3-way stimulations.

That was enough for me. Call me prudish if you like, but I really could not come at it, even though I could see the bulge in his pants growing as he described what we might do. For me, it was a turn-off on so many levels: a threesome – not my cup of tea; his ex – how could he even think that would be exciting for me; the prospect of doing it with another woman – I had never been able to understand how some others found this exciting; sharing camping sex with others – even though it was a bit weird, I thought of this as ‘ours’.

Colm was non-plussed when I declined, and could not understand my reaction at all. He didn’t seem to value my feelings or concern at all and was just angry that his plans were going to be thwarted. I got angry in return, and said something like: “If that’s all you care about, then it’s time we went our separate ways.” All he said was “Fine! See if I care.”

So we broke up.

I was keen to go to Kerry despite this, so I started planning a solo trip. I was fascinated with the ‘Paps of Anu’, not so much because of their shape, but because I was intrigued by the ancient spiritual connections that surrounded them. I discovered that these mountains are named for Danu, the Celtic mother of all goddesses, and represent her two breasts. A famous archeologist had written: "There is little doubt that the mountaintops of both the Paps … were utilized for ritual in prehistory". And the neolithic structures on the summits may well have been platforms for sacred rites. What sort of rites I could only imagine, and I did have a fertile imagination for things sexual!

If these mountains represented the two breasts of the Goddess, to the north-east, at a point in the landscape that could be imagined to be just where her legs join her torso, below her navel, is a place called Cathair Crobh Dearg. I’d no idea how this might be pronounced but it is an ancient stone circle with a holy well that is connected to a spring.

Continuously since pre-Christian times, this whole area has been used for festivities to celebrate Beltane, which marks the beginning of summer. It is a day for fertility and harvest rituals to ensure that the gods looked favourably on the people and their land. In old times, the Druids kindled bonfires and selected a member of the tribe – called ‘the chosen one’ – to represent the humans in a communion with the gods that was a public expression of sex and fertility. The whole community looked on, to witnessed the event and participate vicariously.

I am not in any way religious but I admit that I get very turned on by stories like this: stories of ancient rituals; stories of Druids and fertility rites; stories of symbolic sex between humans and gods. What would it be like to be a ‘chosen one’ and to be expected to ‘commune with the gods’? What would ‘communing’ actually entail? I was sure it would be thrilling, and erotic.

When would the best time to go? Well. I had a conference in Dublin in late April, so I thought the first week of May would be a good time. This would be well before the busy tourist season, so there was a fair chance that I’d have the Paps of Anu to myself. If it was coincidence that May 1st is Beltane, then the Goddess Danu was looking after me. I already liked her!

To be continued...

 

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