Lady Chatterley's Lover

skinful,’ said Paddy.
    ‘Yes,’ said Constance looking under the table, ‘and you appear to be leaking.’ In a moment of romantic weakness she said to Paddy, ‘Is anything worn under the kilt?’
    ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you Constance, but everything is in working order,’ he said.
    After dinner Paddy entertained them with more bagpipe music. Clifford was very moved by it, in fact he moved to another room. As Paddy climbed the stairs to bed, Constance caught a glimpse up the kilt and realized how lucky Mademoiselle Marie la Taché was going to be.
    Next morning Paddy suffered a severe attack of face, looking in the mirror he screamed, ‘How dare you?’ My God he thought his face was falling off. He put a cushion down to break its fall. Breakfast was served in the bedroom. He told the butler to bring him two three-minute eggs, the chef computed them, sent him back one six-minute one along with a sixty-minute piece of toast.
    ‘How would you like your coffee?’ said the doddering butler.
    ‘Today,’ said Paddy. He now wondered what he should do and he decided it should be Lady Chatterley. He sent a servant asking: ‘Could he be of service?’ She ordered two three-minute eggs and toast and would he join her? He followed an aged manservant up the stairs, it took three hours.
    Paddy and Constance sat opposite each other by the fire, unbeknown to them the aged manservant lay dead on the landing.
    ‘Why are you such a lonely bird?’ she said crossing and uncrossing her legs, easing tension in the nethers.
    ‘Some birds are that way,’ he said pointing in that direction. ‘I know a duck who lived alone on a pond for twelve years,’ he said.
    ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she said.
    He stood, then racked with emotion he said, ‘I had to tell someone. One day I will tell Mademoiselle Marie la Taché.’
    ‘Oh come,’ she said, ‘there’s no need to get so upset over a duck.’
    ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But that duck was Irish.’
    ‘What is the difference between an English duck and an Irish duck?’ she said.
    He gave a wry smile. ‘There is no difference, both two legs are the same,’ he said. He gave her a long penetrating glance and that was that. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘What about yourself?’
    So she looked there and said, ‘What about my self?’
    ‘Well,’ he said. ‘You too are a lonely bird with big tits.’ At the same time (wait for it) the infant crying in the night was crying out of his breast to her in a way that affected her womb. 10
    He was a curious lover, before starting, he did a high-stepping Irish jig, during which Lady Chatterley got flashes of things to come. He knelt at her feet and put his head, dandruff and all, into her lap. ‘This is just for starters,’ he said. They had a good shag. It ended romantically when he asked for a cheese sandwich. Suddenly his bottle went.
    ‘Here, you won’t tell Clifford, will you?’ he said.
    ‘No, I won’t tell him simply because you weren’t that good.’
    Paddy crossed himself, why not? Constance had found him a trembling lover who shuddered when he orgasmed, causing his socks to slide down to his ankles. He did it so quickly by the time he finished her boiled eggs and toast were still warm.
    She said, ‘Oh, Paddy darling, I’m lost!’
    ‘Oh?’ he said. ‘Where did you want to get to?’ He kissed her hand and said, ‘I’m going to Sheffield for lunch,’ and went. He returned briefly to tell her there was a dead butler on the landing.
    ‘I don’t think I can stand that Irishman,’ said Clifford at lunch.
    ‘Where can’t you stand him?’ said Constance. ‘I mean we’ve all got to stand somewhere.’
    Clifford was chewing a tough steak. ‘I’ve known cows hurt worse than this and live,’ he said.
    Reflectively she said, ‘The Irish have something.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Clifford. ‘Alcoholism.’
    She changed the subject, she told him Grundly the butler had died on the landing.
    ‘Oh, that is bad news,’ Clifford said sadly.
    ‘Only for him,’ said Constance.
    Paddy came back towards teatime. He brought back handfuls of violets and lilies and two tins of Canadian grade three salmon.
    ‘Oh, what lovely flowers and grade three salmon, I must put the flowers in water and put the salmon in the cat.’
    That night he crept into her bedroom. ‘I’ve got a hard-on,’ he whispered, ‘so I thought I’d come and see you.’ With an animal scream she ripped her clothes off, leaving only the