My Irish Virgin Part 1

I staggered down the beach. I was wearing shorts, no shirt and was sweating profusely; for a moment it was touch and go whether I would see last night’s dinner for the second time.

It was the first day of my summer exercise regime—three miles of early morning running in the sand and then two miles of walking it out. I had my starting point that morning and ran one and a half miles up the beach, and then completed the round trip. I was just starting my one mile walk the other way, and then would return again to the starting point.

I was second string on my college soccer team, but since it came with a full scholarship, I had to pay the price to stay in shape. The rest of the day I would be working construction, which would also help in the muscle department.

I had walked two hundred feet or so and I knew that if I hadn’t seen my dinner by then, I was safe until tomorrow. Some athletes claim they love this part of the sport; that is absolute bullshit—it is pure torture raised to a high level.

My feelings of self-pity were interrupted by the sight of a solitary person sitting on a towel ahead of me. Even from the distance I could tell it was a female in a one-piece swimming suit looking at the ocean. As I approached this unknown female I kept collecting physical impressions of the mystery person on an early morning deserted beach. She had a nice figure with slim legs, a flat stomach, and more than adequate breasts. Her hair was brown and cut short.

I was twenty feet from her and she had yet to acknowledge my approach—there was a chance she had not seen me. At ten feet I said, “Good morning.”

Her head turned and I saw the most serious brown eyes of my life. She stared at me, but said nothing. I confirmed the fact that her figure was great and her breasts even better, but she remained silent. I walked by her confused.

On my return trip, she watched me approach. At ten feet I said, “I hope you have a great day!”

Again, other than looking at me with those serious brown eyes, she said nothing.

The pattern repeated itself for three more days. I ran; I escaped embarrassing myself by not upchucking my dinner from the previous evening, and then I passed the mystery female with a hearty “Good morning,” going out and “I hope you have a great day,” coming back.

On the fifth day there was a very slight change to the pattern. This day her head had turned when I was two hundred feet away and watched me approach. At ten feet I said, “Good morning.”

My mystery friend said with a serious look, “And good morning to you.”

I kept walking as my brain tried to put everything together. She had talked to me! She did not smile, but she had at least talked. And more surprising, she was not an American because the voice that wished me a good morning had a lilt that no American would have—her voice had that unmistakable sound of Ireland. My mystery friend was Irish! I thought, “And she sounds as if she just came over on the boat.”

The next day was Saturday. I ran, and for the first time I knew that the initiation to my summer routine had passed—I completed the run and did not have to bend over and put my head between my knees when I finished. I eagerly started my walk hoping that my mystery Irish girl would be there. I quickly saw that she was.

“Good morning.”

“And good morning to you,” she responded.

On my return she was watching me. I said, “I hope you have a great day.”

She said nothing, and seemed surprised when I stopped in front of her. I said, “My name is Danny Johnson. I play soccer in college and that is why you see me torturing myself every morning to stay in shape for next season. This beach is always deserted this early in the morning so I guess we can say it is ‘our beach’ for the rest of the summer.”

She stared at me with those brown eyes. The pause became a long pause. I was bewildered and flustered and turned to walk away. I walked ten feet and heard her say with her Irish lilt, “My name is Nora O’Donnell and I hope you have a great day also.”

The next five days were identical. I said, “Good morning Nora.”

She would reply softly, “Good morning Danny.”

On return I would say, “Have a great day Nora.”

And she would answer, “Have a great day yourself Danny.”

The next day I surprised her when I said, “Good morning Nora. Would you like to walk with me for some exercise?”

She was startled and replied, “Good morning Danny. I don’t think so.”

The next day I said, “Good morning Nora. Would you like to walk with me?”

Nora answered, “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

She stood up and for the first time I could see she was about five-foot six-inches tall. We walked without talking for a while until I finally said, “Nora, I have a wild guess that maybe you aren’t from the next town over?”

Nora answered in her serious voice, “You are right Danny—I’m Irish. I come from a small seaside village five miles from a big town called Ballybunion in County Kerry. I came to the United States to be a nanny for Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. They are both doctors and have a four-year old boy that needs watching during the day.

“They are very nice people with a beautiful home. I was given the choice of living in the main house or in the pool house, which has a television area, kitchen and a bedroom with a private bath. I chose the pool house so that I wouldn’t be in the way.

“They love their little boy, so my job is very easy. Until they leave for the hospital, they spend all of the time with the boy.