Patrick Fitzgerald

"Hey, Paddy!" bellowed the pot-bellied bartender in the Santa hat, to the mid-50s gentleman who walked into MNM's, as if Norm had just walked into Cheers.

"Hi Jimmy," replied the tall, slender man, as he passed through the crowd of 20-somethings at the tables, taking his regular stool at the bar, just as Jimmy was setting down a pint of Guinness and two shots of Jameson. "How'd you know?" joked Pat, or as his friends called him, "Paddy", as he looked down at his "usual."

Just as they were about to share a toast, a handsome millennial leaned on the bar and yelled to Jimmy, "hey, can I get four Moscow Mules when you get a chance?"

"Let the adults finish their business, laddie" Jimmy play-scolded him, "and then I'll get you your trendy drinks."

Jimmy and Pat turned toward the picture of the handsome grey-haired man that hung above the old copper cash register, raised their shot glasses, and said simultaneously, "to Murph!" before throwing back the smooth Irish whiskey.

"Really warms the cockles on this cold December night," said Pat, as he chased the shot with the creamy stout.

"You know if Murph was still alive," said Jimmy, as once again Pat tipped his glass in respect toward the picture behind the bar, "he'd never let you get away with saying 'cockles' without some smart-ass come-back." The two men laughed in agreement, even though Pat's eyes still showed a hint of the pain of loss.

Michael Nathaniel Murphy, the longtime owner of MNM's, passed away over the summer after succumbing to liver cancer.

Murph had scraped together every penny he had and bought the traditional Irish pub, in the Woodlawn Heights section of the Bronx, when he got out of the service in the mid-80s. James O'Connor, an old Army buddy, was employee #1 and has been a mainstay behind the bar for the past 30-something years, through good times and bad.

In his hay-day, Murph would be at the upright piano in the corner, belting out Irish drinking songs and telling jokes in between. His spirit embodied the establishment, and the bar became popular not just with the neighborhood regulars, but as a destination for upscale Manhattanites as well.

In 2001 though, the placed nearly closed. Murph got married in February of that year, to his high-school girlfriend Rebecca. In June, she caught him cheating. With another man. Or more aptly, an 18-year old busboy, and she immediately divorced him. Later that year came the World Trade Center attacks, and Manhattan yuppies stopped traveling to the north Bronx.

As business declined, Murph slipped into a bit of a depression. The bar lost most of the religious neighborhood crowd when he came out as gay. He started drinking more and singing less, and his sarcastic wit developed an angry, razor sharp edge to it, where the few remaining customers were more offended than entertained by his comments.

Jimmy always had his suspicions about Murph's sexuality, but being a "live and let live" kind of guy, he stuck by his lifelong friend and was the only reason the bar made it through that tumultuous year. He got Murph into a 12-step program and took care of running the place until Murph was back on his feet.

The local "scandal" was short-lived, and the popularity of the bar started to recover. By 2005 the place was crowded again, and the business was back in the black. Jimmy, a married father of six, noticed the gradual change in the clientele, but he had no problem with it, as long as nobody hit on him. It's not like MNMs became a "gay bar" per se, but on any given night, there would be as many same-sex couples as not.

That's also the year that Patrick Fitzgerald moved into apartment 212 above the bar, after his divorce from his wife Kelly after 23 years of marriage. The first 18 were okay, but after the kids moved out, it became increasingly more evident how he and his wife had grown apart. Their sex life had gone from occasional to sporadic, to non-existent, and the last couple of years, he had basically lost all interest in her, and in sex.

Sure the commute was a bit of a schlep, but the tiny North Bronx apartment was about all he could afford after the divorce, and it was closer to Westchester, where his kids now lived. "Besides," he said to the realtor while signing the lease, "what could be better than living above an Irish pub!"

Pat did not expect to be a late-40s divorcee at this stage of his life, but he was totally unhappy in his marriage and was really looking forward to a change. That first night he walked into MNMs, he had no idea how big of a change his life was about to take.

After unpacking his stuff, and setting up the small efficiency, Pat decided to go downstairs for dinner and a pint, or two. He had eaten lunch at MNM's when he first looked at the apartment, and there was something about the place that just felt like home to him. It was late on a Sunday night, and he was hoping the kitchen was still open.

"Guinness, right?" Jimmy said to Pat as he sat down at the only open stool at the end of the bar.

"That's pretty amazing," Pat said to the man sitting next to him, amazed that the bartender would remember his preference from two weeks ago.

"Yeah, Jimmy's all of that and a bag of chips," said the man, as he turned toward Pat to introduce himself, "I'm Murph, and this is my place."

"I'm Pat, just moved in upstairs," he replied, and the two men shook hands.

As their hands touched, and eyes met, Pat felt and energy pass through his body that he had never felt before. He found himself looking into Murph's green eyes, and an unfamiliar warmth came over him. Sure, with his thick brown hair and chiseled chin, Murph was undoubtedly a handsome man, but another man had never caused this reaction in Pat, and he had spent several months at sea in a nuclear sub during his stint in the Navy.

"Welcome to the neighborhood, Paddy," offered Murph, as the two men continued the handshake, longer than normally comfortable.

"Haven't been called Paddy since my Navy days," replied the 40-year old ginger, retrieving his hand from the slightly older man's grasp, as he tried to internally compose himself.

"Lucky guess," said Murph, as he looked up at his orange hair with the grey flecks around the temples, "pegged you as Irish from the minute you walked in."

"Patrick Fitzgerald, doesn't get more Irish than that," replied Pat, as Murph nearly spit out his coffee.

"Oh, you poor kid," said Murph, still chuckling while pulling himself together.

"I don't get what's so funny?" asked Pat, feeling like he should be pissed off, but finding Murph's laugh infectious.

"You mean you've never heard the one about the Irish homosexuals?" asked Murph, referring to one of his oldest and most favorite jokes. "You know, Gerald 'Fitz' Patrick and Patrick 'Fitz' Gerald?"

Pat had honestly never heard that one before, and the two men laughed louder and longer than seemed appropriate. For Pat, the laughter was a bit cathartic, finally finding himself enjoying his life again, and for Murph, the only thing he liked more than laughing at his own jokes, was laughing along with someone else.

"You have no idea how much I needed that," said Pat, wiping a tear from his eye from laughing so hard. "It's been a rough couple years for me, and I'm just starting over."

"Here's to new beginnings and new horizons," offered Murph, as he clinked his coffee cup with Pat's pint glass in a toast.

The two men struck up a friendship, and Pat found himself eating dinner down at MNM's most nights, assuring himself that the primary motivation was not to have to cook for one in his tiny kitchen, and had nothing to do with the company of a certain handsome bar owner.

As the weeks and months rolled by, any thoughts Pat had of re-living the wild single-life in his new post-divorce status were replaced by the camaraderie and warmth he felt at MNM's, drinking with his new best friend, and laughing at his seemingly endless string of jokes.

It was Thursday evening, about six months after he moved into the tiny one bedroom flat, and Pat was looking forward to dinner since it was open-faced hot turkey night, complete with cranberry sauce and fries with gravy. He stopped and unlocked his mailbox, and noticed the larger ivory envelope among the bills and junk mail, addressed to Mr. Patrick Fitzgerald and Guest in fancy calligraphy lettering.

His heart sank, and he tore the envelope open, knowing full well what it contained.

"THAT BITCH!" echoed off the marble floors of the empty entranceway, as he stuffed the rest of the mail back into the mailbox, and headed out to MNM's without changing out of his work clothes.

"You're in early tonight," greeted Jimmy, as he placed the pint of Guinness in front of Pat's usual stool.

"Gimme a Jameson too," Pat replied, "no...wait...make that a double."

Jimmy saw the look in Pat's eyes when he ordered, and knew he wasn't drinking to celebrate anything. Placing the glass of whiskey in front of Pat, he joked, "we're open until 2 am, what's your hurry?"

Pat threw back the double-shot, oblivious to Jimmy's attempt to lighten the mood, and said curtly, "hit me again."

Jimmy took Pat's glass and walked back to the bottle, but grabbed his cell phone and texted Murph along the way, "Pat's here and drinking pretty hard, think you'd better come in early." Jimmy busied himself with the few other customers in the bar at that time, to try and slow Pat down, but he was on his fourth double shot by the time Murph settled in next to him.

Murph joked, "You know I don't get deliveries til Tuesday," putting his arm around his new friend, "you gotta save me a little of the good stuff for the weekend crowd."

Pat looked into the green eyes, and managed a bit of a smile, as he tipped his glass toward his friend in a toast and emptied its contents while sliding over the ivory envelope on the bar.

As Murph opened it, the smaller RSVP card and envelop fell out on the bar, and he scanned the wedding invitation for the particulars. The bride-to-be shared the same first name with Pat's ex, so he didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what set him off on this bender.

"Thought you'd beat her to the altar?" Murph chided, eliciting a reflexive grin from Pat before his face went dark again.

"Didn't think that asshole would move on her that quickly," Pat lamented.

What Murph couldn't discern from the fancy invitation was that the groom-to-be was the younger single neighbor who lived down the hall from the Fitzgeralds. Pat had always had his suspicions about the chummy relationship the neighbor had with his wife, which only added insult to Pat's injury.

Looking back at the invitation, Murph replied, "well, you got two months, so there's still time," trying to cheer up his friend, "you show up with a nice piece of arm-candy, and you'll have the last laugh."

"The jokes aren't helping tonight Murph," Pat said with a bit of a slur, shaking his empty glass rudely toward Jimmy.

Shaking his head at Jimmy, indicating that Pat was done for the night, Murph replied, "how about we get some coffee in you instead?" Then added, "upstairs though...I don't want you puking all over my bar."

Pat stood up quickly from his bar stool and said indignantly, "there are other places in this neighborhood that'll serve me if you won't," finishing his brilliant and eloquent argument simultaneously with losing his balance and falling face first into Murph's chest.

"Yeah, and that place is Apartment 212, and I hear coffee is on special tonight!" quipped Murph, while he steadied his friend back on his feet, and guided him to the front door.

Realizing that he indeed was drunk off his ass, Pat went along with Murph willingly, and the two men joked and laughed as they struggled to navigate the two flights up to Pat's tiny apartment. As Pat clung to his friend for balance, he couldn't help but notice Murph's strong arms and intoxicating cologne and was somewhat embarrassed at the reaction both were having on his body.

Murph got Pat into his apartment and started the coffee brewing, and they settled down in the kitchenette. Jimmy had sent up two orders of hot turkey sandwiches, and they ate, and talked, and cried, and laughed, well into the wee hours of the morning.

The conversation and emotions flowed freely, and Murph started sensing a more attentive and receptive manner about Pat. Looking at his watch, he cleared his throat and said somewhat nervously, "it looks like you're no longer a threat to yourself or anyone else, so I probably should get going."

For Pat, "the situation" that started on the stairs didn't go away when they reached his apartment. In fact, the more he opened his soul to Murph, staring into those emerald eyes, the more "the situation" got worse.

Or was it getting better?

Through their long conversation, Pat realized that for the first time in many, many years, he was feeling genuinely happy, and the handsome man sitting across the table had a lot to do with it. He never thought that he would feel another emotional connection like the one he and his ex-wife had lost all those years ago, but it dawned on him that he had been building just such a connection with Murph. His heart and his body were screaming at his brain to eschew the conservative barriers built by his Catholic upbringing, and to jump feet-first into an opportunity to love again, and truly enjoy this second Act of his life. Screwing up every bit of courage he could muster from his mostly sober brain, he uttered two simple words.

"Please stay."

Murphy heard the words as he was starting to stand from the table, and when he looked into Pat's eyes, he understood what his friend really meant.

"Are you sure Paddy?" Murph asked tenderly. "I'm happy to stay...I mean I'd love to stay...but only if you're really sure."

As if being controlled by an unseen puppeteer, Pat felt his body rise and his arms reach out for the lapels of Murph's leather jacket, and he pulled his friend in for a kiss. The two men stood awkwardly, bent over the small table, lips pressed together, for what seemed like an eternity, until Pat pulled away.

"I'm really sure Murph," said Pat decisively, as he walked around the table and leaned into his friend, this time for an open-mouthed kiss.

Like high school lovers with the house to themselves, the two men started undressing each other, without ever breaking their passionate kiss, as they stumbled amid the shed clothing toward Pat's bedroom. Hopping on one foot, then the other, they used each other for balance to remove their socks, and fell back on to the bed stripped down to their boxers.

Murph rolled Pat on his back and straddled his waist, finally leaning back and breaking the kiss. "Before we go any further, I have to check you for something important," Murph said as he reached behind and slipped his hand into Pat's boxers.

Pat froze in place, feeling another man's hand on his cock for the first time, other than his family physician, only this time his cock was harder than he ever remembered it being since he hit puberty.

"Nope, definitely no Irish Curse here!" Murph joked, at feeling the hefty girth of Pat's throbbing erection. "This'll do just fine."

Murph slid down Pat's toned body and pulled his boxer shorts down as he went until his friend's hard cock flopped out in front of his face. Pat looked down into Murph's piercing green eyes and watch as his cock disappeared into the older man's mouth.

They say Catholic school girls give the best blow jobs, and while Pat's ex was no slouch in that department while they were dating, he soon realized that she had nothing on Catholic school boys! Murph proceeded to use his lips, mouth, and tongue in ways Pat had never felt before, and before too long there was a familiar sensation boiling up from his balls.

"I'm going to cum," Pat said to Murph, repeating the warning that he always gave his wife, on the rare occasion when she would blow him because she would never let him cum in her mouth.

Taking his mouth off Pat's cock for a moment, Murph replied, "that's the whole point of this exercise hon," and then redoubled his efforts with his hand and tongue.

Soon Pat was filling Murph's mouth with about 2 years of pent up frustration, and he was amazed at how Murph swallowed it all. Murph slid back up his friend's body and kissed him deeply again. Pat felt the remnants of his load on Murph's tongue and found the taste quite addicting. Pat also felt Murph's insistent erection on his now softening cock.

"I'm not sure I know how," Pat said to Murph, momentarily breaking their embrace, with an adorable look of vulnerability on his face.

"Sure you do," replied Murph encouragingly, "just get down there and do everything you wished that Kelly would do for you through all those years of marriage!"

Pat traded places with his friend, and as he looked up at Murph from between his legs, he was surprised at how comfortable and normal it felt for him to be in this position. He reached out and grabbed the thick cock standing up in front of his face, and was taken by the heat that emanated through the soft skin. Slowly moving his hand up and down Murph's cock, he thought back to all the reluctant blow jobs Kelly gave him in the past and was determined to outdo her.

He started by licking and sucking on Murph's balls, something Kelly refused to do, but something that his friend seemed to really appreciate. After a short while, Pat licked up and down Murph's shaft, making it shine with his saliva, then swirled his tongue around the big purple head. The silky texture and salty taste of Murph's precum spread across his tongue, and he took his friend's cock fully into his mouth. Pat was a little too eager, and when Murph's cockhead nudged the back of his throat, Pat coughed and gagged a little, and had to pull off.

"Relax and take your time hun," said Murph, while running his finger's through Pat's hair, "we're not auditioning for PornHub you know."

"Jeezus Murph," chuckled Pat, "you gotta make me laugh even when I'm sucking your cock?"

Murph wound up sleeping at Pat's place that night, and it was the start of a beautiful, strong and loving relationship.

The hardest thing for Pat was telling his kids about his new lifestyle, but neither of them cared, as long as their father was happy, and they both learned to love and accept their new Uncle Murph.

Pat was a little nervous going to his ex-wife's wedding with Murph as his "plus 1" but he had a great time dancing and introducing Murph to his ex-in-laws and their friends. He also took sweet pleasure in the murmurs and whispers, knowing that the latent homosexual couple had stolen his ex-wife's thunder at her own damned wedding.

Pat grew to love Murph more than anyone other than his children, and the two were inseparable, even after Murph was diagnosed. Pat was there at his side through all the treatments and even shaved his head in solidarity when the radiation took Murph's luxurious hair.

"Four more Moscow Mules please!"

The loud order, coupled with the accidental elbow bump, as the handsome millennial slid into the open space next to Pat's stool, snapped him out of his daydream. Wiping the tear that was traveling down his cheek, Pat looked to his left into the most dazzling set of emerald eyes that he had seen since Murph's lids closed for the final time. This caused a similar situation in his pants as when he first got together with Murph.

Pat called to Jimmy, as he was setting up the copper mugs, "make it three of those Mule things, and two shots of Jameson...on me." Looking first at the table of three attractive young women from where he came, Pat turned back to the kid and said, "You look like you're Irish lad, you shouldn't be drinking that mule piss."

"Thanks, umm..." stammered the kid, not sure if he should say "sir" or "pal" or what.