GAME BIRD

It was still quite early in the season. The leaves were on the trees and some, those from the old school, said that pheasants shouldn’t really be shot at until the branches were bare. None the less a day out in October got one into the swing of things for the big days in January. Josh was delighted to have been invited to shoot with Ben. More to the point he would have been very offended had he not been. Ben had been his guest several times before and a return invitation was nearly overdue.

They met at the pub in the village and sat down to a full English of ridiculous proportions with lashings of tea or coffee. The talk was the same as when any group of like minded men congregate before a sporting event. The pleasantries out the way, the hand shakes and hellos yes we met at so-and-so’s, and the slap on the backs for those that most certainly knew each other, the talk started. It usually concerned people’s dress sense.

“Bloody hell Dick. Got your wife’s trousers on again I see!” Dick liked fairly garish plus fours. He also like dressing up in his wife’s clothes but no one but him knew how near to the bone the statement was.

“Where on earth did you find that tie?” Ralph had the image of a nearly naked woman emblazoned done his tie.

“It’s the closest he’ll get to a bird all day,” said Michael, his own tie covered in birds of the sort he was hoping to start killing soon.

“Your waistcoat looks like a fucking table clothe!” Rupert was pointing at Larry’s considerable gut.

“ Well at least I made the bloody effort.” Larry was wearing a three-piece shooting suit. “You, you poor hairy arsed farmer couldn’t afford a bit of tailoring of this quality.”

“Oooww,” went the school boy noise from at least three or four of the party.

“Who’s not turned up yet?” Michael asked the day’s host.

“Lucy,” said Ben.

“Who?” said Michael and two others.

“Lucinda. ” Ben smiled as he said her name again.

“Bloody hell.” Michael expressed what several of them felt. “She’s not shooting is she?”

“Yes she is,” said Ben.

“She’s bloody dangerous,” said Michael.

“Not with a gun,” said Ben.

“I didn’t mean with a gun,” said Michael. The others sniggered.

“ Who’s she shagging currently? ” asked Larry.

“No one I know,” replied Ben.

“Fair game then,” said Ralph.

“You keep your gun in its sleeve,” said Ben. They laughed.

“She can shag me any time she likes,” said Larry making one of those clenched fist gestures men do when they are talking dirty.

Lucinda arrived looking gorgeous. Had there been a prize for the best turned out gun, she would have won it hands down. She kissed the host Ben warmly on both cheeks and did pretty much the same to Michael, Larry, Ralph, Rupert and Dick. She shook Josh by the hand.

“Very good to meet you,” she said to him and he got the impression that she really meant it.

The keeper arrived.

“Shed be wend.” He announced the stillness in the weather although to some his dialect was impossible to understand. Ben called for hush and explained the day’s rules. They were eight guns moving two. They were shooting good pheasants and partridge, no woodcock and no ground game. The keeper’s horn would sound the start and end of each drive. If any antis showed up, guns were to be put away in their sleeves and the shoot would be suspended until the police arrived.

“Be better all round if we just added them to the bag.” Michael interrupted Ben’s speech.
Enjoy your day was Ben’s final instruction before he passed around the little leather wallet from which each gun pulled a number. Who stood next to who was always a source of considerable interest, particularly today. All the men wanted to be drawn next to Lucinda.

The guns moved off from the pub in a four-wheel vehicle convoy and headed for the first drive. Lucinda was in the pound seat. She’d drawn number four and straight away she went to work killing everything out in front with the sort of precision shooting that she had become famous for. She only killed birds going away if her neighbours had already missed them. It gave her an enormous sense of satisfaction to wipe the eye of a male gun standing next to her in the line.
The day progressed as shooting days do, with some drives better than others, some shots not as accurate as others and as a result, some guns enjoying themselves more than others. The drink, swing adjuster as Ben called it, was taken after each drive from various flasks and bottles. Larry had brought champagne, which he opened and offered around after the second drive. He held the bottle of bubbly in one hand and a bottle of sloe gin in the other. Some had the two mixed into their glass.

“I call it a sloegasm.” Larry was generous with his income, good with his words.

“Haven’t had one of those,” said Lucinda when it was her turn. The men knew that she was probably not talking about the cocktail. “Important to try everything,” she added which confirmed it in their minds.

The last drive took the bag to over two hundred and Ben and the keeper were both pleased with the day. Everyone headed back to the pub where a private function room had been prepared and a big table laid for the eight shooters.

“Cracking day!” said Larry.

“Hear! Hear!” agreed Michael and they all raised a pre-meal drink as a toast to Ben.

“Thanks for the invitation Ben,” said Josh.

“It’s not over yet,” said Ben with a smile.

After the drinks the party sat down.

“I don’t care who sits where as long as I sit at this end and Lucinda sits at the other.” Ben’s instructions were obeyed and the guests sat down at the table accordingly.

The French onion soup was fine and the beef rare. The vegetables were organic and not cooked to a pulp. The wine was from Burgundy and as soon as one bottle was empty, another took its place. The conversation flowed like the drink and at times everyone seemed to be saying something and then it was just one person holding the talking stick. The late afternoon became evening and after the bread and butter pudding and with the cheese, the port arrived.

“Let’s play a game,” suggested Michael. “Let’s have a sweep on the number of drops that are left in the decanter when we think it’s empty.”

“Don’t be a silly bugger,” said Dick. “When it’s empty it’s empty.”

“No it isn’t,” declared Michael confidently with a slur. “I’ll call fifty dropssh and here’s my twenty pound note.”

Everyone put twenty pounds into the middle of the table and Michael wrote down the eight guesses. Ben elected to perform the pouring ceremony once the decanter was empty and he tipped the cut glass with his steady hands over an empty wine glass and as each drop dripped out the whole group shouted the number in boisterous unison. It was amazing. From a vessel that looked empty, the little drops of dark red liquid continued to emerge. Thirty-seven drops splashed into the wineglass, the last few with a painfully slow reluctance as though they wanted to remain embedded in the decanter forever.

Ralph was the nearest with thirty-six, his age, so he picked up the £160 from the table with much merriment all round.

“I’ve got a good game.” Lucinda’s announcement shut up the general hubbub.

“Go on,” said Ben.

“It’s called cock roulette.” Josh swallowed rather too loudly. Michael nearly choked on his drink.
Lucinda continued to explain the rules to the very captive audience.

“Every one apart from me puts twenty pounds in the kitty. The lights are turned out and the door locked. No one must utter a sound. Everyone changes seats in the dark. Every one sits down and unbuttons or unzips their fly. Everyone gets out his cock. I get under the table and select one lucky member at random and give that member a blowjob. The lucky recipient mustn’t say a word or make a sound. If he does, I stop what I’m doing and he has to pay a forfeit of double what’s on the table. Make a noise and I stop and move on to another contestant. The game is over when the job has been successfully completed without interruption and I turn the lights back on. If you don’t want to play you have to leave, after paying up forty pounds and being clucked out of the room like a chicken.”

Dick looked decidedly uncomfortable. Ralph straightened his loosened tie and chucked a twenty on to the table. Rupert coughed. Larry grinned from ear to ear. Josh thought he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Michael undid his fly and Ben sat quite relaxed at the far end of the table with a bemused smile.

“There’s only one winner of course but I get to keep all the money. Do you understand gentlemen?” No one said that they didn’t. Most just froze like rabbits caught in a headlight.

“Right. Let’s play gentlemen.” Lucinda pushed her chair back from the end of the table and got up to switch off the lights and lock the door.

The room was pitch black and once the men had stopped bumping into each other and found a new seat, an unnatural calm came over the place. Breathing, heavy breathing, was the predominant sound around the table, backed up by the occasional nervous sip taken from a drinking glass. Someone belched loudly and there was a lot of surpressed giggling.

“The game won’t start until you shut up.” Lucinda’s voice came at them like a schoolmistress through the dark.

It wasn’t that difficult to work out who was sitting in which seat and Josh found himself latched on to and sucked and blown to oblivion. He didn’t make a sound. The job done, after a few moments the lights went on to general guffaws of drunken laughter, shouts of oh no, looks of relief and some of disappointment.

“Well who’s the lucky bugger then?” said Michael.

“That’s presumably for him to know and you to find out.” Lucinda sat down again after scooping up her pile of bank notes.

“Obviously not you then Michael,” said Larry adjusting his dress.

“Can we have another shot?” asked Ralph waving another twenty-pound note wildly.

“Sorry to disappoint you boys but I’ve had all I want thanks.” Lucinda licked her lips and drained her port glass.

The party came to a gradual end and everyone drifted down into the car park. Josh said his goodbyes and when it came to Lucinda kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear.

“I didn’t do anything!” Lucinda replied honestly. “I just set you up. It’s always the same. Call it my party piece. I get you men to part with your money and leave your egos and fantasies to do the rest. I just stay in my seat and it works every time. Over a hundred quid just to switch a light on and off and a lot of fun watching you boys drooling like you always do.”

Josh didn’t believe what he was hearing once again.

“But if it wasn’t?” Josh was wide-eyed and worried and left his question unfinished.

“Not me Josh. I promise you.” Lucinda kissed him goodbye.

“Great day. Thanks for having me.” Josh shook Ben by the hand in the pub car park and somewhat confused and bewildered got into his car.

“Thanks for coming,” said Ben after him. “I thought you shot rather well.”