InsaneJournal

Nips are getting bigger.

Who: Breacan.
What: Bingo night.
Where: Home.
When: Now.
Rating: PGR.
Note: Unbeta as usual.

Never mix drinking with Bingo night.

The other evening, I found myself talking with the local pastor of the area. He is a languid sort of chap, with a pleasant personality. When I say languid I mean he is slow in his movements and mannerism, his mind, however, is sharp as a tack. That evening, he was lamentation to me about the lack of funds the local church had. The pastor told me, how he had set up a charitable bingo night, in hope to help raise more funds. At this point the conversation turned, and had I the hindsight to have known the outcome of the direction, I likely would have departed quickly and saved myself.

Alas, this was not so.



The conversation went into the direction of,
“Captain, I don’t suppose I could entice you to turn up to play a few rounds of bingo?”

At this point, I ignored the masculine side of me which screamed in horror, and, instead took pity on the plaintive cry for help. So it came about I found myself learning how to play Bingo.

It may have been a somewhat much needed relaxing night if it had not been for one fact. I unfortunately found myself sitting trapped between, my cook and Madame Spinster. Thus, I spent the evening, covertly moving my chair and myself towards the cook, who in turn would push at me to send the chair back towards Madame Spinster’s direction. The cook, at some point, must have grown wise to the strategic attempt to avoid close contact with Madame Spinster. She moved herself in such a position I could not move at all. And Madame Spinster took full advantage of the situation.

There was nothing I could do, had I left abruptly, such a move would upset the pastor who was under the mistaken belief I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I could tell this by the way he beamed and encourage me to learn the game. I was doomed. Or so I thought.

It came about I actually managed to win a prize. After cheering from the crowd, I received the gift---an attractive looking bottle containing home made alcohol.

The bottle sat there on the table in front of me, unopened for three games. It likely remained in that condition had one thing not occurred. For some inexplicable reason, Madame Spinster decided my night out needed spicing up, she rested her hand on my thigh. Not knowing what to do, I remained motionless. I gather she took this as a sign to go ahead; her hand began to stroke my inner thigh. For some unknown reason, instead of protesting loudly, I reached out and opened the attractive bottle of alcohol. The first swig, was very sweet to taste. When Madame’s spinster’s hand slipped in between my thigh and upwards, the swig from the bottle turned into a full on chug.

I am not sure what it was--- perhaps my illness making my body unable to cope with alcohol. Or perhaps, the alcohol contained more bite than I first realized. Whatever it was, I felt myself sliding under the table. Well, that is what I thought I had done. By this point things had become a little fuzzy.

Next morning, I learnt the pastor had driven me home. I went in search of him to thank him for the deed. It was then I learnt what happened after things had become a little fuzzy.

“I’m so happy you enjoyed yourself last night.” Said the pastor.

I gave him a wane smile, not wishing to burst his bubble.

“I wish to thank you for driving me home.” I said.

He beamed, “Oh, captain, after what you did last night it was the least I could do. Thank you, so much!”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I am certain my presence at Bingo, was not that grand.”

The pastor stuttered, eyes wide,

“But it was. Giving the extra boost to our charity night was just wonderful of you.”

I eyed him apprehensively,

“Pardon?”

“Now, now, don’t be so coy. Everyone had fun; I didn’t know you knew how to do that with a feather boa!”

I felt myself paling.

“I am sorry Father; I had a rather late night and still recovering from an illness. Perhaps you care to elaborate.”

“Good lord, you can’t have forgotten!”

What I was told afterwards, I wish I had.

It seems like I put on quite the floor show. It included a feather boa and ‘take it off music’. If that was not enough, I declared whoever bided the highest on the feather boa would have me for dinner to receive the finale of the performance.

Tickets went out this morning for the ‘auction’. Apparently, bidding is ferocious and there are even copies of a very unattractive photograph of me performing the show, to help boost ticket sales.

The highest bidder, so far, is Madame Spinster.

I am not sure who I should hunt down first, the ticket sellers, or the individual who made the home made wine. I am going for the latter. As I am certain, I shall need strong alcohol to get through another dinner with Madame Spinster and her animal friends.

Meantime, I am going to find someplace to hide. Preferably, a cave.