I have no idea where this idea came from, but I slapped it down quickly as a humorous antidote to the story I'm currently writing – The good, the bad and the ugly.


The real story about the duck

"Hi, my name is Vincent Horatio Plum and I have the dubious reputation of being a duck lover. Not in the same way that people are pigeon fanciers, more the touchy feely stuff." I sat back down on the cheap and nasty plastic chair, next to a ZZ-top look alike on one side and a mousy bookish woman with nasty yellow teeth on the other and let out a sigh as I looked round the room full of losers that made up Perverts Anonymous.

An hour later the meeting was over. Mulling it over afterwards, I was proud to realise that my 'perversion' was not the most bizarre in the room. That brought a brief smile to my face I can tell you!

The rain was falling steeply as I marched back to my car. How the hell did I get here, I thought as I opened the door to my Cadillac.

Poker was to blame. Or was it the alcohol. Who's to say...


Just over a month ago at a Friday evening poker night, Harry the Hammer, my esteemed father-in-law, told me, over the 15th hand of the evening that I was a disgrace to the family. Huh? Was my eloquent whiskey riddled reply.

Apparently I was not sufficiently unique enough in one way or another, so I bet him I would come up with something that would give me a reputation to remember.

"OK, Horace, you're on and you've got until 12 o'clock next Friday to deliver. The forfeit for failing will be $10,000. You on?"

"Was I on? It's a deal" You bet your sorry ass I was!

Mistake number one, never gamble with a mafia boss. Mistake number two, never do it when you can't quite read the cards you're playing with. And mistake number three, never let your beloved wife get involved...

I lost a lot of money on the cards that night. That in itself should have alerted me to the fact that I was in deep trouble.

God! Was I going to regret that evening.

Thing is, I've already got a bit of a reputation, but more on that later.

The next day over breakfast which consisted of several painkillers, scrambled eggs on toast and coffee I told Lucille about my conversation with her father. She just rolled her eyes at me and pouted.

"Vinnie! When are you gonna learn Daddy always wins" she twisted her fingers through my gold necklaces and tugged me closer to her "Sweet cheeks, listen I'm gonna tell Daddy to forget the bet. I found you asleep at the bottom of the stairs this morning. Who gets so drunk that they can't climb stairs? He must have seen you coming a mile away! You're such an idiot some times!" she finished, smiling smugly at me.

"Stop shouting" I groaned out, knowing full well she was right about her father's ruthless streak. Hey, they didn't call him Harry the Hammer because he could put up a set of shelves. I also knew I'd never be able to renege on the bet. He had witnesses, some of whom were even vaguely sober, so I didn't stand a snowball in hell's chance of fobbing anyone off. No, the deal was made.

I'm a big boy now and I can do this.

Lucille ran her fingers through my hair. She loved the amount of wax I used to keep my stupid curls, inherited from the Plum side of the family, in place. She hated that it curled when hers wouldn't even hold a perm and due to her jealousy insisted that I tame it. Keeping it mid length and plastering it to the side of my head seemed the logical answer, although with my head shape it did make me resemble a weasel.

"So, Vinnie, what you gonna do?" She could see the cogs turning and had probably figured that I couldn't back down.

I pulled her onto my lap, kissing her senseless as it struck me that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.


I stormed into my office with Joyce hot on my heels, she slammed the door behind her and flopped down onto the edge of the desk. "Quick" I whispered "start with the howling noises". She laughed silently and shook her head as she began to whimper softly. It wasn't long before she started getting louder. I banged on the desk a few times and groaned out as if at the height of passion, bouncing up and down on my chair. She lifted away from the desk and began to pull it about. It was fairly old and I swear one day we were going to break it, but it creaked and groaned to good effect. We'd really got our little act down to a fine art.

From the other side of the door I could hear Lula and Connie gagging loudly then a radio went on to to drown out the sounds we were making. Joyce grinned at me and we both gave a final shout then plopped loudly down onto the desk.

After a few minutes of us stifling our giggles, she got up from where she had landed, still smirking. "I believe my work here is done" she whispered as she pulled her clothes about a bit to look as if we had been making out. Christ, the money I paid her was worth every penny. If only my other employees really knew what went on behind my door. But as I said earlier, I have a reputation to uphold.

She gave me a final wink then set her face into a frown and flung the door open and stalked out, giving Connie and Lula a filthy look as she exited the building, slamming the front door as a final gesture. I reached the door and shut it quickly so that the girls couldn't see me sniggering.

Reputation firmly reinforced I returned to the game of cards on my computer. What, do you really think I spend my life wanking? Puleeese! Lucille more than keeps me satisfied.

Actually, let me explain, Lucille and I decided a while back that I needed to have an edge. A USP (unique selling point) if you like. Something that would attract Trenton's finest to me when deciding who to use for their bonds. We figured that being a sleaze bag was harmless but enabled my clients to relate to me. When we'd told Harry he fell about laughing. He thought our idea was hilarious. We all agreed that only the four of us would ever know the real situation. Joyce was game on, after all, she too has a reputation. The only difference being that she actually does fuck horses where as I preferred to bet on them.

So, here I was, playing on my computer, wondering what on earth I was going to do to win my bet when it hit me. I may not like the idea of a horse, but something smaller and more cuddly might just do the trick. I called Lucille and ran my thoughts past her.

She didn't think a mammal was the best idea. After all, some of my customer base might disassociate themselves from me if they had dogs, cats, rabbits... you get the drift. So we decided something else might work. What about some form of bird. Well, as they say the rest is history.

Later that evening as we lay tangled in each other on our bed, Lucille running her hands down my perfect 8-pack...

What? Isn't a man allowed to look good? I might have the face of a weasel but that doesn't mean to say I don't take some pride in my body! I'm pretty fit and I bet my toned physique would not look out of place at Rangeman. In fact, I could probably hold my own with at least some of its personnel, but I digress.

As I was saying before you rudely interrupted.

"Mmm" I groaned out "haven't you had enough yet, woman?" pretending to be grumpy. I too can satisfy a woman – Morelli and Ranger are not the only Evanovich characters with magic hands, you know.

Anyway, back to my story. Again. Yeesh, you lot...

"Maybe, maybe not, big boy" she replied, nipping my ear lobe.

I turned to face her and stroked the side of her face with the tip of my thumb. She smiled back at me, closing her eyes in anticipation as I rose above her and proceeded to turn her bones to jelly again. All thoughts of the bet completely forgotten.


The next morning as I was shaving, Lucille snuck up behind me and wrapped her arms round me, playing with my pecs. I rinsed my razor out in the hot water and returned it to my face for another stroke.

"What about a duck?" she asked. "Small enough, no talons, rounded beak, big enough to, well, you know..." her voice trailing off.

Shit, she didn't think I was really going to stick my dick up a duck's arse, did she? Nuh uh, not me! No way...

"Ten big ones would get us a great holiday away somewhere where you could put this all behind you for a while." She reasoned.

"Yeah, but the whole idea is to make me famous. I'm not sure fucking a duck is really something I want to be remembered for. Plus I'm not sure whether it's what your father had in mind."

"Tell you what, I'll ring him to find out" she said, jumping away from me and back into the bedroom.

Christ! I was never ever drinking again. What had I been thinking? Or perhaps that had been the problem, I hadn't been thinking...

I carried on shaving, pulling my face taught to avoid nicking my skin, trying to ignore the conversation I knew my wife was having. Just the thought had my dick burrowing back into me, bit like a tortoise. Hey, that was it, I could pretend I had an in-growing dick. What the fuck had I been thinking at the poker evening. I groaned again, stopped paying attention and cut myself. Badly.

As I stuck a piece of toilet roll onto the wound to stop it bleeding, Lucille came back into the room, looking ashen.

"Daddy says he'll give you $100k to fuck a duck. All bets would then be off but he'd get to take one photo, just for his private collection. I gulped loudly, I knew Harry kept photographic evidence of lots of things, people saying goodbye before they jumped off the tops of buildings, people being fitted for concrete shoes... I also knew that if Lucille's father got an idea in his head, it tended to happen.

Money or no money I was going to have to get loved up with a bird...


Three days later I was sitting at my father-in-law's house. Lucille was holding my hand and I was sweating buckets. Not through fear, obviously, but because someone must have turned up the heating.

The door opened and in walked Harry with one of his minders, camera in hand. Behind the both of them came another man, complete with small wicker pet cage. I would hear quacking coming from inside. I suddenly felt very sorry for the animal. Then stood up to face my fate.


Harry got his photo, I got a very sore dick – one thing I can say folks, is don't try this at home...

Lucille got her holiday – with great big fuck-off knobs on.

So, why am I standing in the rain outside the building of Perverts anonymous?

Harry's wife, Alanah, found the photo and told me that if I didn't sort out my life she was going to do it for me.

I'm even more scared of Alanah than I am of her husband.