The Outlandisher - Chap. 8 - The Pissing Contest

May 31st, 2009

Chap. 8
The Pissing Contest


New York City

The phone in Gerremy McButler's loft is ringing off the hook. It was the third time that day that it had done so, with several cell phones sitting on a nearby shelf in succession following suit.

The first time this happened little Noly had run around barking, but it had been a whole day and her master still hadn't returned. Sitting near the ornate mirror from where he had departed, she looked up with her mournful eyes as she again heard her master's voice on the outgoing message.

After a few moments, she put her head back on her paws and closed them.


Rusty Elvaino hung up the phone for the second time that day. Perturbed his friend was not answering any of his many cell phones, he'd resorted to leaving a message on the land line. Thinking it over, he smiled to himself and shrugged. Ger is probably tied up somewhere, either literally or figuratively and would get back to him when he came up for air. They were to meet at Raoul's for dinner tonight and he was excited to show his friend the carved paperweight he had picked up at auction which was the perfect companion for the snuff box they had purchased a few days before. He was positive his friend was going to love it, but if not, he would be able to sell it elsewhere. He wasn't worried. He'd try him again later.


Los Angeles

Allaine Siegelson had also been trying to reach the actor. He needed to run something buy him regarding a script they were considering for production. Impatiently he closed his cell phone again as he and his partner got ready to leave for breakfast.

Siegelson: I'll just leave a message so he can get back to me. (frowning) I hope he's not playing games again. Since the new Guru in Bengali told him about the dangers of EMR's on his damned aura and his psyche, he's gotten in the habit of turning off his cell for hours at a time.


Inverness Castle

A new face to the room is leisurely moving towards the group in Claire's sights and it is one she would rather not see at the moment. Watching his walk, Claire had to admit that Jamie's Uncle Google McGuinness was a very good specimen of Scottish manhood, like most of the McGuinnesses. However, at this moment she could only hope that he did not spell trouble for Gerry McButler, who, between trips to wherever he was going when he left the room, was doing his darndest to keep up with the conversaton of war and weapons the group of Lairds was indulging in between gulps of the flowing whisky.

She had already overheard several of them comment on the newcomer's inability to stand still and had detected some snickers about his many absences, as they seemed to be chalking them up to the size, or lack there of, of his bladder or perhaps a bad case of indigestion, due to the sloshing noise his stomach made every time he laughed.

Thankfully he was nowhere in sight at the moment, so Claire decided to position herself to catch him and warn him about Google.

Fortunately, McButler, who had been caught in the act of spitting the whiskey into the pig's bladder hidden in his shirt by one of the young, raven haired scullery maids, had quickly sweet-talked her and, swearing her to secrecy, was in the stables this very moment, showing her why he was considered one of Hollywood's biggest flirts as well as getting a lesson himself on one of the many advantages of the native Scottish dress.

By the time he returned 20 minutes later, with several pieces of straw clinging to his bonnet, a part of his kilt turned up at the hem and a big grin on his face, Google McGuinness had delivered his message and departed without laying eyes on Jamie McFraser's, father's second cousin's first son's bastard offspring.

Claire hadn't been so lucky, with Google sarcastically inquiring about her health and that of his absent nephew and had, as usual, left her with the ominous warning that Jamie had better be careful about his Clan loyalties.

Still angry with McGuinness, she sees McButler returning from the barn and almost hisses at him.

Claire: Where the hell have you been? I was getting worried.

GMcB: (grinning) Nae need tae worry. Ah wis gettin' some fresh air an' takin' a break from all the hot air in the room.

Claire Avoyant McFraser had one of those noses that come along once every hundred and fifty years. Even with all the unpleasant and pungent smells of the 18th century, she could pick out any single one that had the unfortunate happenstance of being in the vicinity of and/or made contact with her pretty nose.

As a matter of fact, after several whiskies, Jamie had once unguardedly let slip that his men teased him that the only reason he stayed faithful to her was that he was afraid of her nose, not to mention her temper. He had smiled sheepishly at her and told her that it wasn't true, of course, but she had questioned him mercilessly, trying to find out which men specifically had said it, because she was going to put salt peter in their grub next time she saw them. He had declined to enlighten her.

But, comments apart, this sense of smell had served her well (and made for good story filler for some authors) and, at the moment and unbeknownst to the hapless McButler, she could smell the recent encounter with the maid on his person. Of course the straw in the bonnet was a clue, as she didn't think he was in the barn communing with the horses.

She plucks the straw out of his hair and yanks the hem down on his kilt. Giving him the evil eye, she decides it's not her business what he does in this regard, but can't help recognizing the small speck of jealousy that she feels when he grins at her, a recognition that he knows she knows very well what he has been about.

GMcB: (making a joke) Ye know this bluidy thing is stairtin' tae get full. (touching the pig bladder hidden in his shirt) They're goin' tae think ah'm pregnant pretty soon.

Claire: (crossly) Better you than some poor 18th century girl!

Letting it sink in, the look that crosses his face tells her she's hit home.

Before he can reply they are interrupted by the elderly Laird Boney Flanks of Loch Lomand.

Lomand: Weel laddie, are ye ready fer yer match wi' young Killem? Archibald is takin' bets on the outcome an' though ye leuk like a strappin' fella, Killem's got a reputation o' bestin' even the best o' em, cep fer yer cousin Jamie, o' course. Are ye as guid as he?

Several others have approached them, including said Killem.

Kilmarnoc: Aye, McButler McFraser, are ye up tae par wi' yer cousin, cause I'm thinkin' o' putting ma money on ye?

Killem: (grinning through several missing teeth) The only reason yer cousin beat me is kis ah wis under the weather an' recoverin' from this!

Killim McQuinn pulls up his kilt and we can see a long ropey scar running across the length of his right thigh.

Claire watches the actor blanch and his lower jaw come out, then marvels as he takes control of himself again and daringly smiles at McQuinn.

GMcB: Well ah willnae get intae a pissin' contest wi' ye over which o' us is the better swortsman, but ah think ah kin hold ma own if ah haveta.

Kilmarnoc: A pissin' contest? (brightening noticeably) I havena been in a pissin' contest since I was a young man. What a marvelous idea!

Claire's eyes light up. Seeing a solution to the problem in Kilmarnoc's innocent response, Claire pipes up prettily.

Claire: Yes, isn't it? (coyly) You know the ladies have been talking about how boring all these sword fights are lately. I mean, they're all the same. It's soooo passe.
(covering a pretended yawn)

Claire: (brightly) But now a pissing contest between all of you distinguished Lords would be quite amusing and a real way of separating the men from the boys. I am sure Jamie's cousin here could hold up the McFraser honor in that regard....
(turning to Gerry)

Claire: ...couldn't you?

The ladies in the group, who have gathered around, start applauding her suggestion.

Kilmarnoc: I think that sounds like a splendid idea! What dae ye say Killem? McButler?

Before anyone else can chime in, the now totally inebriated Charles Stewart steps in.

Charles Stewart: Man yer weapons mates....(pulling his sword out of his scabbard) Let's retire tae the courtyard! Set up the markers!

He turns to the ladies present.

Charles Stewart: (bowing mischievously) Ladies, pick yer champion (raising his glass) and place yer bets wi' Archie there.

They all turn to go to the courtyard and Lomand puts his hand on McButler's shoulder.

Lord Lomond: Comin' lad?

GMcB: Ah'll be along in a moment. I need a wort wi' ma cousin Claire here.

Left alone, Claire smiles at him.

Claire: How was that for saving your little ass? You've got a good a chance as any to win this kind of contest and no skill required.

GMcB: Nae skill required? Says ye! (shrugging) Ah guess ah should thank ye, but ah got a wee problem wi' it....

Claire: Now what?

GMcB: Ah'm no' sure if ye noticed, but ah'm dry as a bone. Ah've na' had anythin' tae drink since ah got here cep fer that foul tastin' stuff ye gave me fer the runs....an' the rest ah left in the bluidy chamber pot back at yer place. I'll be lucky if there's a trickle o' fluid left in me.

Claire: (thunderstruck) Jesus, Roosevelt and Churchill, I hadn't thought of that!

GMcB: Yeah, well ye shoulda...an' no' even that trinity ye're callin' up kin help me. These guys ha' been drinkin' whisky like water an' anyone o' em is goin' tae pee like a horse. The McFraser honor is goin' tae suffer by me.

He starts to walk away.

Claire: Where are you going?

GMcB: Tae leuk fer somethin' potable. If ah were ye, ah'd bet on Prince Charlie. That sucker kin put em down, that's fer sure!


New York City

After waiting an hour at Raoul's for Gerry to show up, Rusty Elvaino had finally ordered McButler's favorite lobster risotto and the steak au' poivre from the waiter and eaten alone. Once outside the noise of the restaurant an hour later, he dials a number. Not getting an answer, he dials another.

Elvaino: Hi Marco. Rusty, here. Have you by any chance talked to Gerry today? He was supposed to meet me for dinner and never showed. I've been calling him all day.

Marco Shickelgroper: Nope. Haven't seen him. Didn't know you were still in town. When you going back to L.A.?

Elvaino: Not until next week, but I'm worried about Gerry. It's not like him not to at least call if he can't make it.

Marco S: (laughing) Not always. Remember the time that wacky broad handcuffed him to the handicap bar and left him sitting in the tub at the Four Seasons? How long did it take him before he could free himself to get to the phone? He had to pull the damn bar outta the wall and then had to pay for a whole new tile job. It wasn't cheap either, according to him.

Elvaino: Yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Didn't she flush his BlackBarry down the toilet too?

Marco S.: Yep. She told him he was lucky she wasn't gluing it to his ear since that's where it spent most of the time. Then she threw his clothes out the window and left.

Elvaino: (chuckles) Do you ever wonder how he manages this stuff?

Marco S.: I used to, but not any more.

Elvaino: I just hope he's okay.

Marco S.: I wouldn't worry. He's probably in love again this week and we won't see him for a few days until the girl does something really dumb to turn him off.

Elvaino: You're probably right. I think I'll stop by his place anyway. I've got something I want to leave for him. Hey listen, take care, man. See you around.

Marco S.: Yeah, you too.

Inverness Castle

Back at Inverness Castle the "pissing contest" was progressing at a loud, if leisurely pace. Several men had already done their best and their efforts were firmly marked by arrows stuck in the sand. There was no accounting for age, as would be expected, and some of the older Scots held their own against their younger, healthier counterparts, depending on how much whisky they had put away.

Watching the proceedings with amusement, Claire could predict which of them had or were headed for prostate trouble by the strength and flow of their streams. Each contestants efforts was followed by collective pats on the back from the group and hoots from those watching.

Some of the elder lords were not shy about concealing their genitals, but turned their backs to the few women present before hiking up their kilts to leave themselves unencumbered for the task. The younger males were more discreet in the way they went about it, able to tuck parts of their kilts in a way it would conceal their members. But in all her days of practicing as a nurse, she had rarely gotten a glimpse of so many penises at one time.

As McButler had told her to, she had put her money on the Prince. Had Jamie been there, she would have bet on him, of course. But she kept wondering where Gerry McButler was, as the line was getting shorter and he had yet to appear.

Laird Kilmarnoc had just had a turn and, for his years, had put all the others to shame. Eminently pleased with himself and the hand he was getting from his peers, he approached her.

Kilmarnoc: Whare the de'il is young McButler McFraser? 'Twas his idea an' we've yet tae see what he can do. Where's he disappeared to?

As if in answer to his question, Gerremy McButler strides out of the castle at that very moment, stretched to his full height and smiling pleasantly.

Besides himself, only Killem McQuinn and Charles Stewart remain to take a turn...and the still heavily sweating McQuinn suddenly hikes up his kilt to momentarily display a horse size phallus, now firmly grasped in his right hand.

A collective giggle goes up from the group of women and a groan from some of the men that had gone before him

Claire watches, fascinated, as she had a pretty good idea how this contestant was going to fare, despite the size of his equipment. He had been indulging in several sword matches and has perspired profusely throughout, so it was not without surprise that she watched a meager size stream of urine sprout from him.

Surprised and disappointed, the Killem sits down on the ground, non the wiser that all the whisky he had consumed had been perspired away during his combat.

Charles Stewart: Ah, McFraser. You've arrived just in time. Would you care to go first?

Bowing cavalierly to the Prince.

GMcB: After ye, ma Lort.

Charles Stewart: Very well.

Stepping up to the line and cautiously lifting his kilt so as to cleverly conceal himself, Charles Stewart spreads his legs, leans his hips forward, reaches underneath and showing nothing to those present, a long, thin, but powerful stream comes forth. Everyone applauds as it surprisingly surpasses any that have gone before him, including Kilmarnoc.

When he is finished, very pleased with himself he takes a bow.

Gerry McButler who has been watching the Prince carefully, catches Claire's worried look and smiles confidently at her.

Taking his place, he takes a cue from the Prince and spreading his legs, plants his feet firmly in the sand, thrusts his pelvis forward and without so much as pulling up his kilt, he reaches underneath with his left hand and a large, straight stream of urine lifts his kilt and flies through the air reaching, but not quite surpassing, the marker set up for the Prince.

The applause and pats on the back are numerous, as his marker is put down by one of the servants. They all hurry up to the arrows to see who has won the contest.

Kilmarnoc: Well lad, ah see ye've got nothing tae envy yer cousin Jamie at all.

GMcB: (diplomatically) Aye, but in all fairness, ah wis standing a wee bit o'er the line, sae ah think the prize rightfully belongs tae the Prince here.

Tilting his head toward Charles Stewart, Claire catches the wink he gives her.

At that moment Lord Lomand gives him a strong pat on the back and shoves a whisky in his face.

She can see the momentary panic in his eyes. Seeing no choice now, he lifts his cup.

GMcB: Tae yer health ma Lort!

As they all drink to the winner, he swallows a little of the whisky, letting the rest dribble down his chin and onto the ground. Using the back of his hand, he wipes it off his face, as he's seen the other men do.

Watching him with admiration, Claire has to admit that this strange actor from the future has managed to pull it off and then some, throwing the glory to the Prince, who is pleased with him and winning the grudging respect of the others present for his confident display.

As they all reenter the castle surrounded by the others, she catches his smile

A few minutes later, McButler approaches her from behind and whispers in here ear.

GMcB: Let's git oot o' here, please. Make some excuse. Whateiver.....

She nods her head and after collecting her winnings from the tall, thin Archie, she returns to McButler. Taking his arm, she steers him towards the Prince.

Claire: Prince Charles, we must take our leave if we are to arrive home before sunup. It's been a long day.

Charles Stewart: Ye will not stay wi' us this evening, madam McFraser?

Claire: I'm afraid not, your lordship. My cousin has some affairs to attend to in the morning, so it would be prudent for us to return tonight. We thank you for your hospitality, nonetheless.

Charles Stewart bows over her hand.

Charles Stewart: My regards tae yer husband when he returns. Please tell him tae come around an' bring McButler McFraser wi' him too.

He pats Gerremy on the back.

GMcB: T'will be ma pleasure tae accompany him ma lort. (bowing) Until the next taime.

Taking their leave of the others, they walk out to the awaiting carriage.

Claire: (between her teeth) I want to know how you managed it?

Seeing the young maid standing nearby with the others, Gerremy stops and puts his hand out.

GMcB: That money ye won. Kin ah have it?

She is about to protest, but seeing the seriousness of his request, she drops the coins in his hand.
He turns and walking up to the young girl, he puts the coins in her hand.

GMcB: Take care, lass.

Giving her a kind smile, he walks back to the waiting Claire and puts out his arm for her.

GMcB: Ye were sayin' ?

She smiles at him, deciding she likes this man.

Claire: I want to know how you pulled it off.

GMcB: (grinning) Smoke an' mirrors, Lady McFraser.....an' the help o' a verra sweet lass, a couple o' her garters, an' one verra full pig's bladder.

Claire: What?

GMcB: (shrugging) Ah told ye ah wis an actor.

Grudgingly, she starts laughing, as he takes her hand to help her up into the carriage.

GMcB: Get in, please....

He gets in after her and slams the door, telling the coachmen to go.

GMcB: ....an' tarn yer head.

He physically pushes her chin in the direction of the opposite window and lifting his kilt removes the garter holding the narrow end of the pigs bladder closed and tightly wound around his penis and then untying the second one that is holding the bladder to his right thigh.

GMcB: (mumbling) Ma erection is long gone and this bluidy thing is strangling me tae death....

He turns to look at Claire as he throws the now almost empty bladder on the floor of the coach.

GMcB: ..... an' that, ma dear Lady Fraser, is one thing ah'm not prepared tae sacrifice fer ye....or yer precious Jamie's reputation!

Turning to him in surprise, she starts laughing heartily. Appreciating her for that laughter, he joins her.

Next: An English Captain

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction that exists only in the twilight zone of the writer's mind. Any and all resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. 

Songs out of tune, the words always a little wrong...Canzoni Stonate