As I looked at the photos retrieved from my trail cam, I thought to myself, 'Holy shit! I hope I don't get caught with these.' There were a number of photos on the memory card. Some deer and other critters came down to drink from the pond, mostly in the evening. The camera has a ten second delay and a motion sensor and it flashes at night. But on the day when I met Alice, there were photos of the most angelic critter to visit my pond. She clearly arrived and undressed without seeing the camera, which is fairly easy to miss if you don't know where to look. Those photos were enough to make my swizzle stick stir. She was facing right at the camera when she came scrambling out of the pond with the ill-fated leech plainly visible on her arm. The fear and disgust and maybe a bit of helplessness on her face were endearing.
But then there were the photos with me in them. I was helping her. I was rescuing her from a bad situation. But that does not show on the photos. Those photos are the kind of poison that could kill her marriage, even though they were innocent enough at the time they were taken. I couldn't bring myself to delete them. I knew they would put lead in my pencil every time I looked at them. I copied and hid them in my laptop with every trick I knew and brought my laptop and the erased camera card back to camp the next week when we had agreed to meet again. My camp didn't have electricity, but a few minutes of battery life would be enough.
Alice arrived on her ATV through the newly repaired gate where the trails on the Walters' property run close to the trails on mine. She was dressed in camo shorts and a camo T-shirt. It was new stuff in one of the expensive photo-realistic patterns that made her look like she a was moving forest with human arms, legs and head. Of course the clothes were not suitable for hunting. There's show camo and work camo and hers was show camo.
"Well if it isn't Hunter Jane in her brand spankin' new Gucci-flage."
"Do you like it? I know it's a bit frivolous, but I've seen local women wearing this stuff at the supermarket, so I decided that if I'm going to hunt, it would be appropriate to assimilate into the local culture."
"Nothing wrong with fitting in. And yes, I do like it. It shows off those adorable freckled knees."
Alice's POV
I'm probably blushing at the praise. It feels like I am. I spent most of my life hating my freckles but I've learned that some men are drawn to them like bees to flowers. Pollination is a funny business. I know that these clothes are not good for actual hunting, but I also know that hunting season is months away. Today I'm supposed to get a primer on firearms to prepare me for a hunter safety course that I'll need to complete in order to get a hunting license. "So what are we doing today, Sensei?"
"We're gonna fling some lead."
I suddenly feel a little frightened. "Don't I need a license or a learning permit or something?"
"You're on my land, you have my permission, there are no stolen guns, you've got a green card, you're not a felon and you're not gonna be shooting at animals. You're legal. I don't know how it is where you lived before, but in this respect, adults are treated like adults here."
I'm pretty sure it's not that easy to just go out and start shooting in the other places where I've lived, but this is much more rural and I had noticed gunshots and men in camo during the Spring. Mickey told me it was just men shooting the big turkey birds. We walk down a "two-track" to Chuck's firing range where his little lorry, his "pickup truck" is parked. He pulls three gun cases out from behind the seat of the cab and lays them on the bonnet.
"Now this gun is a carbine. It's good for short ranges..."
He gives me a little talk about each gun and I ask loads of questions, because I've just not seen many guns and never handled one before. The second gun is a high-powered rifle and had a telescope on top like a sniper's rifle. The third gun is a semi-automatic pistol with a magazine that snaps inside the hand grip. It fits my grip well. He tests my eye dominance to see if it matches my hand dominance. I'm a right-eyed right-hander so that makes it easier for him to train me. He shows me how to load and operate the pistol and how to stand and where to shoot. We don ear muffs and he gets behind me and puts his arms around me to set my form. This does a lot to ease my nerves.
"Okay Alice, take the safety off."
I click the safety switch and try to remember what he told me about breathing as I line up the sights on the paper target that's pinned only 10 feet away. I try not to think about his arms around me and his cock so tantalizingly close to my ass. I think that it's probably important to concentrate when you have a loaded gun in your hand. When he told me the handgun would be first, I almost peed my knickers. Now I'm about to "drop the hammer" of the surprisingly heavy little volatile chunk of metal. While I still have some fear, he's convinced me that I'll have no trouble keeping both of us safe. I take a deep breath and let it half-way out and try to steady the gun but I can't. I let my breath out the rest of the way and he says, "Relax. It'll get easier after the first. I can barely hear him through the ear muffs, but he sounds comforting and I try again. Deep breath, halfway out, line up the sights, squeeze. KABOOM!
The gun jumps way more sharply than I expected, but not with nearly as much force. I guess I was expecting it to drive my hand back toward my head like I've seen in movies. Still, it stings my hand and I'm glad he only put one bullet in it because I almost drop it. I look at the paper and there's a hole way up in the corner that wasn't there before.
"I hit it! I hit it!" I'm very relieved, but very very pumped up. I hand him the gun and I suddenly start shaking. "What's happening?"
"That's called an adrenaline rush. It'll pass. That's what you'll feel after you shoot a deer."
"It feels good, but I'm out of control. My heart is hammering like an alien is trying to break out."
"Just enjoy the ride, Hon."
He's right. It passes quickly and he's got three bullets loaded now. "Okay, you've had your learner, now put three into the big black spot in the center. Try to hit the very center. Take your time and let me guide you with each shot.
I take my three and the third is right "smack dab" in the center. We back up five paces and I do it again.
"You're a good shot, Alice. A natural Annie Oakley." I haven't the foggiest what that means, but when I look it up later I discover she was the first female American superstar because she could shoot much better than most men. I also learn that many women shoot better than men once they get the knack of it.
"Now let's try the barrel there. Two shots. Hold the gun pointed down by your side and bring it up quick. Don't waste time aiming. Just point at the center and shoot then recenter and shoot again."
BANG! BANG! Both shots hit the barrel. They aren't right exactly in the center, but "if that barrel was a bear, he would be suffering from sudden respiratory distress syndrome". I have to laugh at these colorful Yank euphemisms.
Next we move on to the rifles and I see why he started me with the handgun. I'm relaxed and confident now and I quickly get comfortable and accurate with both guns. I mention that Bud had a cabinet full of guns that I talked Mickey into selling when he moves from Green Bay. Chuck offers to come around and see which I might want to keep for hunting and 'personal protection'. He tells me that if any of the guns fit me, I'll soon be a certified gun nut like every other American. I'm amazed at how excited I feel. I don't know why I ever feared them. I respect them, but now I realize they're no more dangerous than a box of bullets until you put somebody behind the trigger. He puts all the guns back in their cases and we drive back.
When we get back to his wee trailer, Chuck lights a gas grill and we have an 'all American dinner', hot dogs on toasted buns with yellow mustard, ketchup and sweet pickle relish, potato chips, cole slaw and of course, beer. I learn that this is fairly typical for camping food. After dinner, Chuck tells me it's time to hunt some deer, not with guns but with our eyes. I excuse myself to use the "shitter". That's what he calls his outhouse. He doesn't know about the surprise I've planned.
We get some mosquito repellant and a sixpack of Newkie Browns that Mickey brought from Green Bay for me.