• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Really?” she said, genuinely surprised. “I never do.”

Bloop.

Without a doubt, I would die, stuck here.

“And anyway,” she continued, “why would you want to give him the surprise of his life in the tub—and when he’s naked?”

“Because he never uses the pool.”

I could see by her lost expression that the best method of clarifying this line of thought might be to stop talking entirely. “What can I do for you, Ms. Nuckeby?”

“Well, I apologize for coming by unannounced, but I really felt the need to explain my behavior this afternoon during the garment viewing.”

“Oh, really, Ms. Nuckeby. That’s not necessary. Your behavior was entirely appropriate. My behavior, on the other hand…”

Slowly, horribly, a groaning noise had begun to build from some machinery behind the shrubs that did pool-related things. Never having seen, let alone touched, any of them in my life, I only vaguely knew where they were, and what their true purpose was. But even my limited experience told me they were, at this very moment, having difficulty overcoming some obstruction in the pipes.

“My behavior, on the other hand,” I continued, speaking more loudly and pretending the noise and whatever was causing it did not exist in my world, “is what requires an apology. You see…”

Behind the bushes something began to grind, and was apparently making serious inroads toward blowing up. A furious amount of bubbles began to rise up all around me as if I were having the indigestion episode of a lifetime. Ms. Nuckeby was beginning to show the strain of splitting her attention between me and the nowdeafening noise that I—apparently—could not hear.

“YOU SEE,” I shouted to be heard above the clanking bangs that had joined in the chorus. “I’M NOT EVEN SURE HOW TO BEGIN…”

“MISTER WOPPLESDOWN, THERE SEEMS TO BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR POOL EQUIPMENT!”

“YOU THINK? INTERESTING. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHAT.”

“SHOULD WE CALL SOMEONE?”

“TO FIX IT? DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO WORKS NIGHTS?”

“NO. MAYBE YOUR BUTLER DOES.”

“MY BUTLER DOESN’T WORK DAYS, MS. NUCKEBY. BUT IF YOU FEEL COMPELLED TO ASK HIM—OH! YOU MEANT HE MIGHT KNOW A POOL MAN. EXCELLENT IDEA. WHY DON’T YOU GO AND CHECK WITH HIM, WHILE I CONTINUE TO MONITOR THE SITUATION FROM OUT HERE.”

I gestured toward the house, indicating that she should feel free to run inside and away from my nakedness. Slowly, showing herself to be unsure whether there might not be something seriously wrong with the chemical balance of my brain, she peeled herself away and headed for the door. I watched her go, my eyes wandering places they really shouldn’t for a man trying to counteract disadvantageous swelling, and did myself absolutely no good in aiding the extrication process.

Stopping in the doorway just before entering the house I, myself, might never again enter with a fully functional penis, she turned and gave me one final confused look. I waved her in with a smile.

“GO ON! REST ASSURED, I’M KEEPING AN EYE ON THINGS!”

Reluctantly, she entered the building and turned away in search of Woodruff.

With Ms. Nuckeby out of sight, I began to pull with all the force I could muster hoping to yank my way to freedom. I felt certain that, at any moment, the intense pain would cause the swelling to subside. But damned if my little friend didn’t show all the gusto and perseverance of an early American pioneer. Let’s hope he didn’t end up like a Donner.

Twisting my lower half in ways a man should never have to, I looked up to check on Ms. Nuckeby’s progress and saw her through the French doors at the end of the hall. Rear lit, as she was, silhouetted in the main foyer and trying to explain herself in some fashion or other to my retarded manservant, I could quite clearly see her breasts bounce and sway as she gestured urgently.

The plug tightened. The machinery behind the bushes began to smoke.

“We are going to die here,” I said to my penis, who apparently liked the idea.

I pulled harder, as it were, and—on the off-chance I might survive—began rehearsing explanations for Grandfather:

“…slipped, and fell…”

“…first my shorts were