The Wounded Plum: By Barry Hutchings

It was the twenty-first of a summer month, and for Chavvy Chadwick, a bus driver, the most disastrous day of his life. For while preparing a small breakfast of French bread and saveloy, he inadvertently cut off the end of his nob. He was devastated. There - on the breadboard - was his sliced-off glans: separate and detached from the rest of his body.

In some ways he was not surprised. It was after all a predictable accident. He had worn nothing but a pair of sandals and a loose dressing gown all morning, and when - after having drunk his tea - he decided to eat some breakfast, he should have been more aware the of the potential disaster.

He went to his fridge and took out his saveloy. He went to his bread bin and took out his stick bread. He went to his knife-block and removed his knife. He started chopping. The sash to his dressing gown became loose, his nob fell and onto the breadboard and the knife sliced. The accident had happened and no amount of regret was going to undo the disaster.

He looked at the breadboard and at his dismembered member. Something had to be done - a decision had to be made. He remembered the "Bobbit" story and how micro-surgery had saved the day, and felt thankful that he lived in an age of such sophisticated surgery. He quickly dressed himself and wrapped his glans in a clean handkerchief. He was confident that his injury would be deemed serious enough to jump the hospital queue. He started towards the door and was just about to leave when the telephone rang.

It was bus depot, something which the bus driver had been half expecting. For although the twenty-first was his designated rest day, it was not uncommon for the management to call their drivers and ask them to work. There were staff shortages and shifts needed filling. The depot offered him some overtime. It placed Chavvy Chadwick in an awkward position.

Logic and good sense told him he should refuse, and that his health was far more important than a bloated pay packet. And usually he would have no problem making that decision, he felt no particular loyalty to bus company. But he had of late been saving up, and in a relatively short time had nearly managed to save a thousand pounds!

This had only been achieved at a considerable sacrifice. He'd spent nothing on himself and had refused all offers of beers and fun when his friends invited him. And this for Chavvy was an unusual thing. His natural penchant was to drink and be merry. But the miracle of compound interest and a raising bank balance had made him miserly, and this needs to be borne in mind when - against all commonsense - he actually agreed to work the overtime.

This is not to say that he came to he decision lightly. He had genuinely thought hard about the extra money and his wounded wand. But the overtime was useful, and he decided that he had enough time to work his shift before going to the hospital. It would only be for a few hours!

His shift began, and although he tried to remain positive, he could not help thinking he had made the wrong decision. He felt a terrible guiltiness. He tried hard to block the incident from his mind, and told himself that he would be okay. He had - after all - given himself first aid. He had put his glans back into his foreskin and pressed it hard onto his shaft. It was likely - he told himself - that the powers of natural healing would have his bell-end joined to his shaft by the end of his shift! But his optimism was short lived, and as his journey progressed he could not help wondering if had made the wrong decision.

When his shift ended he parked his bus next to the washing sheds and took himself to the hospital over the road. He was frantic now and knew full well he had made the wrong decision and that he ought have gone to the hospital when the accident had first happened.

He tried to fabricate excuses which would mitigate his neglect, but knew that nothing he could say, would fool a doctor. Eventually, the moment came when Chavvy Chadwick faced a physician. He described the events leading to his accident. The doctor sighed and shook his head at he stupidity of his patient. He looked at the sticky red patch which stained Chavvy's trousers.

"When did this happen?" He asked.

Chavvy felt guilty. "This morning... a few... a few hours ago..."

The doctor looked shocked. "A few hours ago! Why didn't you come here straight away!"

"I was doing some overtime..."

"Overtime! Good God man ... have you no sense!"

Chavvy dropped his head in shame.

The doctor sighed. "Drop your pants - lets have a look at it!"

Chavvy unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers. His underwear was stained red.

"And you're knickers..." said the Doctor.

Chavvy pulled down his stained jockeys. The Doctor grabbed his dong in a professional manner and pulled back his skin. A small shrivelled nut fell to the floor. The doctor picked it up.

"Is this it?"

Chavvy nodded.

"When did you say this happened?" asked the doctor again.

The guilt struck at chavvy like a lance to his heart.

"... too late now." The Doctor continued. "It's dead... shrivelled up... finished!"

"But what about micro surgery!" Exclaimed Chavvy.

"It's gone long beyond that!" said the doctor.

Chavvy was sent home with a bandage and a scolding. He was feeling terrible at what had happened. Even the thought of his enlarged pay packet could not console him. He poured himself a sherry and sighed at his misfortune. The telephone rang. Chavvy picked up the receiver.

"Hello - is that Chavvy Chadwick?"

Chavvy said that it was.

"Hi... this is Saphony... Saphony Saphonix. Remember me?"

Chavvy did remember the ex-super model, to whom he spoke too in a bar in Paris when he chanced his luck.

"Anyway... I thought about your offer... and when I got back from Nice, I thought, yes - a rollicking sex session with a bit of rough is just what I need! I'm so pissed off with all those swaggering millionaires... I need a working man... and man with dirt under his nails, a man who knows how to..."

Chavvy put down the phone. His wail of despair was heard all over the tower block.

Epilogue

There is a moral to this story: No matter how important work is to you - never neglect your dick.

Passive observer.