This is fiction. Any correlation between this and real people is purely happenstance. The following is the edited version of one of my first stories. It was so bad I had to try to fix it. Thank you for reading it, and thank you to Literotica for providing a vehicle for learning to write.
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I was fishing at the North fork of the Sacramento River when I felt sweltering. I was way upstream, almost at Mount Eddy close to the headwaters. Up in the Trinity Alps, where trees are beautiful and tall. Nothing like the city of Alameda where I was born. My mother, a CHP dispatcher, had relocated us to Shasta County the summer I entered the third grade; my parents divorced at that time. This was dramatic for me, but now I was much closer to the woods. I loved the woods and spent a lot of time exploring the wilderness.
I was happily far away from the road on a warm late spring day. Most schools were still in session around most of the state. Vacation season had not started. I had fished all morning; my three trout were in the cooler. I had not seen another soul for hours. I thought, why not take a quick dip. So, I took off my waders and sat on the bank, on a flat rock. All I had was my Levi's under the waders. I thought, what a great time to go skinny dipping. Outdoor nudity was kind of my thing. I had skipped class at my junior college to go fishing. I was nineteen years old with a medium build and five foot eleven inches and in good shape. I had brown hair and rugged good looks.
I thought, why not and stripped my waders and my shirt. I took my shorts and underwear. I loved to take off all my clothes and indulge my nature boy tendencies. The sound of the rapids was faint here in a flat spot of the eddy, and you could mostly hear the gurgling of water lapping over the rocks. Free-balling, I waded into the cold clear water right into a pool between two sets of rapids. The water was cold, but it felt refreshing on my naked skin. The clear snow runoff was icy, and It was just a quick dip, by necessity. The water is always cold, this high up, around 44 degrees. I got out of the water and laid out on the flat rock in the sun to dry off. It was quiet and peaceful other than the stream's sound and the wind rushing through the trees. Almost no one ventured this deep into the wilderness, and I could not hear any human-made sounds. I could hear birds calling out from the woods; I felt good.
My penis was suffering from significant cold-water shrinkage. As I looked at it, I wanted it not to be so small. I thought, 'why not stroke it back to life.' I put my hand around my shaft and gave it a resuscitation. Then I thought, 'why not just rub one out.' I started doing just that and stroked my shaft in earnest. I enjoyed the feeling of my hand touching the underside of my fleshly helmet on each stroke. I was getting into it when I heard a female voice say, "Just what do you think you are doing?"
I looked up to see an officer of the California Department of Fish and Game. I was startled by her sudden appearance. She was attractive and young, though not as young as I was. She was probably seven years older than me. She was tall, probably five foot eight. She had Clark as the name on her name tag, and her face was cute. I loved the way her full breasts filled out her khaki uniform blouse. Her tactical belt held a camo nine-millimeter in the holster, and her hand hovered over her sidearm. I reached for my neatly folded pile of clothes, but she stepped on them.
"Not so fast, buddy," she said. "I want you just the way you are, no weapons," she said as she looked at my average erection.
"I can explain, Officer Clark," I said. My eyes were pleading for mercy.
"No, you can't, Mr. outdoor indecency, though that is hardly a weapon," she said, referring to my wedding tackle. I blushed.
"It is not that small, is it?" I asked, feeling quite ashamed.
"Six inches is nothing to write home about," Officer Clark said.
I felt warm with embarrassment, but my rigid member still proudly stood up for himself.
"Put your hands on your head," she said.
She rolled me over and handcuffed my hands behind my back. My cock stood rock hard, like a pole marking my location. I knew this was not a normal reaction; only I found this incredibly erotic. She made me stand on the ground next to the high side of the flat rock I had been lying. She got out my I. D. and read it aloud, "Jeffrey Lloyd Nixon pervert," she said. She had added the pervert part.
"You are a naughty boy; you have two choices, accept punishment, or I turn you over to the highway patrol for booking," she explained. I did not have to think about it long.
"I will accept my punishment," I said. With that said, Officer Clark sat with her feet off the high side of the rock. She pulled me over her lap onto her forest green tactical pants. I heard rustling in the bushes and hoped we were still alone. My ears perked up as I listened. Officer Clark seemed unperturbed by my naked plight, even if someone might be watching us.
"Naughty boys should be spanked," she said as she caressed my bare bottom. I hoped the sound was some game species and not a person, but I could hardly look in my predicament.
"I want you to count all of the fifty spankings as I give them," she said
Spank, her hand came down on my bare ass.
"One," I cried.
Someone was watching us; I could feel it.
Smack, she hit me again.
"Two," I said.