The Lure of the Creek I

This story is meant for the entertainment of adults, and if you are not yet an adult close it now and move along. This is the true story of yet another time when I quite unintentionally got myself into a lot of trouble. This naughtiness results in the sound spanking of a seven-year-old girl (me!), and if that does not interest you, please read no further. Additionally, it is not meant to recommend the same consequences ought to be administered today, though spankings were more commonplace at that time.

Comments are welcome (enjoyed!) either here or by e-mail.

Creeks, Tadpoles, Snakes and Little Girls - Part 1

About a hundred yards behind the farm house I grew up in was a small creek (brook, stream...whatever!). It was normally about a foot deep, rising to three or more feet in floods, and drawing down to just a few inches in drought. Oh, the many adventures I had back there sometimes damming it up, wading, sailing home-made miniature boats and capturing innocent tadpoles, newts, salamanders and frogs.

As much as a little tomboy liked to capture frogs, newts, salamanders and tadpoles, so did the local population of snakes. Among the snakes that liked to visit were, on occasion, the poisonous snakes of our area - the timber rattlesnake and the copperhead. Perhaps you can see the conflict building here already. I liked the creek, and so did the snakes. Because of the snake visits (and I can only remember seeing a few dozen in all my days) my dad would occasionally take a sickle and clear out the brush, or he would burn the brush off the banks. With no place to hide from the heat of the sun, the snakes would abandon the creek to me.

Another problem with the creek was, of course, the potential of drowning. So there were two hard and fast rules concerning that creek and me: Number one: No playing near the creek without permission, and Number two: No playing when the brush was high enough to attract the snakes that Mom believed only hid there so that they could bite little girls.

Mom seemed to be convinced that any little girl bitten by a copperhead or rattlesnake would blow up like a balloon and then explode on the way to the hospital. I didn't believe her - I believed that those snakes were too little to hurt me. I had dogs with bigger teeth than those snakes, and the dogs never bit me, right? Mom also seemed to believe that it was better for a little girl to have her bottom spanked than to be bitten by a copperhead - and I didn't agree with this either!

One day when I was about seven years old, I managed to forget both rules. Honestly, I was old enough to remember both rules, but the siren song of the creek was stronger than the memories of the spanked bottom that breaking those rules had given me in the past. I never intended to play in the stream - it just sort of happened. I never meant to actually get in the water - it just sort of happened. I never meant to slip and fall down - it just sort of happened. I sure never planned to be seen playing in the creek by my mother in the house - but that just sort of happened too!

I had been chasing a pollywog along the banks of the creek. It had darted out toward deeper water and challenged me to follow. I was not to miss out on this particular tadpole, so I chased after it - just a little further I thought to myself. Well, just a little more. I was poised to capture the elusive little creature when I slipped and fell. It never even dawned on me that I had now broken both rules...I had been creeping along the banks for quite a while, then I had gone right out into the middle, and now I was sitting in the creek! I was now wet and muddy, but the hunt was on! I kept studying the creek-banks - the one that got away still had to be somewhere, and wouldn't he/she or it have brothers and sisters and cousins lurking about in the shadows of the shallows?

In the midst of my cautious stalking I was distracted when a screaming banshee appeared out of the basement door, and I recognized this lunatic to be my own sweet mom. It was about this time that I remembered the rules, and recognized that I hadn't been obeying them. As the wild woman approached across the lawn I considered running. I had been spanked for unauthorized playing here before, and I sure didn't want to be spanked today. I also considered hiding and considered what explanations would get me out of this trouble. While I was doing all of this considering, she had crossed that ground with wings on her feet and didn't even break stride as she stepped down the bank and caught hold of me in the midst of the stream.

"Pamela Joan!" she shrieked at me, "What are you doing? You know better than this, little lady! Just look at you!" A good spank across the seat of my wet shorts helped me up onto the bank, and then we were flying through the yard.

"I...I....I..." I stammered, trying to point at the now lost tadpole. "The pollywog, Mom! It went out in the middle, Mommy! I didn't mean to go out there, really, Mommy...honest! I wasn't even playing by the stream, Mommy!!!"

Her handprint on my bottom was stinging, and I knew that everything would be okay if I could just explain what had happened and how the tadpole had caused this problem and that I wasn't really in the creek. My seven-year-old understanding of crime was that there had to be intent in order for there to be wrong. I never intended to play in the creek, and I never intended to fall down, so I should not be punished! If I had intentionally gone down there to play in the stream, then I should have been spanked, but I didn't mean for any of this to happen! Wouldn't the courts call this something like involuntary creek wading???

In through the basement door we go, but with an abrupt stop at the stationary tubs. "You are filthy from head to toe, little lady. Just look at yourself! I'm not going to have you track that mud all over my house. Take your shoes and socks off!"

I sat on the floor, crying and telling her that I didn't mean to be in the water and getting so muddy and all as I pulled my wet shoes and socks over my little feet. She had already started filling the tub with water, and as I sat there I offered up my stinky shoes and socks and she made a big production out of dropping them into the big sink. With one hand she lifted me back onto my feet, and she grabbed my shirt. Up over my head it went, and she nearly pulled my ears off with it as she pulled the collar over my head.

"Give me those shorts," she said as she turned to put my shirt into the tub and swish it around a little. I was just sick. I pushed my shorts down and stepped out of them, just certain that she was about to spank me right there in the basement. I didn't know where she would sit - I'd never been spanked in the basement before, and I really didn't want to get a spanking.

She turned back to me from the tub and just stared for a moment. What a sight I must have been standing there in my panties and all spattered and smudged with mud, crying and telling her how sorry I was.

"You get yourself upstairs and into the bathtub right now, Pamela, and scrub that mud off of yourself. Right now! Go!" Another good spank on my little bottom got me flying upstairs almost as fast as Mom had moved us across the yard. With my shorts still lying on the floor, this spank stung like the devil through my thin wet underpants.

I was so relieved! The anticipated spanking did not materialize! Being undressed in the basement and scooting upstairs wearing only underwear was nothing new to me - in fact, it would have been nothing new to just about any of us. The basement door was where we entered when dirty or muddy from play or from gardening, or where we enter when soaking wet from sled-riding, snow plowing or any other activity that could make you wet or dirty. The wet and dirty clothes often went into the tub for a soak, and an underwear-clad person headed upstairs.

I don't recall seeing anyone on my way through the house...up the steps, through the kitchen into the living room, then up the steps again and down the hall to the bathroom. My little bare legs were carrying me about as quickly as possible, and if anyone was around they surely saw a comical sight as I scurried to the bathroom. As I mentioned, the fear of someone's seeing me in my underwear at seven was not the cause of my speeding through the house. I was so darned relieved that I hadn't been spanked down there, but I knew that Mom was still steamed and if I wasn't particularly obedient I might still get that spanking!

In the privacy of the bathroom I got out of my underpants and into the tub. Now I was crying a little bit out of self-pity and a little bit out of being mad because I had been in trouble and I didn't think I deserved to be. I had successfully avoided a spanking so I allowed myself to be angry and pouty that my playing had been interfered with and I had been brought inside and now I was stuck taking a bath in the middle of the day. I had convinced myself that Mom had been mad about the wet and muddy clothes and was feeling great relief that she had not remembered her own rules about my not playing near or in the creek.