




                      A SPRING IN HIS STEP  

                               by 

                            Joe Doe


IT'S SPRING, AND THE SHERIFF'S FANCY TURNS TO BASEBALL AND STRIP 
SEARCHES. 



Sheriff Bubba rolled down the car window and relished the warm 
spring breeze.   

In addition to picnics, baseball, and flowers, the coming of spring 
also meant the beginning of strip search season.  It was possible 
to strip search women any time of the year, but the Sheriff had a 
policy of never searching women after Halloween or before the first 
day of spring.  

There were many reasons for this schedule.  In the spring and 
summer, the young women of the area inevitably dressed in scantier 
clothes, and the Sheriff found himself far more inspired to trump 
up reasons for taking them into custody.    

He liked to search attractive babes, and, too often, a woman who 
looked good in a parka proved to be a disappointment on the exam 
table.  So he didn't like to spend his valuable time searching a 
woman unless he was sure it would be worth his while. 

Finally, the Sheriff didn't have a shower in the jail, so he hosed 
the young women down in the alley behind the cells.  In the winter, 
the freezing cold water from the hose would have forced him to rush 
through the procedure, but the warmer temperatures of spring 
allowed him to take his time and make sure that each young lady 
experienced a thorough and complete bathing experience. 

The Sheriff smiled as he rounded the corner.  All winter he had 
seen Judge Cindy Johnson dressed in her expensive business suits 
or tent-like black robes.   When she had asked him whether or not 
she would ever get to experience one of those strip searches that 
she had been hearing so much about, he had laughed and told her 
that "it would depend on what I see under that robe of yours this 
spring, Your Honor." 

Now that he saw Judge Johnson dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, he 
saw that she was indeed an excellent candidate for a search.  Long, 
trim legs, a cute butt, and long blonde hair...just the way he 
liked 'em! 

Judge Johnson was sitting in the local greasy spoon chatting 
casually with Jethro, the manager.  As soon as she saw the 
Sheriff's car round the corner, she immediately raced out of 
the diner and flagged him down.  He pulled lazily up to the 
curb and rolled down the window.   

"Good morning, Sheriff," Cindy said breathlessly.  "Beautiful day, 
isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is, Your Honor." 

"It's the first day of spring, isn't it?" 

"Why yes, Your Honor, I believe it is...."  

"Call me Cindy, Sheriff," Judge Johnson said.  "I've always said 
that I don't expect any special treatment, and I don't want you 
to treat me any differently than anyone else.  If I break the 
law, I want you to treat me like a common criminal." 

"I'm sure that will never be necessary, Your Honor."  

"Well, actually, now that you mention it, it may in fact BE 
necessary," she replied.  "It seems I forgot my purse at home, 
which means that I can't pay for the glass of orange juice and 
piece of toast I just ate."   

"I'm sure the manager will spot you $5," the Sheriff replied, 
dismissively. 

"Actually, it was $1.89, Sheriff.  Anyway, Jethro, the manager, did 
offer to lend me the money," Judge Cindy replied, her voice tinged 
with disappointment.  "But then I explained that, if he pressed 
charges, you'd have to arrest me, and, if I was arrested, I'd be 
strip searched.  Naturally, since Jethro was filing the complaint, 
he would be down at the station while I was being processed."  She 
smiled, pleased that she had established a chain of evidence.  
"Now Jethro INSISTS on pressing charges." 

The Sheriff looked over at the Jethro, who was whistling to himself 
as he was searching for the "SORRY, WE'RE CLOSED" sign for the 
front door.  The first day of spring always seemed to leave the 
men in this town in such a good mood.  

"You know, Your Honor, if I took you into custody I'd have to take 
you down to the station," Sheriff Bubba said, solemnly. 

"I know, sir," Cindy replied, her voice quaking with excitement. 

"And I'd have to fingerprint you, and take your mug shots, and 
treat you just like any other criminal suspect," he continued. 

"Yes, sir, I know," she replied.  "I wouldn't expect any special 
treatment."   Cindy's eyes were wide, and her breathing was 
starting to become rapid.  Although it wasn't a hot day, the 
Sheriff noticed a bead of sweat running down her pretty neck.... 

"I would even have to...," the Sheriff paused, as if it were too 
painful to continue.  "I hate to even say this, seeing as how 
you're a judge, and we're friends and all...."  

"Go on!" Cindy said impatiently.  "Remember, I'm NOT a judge!  I'm 
a common criminal!  I'm a little thief who's trying to run out on 
her restaurant tab!" 

"Well, Your Honor, I hate to say it, but I would have to...strip 
search you!"  

Cindy exhaled slowly, relieved that the shoe had finally dropped.  
"Would you really...strip search me, Sheriff?  I mean, would you 
REALLY strip me down NAKED?"   

"Absolutely naked, Cindy.  I wouldn't have any choice.  I would 
order you to take off your clothes, and you would strip for me, 
one garment at a time, until you were naked as a newborn babe."   

"I can't imagine what that would be like," Cindy replied dreamily 
as she stared off into space.  "Would I really have to be NAKED?" 
she whined. 

"I'd have to strip you to the skin, Cindy," the Sheriff said, 
softly.  "If I didn't strip you naked, I couldn't perform...the 
cavity search." 

For a moment the Sheriff thought Judge Cindy was going to fall 
over.  

"You mean you would actually put your fingers...INSIDE me?" she 
said, breathlessly.    

"A deep, thorough cavity search is a routine part of the booking 
procedure," the Sheriff said in his most authoritative tone.  
"Besides, I'm sure Jethro will enjoy the show!" 

Judge Cindy went white as a sheet, and nervously eyed the pudgy 
manager who was fumbling with the keys for the front door.   
"Please, Sheriff!" Cindy pleaded.  "You can't let Jethro watch!  
I-I'll be...naked!  He'll see everything!" 

"He'll do a lot more than SEE everything, Cindy," the Sheriff 
replied.  "Jethro is practically like a deputy.  I'll let him 
slip on a glove and help me with the cavity search." 

She sagged weakly against the car.  The Sheriff was used to seeing 
the beautiful jurist behind her enormous bench in the courtroom.  
She always looked so firm, so in control.  It was quite a contrast 
to see her leaning against the squad car, panting. 

"Jethro!" she gasped.  "You'd actually let Jethro...touch me?  
Between my legs?  In all my most...secret places?" 

"They wouldn't be secret anymore, Your Honor," the Sheriff 
chuckled.  "Of course, I'd feel just terrible about it.  
Stripping you naked, sticking my fingers in you, letting that 
idiot Jethro feel you up...all because you couldn't pay a lousy 
$1.89!" 

"It would be so...HUMILIATING," she replied, staring into the 
distance.  "So...degrading!" 

"Yes, it would.  That's why I'll just give Jethro the money the 
next time I see him."   

The car was pulling away before Judge Cindy even fully realized 
what had happened.  She shouted after him.  "But I told you I 
forgot my purse!" she screeched.  "That means I'm driving without 
a LICENSE!" 

The Sheriff smiled and pulled around the corner.  Each year, the 
prettiest women in town always vied to become the first strip 
search victim.  Of course, each year there was only one winner.  
But getting searched before April Fool's day was still like 
winning an Academy Award, and getting searched before Memorial Day 
was considered to be a badge of honor.  But, if a woman was still 
unsearched by Labor Day, though, it meant that she was sub-standard 
-- or just not trying hard enough. 

Of course, there was always next year. 

But it was still the first strip search of the year that was most 
prestigious.  The townspeople jokingly referred to it as "The 
Golden Glove Award." 

In addition to bragging rights, the women in this town had other 
motivations for breaking the law.  Strip searched women inevitably 
ended up spending the night in jail.  The Sheriff was fat, bald, 
and obnoxious, but he had a deserved reputation as a man who could 
really keep a woman in a jail cell satisfied.  Every babe who had 
ever spent the night in his jail checked out with a case of what 
they referred to locally as "cell smile." 

The Sheriff drove down the street and admired the view.  All of the 
townswomen, from the lowliest store clerk to the most prominent 
career woman, were vying for his attention that day.  Each was 
wearing her sexiest spring outfit, and the street was a sea of 
bare legs, bare arms, and bare tummies.  Several of the women 
tried to flag him down, doubtlessly trying to turn themselves in 
for some "crime," but he pressed ahead, determined to get to the 
office. 

He noticed several cars parked in the spots reserved for police 
vehicles and chuckled softly.  "Nice try, ladies," he thought.  
"But you're going to have to do better than that." 

He was just about to walk into his office when he heard a large 
"WHOOPEE!"  Turning his head, he saw what appeared to be a teenage 
girl roller-skating recklessly on the sidewalk in front of the 
barbershop.  She was going way too fast and seemed to be 
deliberately trying to knock people down.   

At first he was confused, because the miscreant was roller-skating 
back and forth in front of a sign that said 

		"NO SKATING, BY ORDER OF THE SHERIFF" 

It was only when he looked more closely that he realized what was 
going on.  The "juvenile" offender was none other than 23-year-old 
Natalie, a graduate student and part time substitute history 
teacher who was visiting her cousin, Holly.   

Holly and Natalie vied to beat each other to the strip search table 
each year, and this year Natalie had been bold enough to ask the 
Sheriff what it would take to win.  He had laughed and said that 
he would search "whoever acts the brattiest." 

Natalie had apparently taken him at his word.  She was wearing a 
cute pair of denim shorts and a cropped, midriff-baring t-shirt 
with a picture of the latest teenybopper idol plastered across 
her chest.  Her hair was in pigtails, she wasn't wearing any 
makeup or jewelry, and her "purse" was a lunch pail with flowers 
on it. 

The Sheriff smiled.  It was a clever costume, and Natalie had drawn 
the attention of the loafers in the barber shop.  They had known 
Natalie in her previous incarnation as a preppy substitute teacher, 
but it was clear from their approving stares that they preferred 
her current costume. 

The Sheriff walked into his office and was immediately bombarded 
by a gaggle of female voices.  There must have been 100 women in 
the office, anxiously waiting to explain why they should be taken 
into custody.  Several deputies held the women at bay while the 
screaming horde lunged at the fleeing Sheriff like he was a 
rock star.  The Sheriff locked himself in his office, cranked 
on the radio to drown out the feminine chatter, and began 
carefully reviewing the arrest reports on his desk. 

The first report on his desk belonged to Natalie's cousin, Holly.  
She had camped out in front of the Sheriff's office all night in 
order to be the first suspect to turn herself in.  The Sheriff 
smiled as he scanned the report.  It seemed that Holly was the 
Zodiac Killer, the Hillside Strangler, and D.B. Cooper.   

He chuckled.  At least Holly realized that she was too young to be 
Jack the Ripper or the gunman on the grassy knoll. 

A few of the reports piqued his interest.  The town's lovely female 
mayor had thrown an empty beer can into a passing squad car.  "Good 
shot, Your Honor!" he thought, dryly.  When the deputy had pulled 
her over, she became righteously indignant and demanded a 
Breathalyzer test.  Unfortunately she passed, but. after a few 
more beers, she was able to achieve the desired result. 

The letter from the minister's sister surprised the Sheriff.  
Sara Goodbody had contritely admitted that she had "never 
committed a crime," and he frankly doubted whether the kind, 
generous, and gentle young lady had ever even been tempted.  
Nonetheless, she insisted that she had committed "the sin of 
Pride," and that "being treated like a common harlot would be 
a vital lesson in humility," which would allow her to better 
identify with the other women in her flock.   

Stripping the prim and proper Miss Goodbody out of her chaste and 
modest clothes was an intriguing idea.  The Sheriff chuckled as he 
envisioned Sara's trembling fingers slowly unbuttoning her starched 
cotton blouse.  The look on her face when the Sheriff ordered her 
to "drop her drawers" would be priceless.... 

The Sheriff smiled and looked out the window.  The balconies off 
the seedy apartment building that looked down on the alley were 
crowded with horny guys, anxious to see which of the fine ladies 
of the town would be the first to be exposed for their viewing 
pleasure.  The Sheriff knew that the spectators would be shocked 
to see an upstanding citizen like Sara paraded out into the alley 
stark naked for a humiliating hose-down.  

And Sara, no doubt, would be surprised by the size and enthusiasm 
of her eager audience.  Even the women who lost the contest would 
be delighted to see the proud and refined Sara taken down a notch. 

The Sheriff smiled and dropped Sara's file into his "Inbox."  Her 
prayers would be answered soon. 

He also decided to give special consideration to Linda Dawson, who 
was the wife of the local Congressman.  Linda had tried studiously 
to make the cut last year, but the Sheriff had found her a bit too 
tubby for his tastes.  She had worked out assiduously all winter, 
and now she proudly claimed that she could "touch her toes and flex 
like nobody's business." 

So he put Linda's file into the Inbox, too.  He would test out 
her boasts soon.

His reverie was broken by a commotion in the street.  Pushing 
through the crowd of women and out the front door, he surveyed 
the scene. 

Natalie, still wearing her skates, was sitting on her rump opposite 
Mrs. Crone, the bitchiest, nastiest woman in town.  Mrs. Crone was 
also sitting on her backside, and the two of them were surrounded 
by groceries. 

"How dare you!" Mrs. Crone shouted at the stunned Natalie.  "You 
ran right into me!  You kids shouldn't be allowed to play out in 
the streets.  I could have been killed." 

"I'm not a kid; I'm 23 years old," Natalie protested.  "And you 
have no right to talk to me like that." 

"You smart aleck whippersnapper!" Mrs. Crone sceeched.  "How dare 
you talk back to me?  Don't you have any respect for your elders?  
I ought to take you over my knee.  Who's going to pay for all my 
groceries?" 

"I can pay for your silly old groceries," Natalie said.  "And I'm 
an adult too, for crying out loud." 

Under Mrs. Crone's cross-examination, Natalie admitted that she 
didn't have the money to pay for the groceries in her lunch pail, 
and in fact she didn't even have any ID that proved that she was 
an adult.  When Mrs. Crone accused Natalie of being a "snotty-nosed 
little twerp," Natalie decided to play the part by sticking her 
tongue out at the infuriated woman. 

Mrs. Crone was 6 inches taller and maybe 25 pounds heavier than 
Natalie, and she had no trouble dragging the college coed over 
her knee.  As Natalie complained again that she was an adult, 
Mrs. Crone fished a hairbrush out of her purse.... 

Natalie begged the loafers sitting a few feet away from her in 
front of the barber shop to vouch for her.  All of the spectators 
knew Natalie was a college student.  Surely they would intervene 
to save her! 

"You know, it isn't really a spanking unless it's given on the 
bare skin," Stan the barber said, winking at Natalie.   

"She won't even feel it over those blue jeans!" Nerdly added, 
leaning closer for a better look. 

Mrs. Crone needed no further encouragement.  She easily undid 
Natalie's shorts and slid them down around the struggling coed's 
knees.  The loafers in the front of the crowd giggled when they 
saw that Natalie was wearing a childish pair of underpants with 
pictures of little dinosaurs all over them.   

Natalie's face was crimson red, and she once again begged the men 
for help.  She turned her pleas to Billy, an 18-year-old high 
school student who had been in the class she had taught just a 
few days before.   

Billy smiled and replied, "You know, Natalie, those little 
underpants you have on are cute, but they'd be even cuter 
down around your knees.  Why don't you be a good little girl 
and ask Mrs. Crone to give you a spanking on your BARE bottom 
so that you learn your lesson?" 

"Please, Billy, don't!" Natalie wailed.  "Not on the bare!  Not out 
in the street!" 

Billy walked over, inserted his fingers in the waistband of 
Natalie's panties, and looked down at his teacher.  "I want 
you to know, Natalie, that this is going to hurt me more than 
it's going to hurt you."  But the smile on his face as he 
lowered her panties to half-mast suggested otherwise. 

Mrs. Crone quickly went to work with the hairbrush, and Natalie's 
wiggling bottom was soon as red as her face.  Her tearful pleas 
and unladylike scissor kicks soon had everyone in the large crowd 
tittering. 

The Sheriff walked back into his office and began reviewing the 
forms.  A female FBI agent who had visited his office last winter 
had returned to confess that she had "stolen" a doughnut.  The 
college cheerleading squad felt responsible for the team's losses.  
And Mrs. Mousely, the Sheriff's lovely but meek neighbor, admitted 
that she had "thought about" playing her stereo "way too loud." 

The Sheriff dutifully read through the arrest reports, rating each 
woman on beauty, originality, and merit.  Oddly enough, on the 
Sheriff's scale, the women who deserved it the least always seemed 
to score the most points. 

The Sheriff walked out of his office.  The room fell into a hush 
as he surveyed the sea of eager female faces.  He looked through 
the front window.  Across the street Natalie was standing facing 
the corner of the barber shop, her blazing bare bottom still on 
display, while Mrs. Crone wagged her finger and lectured her.  

The Sheriff smiled.  Seldom had a woman suffered so much for her 
art. 

"Someone go across the street and get Natalie," he said.  "I'll do 
her first."   

Holly cursed under her breath.  She had been delighted to watch her 
cousin get her fanny tanned, and she hadn't lifted a finger to help 
her.  But now Natalie had actually won the "Golden Glove"!  

To hell with Chaucer.  March was the cruelest month. 

"But the rest of you ladies hang around," the Sheriff added.  "I'm 
just getting started, and there are a lot of women out here who 
need processing." 

The eager deputy smiled as he set out a huge box of latex gloves 
next to the exam table and then hustled across the street to get 
Natalie.  There was no doubt about it.  Spring had sprung.



Edited by C. Lakewood

