I have always loved to swim in the ocean.
Last summer I went to Ocean City.
I went swimming on a cloudy day when there weren’t many people on the beach. The ocean was making me feel invigorated, and I made the risky decision to body surf. The next wave was a big one, and as it approached me, I started to swim and then let it take me.
It carried me about fifteen feet, then it flipped me putting my head in the sand. I lost my breath, gulped in salt water, then I sort of finished the flip and ended up standing on my feet in about six inches of retreating water as the surf went out. I was standing in front of two young girls, and one was pointing, the other giggling.
That’s when I realized my bathing suit was around my ankles.
The cold water had caused shrinkage, and my manhood looked like a thimble on top of a walnut. I thought that in any other place but the surf I could be charged with indecent exposure. I quickly gained my composure, and pulled my trunks up. I turned around and headed out to sea.
I hoped the girls would quickly forget what they saw and still have a good day at the beach.