Target Panic

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Viridian
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Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 10:03 am

Target Panic

Postby Viridian » Sun Jun 07, 2015 6:31 am

Target Panic
By Viridian

Having not driven so far out of town before, I was paranoid that I had forgotten to bring something. I double-checked my luggage bag to make sure I had my clothes. I triple-checked my bow case to make sure I had every bit of equipment I needed. Not that I’ve ever forgotten anything, but I just couldn’t fathom coming to an archery tournament and forgetting to pack something like my bowstring. And I had two spares.

I suppose part of the anxiety was that it was my first field tournament. I had only been shooting for two years and only as an outdoor archer, shooting at the 70m Olympic distance and the occasional short range competition. Field archery was foreign to me. My coach strongly suggested that I give it a go, and the field course at Newbrook, though a new venue, was reputedly one of the best in the country, set up in a lush forest, with targets set up from raised shooting platforms, across ponds and the experience of going between targets was like a hike through the woods. That was a nice incentive. The other big incentive was to gain ranking points for team selection. The competition wasn’t as crowded in the field archery discipline, and I figured I had a better chance of breaking into the top 5 if I did well here, especially given that this was the state championship.

I handled my competition anxiety by making sure everything was carefully planned. I booked accommodation early, knowing that I wasn’t going to be able to drive back to town on the same night. Newbrook town was a rather small place, and with a regional business convention happening at the same time, most places were booked out and I was lucky to grab the last available room in what was perhaps the only motel in town.

As soon as I reached the motel, I received a call on my phone. It was my friend, Frank. I could barely make out his voice against the rain and static.

“…driving Sam to the tournament…car broke down…can’t find motel…okay?”

Frank was a coach at a rival club, but we worked together on a lot of projects. He sounded out of breath and was stumbling over his words. It was just for one night, so I didn’t mind sharing the room. I gave him the OK and he said that Sam would hitchhike into town.

I left my gear in my room and went out to grab a bite to eat. As much as I wanted to try the local food, the heavy rain dissuaded me from exploring the town and I was satisfied with running across the road to the McDonald’s restaurant. The downpour made me worried about the state of the field for tomorrow’s championship. I dashed back to the motel and scrubbed myself down in the shower. Though I normally showered in the morning, it allowed my mind and my muscles to relax ahead of the big day.

I walked out of the bathroom with my towel around my waist, and was about to get changed when I noticed someone else was in my room. I jumped, half-swore and grabbed my towel. The girl was equally surprised, covering her face and averting her eyes.

“G-…Glenn, right?” she stammered.

I stared blankly for a moment while I readjusted my towel. “Oh, yeah. I’m Glenn.”

“I’m…I’m Samantha. My coach called you before.”

It took me a few moments to connect the dots. Right! Samantha was the archer that was getting a lift to the event. For some reason I had been expecting “Sam” to be another male senior archer and didn’t bother asking. I had seen Sam a few times before at other shoots, though I never spoke to her. She shot compound in the junior division (she was 19; the junior division goes up to 21) and, if I recalled correctly, she was in charge of the club’s social media activities. She was young, stocky girl of Chinese descent – short black hair, small in stature with well-built shoulders and legs. Her hair and clothes were soaked through from walking through the storm trying to find the motel.

“Do you want to wash up?” I asked, regaining my composure. She accepted the offer and stepped into the bathroom while I got dressed.

I lay in bed waiting. I was beginning to sweat again. I was getting nervous. This was an unexpected change. I’m not one to adapt to changes easily, but suddenly sharing a room with a younger woman – if you can barely call Sam a woman at her age. She had the smile and enjoy-life attitude typical for someone of her age. She was outgoing, confident, and probably didn’t think twice about making it to the event and having to share a room with someone else. It was likely her idea to get here by herself with her coach unable to make the journey. It was something about that capacity to, well, not care that I felt was attractive, especially for a more reserved introvert like me.

Physically, she was attractive too. Not in the sexy supermodel way. In fact, many would just pass her off as average. But it was my kind of attractive. She had a compact build; a little heavier in the upper torso and hips and shorter legs, but otherwise with nice curves. Then I remembered that the room only had one bed.

Calm the heck down, Glenn. She’s nearly ten years your junior.

Perhaps it was the fact that I had a few run-down relationships in the past few years that I hadn’t bothered looking for another partner, and thus was feeling a little starved. I took up archery as a way to get my mind off things, and the focus and discipline became the new partners in my life. We had a few female shooters at our range, but I never really paid attention. I was focused on my form. Now and then I would watch world championships and ogle at the French, Russian and Korean ladies, but I never associated my archery with my love life. Many people found it strange. I was in the peak of my development. I had mentally matured over the years. My training had given me a well-built, toned body – not that I had abs to show off, but years of pulling a bow had given me the shoulders and the arms that made me look bigger. I hadn’t considered that people would even find me attractive. And here I was, sheltering this guilty perverted streak.

“Hey, Glenn,” Sam called out. “Could you get a towel from my bag?”

“What bag?” I replied. I could see her bow case, but not her bag.

She popped her head through the door and looked at her stuff. “Oh shit!” she said. “I left it in Frank’s car!”

Though my towel was still damp, I gave it to her. She dried herself and came out with the towel wrapped around her body. “Crap, crap, crap,” she repeated, stressing over her missing bag. She didn’t have any other clothes with her, apart from her shooting uniform, which was soaked from the storm, and nothing to sleep in. I didn’t have any extra clothing for her either.

“At least you remembered your bow,” I joked, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you feel better.”

“Gosh, no,” she said. “I can’t let you do that. We’ve got the championship tomorrow and we both need rest.” She sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry about putting everything onto you like this.”

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to hide my anxiety. “Let’s try to get a good night’s sleep, okay?”

* * *

I normally don’t sleep well before a competition. It was harder to fall asleep with a naked girl next to me. I felt confused. Even guilty. She had her side of the bed and I had mine. We were close enough to feel our body heat. It was comforting, as was the smell of her shampoo. I realised that we were back to back, and I could feel her skin pressed against mine.

“Hey, Glenn, you’re awake right? Mind if I see your long rod?”

She wants to see what? Was I hearing things? Oh god, could these fantasies actually become real? I wasn’t sure if she’d be impressed, but may as well give a shot.

Shot? Wait.

“You mean my stabiliser? Sure.” Huh. That felt like a subconscious reaction. I was pretty sure I was about to do something stupid like pull my pants down, or at least get sucked into the innuendo. Instead, eased into a field that I was comfortable with sharing, I started opening up like a natural. I unzipped my bow case and pulled out my equipment bit by bit. Sam sat up excitedly, keeping the blanket around her chest, and looked at each part.

“Doinkers!” she whistled. “These are expensive. You’ve got a whole set? I’ve got a Cartel stabiliser.”

“Yeah, nothing wrong with that. There’s no difference between the el cheapo stabilisers and the top brands. Just more weights. You only use one side-rod, don’t you?”

“Yeah, compound bows only need one. Hey, can you string your bow? I want to see what it looks like.”

It took around five minutes to get it fully assembled. The metallic blue riser seemed to glitter in the room’s dim light, contrasting with the black and white limbs. It wasn’t a top-end bow, but it was a decent intermediate kit that did the job until I saved up enough money to upgrade. The Doinkers were a lucky buy from someone else in the club who was selling his equipment. Ironically, those rods cost more than my entire bow and arrows combined.

Sam picked up the bow and placed some tension on the string “40 pounds! That feels a lot different than a compound. Here, try pulling mine.”

I picked up her compound bow. I admit that I was a bit of a snob when it came to bows. Recurve bows involved real work, while the compound bows had cams and cables that held the weight for you. Sam’s bow was set to 45 pounds, but once I drew it back a few inches, the cams kicked in and the draw suddenly became much lighter.

“It’s like I’m only holding ten pounds,” I said, easing the bow back to its original position. “No wonder they call it training wheels.” She poked her tongue at me and took her bow back. She raised the bow and drew it. Her blanket slipped off her chest, though she had her back to me. I didn’t pay attention. I was focused on her form. My coach’s sense kicked in. I tapped her front shoulder and elbow. “Shoulder down, rotate the elbow. Tuck the hips in. Keep them straight.” I froze, realising that I was touching her naked body.

“You sound just like my coach,” Sam laughed, not seeming to mind.

“Yeah, Frank and I actually started out together, but he kept on going with the sport while I left it for years. “ I smiled, thinking about to when we were college students shooting arrows on his farm before we signed up for a club. “You don’t use a chest guard you?”

“To protect my boobs?” Sam gave her left boob a squeeze. “Nah. It’s not needed with a compound. The string doesn’t touch the chest. My puppies are fine.”

I didn’t hear a word she said.

* * *

“Cancelled?”

The Newbrook club president sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately, the event is being called off. The storms this week have damaged parts of the field course. We got in touch with competitors as soon as we confirmed that the field was no longer suitable for use. We must’ve left you out by accident. I know you’ve driven a long way to be here, but unfortunately the championship must be postponed.”

I sighed. In a sense, I was relieved. The pre-match nerves were settled, and I didn’t need to shoot out of my comfort zone. It was just the waste of time driving here and back that I was disappointed with. Though I was ready to pack up and leave, Sam had different ideas.

“Since we’re already here,” she said, “can we practice on the course anyway? The rain’s stopped, and we’ve come all this way.”

“Well, I don’t see why not,” the president said. “I’ve already set up the targets and markers in case the committee wanted to push ahead, and it’d be a shame to go home without having a shot. I think the event should have gone ahead anyway. You two have fun out there. Try your best not to get wet.”

“Yes!” Sam opened her case and began assembling her bow. I shrugged and did the same. I was indifferent to the prospect of shooting in the rain, but I had agreed to look after Sam for the event as a favour for Frank, and it I could treat it like a training session. I unpacked my gear as well. Of course, by the time I had strung my bow, Sam was ready – the compound bows only need to be taken out of the case and have their stabilisers and sights screwed on. Sam lifted her shirt to buckle her quiver belt, exposing her navel for a moment. With her belt clipped on, her shirt was pulled tightly over her chest. Overnight, she had left her clothes by the window to get them to dry before the early start, but her bra had fallen out and landed in a muddy puddle outside. She therefore went without one today. Her polyester shirt was mostly white and had red arcs across both sides of the chest. You could make out the outline of her nipples if you were paying attention.

“So, how does the scoring work?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

I tried my best to listen to Sam’s explanation without eyeing her jiggling chest. “There are 24 targets, and we shoot three arrows each. This course has twelve stations, so we repeat the course twice. Scoring starts at 6 for a bullseye. Distances are marked in this course, but you have to compensate for uphill or downhill shots. For the multi-face targets, shoot each target once – like the Vegas tri-spot target.”

“So it’s basically like normal archery, except the distances change for each target.”

Hey, I could handle that. At least, it sounded easy until I lined up my first shot. The picture looked completely different to what I had in mind. The familiar coloured circles were replaced by a black disc with a yellow spot. The three targets were lined vertically. It was only 20 metres. I took steady aim. The first shot was always the scariest. It tested your confidence – in yourself, and in your equipment. The clicker went off and I sent the arrow flying.

“Nice shot!” Sam yelled. “Perfect 6!”

Actually, I had been aiming at the centre target, but I was so tense that I botched my release, sending the arrow upwards, only coincidentally hitting the bullseye of the top target. I breathed in relief. Though the rules don’t stipulate that you have to take turns shooting, I let Sam have her shot next, since I wanted to maintain my own rhythm and not get distracted by hers. As expected of a compound shooter, her setup was simple, drawing back and aligning her target through the peep sight and lens, holding steady for the perfect shot. Her release was fluid. She knew the shot was good. I was mesmerised by her confident form, and captivated by the slight jiggle of her breasts.

I couldn’t quite get the image of her tits out of my mind, and I botched my next shot, scraping the side of the target face and nearly into the edge of the frame, sending a shudder through both me and Sam. Her next two shots were perfect, and I managed to hit the gold with my last shot. That was the challenge of the recurve bow – you really had to work for those bullseyes. The next target station was much the same, over 40 metres. Station 3 was interesting. It was an uphill shot, and though it was a familiar 30m distance, the fact that it was uphill meant that I had to sight significantly lower to compensate for the elevation. The fourth station was another flat shot, but the shooting line was inclined like a ramp, requiring you to put one foot on the high ground. This normally put the archer off balance, but that wasn’t my only problem. I was so distracted by Sam’s form-hugging shirt that I was spraying my arrows everywhere. Sam didn’t seem to mind the fact that her nipples were now clearly and visibly poking against her shirt.

“Whoa!” Sam stopped a few feet away from the target. The ground was very muddy and she nearly lost her shoe after stepping into a particularly sticky patch. The wet soil quivered, reminding me of quicksand scenes from movies. This particular target station was situated on lower ground, and in the back of my mind I figured that the heavy rain might have caused some instability. Regardless, we didn’t want to get any dirtier than we had to, and we went around the muddy patch to retrieve our arrows.

Eventually I managed to settle into my rhythm. Archery is very much a mood and feel sport, and by now I had seen everything I would have wanted to see. Now that I purged all the bad shooting in me, I began to relax and shoot for the fun of it. The groupings improved. I was consistently hitting golds and didn’t feel at all stressed. We completed the circuit and went back to the start to finish the round. The day turned out to be perfect – no wind, a warm sun and it was a fairly dry course apart from a few puddles. Though there was no chance for me to match Sam’s precision with the compound bow, I was going to set a respectable personal best.

Things were turning the other way for Sam though. While I was contentedly sending arrows downrange, she was beginning to get flustered. She muttered to herself. Her string was damp. The humidity made her arrows heavier. Her socks were wet. Though she was not shooting poorly by any measure, she wasn’t meeting the standards she had set herself.

It came to a peak on the last target of the round. I finished with my best shot yet, hitting dead centre of the target. I put my bow down and stood back to watch Sam’s last shot. My eyes were focused on her form. She lined up the shot carefully, looking through her sight for the perfect alignment. What happened in the next split second was something I couldn’t explain. Perhaps she had snatched the trigger. Maybe something got into her eye. Whatever it was, the arrow zipped far too high. Instead of slamming into the target, it flew towards the wooden frame. The shaft glanced the top, deflecting and flying into the woods. Sam let out a string of profanities that even put me to shame.

We put our bows down and began the search. Missing arrows was a normal part of archery. However, searching for arrows on the range was much easier. They were usually in plain sight behind the targets, or hit the fence, or were picked up by a metal detector. We now had to search rough forest terrain. Arrows lost in the field were usually given up for good. However, Sam’s arrows were the elite competitive kind that cost a fortune each. We had to make some effort to look for them. The problem that I immediately realised was that in this wet weather, it was likely that the arrow would bury itself in the soft ground and out of sight.

By chance, we did manage to find it. Her bright pink vanes were easily visible amidst the dull vegetation. It flown some distance past the target and embedded itself in a tree trunk just over head height. We unclipped our quivers and made our way to the tree. However, when we got there, we found that the ground was sloping downwards, and the arrow was well out of reach. Normally we’d leave arrows like that as a testament to our poor accuracy, but Sam was determined to get it back. It was her idea to get me to boost her onto the tree. She sat on my shoulders and I stood up, allowing her to grab onto the closest branch.

It was none too soon. I felt something shifting under my feet, but I was too focused on keep Sam balanced that it was too late for me to react. The ground fell away beneath me and I slide down the slope, leaving Sam hanging off the tree. It took me a couple of seconds to reach the bottom. The sandy soil followed me down and mixed together with the saturated earth below. Before I knew it, I was up to my thighs in thick, slurping mud.

Sam managed to grab onto the trunk. “Glenn! Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” I replied. “It’s muddy down here. This stuff’s like quicksand.” In hindsight, it was quicksand. The recent rainfall had caused certain parts of the course to become waterlogged, and we had blundered into a particularly unstable patch. The sandy soil looked dry and crusty until weight was put on it; then it broke apart to reveal the thick, goopy quicksand underneath. I felt the sand give way under my legs and I struggled to keep balanced. I acted out of instinct, not wanting to get stuck. The sand really wanted to pull me down, or at least it felt like it, so I made for what looked like solid ground. Every time I placed my hands onto the surface to get some leverage, they would plunge through, threatening to pull my arms under. Through a combination of wading, digging and swimming, I managed to cross the quaking bog and claw my way out of the quicksand. I was covered in a layer of sand and mud, and my clothes suddenly felt like they weighed a ton.

“Man, that was really deep,” I said. “It’s like it sucks you down.”

This was something that Sam didn’t want to hear. Originally, she had envisioned climbing up the tree, retrieving her arrow and swinging back down. However, with the slope collapsed and me at the bottom, she was stranded in the tree. She could carefully make her way down to the base of the trunk, but that presented another problem – she was surrounded by quicksand. Still, it was her only option. Unfortunately, as adventurous as Sam was, she was not a nimble climber. One misstep made her slip from her perch. She barely caught herself on a lower branch, but this only held her momentarily before it snapped, sending her plunging into the quicksand below. It was the worst possible place too – away from the solid ground around the tree, and on the far side of the bog from where I escaped. She hit the ground and immediately sank to her thighs. She fell forward and planted her hands in front of her, and the quicksand grabbed hold of them, swallowing her arms up to her elbows.

“Sam, don’t move!”

“Or else I’ll sink faster, right?” she gulped. The quicksand quivered. She could feel the soft, slippery sediment solidifying around her arms and legs and pulling her down, and yet she knew that if she made any sudden movement, she would lose her delicate balance and she would plunge even deeper. She showed an amazing amount of calm, but even without moving she was slowly inching deeper into the bog.

I began to work my way around the edge of the bog. There were some small trees on the edge, but the mud was still shin-deep and trudging through it took time. I figured that I could approach along the bottom the slope, which seemed to be shallower than the wide clearing I had to cross. As I made my way closer, I looked over to Sam. She was motionless, apart from her subtle, steady descent. She was looking straight at the quicksand’s surface, concentrating on keeping still. The buttons on her polo shirt had popped open, and from my angle I could observe a teasing amount of cleavage. For a moment I felt a gush of blood in my loins. The sight of this 19-year-old junior archer, whom had slept naked in my bed the night before, now helplessly trapped, combined to give me an image that fed into my fantasies. My muddy pants did little to hide the growing bulge. I had to change the topic. “So, you were shooting pretty well.”

“Yeah, well, this is probably my worst round ever,” she replied. “I mean, I’m up to my tits in quicksand.”

I couldn’t help but take another look at her chest. She was a little top-heavy and she was pitching forward into the quicksand as she sank. Her swaying breasts were just over the surface. Her shirt was stretched tightly over them, making her erect nipples plainly obvious. I wondered if she was going to straighten up or allow her breasts to be consumed…ugh, damn it Glenn! Focus!

Then, by coincidence or otherwise, the quicksand shifted and caused Sam to tip forward. With her arms still buried, she could only watch as the quicksand began to consume her chest. At first her soft mounds were pushed up gently by the quicksand. Then, as her shirt began to soak in mud and moisture, the quicksand oozed through the top of her shirt, finding its way between her breasts before moulding around them. The slow, soft, delicate movement of the quicksand felt like an intimate caress. I couldn’t tell if Sam was moaning from surprise or pleasure. I was also feeling a throbbing between my legs as the quicksand lapped at my crotch, reminding me to continue my trek. Disconcerted by the quicksand groping her breasts and being pulled down awkwardly, Sam tensed her abdominal muscles and pulled her upper body free. Her breasts emerged with a loud slurp. She was nearly pulled back down by the unexpected weight of her shirt. She managed to straighten up, but had sunk to her hips. Now the quicksand oozed into her shorts, filling her with another pleasurable shiver.

“Oooh,” she moaned. “I should’ve worn my panties after all.”

Damn it, was she teasing me? By now, my penis was nearly bursting out of my pants, and with my hands clawing at the bushes for leverage, there was no way for me to hide it. I knew Sam noticed. She only glanced at it through the corner of her eye, but she knew it. She wiped the mud off her chest and lifted her top to get the sand out, making an extra effort to get the goopy sand off her boobs. She then looked at me and cover her chest with her shirt. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I distracting you?”

I honestly came in my pants at that moment. It felt so wrong to be seduced by my junior competitor, but she felt no shame in making light of her situation. Things might’ve gone further, but the quicksand suddenly moved and she sank past her ribs. The sudden plunge snapped her out of her sensual trance. “Glenn, hurry!”

I couldn’t get any closer to her. I looked around for other options. “Grab the branch behind you!”

The branch was directly behind her and Sam had to turn to reach for it. Her breasts strained against her muddy shirt. She was nearly leaning back on the surface, driving her lower body down as more of her weight pressed onto the soft surface. She managed to grab hold of it and return to her position, but by now she had slipped to her chest. This time, she paid no attention to the groping quicksand. She began to look desperate, reaching out with the branch as the quicksand consumed her breasts once more. I was waist deep as I took hold of the other end of the branch. We began a tug-of-war with the quicksand, and I wasn’t winning. Sam seemed to remain stuck chest-deep, and the only thing keeping her from sinking deeper was my strenuous effort.

“Would it make it easier if I take my clothes off?” Sam asked.

“Are you trying to motivate me?” I said, clenching my teeth.

“I meant, my clothes are really heavy with all this mud.”

“Oh.”

First she slipped off her shorts and tossed them aside. Then she pulled off her top. She sank to her shoulders as she did so, but in that brief moment I managed a glance at her prized assets. Even if she didn’t mean it, I felt invigorated. Now that she was free of the weighty clothes, she slid more freely through the quicksand.

“I’m pretty sure you’re in violation of uniform code,” I said.

“And your stabiliser exceeds maximum allowed length,” she replied.

I blinked in confusion, until I realised that her eyes were gazing straight at my crotch. My pants and underwear had been pulled down by the quicksand, exposing my erect penis. “Shit!” I swore, unable to cover myself without letting go of the branch.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll thank you later,” Sam said, leaving her intent vague.

Getting her out of the quicksand took around twenty minutes. It was a long and tiring process, alternating between pulling her free, then resting and allowing her to settle back down. After seeing her breasts re-emerge for the tenth time, it was unavoidable that it was going to stick with us. Sam would later admit that she found the whole thing a big turn-on from the start – sharing my bed, going commando, being rescued from the quicksand. And I admitted that I had stalked her a few times on her Facebook page. With that out of the way, things between us became more at ease, and by the time I could grab hold of her naked body, the feeling was more fun than erotic. We took more time to rest before climbing out of the sinkhole with our muddy clothes in hand. We look up at the arrow that was still embedded in the tree.

“Frank won’t be happy about that,” I said.

“Let’s not tell Frank about it then,” Sam replied, hugging me.

* * *

Two weeks later, I stepped onto the podium to accept my gold medal. I nodded towards Sam, who had already received her gold medal in the Junior division. As the archers mingled over afternoon tea, Frank approached me.

“Thanks for looking out for Sam,” he said, shaking my hand. I look over at Sam to ascertain how much she had told Frank. She shrugged. The secret was safe. “She’s been shooting brilliantly since the event was postponed. I’ve spent months trying to fix her target panic and you’ve fixed it in one day. And look at you! First time doing a field round and you’re in the running for state selection. How do you do it?”

“Well,” I said, flashing a grin at Sam, “sometimes, you’ve got to let it sink in.”
Viridian @ deviantART: http://viridianqs.deviantart.com/

User avatar
DJlurker
Posts: 1468
Joined: Sun Apr 19, 2009 6:29 pm

Re: Target Panic

Postby DJlurker » Sun Jun 07, 2015 12:07 pm

Another great story from the master. I especially liked your description of Sam sinking. :D

User avatar
Conspiracy101
Posts: 723
Joined: Thu Apr 16, 2009 8:42 pm

Re: Target Panic

Postby Conspiracy101 » Wed Jul 01, 2015 6:16 pm

Very well written, thanks for sharing!
"Some times fear has the appropriate response"

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PM2K
Always Remembered
Posts: 10386
Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
Location: Eastern Ontario

Re: Target Panic

Postby PM2K » Wed Jul 01, 2015 10:00 pm

Damn! Thanks again for raising the bar to the art of qs fiction, Viridian! :D


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