What Comes Around

[Viridian]

What Comes Around
By Viridian

It was the first time Natasha had experienced Christmas in the southern hemisphere. Normally she would’ve flown home to spend it with the family, but a clumsy arrangement with the company resulted in her spending the week in Australia. It was an exceptional case and the client had to work through the week as well, but they managed to get everything done on the 24th. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough time for Natasha to secure a flight home. Her manager was pleased with her report and promised a week off when she got back to the States. She was therefore in a pleasant mood on her day off.

Her work had placed her in a nice beach-side town in Western Australia and the weather was very warm. The shimmering sea looked inviting, but she hadn’t packed a swimsuit and no stores were open. The naughty side of her teased the idea of skinny dipping, but she really didn’t want to be caught out naked on Christmas Day. Instead, she went through her morning routine. She had a shower, ate breakfast and went for a jog, this time taking the long, scenic route down the beach. Her fitness regimen was something she kept to whenever she travelled – running, swimming and going to the gym – partly because of the health benefits, but mostly because it was easier to keep track of time as work flew her around the world and the days merged together.

The whiff of the sea air blew through her ponytail, luring her off the path and onto the fine, soft sand. The beach was small and out of the way, and given that it was Christmas morning, it was devoid of people. Natasha liked to run by herself, away from eyes that wanted to undress her. She was a young woman in fine form. Part of her job was meeting interesting new people – and often pushing them away. Today would be one day she might have wished there was someone around.

The stretch of sand she was running on suddenly changed from dry and grainy to wet and soggy. The sudden feeling of suction against her shoes threw her rhythm off and she flailed around like she had forgotten how to run, lifting her feet from the wet sucking sand and dancing off into a different direction, which wasn’t any better. The moisture and sand getting her shoes felt icky. She wanted to get onto dry ground again so she could get it out right away. It was like the feeling of chewing food and suddenly finding a different texture kind of icky. She clumsily stumbled through more wet patches before she sank calf-deep. The strong suction snagged her leg and sent her sprawling forwards, hitting the sand with a splat.

She shook her head and wiped off the salty sand from her face. So much for a nice Christmas morning jog, she thought. She looked over her shoulder to see one of her shoes sticking in the sand. She felt tension in her left hamstring. She was glad she hadn’t pulled it, but the stiffness felt uncomfortable. She gritted her teeth as she slowly massaged it, but she wanted to get off the wet sand, which was soaking through her sports bra and oozing into her cleavage. She sat up and swung her legs forward so that she was sitting up. Her blue sports bra was smeared with sand and darked by the moisture. She stretched it so that the remaining sand trickled out, but she was rather indecent with a wet top and the shape of her nipples was now quite visible. The sand was getting uncomfortably intimate with her bum now, so she stood up, only to realise she had already been standing up…up to her thighs in the wet sand.

Her…thighs? Natasha looked down. She was nearly up to her shorts. The texture of the sand was now like thick, wet cement. Still feeling the strain in her left leg, she lifted her right. The heavy sand made it impossible to move. She managed to get her knee up, but no higher, and she let it back down. The sand rippled and gurgled, and she sank an inch deeper. At first she didn’t notice this descent, but after twisting her hips a few times, she noticed the bottom of her shorts touching the sand.

Natasha breathed out slowly. She wasn’t the sort to panic easily. She had been on numerous adventures around the world, but being caught in quicksand on Christmas in Australia was a new one. She was descending constantly, but very slowly, so she didn’t need to hurry. The boardwalk was nearby and in sight, so anyone walking down the beach would see her. She was definitely out of the tide’s reach. If anything, she was on the driest part of the beach and had stumbled upon a freak patch. The quicksand was warm from the exposure to the summer sun, and felt rather relaxing around her sore thighs. It was clear that she wasn’t in any immediate danger. She was simply stuck.

Despite her stillness, the surface continued to gently ripple around her trapped legs. The dry sections had since liquefied. She tentatively clawed at the ground, but the ease at which the sand gave way cautioned her that she was surrounded by quicksand. The wet sand seemed to expand further. She couldn’t understand how this particular part of the beach was waterlogged or why she continued to sink, but she was definitely stranded. The sand looked stable enough to support her weight if she crawled across, but with her legs buried she was going nowhere but down, and trying to free her legs was only going to make her sinker faster. She couldn’t feel a bottom. Or maybe she could, but the sand was liquefying so much that it would shift and cause her to slip deeper. The sand had a firm grip on her legs, preventing her from moving. The only way out was if someone pulled her free.

She called out for help a few times, but the Christmas morning felt agonisingly slow. Would anyone even go the beach? Perhaps after midday, when families would be enjoying the Christmas lunch. It was still Christmas Eve back home, where her parents were probably enjoying a quiet night in with some wine. They hadn’t put the tree up since the kids all moved out.

How long had Natasha been stuck? The sun was up and the temperature was beginning to rise, but the proximity to the sea made it pleasantly cool. She had done well to keep still, but gradually she sank to her hips.

This presented her with a new problem. The sand and moisture were seeping into her shorts. While normally an organised person, her hasty assignment and the associated stress made her uncharacteristically forgetful, and she had forgotten to bring enough underwear. She rationed what she brought and, for the first time, slept naked at nights – which she found liberating. Rather than get her remaining panties sweaty, she decided to go commando for the jog. Now the quicksand was uninhibited as it oozed around her toned buttocks and lapped against her womanhood. It felt…warm, and gentle. Natasha hadn’t been able to get out much because of her work schedule, and this encounter suddenly opened the need to release some of her tension. It wasn’t the right time or place, but as she waited for rescue, she secretly enjoyed the oozing sand between her legs. At first it was an innocuous pleasure, but gradually it became a difficult balancing act. As the soft sand kissed her passionately, she had to move to keep it from getting too intense, which would cause her to slip deeper, and the sand would find a different way to caress her. The deeper she sank, the more pressure she felt against her crotch. Her breathing became heavier and she moaned softly. Her skin had a glistening layer of sweat and she was conscious of her hardened nipples poking through her sports bra. The sand would bring her to the brink, and then suddenly shift, replacing the pleasure with fear, and the cycle repeated. Her toned waist began to slip into the rippling sand. She wanted to slip her fingers between her legs.

She suddenly saw something on the boardwalk and she snapped back to the immediate danger. She called out for help again, and the figure looked towards her direction and. It was a young mother and a child. The mother looked to be in her early 30s and her daughter looked nine or ten. Both were golden blonde and, to Natasha, they looked like angels. The mother approached until she encountered wet sand, and she stopped. She tossed aside her sunglasses and shoes as well as her straw hat, which promptly blew away.

“Stay still, that’s quicksand,” she said as she knelt down. The wet sand molded around her knees, but it was solid beneath. She learned forward and extended her hand, but it was well short. She tried again, this time putting one hand into the quicksand and shifting her weight forward to get more reach. Her swaying breasts, barely contained by her flowery halter-neck dress, brushed over the glimmering surface. Their fingertips were just inches away. Natasha could’ve risked lunging for it, but the sand beneath her rescuer’s hand began to give away and she hastily backed out before she became stuck. “It’s alright; we’ll get you out. What’s your name?” Natasha, keeping as motionless as she could, calmly replied.

The mother – Rachel – tried to stand up, but the sand collapsed and she plunged in to her thighs. “Oh shit,” she muttered, with a tone of surprise rather than panic. “Mum! Mum!” Rachel turned back to see her daughter running towards her. “No, Kayla, go back! It’s dangerous!” she shouted. “Mum’s going to be okay. We need help. Go back up and get someone to come. Tell them someone’s stuck in quicksand.” Kayla’s lips began to tremble, but the stern determination in Rachel’s eyes and voice commanded her to follow the instructions, and she turned and ran back up the boardwalk.

Rachel turned her attention back to her own peril. She was sinking quickly. Feeling out the solid sand behind her, she began to lean back. Even with this brief submergence, the sand hand a strong suction around her legs and it slurped mercilessly. It took over ten minutes for Rachel to extricate her legs. Meanwhile, Natasha watched nervously; the sand now crawling over her ribs. Rachel shimmied around the liquefying sand and positioned herself directly in front of Natasha. “Listen hun, I’m going to l crawl over to you, and I want you to grab onto my shoulders, okay? I can’t pull you out, but you can use me to stop yourself sinking deeper.”

Rachel lay flat on her stomach and crossed the dangerous quicksand. The sand rippled and her heavy breasts were warmly welcomed and she dragged her body across. Natasha watched with alarm when she realised that Rachel’s feet were on longer touching the solid edge – Rachel had no way out herself. But Rachel was calm and kept assuring Natasha that everything was going to be alright. She stopped in front of her and reached under Natasha’s arms just as quicksand closed over Natasha’s breasts. “Now put your hands around my neck,” Rachel instructed.

And that was the position they held. The heavy sand continued to pull Natasha down, but she kept herself steady by holding onto Rachel, whose weight was spread evenly enough to keep herself from sinking into the quaking mire. It was a scary feeling to be surrounded by gurgling, undulating sand, but both of them were calm and patient. “Kayla will be back soon. She’s a good girl,” Rachel said, sensing Natasha’s anxiety. “Tell me, why are you out here by yourself on Christmas?”

“I’m from America,” Natasha replied. “I’m on a working trip down here and couldn’t get home in time. Why aren’t you with your family?”

“I don’t have much family left,” Rachel sighed. “I’ve got no siblings. My father left me when I was young, and my mother died of cancer a few months ago. My husband cheated on me and ran off last month. I’ve been lucky to find a flat here, but it’s been so hectic trying to move, and there’s no money left…” It touched a nerve for Rachel, who was close to tears. “We had to move away from the city, and Kayla couldn’t be with her friends. I couldn’t even get anyone to come to a party for her here, so I thought we could spend time together on the beach. She wanted a pony for Christmas. Do you believe that?”

“Every girl wants a pony,” Natasha replied, taken back by Rachel’s story. She felt guilty for interrupting their precious mother-daughter time. They fell awkwardly silent. Something else interrupted the moment. Now up to her armpits, Natasha was even more susceptible to the quicksand’s smooth caress against every part of her submerged body, and she let out an involuntary shiver and moan. “Are you okay?” Rachel asked anxiously. Natasha gasped. “I’m fine. It’s just...the sand’s getting into my clothes.”

“You too?” Rachel asked. “I thought it was just me. I’m just lying here and the beach is copping a feel of my tits.” She grinned cheekily. “And it’s doing a better job than my ex-husband.”

Natasha sank up to her neck. Her grip around Rachel tightened. Even Rachel was beginning to sink as Natasha slowly but inevitably pulled her down with her. Their faces were right beside each other and they didn’t need to speak. Their soft breathing was all the contact they needed. Over an hour must’ve passed since Rachel became Natasha’s lifeline. They heard a familiar voice. “Mum! Mum!” Kayla stood on the boardwalk, and behind her were probably half of the townspeople.

Rachel smiled. “See, I told you she was a good girl.”

* * *

Rachel started her new job on the second of January. The holidays were still on but the store had to run. The townspeople were friendly and supportive, but it was a long and hard day managing the store; something she had never done before, and she felt bad each time she left someone waiting or couldn’t fill an order.

She grabbed the mail as she walked into her home and tossed them onto the table to read after she made dinner and put Kayla to bed. They were probably just bills. At least she could afford to pay the rent and the bills with her new job, but not much else. After everything was done, she made herself a cup of tea and sat in front of the television. She took a glance at each envelope and tossed them aside. Tomorrow.

One envelope caught her eye, bearing an Airmail tag. Curious, she opened it and found a letter and two photographs. She took a glance at the photos first and read the letter. She smiled, and cried.

“Dear Rachel,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that you have had a safe and happy New Year. I’m sure you will find your new job to be challenging, but I know you will get it together.

I would like to sincerely thank you again for saving my life on Christmas. I am deeply thankful for your bravery, and grateful to everyone who helped that day. I have never met such a close and friendly community. They will be a family to you. I know it. I did not expect them to host a Christmas party after they rescued us! It truly has become a memory I will never forget. I have shared the story with my family and it has become news in America.

I am sorry that I could not visit you after the celebrations. I owe you a Christmas dinner. I will visit you next year so that we can meet again. I have attached a photo of my family, who also extends their gratitude and their good wishes to you and Kayla.

The second photo is Velvet. She belongs to my uncle, who has a horse ranch in Western Australia. I have told him about what you and Kayla did for me, and he was happy to make it happen. Velvet is a little big for Kayla at the moment, but I’m sure they will love each other. Velvet belongs to Kayla now.

Merry Christmas.

Yours,
Natasha”

[Stephymink]

That was a beautiful story Viridian. Thank you for posting it.

[PM2K]

Lovely tale, simply lovely.

[Northerner]

Australia, huh? I was researching mangrove swamps, and found someone online asking why they sank in and got stuck in the beaches at Perth. Someone replied and explained Perth doesn't have much of a beach, it's more like a mangrove mud flat, easy to sink into! I know you like sandy beach quicksand though, however elusive it may be!

[Viridian]

Gotta remember that Perth isn't the only place in Western Australia

[jack c]

Viridian,

Actually, a sweet story, but good all the same. Short and to the point. I haven't written a story in over a year - I enjoyed this one of yours - one of many fine writings by you.

- jack

[Meeca]

Beautiful.

[Viridian]

As far as plot goes, this is actually one of my simplest stories in recent times, and is the closest I'll come to a straightforward "plop and sink". This was as much an exercise in putting together a complete story with a clear narrative structure and a focus on quicksand. In fact, the quicksand was particularly chosen to be emphasised in this story. At the time of writing, I had been binging on watching quicksand scenes, and was particularly fixated on the "beach sand", cement-like texture (think Shelby Woo or Pavilion). In my mind, I was envisioning something that glistened, bubble and gargled, and soft in a clumpy way rather than the silky-smooth depiction (it's interesting to note the different ways you can depict quicksand, and being able to visualise and define it in the story scores a lot of points). The majority of the story was focused on struggling in this particular patch of sand, and the physical descriptions were detailed in using the senses, especially in how the moistness and warmth of the sand interacted with the character's clothing and skin.

The character of Natasha was based on someone I know. As usual, I tend to leave most of the physical description to the imagination, though in my mind she's a red-headed younger woman (she's actually older in the story than the source material), and her clothing was something I had seen her wear in real life (not in the sexy way, but embellished in the story). The character of Rachel was also based on someone I know, incidentally one of Natasha's friends, and their interaction is similar to how I observed them in real life, though in the story they are complete strangers. One of the things I liked in this story was the banter between the two characters, and created believable dialogue is one of the challenges in writing a multi-character story.

Natasha's entry into the quicksand is based on the Shelby Woo scene - running and falling onto all-fours. To add to the immersion, I used the muscle-strain as a distraction. Most people know how agonising this can be (incidentally, real-life Natasha had recurring leg muscle injuries). Rachel's position in holding Natasha in the quicksand was loosely based on the Baywatch sinkhole scene.

With the creative focus being on getting Natasha into beach quicksand, the story was left without a conflict that actually drove the story. This is probably where I think many stories fall short - it's relatively easy to write about a jogger running into quicksand and getting out, but putting together a meaningful narrative means giving the scene some context. As this was written around Christmas time, I came up with the idea of missing out on Christmas due to being on the road (based on another friend's experience and lifestyle). I personally don't celebrate Christmas, so the awkwardness of being out while everyone celebrated reverberated in this story. This created the conflict of the story, and naturally set up the ending resolution and moral of the story. In doing so, I turned Rachel into the "Aussie battler" in the epilogue, working two jobs to support her family, and as the feel-good resolution, tied the loose ends of Natasha's rescue by gifting the pony as a show of thanks, and of Christmas spirit.

[quagmire_uk]

Very cool to learn about your inspirations.