Searching for a story: Bobby Jo's Tale

[SinkThatDamsel]

...or maybe "Bobbi Jo"?

This would have been way back in the mid-90s. I'd just discovered, through the wonders of the internet, that I wasn't alone in this. There was a site that had a list of original stories, often titled "[Girl's name]'s Tale."

"Bobby Jo's Tale" concerned a young woman fishing in a river. At some point, she loses her hat and chases after it, and she finds herself in quicksand. The moment that had a deep effect on me was when she's up to her neck or so, having tried and failed repeatedly to escape, and she just gives up. The idea that she'd lost all hope and was going to just resign herself to sinking out of sight blew my mind.

At that moment, she finds a submerged root and climbs out. (And catches a fish.)

I've poked around this section and haven't found this story. But if anyone has a lead on it, let me know.

Thanks a lot!

[Viridian]

The birds stopped their singing in wonder when they heard BobbyJo joyfully whistling as she walked
through the woods towards Miller's creek. The feel of the warm summer sun on her skin, and the
freedom to go fishing made her so glad that she had to restrain herself from skipping like a schoolgirl,
mainly because skipping and thongs don't mix. Any creature lucky enough to encounter her as she
walked would have stared in amazement at her long curly black hair, her long legs that showed all the
way up to her cut-off jeans, her slender bare midriff, or her beautiful breasts that strained against the
cut t-shirt that barely covered them in their dance. With her fishing pole over one shoulder, creel and
tackle in her other hand, and her lucky lure cap that her father had given her, she was ready to take on
any fish that the creek should offer. Soon she was sitting by the side of the lazy creek, her rod resting
in it's cup with the bell to warn her of a nibble. She let her feet dangle in the water, and rested against
a tree trunk, with her father's cap over her face to cover it from the glare of the sun. Soon the warm
sunlight and lapping of the water made her nod off.

Suddenly, the sound of the bell caused her to start, the hat dropping by her side, as she lunged
to get the rod and set the hook. But the fish had eluded her, and she reeled in an empty hook. She
baited the hook anew, and cast it again into the creek; turning just in time to watch as a gust of wind
caught hold of her lucky cap and sent it dancing down the slope of the riverbank. With a cry, she
chased it as it tumbled across the grassy glen. She almost had it when a final gust of wind
contemptuously took it and sent it soaring across a smooth clearing to lie atop a tree root that
protruded out of the ground. BobbyJo started forward to reclaim her hat, then stopped suddenly as she
recognized the area that she stood by....Miller's folly.....the quicksand pit...

She stomped her foot in anger and watched as the surface of the sand rippled in places, as if it
recognized her closeness from the vibration. "Damn it, no silly mud hole is going to take my dad's hat
from me!". She walked around the clearing, looking at it from all angles, and realized that even with a
stick that there was no way that she could reach it from the edge. She would have to be within the
radius of the pit itself if she was to reclaim the hat. There was only one way...she found a stout sapling
by the edge and tested its strength and anchor. Yes!, this would help her. She twisted her left wrist
through the leaf strewn foliage, and taking a sure grip onto the sapling with her hand, she quickly took
a large step forward with her right foot, lest she lose her nerve. The feel of her left foot on solid
ground, and the sapling's resistance gave her courage as she felt the sand shift beneath her bare foot.
Straining to reach the cap, she felt the sandy goo at first resist her pressure. It roiled thickly over the
sides of her foot and through her toes, leaving a hole that slowly, very slowly, filled in to cover the top
of her foot and ankle. She leaned forward pushing down with her foot for leverage, unconsciously
rocking her foot, toes then heel, deeper into the now softening sand. The hole filled in completely, and
now her calf was claimed in payment for her trespassing. Now her fingers were inches away from the
hat, and she had to loosen her grip slightly on the branch, mindful of her right leg as the mud was
inches away from soaking into the bottom hem of her cutoff jeans. She lunged forward, and success!!,
she reclaimed the cap, and tossed it carefully into some nearby bushes, knowing that the thorns would
keep it from being windblown again. Now all that she had to do was rescue herself.

Both hands on the branch now, she strained to pull her leg free from the quicksand's soft warm
suction. Slowly, while the mud protested with gurgles and sucking noises, her leg began to emerge
from the bog. Soon, her knee was showing on the surface, and for more leverage, she had to kneel
with her other knee on the top of the quicksand; counting on the initial resistance to keep that leg from
going under. Now she was close to victory, as she stood up, both feet submerged above the ankles, her
legs an interesting study in contrast... one smooth and clean as only a young woman's can be, the other
hidden almost shapeless by the thick, drying mud. But now victory was literally snatched from her
grasp as the leafy end of the sapling, finally overstressed, slipped from her fingers, throwing her
backwards in surprise. She windmilled wildly, finally catching herself with one hand, which sank
readily into the moist sand to almost her elbow. She pulled on her arm, struggling to regain her
balance, and now stood straight once more, gazing past her muddy arm down to where her knees were
disappearing from her view. Not quite believing that she had gotten herself into this mess, she pushed
down experimentally with first one foot, and then the other, trying to feel some kind of hard surface
beneath her feet. But all she could feel was the slow current of the wet sand around her feet and
legs...a current that could now be felt on her inner thighs because of her movements.

She panicked, rocking from side to side trying to free even just one of her legs, hands trust
beneath the mud as she clutched and pulled at her vanishing leg. The mud tasted the bottom of her
jeans, and apparently liked what it got, because it gulped her swiftly downward as she struggled.
Temporarily exhausted from her struggle, she paused....one dark brown arm floating on top of the bog,
the other submerged to near the elbow, her hips and navel long gone beneath the surface. Her breasts
heaved as she tried to catch her breath. The surface of the quicksand quivered slightly with each deep
breath as the bare part of her breasts beneath the shirt touched the moist sand and then leapt free. She
held still, hating the normal sounds of the creek and the birds. After all, they ought to at least be
paying attention to her plight.

Slowly, she settled deeper into the muck, her breasts now freely floating. The moisture from
the sand was wicked up through the cloth of her shirt, proving that she would have won any wet t-shirt
contest if she could only survive this one. She tried pushing it away with her free hand, but it only
made her breasts be covered faster by the rebounding waves of the goo. She watched helplessly as the
mud covered her nipples, and crept up her cleavage. Now she paused in her downward journey, only
her shoulders showing above the quicksand.

She desperately she continued her struggle mentally, trying to come up with some idea of how
to break free from her trap. Then she remembered the root that her hat had landed on....if there was
one, perhaps there were others feeding the surrounding trees. Carefully, she reached out and felt
beneath the surface for the tickle of a root on her hand. Even this slight movement caused her to sink
more, and she was about to give up in despair, her shoulders barely showing; when she felt it...the
lifesaving touch of a submerged tree root. Grasping it carefully with both hands entwined around the
root, she began to pull herself free from the bog's embrace. Soon, her chest and waist were clear, and
she was able to reach a bush. Finally, she stood shakily on firm ground, looking like some primordial
Eve. From the neck down, she was covered with a coating of thick brown mud; the only part of her
free of the stuff was her face and the hair on the crown of her head, and even that was splattered.

She plucked the precious hat from the bush, and staggered back to her tree, where she could
wash her new covering off, in the creek. But before she could clean herself, she had one more surprise
waiting. The bell on the pole clanged loudly, and the tip bent dangerously as something big tried to
get away with the bait. Valiantly, she worked, playing her line; obviously she had hooked a big one!
Finally, she stood proudly with her prize and laughed uproariously. She had caught the biggest, oldest
fish in the creek.....her twin....a mudcat.

[SinkThatDamsel]

Haha! Wow, that's it! Brings back memories — I can imagine the room I was in when I first read it.

Thanks so much! Is it your story?

[Viridian]

Haha! Wow, that's it! Brings back memories — I can imagine the room I was in when I first read it.

Thanks so much! Is it your story?

No, it predates me significantly.