The Kid: A Semi-Autobiographical, Somewhat Tongue-in-Cheek Journey of Self-Discovery
(Or, What Happens When I Write a Quicksand Story and Cast Myself as the Hero)
by Jason Sample
August 2017-November 2018
Shortly after I joined this forum in the summer of 2017 I posted a article entitled, "What the 'damsel in distress' theme means to me." In that post I discussed the history of the motif of a helpless damsel being threatened by a monster representing a sexual menace, interpreted it in terms of the image of a woman sinking to her doom in quicksand, and then spoke of my own experience of my quicksand fetish as an ongoing contest between the part of myself that wants to treat women with honor and respect in real life and the "monster" inside me that wants to possess and control them for my own pleasure in my fantasies, concluding with reflections on the role that video producers on this forum play in helping me to maintain a healthy balance between these two "opposing" forces in my life. If anyone would like to read my original post, it's at viewtopic.php?f=10&t=16783&p=113334#p113283.
While writing that article I began imagining a "what if" scenario in which my fetish fantasy of a damsel in distress trapped and sinking in quicksand suddenly becomes a reality, specifically, a reality in terms of my own real life as a married, middle-aged father who has lived more than half a century fully aware of the "monster" lurking in my psyche and more than forty years knowing what it wants. I asked myself, What if, at the moment when my fetish fantasy becomes a reality, my 'monster' were to become just as real as well, taking on human form and actively challenging and mocking my attempts to rescue the helpless damsel while reveling in the anticipation of finally getting what it has always wanted for real? What would happen? Well, you know what would happen: I would write a story about it.
More than fourteen months later, the result is "The Kid," the full title of which above should be self-explanatory. When I began writing it I had no idea that it would eventually grow into an 82-page Word document, and so I have broken it up into nine chapters of varying lengths, the first of which appears below; I plan to post subsequent chapters twice a week over the next month or so until it is complete. I realize that this story will not appeal to everyone, especially to those who prefer quicksand stories that get right to the point; I recently read a post here by a veteran story writer who said that when writing a quicksand fetish story, one should write primarily for oneself and not for what others might like, and that is definitely what I have done here. However, if you like character development, plot twists, unexpected revelations, and occasional self-referential humor in your quicksand stories, then you may like this story too.
One disclaimer: As the full title above indicates, this story is "semi-autobiographical"; in the course of it I touch on certain aspects of my quicksand fetish, positive and negative, that pertain solely to myself. I do not presume or pretend to speak to or about others' experiences of their own quicksand fetishes, nor about quicksand fetishism in general. Your mileage may vary.
And now, on with the story...
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Maybe this wasn’t the best path to take down the mountain after all…
Jason frowned as he looked down the trail before him. The Appalachian Park Services notice at the summit had warned that the route would be difficult, but this was ridiculous. Half an hour of brisk, downhill walking on an easily navigable footpath hadn’t prepared him for the sight of what lay before him now, blocking his way to the river where the mountain path bottomed out before heading up toward the parking lot where he had begun his circuitous outing earlier that morning. Fallen tree trunks, many with large branches still attached, sprawled across the pathway, interspersed with rather substantial rocks and boulders mixed in, none of which he remembered from the last time that he had hiked this trail several years previously.
Jason turned and looked back up the path that he had been descending. His whole reason for hiking the mountain trail that day had been to enjoy the expansive view of the surrounding peaks, ridges, and valleys from the summit and to get some much-needed exercise to work off a few of the two hundred fifteen pounds that he carried on his six-foot frame, and even though retracing his steps back up the mountain to hike down the alternate route that the notice had suggested would afford him even more exercise beyond what his Fitbit had already recorded, he really didn’t want to invest the additional time that it would take out of his afternoon. He had a few computers waiting at his home-office that he needed to finish working on for sometimes impatient customers, along with some household chores that he wanted to complete before his wife returned home in a couple of days from her out-of-town conference so that their house would be fresh and clean for her upon her arrival.
He sighed as he turned back and continued down the trail toward the first tree that lay across his path. The last time that Jason had made this descent his whole family, his wife and their three sons and two daughters, had accompanied him, though of course they had all been many years younger then. While on the one hand he was glad that he would only have to look out for himself as he navigated his way over and around the fallen rocks and trees without worrying about his wife and their young children possibly getting hurt while doing so, on the other he recognized that his now adult children, if present, would probably make their way around the unexpected obstacles much more agilely than their middle-aged father would.
Still, he thought as he grasped a branch and quickly clambered onto and over the first of the fallen trunks before hopping down on the other side and proceeding to make his way toward a rather formidable boulder that was blocking most of the path, the inconvenience of the trees and rocks couldn’t take away from the refreshing time that he had enjoyed thus far on his late-summer trek. The temperature was in the upper seventies at this elevation, and even the steady breeze at the mountaintop hadn’t been uncomfortably cool. There Jason had used his phone to take scores of pictures and some video as well of the peaks and ridges that seemed to stretch out forever in all directions, creating multiple panoramic photo sets from which he could select the best images to send off to his wife at her conference and their adult kids, all of whom were now out of the house and living out of town. He would have sent the photos out from the summit itself, but he had discovered that he didn’t have any cell coverage there. For that matter, his phone seemed to have used quite a bit of battery power during his hike and was now at a rather low charge, and he figured that that was probably due to its having used more power than usual to try to find a signal in this remote location.
Jason felt himself working up a sweat under the mid-afternoon sun as he carefully climbed over and around the boulder while continuing to make his way downhill toward the river. At least he had dressed appropriately for the warm conditions that day; his blue cotton pullover shirt had effectively kept his body cool both on his way up and down the mountain, while his khaki shorts would stand up well to the rough surfaces of the trees and rocks over which he would now have to crawl and slide as he continued on his way. His size-thirteen Sketchers afforded him sure traction both on the loose dirt of the path and on the awkward angles of the obstructions before him, and his bifocal glasses aided his badly nearsighted eyes to stay focused on possible hand- and footholds as he prepared to maneuver over the next tree trunk, as well as affording him a sharp view of other large objects farther down the trail.
For the next several minutes he repeated this arduous process: climb over or under a fallen tree trunk, scramble over or around a boulder, walk on toward the next obstruction. He realized that he hadn’t seen anyone else on this downhill path, and it struck him as odd that the Park Services had merely put up a warning sign at the mountaintop instead of actually clearing the fallen objects out of the way; this failure probably had something to do with the state-wide budget shortfalls and layoffs that had been in the news off and on over the past couple of years, he reasoned as he continued making his way carefully around each of the natural hurdles that were blocking the trail. After having finally cleared the seventh and final tree and at least as many boulders he seemed to have overcome the worst of the fallen debris, and he paused to take stock of himself and his clothing before continuing down the trail. He had managed to avoid any cuts or scrapes to his hands, arms, and legs, and aside from a few scuff marks on his shoes and shorts he was none the worse for the wear after expending the effort to complete the impromptu obstacle course. His Fitbit would be happy.
Jason unclipped his nearly empty water bottle from his belt and took a few last swallows from it before turning and continuing down the trail toward the river, hoping that he wouldn’t encounter any more impediments on his way there and that the wide, open spot where the path bottomed out at the water’s edge also hadn’t become trashed with fallen trees and rocks. His family had enjoyed a nice picnic at the water’s edge the last time that they had come here, and the kids had relished splashing around in the shallows of the river to cool off after their long hike; it would be a shame, he thought, if this pretty spot were now ruined. After traipsing a few hundred feet along the twisting, foliage-lined pathway he felt a familiar vibration from his cell phone in his left front pants pocket. Had he suddenly come across an area of coverage that would allow him to send and receive texts and make calls? No, he observed as he examined the screen display: “2% power remaining. Battery critically low. Please charge soon.” He returned his phone to his pocket as he continued walking downhill. The low battery was an unfortunate inconvenience, he thought, but at worst it would merely prevent him from taking any more pictures or video till he reached his car, in which he had a twelve-volt plug-in power pack that he could use to recharge the phone during the trip home.
After about ten more minutes of hiking he noticed that the trail seemed to be leveling out, and he thought that he might have caught a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off the surface of the river through the trees. The months-long drought that had lasted all that summer meant that the water level would probably be relatively low and the current slow and lazy, perfect conditions to go canoeing down the river’s course, at least before one reached the rapids a few miles downstream, and Jason made a mental note to remember to ask his family if they wanted to schedule an outing on the water sometime before the weather turned too chilly.
After about another hundred feet Jason finally came to the open expanse where the trail bottomed out and met the river, and to his satisfaction he found that the area was clear of the kinds of rubble that had blocked the path above him, although he did notice a ragged tongue of wild plants and tall, leafy vegetation growing away from the riverbank to his right and protruding well into the open area before him, blocking his view of what lay between it and the water’s edge. That wasn’t here before, either, he thought as he examined its thick lushness. For such plant life to grow so densely this far away from the bank of the river, he thought, there must be a water source relatively near to it, perhaps right on the other side, and he imagined that he would find a small cove or sheltered lagoon behind the wall of greenery that now stood before him.
As he approached the vegetation that was partially obstructing his view of the river he thought that he heard an odd, quiet sound coming from the other side of it, and as he made his way toward the edge of the overgrowth he heard the sound again. “Ohhhhhh,” it came softly to his ears, and he quickly recognized it as a female voice… moaning? Was someone hurt?
“Ohhh-ohhhhhh, yesssss…” the woman’s voice came again after a few seconds, and Jason realized from its sensual lilt and tone that whatever the woman was feeling, it wasn’t pain. He imagined that he was about to stumble upon a pair of amorous lovers, perhaps out for an afternoon riverside picnic, partaking of an au naturel moment of stolen passion in the beauty and the seeming privacy of their surroundings. As Jason approached the point where the bank of greenery ended he wondered if he would be able to sneak past them without drawing their attention as he continued toward the river’s edge; he figured that it would be just as embarrassing for him as it would be for them if they were to see him watching them, to say nothing of the mood killer that his unexpected presence would prove to be in the midst of their romantic rendezvous. After a few more cautious steps he rounded the edge of the green wall, and despite his best intentions to the contrary he couldn’t help but to steal a glance in the direction from which the woman’s moans had come.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks; he couldn’t look away now even if he had wanted to. He supposed that the sight that greeted his eyes could be described as an amorous couple in the throes of passion… as long as one’s definition of a “couple” didn’t require that both parties be human. Jason found himself staring at the figure of a young woman, completely nude, standing about twenty feet or so away from him, her legs and thighs held thickly in the embrace of what she clearly considered to be her lover, a wide, flat expanse of deep brown mud between the tall vegetation and the water’s edge. She stood with her eyes closed, cupping and cradling her ample, mud-slathered breasts with her left hand and forearm, while her right hand was rather intimately and messily involved with a very private part of her anatomy that Jason felt that he had no business looking at without having been properly invited to do so. Yet he could not help but to do so. The young woman’s form swayed and trembled as she moaned in response to the touch of her slippery, muddy hands against the most sensitive parts of her body, while the surface of the ooze around her legs rippled and quaked to the rhythm of her movements, sucking seductively at her thighs as she pleasured herself in the mud.
Ordinarily Jason always made it a point to look at a woman’s face and not her figure upon meeting and greeting her so as to treat her with respect as a human being and not to ogle her as a sex object, but he also ordinarily did not encounter a nude young woman making passionate love to herself in a mud pit. His eyes remained locked upon her hands as they stroked and squeezed her muddy bosom and pubic area, her moans of sensual delight becoming more intense as waves of arousal grew and swelled under her knowing touch, her self-stimulation obviously about to send her over the edge of orgasmic ecstasy… when she chose that moment to open her eyes… and saw a stranger… watching her… as she masturbated in the mud.
Each gasped in unison with the other as Jason quickly turned his face away from her, more embarrassed for the young woman than he was for himself. “Oh, excuse me!” he said to her, covering his eyes with his right hand, “I didn’t mean to intrude…”
The young woman stood stock-still, a mortified expression on her face, the hands with which she had been pleasing herself now trying but failing to conceal the most private parts of her body and what she had just been doing in the mud. Her startled eyes communicated the panicked thoughts that were doubtless racing through her mind: What might the stranger think? What might he… do? After a stunned moment she instinctively tried to turn and flee, but the thigh-deep grip of her miry lover held her securely in its gummy grasp, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, and at the mercy of whatever sense of decency and respect that the stranger might possess. Fortunately for her, Jason possessed a strong sense of both.
“I’m… I’m so very sorry, Miss,” he said hesitantly, still covering his eyes. “I didn’t mean to stare… it’s just… um…” Jason fumbled for words of explanation, suspecting that anything that he might say would only add to the young woman’s dismay at having been discovered in such a compromising circumstance. “I’ll just… um…” he finally offered, “I’ll just… be on my way… um, Miss, and… um… I’ll leave you to your… um… your… private time,” he stammered, turning away from her and beginning to walk away as quickly as he could toward the place where the open area met the uphill trail for the last leg of his trek before he would reach his car at the parking area.
That’s something you don’t see every day, Jason thought as he continued hiking away from the unexpected sight of the young woman standing in the mud, certain that the she was still watching him intently from her sticky spot in the mudflat with the same chagrined look on her face, her hands still trying to cover herself, to see if he would actually do what he had said that he would do and keep moving up the trail away from her. And here I was thinking that I was about to interrupt an outdoor lovemaking session, he said to himself with an embarrassed chuckle even as he realized that, in a certain sense, he had. The young woman undoubtedly regarded the mud as an active participant in her self-pleasuring, turned on not only by the sensation of her muddy hands over her body but also by the mire’s grip on her legs as she stroked herself, and he found himself becoming aware of a growing fullness inside his shorts as he recalled the titillating image. Huh, he reflected with a snicker as he reached down to adjust his boxers through his pants, she must have quite the love life, and he found himself wondering how many lovers she had ever brought to what she clearly considered to be a secret location… at least until Jason had stumbled upon her.
As he reflected upon his unexpected encounter with the young woman in the mud, Jason became aware of another thought, another impetus, that had quietly started rumbling around in his subconscious, one with which he was all too familiar. Did you see what she was doing? it whispered to him incredulously as he concentrated on making his way up the trail. Yes, he had indeed seen what she was doing; he would have had to have been blind not to have seen it.
Come on, Jay-man, the itch persisted, you know what seeing her there in the mud like that reminded you of. Jason certainly did know what it reminded him of; dare he give voice to it and say it out loud? It reminded him of an idea, an image, an interest, that he had spent most of his life keeping hidden under the strictest self-discipline, one that he had never revealed to anyone, not even to those to whom he was closest, a deep fascination that he had long believed that no one else ever could or would understand… although, to be truthful, in just the last year or so he had reached a point in his life when he had begun to feel ready to let this fascination see the light of day, at least in the context of a community of likeminded individuals who shared the same kind of interest.
Okay, okay… you’re right, Jason quietly admitted to that most secret part of himself as he continued walking up the path to his car, that’s the closest I’ve ever come in real life to seeing a woman sinking in quicksand.
The reality behind this rather specific and unusual acknowledgement on Jason’s part was that he had a fetish for quicksand, which had originated innocently enough with depictions of the miry stuff that he had seen on television in Tarzan movies and reruns of Gilligan’s Island in the late sixties and early seventies when he had been a kid. From as early an age as four, Jason had always been aware of two specific things about himself: He liked girls in a way that he didn’t like boys and he was fascinated with the idea of quicksand, although at that tender age he’d had no idea why either would be so; he had figured that the latter especially was just one more weird thing about the skinny, awkward, nearsighted, unpopular kid whom he was growing into during his grade-school years. During trips to the library he would scan the card catalogues for any books about quicksand, taking care not to check out more than one at a time to avoid drawing unwanted attention to himself, and in perusing the massive encyclopedia sets that his parents had bought he would always be drawn to the “Q-R” volume, but not for the “R.” On Saturday afternoons when his dad was at work and his mom was occupied with household activities he would surreptitiously scan the handful of TV stations that the rooftop aerial could pick up to see if he could find a show with a quicksand scene in it, all the while sensing that there was something “dirty” about this interest but not knowing what or why, and on the rare occasions when his channel-surfing would be rewarded with a scene of a helpless woman sinking into a sucking bog it would leave him feeling odd stirrings that made no sense to him. Fast-forward to the age of twelve in the mid-seventies, when the first pangs of puberty started to leave their marks on his psyche, and Jason finally began to have an inkling of not only why he found girls so fascinating but also why he found the idea of girls sinking in quicksand so very fascinating.
But he had never told anyone about it, not even his best friends; he believed that they just wouldn’t understand something so strange and unusual. During his middle teenage years, after he had accidentally discovered masturbation, Jason would often keep to himself rather than going outside to play sports or engage in group activities with his friends and classmates, content to remain in the privacy of his bedroom while drawing pictures of shapely, long-haired girls and women, sometimes clothed, sometimes not, sinking in quicksand, only to have to carefully hide his artwork from his respectable, moderately religious middle-class parents and from the prying eyes of his younger sister. Girls sinking in quicksand, girls entrapped in a serpent’s coils and sinking in quicksand, girls enmeshed in sticky plant traps and sinking in quicksand, girls ensnared in giant spider webs and sinking in quicksand… he drew many such scenes, often more than once, sometimes in sequence to depict a story of a pretty girl slowly sinking to her doom, the artistic activity always producing a strong sense of arousal to which he would eventually attend. After some months of practice Jason had found that he had become quite adept at rendering a woman’s face realistically and complimentarily in his drawings, and he had become especially pleased with his facility at depicting her hands as she would claw at the mire or reach toward a dangling vine that was just beyond her grasp, tears flowing copiously from her large, despairing eyes as she reached out in a vain attempt to escape her miry fate. Despite the growing friction that was developing within his psyche between his religious upbringing and this “dirty” interest, the damsel in distress sinking to her doom in quicksand had become his go-to turn on.
Beyond this rather consistent theme to his fetish artwork, there was another aspect of his quicksand fascination that went beyond his drawings of girls and women sinking to their doom, one that he would secretly indulge as he lay in bed well after midnight when he should have been asleep. Throughout his childhood and grade-school years he had always been the embodiment of the ninety-pound weakling, skinny, bookish, not athletic, always the target of bullies and never popular with the girls with whom he attended school. But now in his post-pubescent, late-night quicksand fantasies, the pitiful wimp whom he feared that he would always remain would transform into a dashing, fearless hero, swooping in at the last minute to rescue a despairing damsel from a horrible fate in the choking depths of a sucking mire, after which she in her relief and passionate gratitude would offer herself freely to him, willingly and joyfully. Ahh, youth.
Of course, this fascination with girls sinking in quicksand eventually led Jason to imagine what it would be like to experience quicksand for himself. He would picture himself stepping naked into a deep mud pit and beginning to sink into the yielding muck, his legs and thighs slowly descending as the clinging depths engulfed him until he was waist deep in the quicksand, at which point he would begin moving his body back and forth, the sticky ooze stroking and sucking at the hardness at the base of his pelvis as he would sink deeper and deeper into the mire’s embrace, his movements causing him to descend past his stomach to his chest, to his shoulders and then to his neck, until finally only his upturned face remained above the surface, where he would hover while moving his hips forward and back until at last he would explode in ecstasy just as he disappeared beneath the surface, becoming forever one with the mud. At least, that’s how he would envision it; as far as he knew there was no actual quicksand to be found anywhere near his hometown where he was growing up, and he could imagine no way that he could possibly get away with such an indulgence even if he had had the means and the opportunity to try it.
Despite the rather morbid nature of his fetish, however, Jason had no desire to go under and actually die in quicksand any more than he had a desire to see a woman sink to her doom for real in the stuff; his fetish was solely for the fantasy of it, not for it to happen to anyone in real life, and he was certain that if he were ever to encounter anyone trapped and sinking in quicksand, he would immediately render aid without giving a thought to his personal fascination with it or to the arousal that it generated within himself.
But as he grew into a “respectable” young man in his own right and his religious background began to exercise a more prominent role in his life, Jason found that his lifelong fascination with quicksand was coming more and more into conflict with his budding adult image of himself and his personal beliefs. As much as he wanted to treat women with the honor and respect that he knew that they deserved, he recognized that this secret part of himself, this “monster” in his brain, wanted to possess and control them for his own pleasure, and he set his mind to overcoming and destroying this “lust of the flesh,” as his religious beliefs called it… but a funny thing happened on his way to what he imagined would be “victory.” He discovered that whenever he would try to deny or suppress his quicksand fetish it seemed to take on a life of its own, constantly reminding him of its presence and mocking his attempts to ignore it. The more that he would try not to imagine an attractive woman whom he knew, even a “spiritual” woman from his church, sinking helplessly in quicksand, the more he would imagine her sinking helplessly in quicksand. Healthy, balanced, “grown-up” individuals just didn’t think this way, he genuinely believed and his religious tradition insisted, and as time passed and he continued to mature outwardly he resolved with greater and deeper conviction to put away such childish things, pretending to himself that his deep interest in quicksand didn’t really exist, or that if it did, it didn’t really matter, and his young adulthood became an ongoing battle to grow beyond such an immature, “dirty” attraction.
Jason was about to launch into a seventh boring paragraph of autobiographical reflection on the history of his quicksand fetish when his train of thought suddenly derailed thanks to an unexpected sound from behind him. “Ooooohhhhh, yesssss…” the soft, sensual voice of the young woman in the mudflat next to the river drifted up the trail to his ears, and Jason turned around and stared down the path in amazement. He had hiked at least a couple hundred yards uphill after hurriedly leaving her presence out of embarrassment and was now very near to the parking lot at the top of the path, yet he had heard her voice almost as clearly as he had earlier when he had been standing right in front of her. “Ohhhhh-oooooh…” her voice came up from the river again, and as he examined his surroundings he became aware of a light breeze that had been following him up the trail as he walked. By some perfect combination of topography, temperature, relative humidity, and wind speed and direction, it seemed that the hiking trail coming up from the river had become a kind of aural funnel, channeling sounds from the open area at its base up the footpath, and now that the young woman, evidently satisfied that she was once again alone, had returned to her private self-pleasuring in the mud, the moving air was directing her passionate moans from the mudflat straight to Jason’s eardrums.
That’s something you don’t hear every day, either, Jason said to himself as he stood quietly on the path, wondering how long the peculiar atmospheric conditions that were allowing him to discern her voice from this distance would hold. Maybe I should go back and tell her that her voice is carrying… he wondered momentarily before dismissing the idea, realizing that his doing so would only cause more embarrassment for both of them and perhaps suggest to her that he was some sort of voyeuristic pervert… if she didn’t already wonder that after their first awkward encounter. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned and once more continued up the trail toward the parking area, listening to hear her voice again from the mudflat next to the river if he still could. If I’m still listening to hear her, he chuckled to himself as he made his way uphill, I guess that does make me a voyeuristic pervert. Sure enough, additional moans soon wafted toward his ears as he walked, sounding more insistent now, and Jason recognized from their tone and intensity that the young woman was obviously once again approaching the peak of her arousal. “Oooooohh… yesss!” she cried in a much louder voice now, so much so that Jason imagined that he might have been able to hear her from this distance regardless of the wind or the weather.
As the trail leveled off before him at its top at the shaded parking area, Jason observed that, despite the warm, sunny conditions present that day, his car was the only one waiting in the gravel lot. Why isn’t anyone else here today? he wondered as he approached his vehicle, speculating that perhaps, of all the park’s visitors, he was the only one who hadn’t already known that his family’s favorite old hiking trail down the mountain was now effectively impassible. Impassible for everyone except a clueless doofus too lazy to hike back up the mountain and take the other path down, he snickered self-deprecatingly as he pulled his key fob from his right pants pocket and pressed the “unlock” button twice. The car’s door locks shot up as the parking and tail lights flashed, and Jason reached down with his left hand to lift the tail gate.
He unclipped his empty water bottle from his belt and tossed it into the rear of the vehicle, reaching in to retrieve a full bottle to slake his thirst after his long hike. After downing nearly half the bottle in a repeated series of swallows, he raised his left wrist before him and pressed the buttons of his Fitbit to see how he had done with his day’s exercise. Hmm… seven miles and sixteen thousand steps… not bad, he reflected, hoping that the bathroom scales at home would confirm the efficacy of his activity. He pulled his phone from his pocket to check its charge; unlike the Fitbit, the phone didn’t respond to his pressing any of its buttons, which told him all that he needed to know about its battery level. He returned his phone to his pocket and leaned into the back of the car to rearrange some objects that had toppled over and rolled around during his drive to the mountain park earlier that day, and as he did so the voice of the young woman in the mud down near the river came to him once again, sounding even more urgent than before. “Ohhhh, yes!” her voice cried out again in the distance, “Ohhhh, fucking yes!”
It’s probably just as well that no one else is up here, Jason thought as he stepped back out from the rear of his car and straightened up again, rolling his eyes and smiling self-consciously at being privy to the girl’s intimate moments of pleasure even from so far away. As he recalled the indelible image of the young woman stroking herself in the thigh-deep mud it occurred to him that he didn’t have the slightest idea what she looked like; he had been so focused on her hands and where they had been on her body when saw her earlier that he had utterly failed to look at her face before she saw him and he had turned away and covered his eyes, with the result that he had no recollection of the color of her hair or her eyes, nor of the appearance of her features. All that he could remember of her were her muddy hands over her breasts and her pubic area as she pleasured herself in the thigh-deep mud that held and caressed her legs in its thick embrace, and he realized that in his mind she was essentially a faceless sex object. It’s probably for the best, Jason thought; it would embarrass the hell out of us both if I were ever to meet and recognize her in public. As he continued reflecting upon the sensual form of the young woman in the mud, her insistent voice once again floated up from the river through the trees, her moment of climax clearly at hand.
“Ohhhh, yes!” she cried in orgasmic exultation as the breeze coming up the trail seem to surge with her vocal ejaculations. “Yes! Yes!” her voice came to him again as she came with fervent abandon. “Oh, god, yes! Ohhh! Ohhh!... Oh...”
Jason, voyeuristic pervert that he plainly was, had of course stood listening to the young woman as she had at last gone over the edge of rapturous bliss, his own shorts becoming tighter in front from the hardness that was quickly expanding inside them, but even as he imagined her naked body trembling in breathless release he realized that there had been something odd about her final “oh.” It hadn’t exhibited the same euphoric tone or timbre as her previous cries of passion had, he thought; in fact, it had sounded almost like a gasp of… bewilderment?
“Oh… oh…” Jason turned around toward the trailhead of the path to the river as the young woman’s voice drifted toward him again, its tone no longer that of someone in the throes of ecstasy but rather one of… worry?
“Oh, no… oh, god, no…” her voice came again, the apparent concern that had marked it a moment before now yielding to dread and dismay, and Jason wondered if perhaps she needed assistance of some kind.
“Oh, god!” her voice rose urgently up the path from the river, her dismay now giving way to outright, full-throated terror. “Oh, god, please! Help me! I’m in quicksand!”
Jason’s jaw dropped open as his eyebrows arched into his forehead at her unexpected cry. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed in wide-eyed astonishment. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?”
“You sure did!” a male voice suddenly spoke up from behind him. “A desperate damsel crying out in the depths of her distress, ‘Help me! I’m in quicksand!’” It was a familiar voice... too familiar.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
To be continued in Part 2: “Strange Visitor.”
The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
- JSample
- Posts: 499
- Joined: Thu Jul 06, 2017 3:27 pm
- Location: Virginia
The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Jason Sample
- JSample
- Posts: 499
- Joined: Thu Jul 06, 2017 3:27 pm
- Location: Virginia
Re: The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Blightmere wrote:Very cool! can't wait for part 2!~
Planning to post it on Monday!

Jason Sample
- quagmire_uk
- Posts: 1262
- Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 5:04 am
Re: The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Very nice work, pretty damn great!
-
- Posts: 159
- Joined: Tue Jul 07, 2009 9:06 pm
Re: The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Very interesting work, thank you for sharing. Posting personal stuff is always hard, so please know your efforts are appreciated. I'm enjoying this, particularly your thoughts and commentary. Looking forward to the next part.
- JSample
- Posts: 499
- Joined: Thu Jul 06, 2017 3:27 pm
- Location: Virginia
Re: The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
quagmire_uk wrote:Very nice work, pretty damn great!
Thank you!
Jason Sample
- JSample
- Posts: 499
- Joined: Thu Jul 06, 2017 3:27 pm
- Location: Virginia
Re: The Kid (Part 1): Boy Meets Girl
Rusty Shackleford wrote:Very interesting work, thank you for sharing. Posting personal stuff is always hard, so please know your efforts are appreciated. I'm enjoying this, particularly your thoughts and commentary. Looking forward to the next part.
Thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying it. This may seem strange, but I find that including personal yet non-identifiable information about my past and present in a story such as this helps me to work through certain issues regarding my quicksand fetish that I've only recently begun to address in my life.
Jason Sample
- JSample
- Posts: 499
- Joined: Thu Jul 06, 2017 3:27 pm
- Location: Virginia
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests