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It was warm inside the tent, and judging by the brightness, I had been sleeping all morning. It had been an exhausting night full of deep and meaningful talk, so I wasn’t surprised that we had slept in. Or at least, I slept in. There was no sign of Cindy. Normally I wouldn’t worry so much, but being in the middle of the forest, she could’ve gotten lost. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, and realised that I was stark naked. I was definitely sure I had my clothes on last night. The packs weren’t in the tent. Cindy must’ve moved them. I sighed.
“Cindy!” I yelled out. “Are you out there?”
There was no response, but I heard a faint giggle. She never got very far when pulling off these pranks. I opened the tent and poked my head outside. Cindy was sitting on a log with the packs by her feet, chewing on a granola bar.
“Morning Emma!” she replied cheerfully. “Or afternoon? It’s hard to tell. It’s so lovely out here. You should join me!”
“Very funny, Cindy,” I replied unenthusiastically. “Do you mind giving me my clothes back?”
“Come out here and get them.”
I didn’t entertain her with a response. I glared at her. It took about a minute this time before she gave in. Her eyes dropped to the ground. “Sorry.” She handed the bags to me and I retreated back into the tent to get dressed.
It’s hard to be angry at Cindy. It wasn’t because we were best friends. I often get frustrated at her childish pranks too. But I was the only one who knew about her condition. I was close to her family. At least, her mother trusted me with everything. She had run away from Cindy’s father, who was an abusive man. The story becomes fairly typical – Cindy’s mother worked two jobs to make ends meet and to pay for Cindy’s education, leaving Cindy to grow up mostly by herself. She was a hard worker, kept her head in the books as much as she could to do her mother proud. Cindy had the bookworm look – neat shoulder-length hair; liked to wear sweaters and had thick-rimmed glasses that made her look cute, though not “sexy” enough to draw the wrong kind of attention.
That…was kind of the problem. After her abuse at the hands of her father, Cindy developed serious mental health issues. I had suspected something wasn’t quite right for a long time based on Cindy’s erratic behaviour patterns, and when her mother told me that Cindy had been identified as having borderline personality disorder, I felt the weight as much as she did. Her mother felt guilty over Cindy’s upbringing and asked me, as a personal favour, to look after Cindy and do what she couldn’t do as a mother.
It was rough at first for everyone. Cindy was naturally a quiet, gentle girl who just wanted to finish school and go to college. However, she became more wildly emotional as she went through her school years, which had serious repercussions on her results. At first I assumed that these outbursts were due to her BPD, but after several counselling sessions, it was clear that after years of neglect and loneliness, combined with her unstable mental health, she had developed hypersexuality. It was an on-and-off thing. Most of the time she was plain normal Cindy, but every now and then she would become obsessed with sex. She dressed provocatively, flirted with guys and girls, and become fixated on anything that turned her on.
My role changed once I learned of this. Rather than just being her best friend, I was also her guardian. I kept her out of trouble – the fact that she never had a sexual relationship in school was a testament to my hard work at keeping her focused on her studies. I also made an effort to hide her hypersexuality from her mother. Cindy’s behaviour wasn’t her fault, but I knew that her mother would think she was a slut, and for Cindy’s sake I kept it quiet. Through counselling and therapy sessions, Cindy and I worked out a plan to manage her symptoms. I became her confidante, allowing her to talk through her obsessions and fantasies. When we went to college, we shared a house together, where I could keep an eye on her and made sure she was taking her medication. As much as I’m loathe to admit this, at times I became her “fuck buddy”. I’m not a lesbian, and I’m not sexually attracted to my best friend, but there were times when her hypersexuality was so intense that she needed relief. It felt strange at first, but I wanted to do the best for Cindy rather than have her regret doing something with a stranger. It was fun too – uniquely, Cindy was the perfect person to experiment with sexual fantasies, and we played it off as a fun, best-friend gag than a sexual relationship, and we both understood that there were no strings attached. I knew Cindy appreciated everything deep down.
One thing we did every year that helped her condition was to go camping. Her symptoms – and her Ataşehir Escort hypersexuality – flared up when she became stressed, which was a common occurrence when we were juggling college and work. In summer we’d drive to a remote national park and spend a few days away from everything. I enjoyed de-stressing as much as Cindy did, and Cindy was able to let loose without anyone judging her. Cindy stripping me in my sleep and stealing my clothes was actually an improvement over previous years. Last year she flashed every truck for a mile, and masturbated in the car while talking about lesbian fantasies with her teachers. It was a positive sign that she had made it this far, and we were convinced that she was on the way to recovery.
After lunch, we decided to go for a hike. One of the trails led to the park’s centrepiece, Lake Climax. We packed some water and snacks into our packs and trekked off. It was the perfect day for a walk in the woods. The temperature was comfortable, the wind was cool, and we had plenty of alone-time to talk about the things on our minds. Given Cindy’s condition, it didn’t take long for the conversation to become tainted with sex.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we did the whole hike topless?”
I groaned. I bet that once we reached the lake, she would have an urge to go skinny dipping. Not that she needed to take much off. All she had on were her shoes, a short skirt and a sleeveless top tied below her breasts. She was in her “sexy” persona when she packed and didn’t really think about the consequences. Granted, I was also sans underwear – I had been so stressed with planning the trip and making sure Cindy was okay that I had just plain forgotten.
Honestly though, this time it didn’t feel so bad. I had been so occupied with work, and having broken up with my boyfriend months ago, I was feeling more than a little tense. Being able to go commando with Cindy was actually quite liberating for me, and while I wasn’t going to admit it to Cindy, it was a bit of a turn-on. What if something happened to us? If I sprained my ankle, I bet Cindy wouldn’t hesitate to rip her shirt into bandages, or start taking advantage of me. I shivered at the thought. It was a guilty pleasure, and I was surprised that it even crossed my mind.
I snapped out my daydream. Something felt strange. I couldn’t see Cindy anywhere. I wasn’t even sure where I was. It was like I had been on autopilot and walked in straight line. It appeared that I had been attempting to cross a dry streambed and stepped into a wet patch. I had crossed more than halfway and was close to the far bank when my feet became stuck in this yellowish, sandy mud. And “stuck” wasn’t an overstatement. I was up to my knees and there was an unnatural suction around my calves. A few experimental tugs caused the sand to ooze around my legs. I noticed the sand moved gently, as if it was pulsing. Cracks began to appear in the surface, which was starting to turn into a wet-cement consistency. Then, without warning, I no longer felt anything solid under my feet. I plunged down to my thighs. The sand absorbed my sudden drop, rebounding and sending ripple across the formerly dry creek bed. It was only now that I realised that it wasn’t as dry as it looked, and several small puddles were forming.
I didn’t have time to dwell on that. With the sand liquefying beneath me, I was continuing to sink. I shifted my weight onto my left side to work my right leg out, but that only made my left leg sink deeper. I shifted to the right, which also sank my leg deeper. I repeated this several times. I’m not sure why. It felt natural to struggle, as if moving back and forward would stop me from sinking, like it was climbing onto something that felt slightly more solid. All I was doing was loosening up the sand further and making the trap that much more inescapable. I slurped hungrily as it crept up my thighs. The sensation sent a shiver through my body. It was cool and inviting, and didn’t feel all that bad. Playful, even. It gave way whenever I wanted it to stay still, and it resisted when I thought I would plunge down. I felt trapped and helpless, watching the sand swallow me, its victim.
Somewhere, I could hear Cindy’s voice, but it felt like a distant dream. I felt no urge to call out to her. Just looking at the sand getting closer to my crotch, seeping through my shorts. I felt giddy. Excited.
“Hey, Emma, I saw a sign back there saying that there’s quicksand – OH MY GOD, EMMA!”
I turned my head back to see Cindy standing on the bank. She was shouting something at me, standing back tentatively from the edge. It took me a while to register what was coming out of her mouth. Quicksand? I looked back down. The quicksand undulated around my hips. I kept on going down. My struggling Acıbadem Escort had turned the creek bed into a deadly trap that extended further than my arms could reach. Everything felt slow. Even my thoughts were dulled. Finally, I summoned the energy to call out for help.
But when I turned around, Cindy’s hands weren’t reaching out for me. One was under her shirt, caressing her boob. The other was between her legs, ferociously stroking her pussy. I nearly choked at the sight. Maybe it was the way I was positioned with my wide butt wiggling at her, or my breasts swaying deliciously over the sand, or the wet spot that her developed in my shorts, or maybe it was my subconscious moaning. Whatever it was, it hit Cindy’s trigger.
“Cindy! Cindy!” I called out. “Snap out of it! Help me!”
She didn’t hear me. She couldn’t see me either. Her eyes were closed as she pleasured herself, succumbing to her sexual drive. I had seen it many times before. It wasn’t wholly abnormal. For a normal person, it might just be that slight twang of arousal from seeing something provocative, but for Cindy, it created an unstoppable reaction. There were times when it would hit her when we were going out clubbing, and she’d be in the back seat fingering herself while I drove. There were times, in the middle of the night, when I would submit myself to being her plaything to calm her down. I put up with these incidents because Cindy couldn’t control herself, and it wasn’t her fault. Now, however, I needed her to keep a level head, and she couldn’t do that.
I jolted as the sand made contact with my crotch. Reminded of my predicament, I resumed struggling, but my movements became slow, even sensual. The sand felt alive, licking my wet pussy. Even I couldn’t hold back the urges, not with Cindy moaning loudly in the background. It was like we fed off each other. She was turned on seeing me trapped and struggling in quicksand, and the same helplessness that we were both suffering was turning me on. I don’t know who orgasmed first, but by the time we recovered, I was nearly up to my tits. Cindy was gasping for air. And she kept on going. This was unusual even for Cindy. Perhaps it was the fact that my shirt had wicked up so much sweat and moisture that I was literally doing a wet t-shirt gig. It was too much for Cindy. Her fingers went in and out of her swollen pussy, pushing herself onto the brink of another orgasm as I sank deeper into the quicksand.
I managed a glance at her eyes, and my heart nearly stopped. It wasn’t that I was afraid of my situation. Her eyes told another story. I wasn’t the only one who was struggling. Beneath her flushed face and soft moans, her eyes betrayed a feeling of panic. I realised that Cindy was fighting as much as I was. She knew I could die, yet she couldn’t control her body. She could only watch me sink. The sand shifted and swallowed my breasts in one gulp. I cried out. Then, I felt myself begin to float. Precariously – I was bobbing between my chest and my shoulders. If I held still, I could let the quicksand solidify, holding my weight a bit better. It was a very delicate balance, and I felt that I would go under at any moment.
Cindy looked like she had run a marathon. She was covered in sweat and barely able to breathe. How many orgasms did she have? Two? Three? Her drive seemed to have stopped, for now. Seeing how deep I was, Cindy moved towards me, but I shouted at her to stay back.
“I’ll…I’ll find help,” she stammered.
“No, Cindy, I need you. I can’t float much longer.” I wasn’t lying. The quicksand was up to my shoulders now, and I wasn’t bobbing back up anymore.
Cindy took off her pack and tossed it aside next to where I had thrown mine earlier. She carefully edged towards the bank. Despite her care, the bank crumbled and her feet slipped into the mud.
She stopped herself, but her eyes had a familiar glaze. “Oooh…that feels quite good.” She wriggled her toes and made swirls in the liquefying sand with her finger, watching her patterns disappear. “I wonder what it would be like…”
I was getting desperate. Somehow, I got through to her this time. She blinked and pulled herself back out. Keeping well back, she was too far to reach me. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. She didn’t know what to do.
“Listen,” I said. “I need you to be strong. You can get me out, but you need to listen to what I say, all right?” She nodded. “Okay. You need to get a little closer. It’s not as deep where you are.”
“Step into the quicksand?” Cindy looked shaky. “But, even if it’s not deep, I still can’t reach you.”
“You need to make a rope. Use…use your shirt. Take it off and throw it to me.”
I hadn’t really İstanbul Escort thought through what I was asking. Normally this would have been off-limits – asking Cindy to take her clothes off was an invitation for another hypersexual fit. But I was running out of time. I needed Cindy to do it. I could barely keep my hands above the quicksand and I could feel it destabilising despite my best efforts to remain still. “Cindy, please…”
What she did next was perhaps the strongest thing she had ever done. Slowly, she untied her shirt and took it off. Her breasts, swollen from her uncontrolled arousal and with the hardest nipples I had ever seen, swung free. Even the slightest hint that someone could be looking at her tits was a trigger. But she put on a brave face. With her shirt in her hand, she edged towards the quivering sand. I could only offer a couple of words of encouragement, as the sand was up to my neck and even talking felt like it made me sink deeper. She only managed three steps before the sand no longer held her weight. She sank into the soft sand, settling to her upper thighs as the ripple caused me to sink to my chin.
My eyes widened. It was not the sound I wanted to hear. That was Cindy’s unique sign that she had triggered a sexual thought, and I suddenly saw why. Already sensitive and stimulated, she was being overloaded by the gritty feel of the semi-liquid sand. Her breathing became heavier and her movements slowed down and she began to grasp that she was sinking in quicksand. The sand reached under her skirt. I then remembered that she was going commando, and her over-stimulated pussy was inches from the shimmering sand.
Too late. She screamed uncontrollably when the sand made contact. I became worried. Not just for me. Cindy was exhausted from her sexual struggles, and going over the edge one more time may bring her to the point of no return. If she lost control now, in the middle of the quicksand, she would be pulled under as well. No, I couldn’t allow her to do that.
“Cindy, go back!” I cried out. “It’s no good! Get yourself out! Listen to me!”
If she said something in return, I couldn’t hear it. The sand closed over my mouth and ears. This was it. I reached out to Cindy one last time before my head went under. Those moments felt like forever. I could only hope that Cindy was crawling out of the quicksand. I apologised in my mind for not being strong enough to look after her, to take care of her illness, to help her overcome it. And I forgave her for being unable to save me. It wasn’t her fault.
Something brushed against my fingers. With the reflexes of a viper, I snapped at it. It was a lifeline. My other hand grabbed onto it without a thought. My body clawed at this one last chance, even if I had given up. I must’ve only moved a few inches, but every gain was a mile to me. Cindy’s hands grabbed my wrists, and my head emerged. My lungs filled with fresh air. I leaned over Cindy’s shoulders. Topless and chest-deep in the quicksand, Cindy bore my weight without saying anything. Though we were standing on solid ground, it was a slow crawl out of the quicksand. It may have taken half an hour. We move patiently and with a purpose. No words were exchanged.
When we go out, we lay on the solid bank, covered in mud and sand. Cindy had lost her shirt and my shorts had been pulled under, rendering both of us half-naked. We must’ve laid there for another half an hour before either of us spoke. Still shaken by the submergence, I could only mutter a “Thank you.”
I had a burning question to ask, but Cindy cut me off. “I just…stopped thinking about it,” she said. “The whole sex thing. I don’t know what happened. It was like…for the past five years, it felt like I was living this massive sexual fantasy, where I could do whatever I want and there would be no consequences; that I could live the next day without worrying what happened the previous. It was when you reached out to me, that’s when I realised…I needed to take control. Your life depended on it.”
Cindy stopped for a few minutes, struggling to find words. “It felt…I feel fine. I mean, the sand was nice and all, but like, I don’t feel like it was a huge turn-on. Not even being topless and getting groped by you…”
“Hey, I didn’t meant that,” I snapped. “We were climbing out of quicksand!”
Cindy whistled. “Sure, I could believe some of that.” Her tone changed. “But seriously, I should thank you too. For everything you’ve done for me.”
“So…you’re better now?”
Cindy shrugged. “We’ll have to see. How about we go back to our tent now? I promise I won’t strip you this time.”
We picked up our bags. We were a sorry sight. Half-naked, caked in wet sand. Was Cindy really better? Suddenly, I had an idea. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Say, why don’t we go on without original plan and skinny dip at the lake? We could definitely wash ourselves off.”
Cindy looked at me, not with glazed eyes, but with a naughty glimmer and a cheeky grin. “Sure, why not?”
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