When Brandon and Anthony reached the mountains of loose soil at the edge of the drop off, Anthony handed Brandon the tripod and readied his own selfie-stick. “Here. You better stand here until I’m sure you won’t top those boots.”

“And what if I want to top my boots?” Brandon retorted, almost indignantly. Anthony was just sinking his left Lacrosse into the soft earth, crumbles of damp loam collapsing over his feet, when he turned and shot Brandon a look.

“Four minutes in the mud does not a mud man make. I have just a little more experience in where to step and what to do. Besides, there’s no sense in both of us getting stuck.” Brandon was silent. “Just give me a second, okay?” Brandon nodded in acquiescence.

Anthony raised his stick and started to capture his rust colored boots as they sank with each step into the fill. It wasn’t mud such much as it was soft, springy dirty. In no places did he sink higher than mid-calf.Satisfied that there was not danger of Brandon sinking to his waist, he lowered the selfie and beckoned. “Just be careful,” he warned. “Step where I step.”

Brandon obediently tread approximately where Anthony had trod—approximately because he wanted to enjoy the sinking sensation of his own Hunter pushing through the soil, not have Anthony’s sloppy seconds. It was exhilarating not knowing when where gravity would stop and solid ground would start. Each step was into the unknown, and resulted in a collapsing of ground around his shins, as though it didn’t want to give up its prize. As Brandon was wearing significantly shorter boots than Anthony, however, he remained cautious. This was not where he wanted to overdo it. He was saving that for a time that it was thick, oozy clay that could cascade creamily into—

“I’m heading over to this little flat area,” Anthony announced, breaking into his thoughts. “Gonna see what’s what.” He started the laborious trek to the plateau off to his right, the loose, dry earth almost scouring and polishing his rust colored boots, the cream bands around his soles flashing in contrast to the dark loam with each lift of his foot. Brandon started after him, wanting to not put too much distance between them. Having his own boots afforded more than just the benefit of experiencing the adventure for himself; he also got to be considerably close to Anthony in the action.

Anthony had just reached the plateau when the deceptively dry soil suddenly gave way under his tread, a rush of sludge filling in around his right leg. “Whoa,” he muttered. He looked up at Brandon and grinned. “We seem to have struck a creamy surprise.” The best kind of surprise, Brandon silently agreed, thankful that his oozing cock was firmly encapsulated in his new underwear.

Anthony carefully brought his left leg forward and pressed it in next to his right. Again, the earth collapsed around him, the crumbly fill mixing with the viscous mud. Anthony was now a few inches from the cream-trimmed tops of his boots. The adjuster straps at his calves were gently swaying with the ebb and flow of the mud as he moved. Carefully, Anthony shuffled his boots until he had turned to face Brandon. Brandon caught the movement of the soil ripple out several feet in either direction from him, the undulation of a much larger, unseen pool. Anthony saw it, too.

“Whoa. Did you see that?” he said, astonished.

Brandon’s throat was dry. “Yes. Be careful. I don’t want you swallowed up. I’m only wearing these short little rain boots. I wouldn’t want to have to rescue you,” he joked weakly.

Anthony smiled a winked. He glanced around him for a moment, then looked back at Brandon before raising his right Lacrosse boot, which was too deep to fully clear the slurry, and taking a step backward. He was moving further into the plateau. Again, the entire area shuddered with his movement. His right boot was now fully to the rim, the ooze just lapping at the cream stripe. Brandon was perplexed.

“What are you doing?” he called. Anthony continued to smile, then stepped back with his left. “Anthony, you aren’t even filming this. Am I supposed to be capturing this?” Brandon raised his camera, but paused as Anthony shook his head.

“No. No video.” Anthony continued to look at him with an expression that Brandon couldn’t read. Brandon opened his mouth to speak, but Anthony cut him off. “Just relax. Relax, and enjoy.”

Suddenly it became clear. Anthony was giving Brandon a show. After all, he was a performer. He had done this for thousands around the world. But this was an exclusive just for him. Brandon’s restrained cock throbbed as Anthony took another step back, then another. The slurry rose above the boots, rose above his knees. He gently pumped his legs, and with very little effort, Anthony allowed himself be swallowed almost to his crotch. Brandon had never seen him go that deep before. Ever.

As Anthony stood committed to halfway up his thigh, Lacrosse boots and feet drowning unseen under the muck, Brandon committed to the moment, too. He jabbed his fist into his crotch, kneading it. He had reached bliss in about fifteen seconds. He clenched his jaw and swayed as he felt the hot semen run down his cock inside the compression shorts.

And he and Anthony never took eyes off of each other.