There's a quiet pull in the mud, a soft kind of desire that grows the longer I linger near the pit. My jeans and blouse feel ordinary at first, white socks tucked into loafers as I step closer, curious. I play at the edges, oops, I slip. I land in it, and the mud welcomes me, soft, watery, impossibly smooth. It clings, cool and heavy, and instead of pulling away, I stay. I move, sink, laugh, feel. The more I play, the more I give in to it, letting the mud take over, until enjoyment replaces hesitation and I'm completely lost in the sensation.