Sarah finally went camping with her bestie. - Part I
CW: fart kink/eproctophilia
The drive started out exactly how I had imagined it would—long, a little awkward, and somehow still charged with something I didn’t want to name. Kimmy drove like she always did, relaxed and effortless, one hand on the wheel while the other tapped along to the music, and every now and then she’d glance at me with that half-smile that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to say something nice or something that would ruin my life. I tried to act normal, focusing on the road ahead, but the combination of her presence and the slow, uncomfortable pressure building in my stomach made that harder by the minute.
At first, I thought I could ignore it, just breathe through it and wait for it to pass, but the longer we drove, the more insistent it became, until it was impossible to focus on anything else. I shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice, but of course she did. “You’re fidgeting,” she said casually, not even looking at me, and I immediately shook my head, replying too quickly with a “No, I’m not,” which only made her laugh under her breath.
I tried to redirect the situation before it got worse, telling her that next time we should rethink the snacks, maybe avoid anything that looked like it could glow in the dark, and she immediately turned it back on me, reminding me that I was the one who grabbed the gummy worms like they were treasure. “You had the sushi too,” I muttered, and she grinned, “I didn’t eat it, I’m not insane,” which, honestly, felt like a weak defense considering everything else.
The conversation stayed light, playful, the way it always was with her, but underneath it I was doing everything I could to stay still, to keep control, to not let the situation escalate into something I wouldn’t recover from. When I finally admitted—carefully, indirectly—that maybe we should find a bathroom soon, she just gestured at the empty highway and said, “Where? The trees?” and I groaned, telling her I refused to “embrace nature” like that, which only made her laugh harder as she called me dramatic.
I went quiet after that, focusing on breathing, on keeping everything contained, on pretending I was fine. For a moment, it almost worked. And then, without warning, something slipped out.
It was small, quick, but in the silence of the car it felt enormous. I froze instantly, staring straight ahead, hoping—irrationally—that if I didn’t react, she wouldn’t either. That hope lasted exactly as long as it took for her to turn her head slightly and go, “Was that—”
“The car,” I said immediately, the words coming out so fast they practically overlapped.
She repeated it—slowly, skeptically—“The car?” and I nodded, doubling down even though we both knew it made no sense. “Yeah, the car makes noises sometimes,” I insisted, and she let out a quiet laugh that quickly turned into something bigger, something she couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Oh my god, Sarah,” she said between laughs, and I tried to defend myself, telling her it was barely anything, that she was exaggerating, that if she hadn’t insisted on buying half the gas station we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. “I didn’t force you,” she shot back, still laughing, “you chose chaos,” and I crossed my arms, muttering that I had been misled.
When she offered to open the window, I agreed instantly, but even that turned into a joke when she hesitated halfway, asking what if a bug flew in, and I told her I hoped it did, which made her laugh again before finally letting fresh air rush into the car. I exhaled, relieved, thinking maybe that was it, maybe I had survived the worst of it.
Then she said, way too casually, “Just so you know… I’ve been holding one in too.”
I turned toward her slowly, already shaking my head. “Don’t,” I said, and she smiled in that way that meant she absolutely was going to. When she told me she had self-control, I didn’t even hesitate before saying, “You don’t,” and she laughed, which was apparently all it took.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t accidental. It was confident, immediate, and impossible to ignore.
For a second, I just stared at her, completely stunned, and she stared back, trying—and failing—not to laugh. And then something in me just gave up. The embarrassment, the tension, all of it collapsed at once, and I started laughing too, the kind that builds too fast to stop.
“You said you had control!” I managed between breaths, and she shot back, “I lied!” while I told her to open the window more, even though it was already open, and she insisted it couldn’t go any further, and somehow that turned into both of us laughing even harder, arguing over nothing while completely losing any sense of composure.
By the time we calmed down, the car was quiet again, but not in the same way as before. The tension was gone, replaced by something easier, something shared.
And sitting there, still catching my breath, still feeling the warmth of that moment linger, I realized something I hadn’t expected.
This wasn’t how I had imagined the trip starting.
But maybe it was better this way.
By the time we reached the campsite, my face hurt from laughing.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that this trip was already out of control.
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I’ve had this story sitting in my drafts for over a year. Life got busy, and honestly, I just wasn’t feeling it for a long time, which is also why I haven’t posted in a while.
But I finally came back to it, finished it, and decided to put it out there.
Part II will be up next week.
Thank you so much for reading. 💖
