Hey BA!
Loved the story you wrote recently, huge fan of birth denial (as long as no actual harm is done, y’know y’know).
How about a story for a solo birth in nature? I’m a big fan of trying to hold the birth off with nothing but willpower; trying not to push, enjoying the crown. Maybe walking a hiking trail while she pushes.
Hi! I'm so glad you liked it, thanks for reaching out with a prompt! This is definitely a gentler prompt than I've done before, but I enjoyed the variety. Thanks for the opportunity to write this, I hope you enjoy as well!
Also, yee-haw, two birth fics in one day! Trying to get through all the asks people have sent in. I'm so excited to get to everyone's! It might take some time though, so be patient with me!
This fic contains: birth denial, solo birth, unassisted birth, nature birth, fpreg
Sharla had a birthing plan. There was an obscure hiking trail near her that was fairly easy, that ended in a beautiful meadow with a little lake. It was about two miles long, and no one really knew about it. She’d never seen anyone else there in the years she’d hiked the trail. So, as soon as her contractions started getting serious, she got in her car and began her drive. Her plan: hike up the mountain and birth in her favorite spot.
She’d prepared herself well, studying all she needed, practicing breathing techniques. She used them in the car ride up. Once she arrived, she waddled out of the car and headed to the little outhouse. As she used the bathroom, another contraction came. She pushed with it, a small tentative push as the pressure grew. Then, water splattered into the toilet. Water that definitely wasn’t pee.
Well, she thought, This baby’s coming fast. Better get hiking.
She used the toilet paper to wipe herself off, breathed through a contraction in the stall, shaking her hips to ease the pain which seemed far more intense without her waters cushioning everything, then began to head out.
She walked slowly, stopping with every contraction, keeping her legs together to try and help herself to hold off on pushing until she reached her destination. She wore a maternity sundress, so the only thing between her and the outside air was her panties. It was a crisp spring morning. Beautiful. The birds were singing, and she was out among it where she belonged.
As she walked, she cradled her round belly with both hands, trying to ease the weight of her sore back. And though she didn’t push, her own walking and the power of gravity was slowly pulling the baby down, stretching her little by little as she walked. It was a delicious feeling, painful, yes, but primal, normal. And so long as she didn’t hurry it, her body would be free to stretch as slowly as it needed to.
Things were going well. Sure the baby was moving faster than she’d intended. Sure, with each trail marker she was walking her waddle was becoming more and more distinct. But she was confident she’d make it.
By the time she reached the one mile marker, halfway through the hike, she was feeling less confident. The contractions were coming more and more frequently, and they were hurting more, becoming more insistent. Though she’d managed to not push, her body alone had managed to force the baby all the way through her canal and it was now resting just inside her lips.
She paused at the sign, leaning against it, fishing one of many water bottles from her pack and taking a heft swig. Her hand reached up her dress, feeling at her panties. There was a slight bulge there, but when she slipped her hand inside, she didn’t quite feel a head.
At least until another contraction hit. She groaned with it. She was bent over, and it made the contraction much worse. Her heavy belly weighing on her belt as it tightened inside her dress. She breathed through the growing demand to push, but still felt the sting of her lips as they began to part, just a tiny bit. Just enough that her finger slipped through and felt a smidge of wet head.
As soon as the contraction ended, she capped her water bottle, and continued walking. Not far down the path, another contraction. She breathed with it, commanding herself not to push, feeling the sting of her lips as they just began to part.
Three contractions later, and she was feeling rather hot. She stopped, leaning against a tree to weather a fourth contraction, then carefully removed her panties and shoved them in her dress pocket. It felt better, without a barrier there. Without the clothing rubbing up against her tender, stretched parts. She drank some more. Weathered yet another contraction, closing her eyes and moaning with it, her hand resting on her bulging lips, not constraining it, only supporting it.
As soon as it was done though, the baby slipped safely back inside, and she continued her hike. A hawk flew overhead. Bees buzzed in the air. Another contraction, more stretching. She panted. Her body demanded she push. It was getting harder and harder not to listen, but she knew, the second she gave in, her baby would shoot forward, and then she’d never reach the lake. So she breathed, she panted, she moaned, she stretched, but she continued on. Never pushing.
The next contraction was even harder. It stopped her in her tracks. She caught a tree trunk to keep her balance as her body naturally bent, trying to get in a better position to birth. The head eased forward, spreading her even further. She moaned with the pain, thinking, surely, the head must be nearly out. Yet, when she reached down to check, there was only about a square inch of head showing. Good, she thought, continuing her trek.
She focused on the green of the trees, on the fascinating rocks on the trail. Anything, but the growing demand to push. As she reached the marker for a mile and a half, though, she gave in. She stopped, her legs spread, she sunk into a crouch, flustered and sweaty, and pushed, moaning.
The baby shot forward, searing pain in her lips as they stretched around the sudden crown. She gasped as she noticed her mistake, and forced her legs closer together, nudging the head just a bit back in. I can’t do that again, she thought. I have to reach the lake.
She was almost there, but the near crown was making walking awfully difficult. The beautiful surroundings were calming, but her hips ached. She reached down, walking with one hand supporting the growing head, feeling it ease forward just a smidge more with each contraction.
The stretch hurt, but it felt primal, natural, here in the wild, where all things had given birth since the beginning of life. A tree caught her as she stumbled, reaching out its helpful branches, eager to assist the new life. A boulder stood stalwartly as she leaned against it, head spinning, against a particularly strong contraction. The head, ever lower, her legs, ever wider.
Then, finally, just as the head reached a full crown and she was sure she could take not a single more step, she reached the top.
A crystal blue lake, reflecting the perfect sky above, radiant with dazzling light, surrounded by a forest of aspen trees, whispering excitedly to each other in the breeze.
Gasping in relief, Sharla waddled her way to the edge of the lake. A boulder waited there, providing a perfect companion. She held onto it. As the growing pains of a contraction came, she crouched, pressed her chin to her chest, and, finally, blessedly, pushed.
The head surged forward. She gasped as it surpassed a full crown and shot right out of her, into her hand, water splattering the dirt beneath her.
Her legs were exhausted, trembling. She needed a new position. First, she checked the cord, making sure it wasn’t around the baby’s neck. No cord, but she enjoyed the tiny softness of the baby’s features.
Then, as the shoulders shifted, she moved. She pulled a tarp from her back pack, still crouched, her baby’s head hanging from her. She spread it by the lakeside, with a flick of her arms. Then, she collapsed back onto it.
Now leaning against the boulder, she pushed with her next contraction, curling forward, around her round, heaving stomach. Her legs were spread apart, making space for the shoulders, which inched out of her.
The contraction ended, leaving her heaving for breath. She looked up, watching a bird dive into the water for prey. She watched water twinkle as it fell from the bird’s talons in a cascade of fire-like droplets. Then she went back to pushing, and stretching, just a bit more. One shoulder out.
She leaned back against the boulder once more, grateful for its steady presence. Her baby was cradled in her hand, damp head, one shoulder. She pushed, one last time, curling in on herself, giving it her all, then the baby was out.
Crying in relief, she pulled it from her, and held it against its chest. It was beautiful, it was hers. And her crying turned to laughter, as she sat amongst nature, life’s newest gift safe in her hands.