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*.-*.=* ! DiScLaImEr ! *=.*-.* 1. Neither Ed Miller nor XXXecil are actually associated with this story in any way. They are therefore quite fortunate. Their style of story did, however, serve as inspiration to write this dreadful heathen smut. Thanks, you two! 2. This story is SEXY! So if you're not allowed to be exposed to sexiness yet, or more pointedly your parents would yell at lots of people if they caught you exposing yourself to sexiness, GO AWAY. On the other hand (the one that's not wanking), if your parents have already come home and caught you having sex on the sofa, you can probably get away with reading this, so CUM ON IN! Did you see what I did there? Did you? OK. Good. 3. This story is also WEIRD! If you think sex, even freaky gender- bending sex, should remain between a man and a woman, GO AWAY! If you don't feel that "9 1/2 Weeks" is a good date movie: GO AWAY! How about "Eraserhead"? GO AWAY! Remember your childhood fantasies, where your favorite plush toy came to life and woke you from your peaceful dreams for some midnight sodomy? GO AWAY. 4. If you post this somewhere else and try to take credit for writing it... good god, why would you want to do a thing like that? More power to you when the FBI carts you away instead! MWA HA HA HA HA HA! 5. Don't post this on any site that doesn't allow anyone to read the stories, for free. Because let's be realistic here, no one wants to read this, and no one to the -1st power wants to PAY to read it. 6. Top hat on animal legs. *.-*.=* ! dIsClAiMeR ! *=.*-.* HUNNY by Anathema AH, but the woods are beautiful in May, aren't they? Well, around here they certainly are, especially the grand forest just outside the city. This forest that seems to stretch forever toward the mountains, full of lush pine growth and the lovely, intermittent clusters of maple and oak... I think there's some beech in the forest too. But you already know about this. I should explain the stuff that's not so obvious, that's much harder to figure out. I should explain how all this began. - I - ALL this began on a day in May, why yes, one just like this one, in these beautiful woods, a year ago. It's amazing how time flies, especially after an experience like that. Anyway, I was enjoying one of my marathon hikes, where I'd park at the edge of the forest and then just wander the trails for hours, alone in the peaceful quiet. I never had a specific goal in mind, and I rarely - if ever - followed the exact same path, either going in or coming back. As you might expect, this often took hours, and usually the entire day, which is why I only went on these excursions on weekends. Well, that's not entirely true. Sometimes I'd go in the middle of the week, savoring the joy of seeing zero bars of service on my cell phone screen. When I finally got back to my truck and saw the deluge of missed calls, I would feel content in the excuse that I'd "had no service all day long." Ah, I was self-employed, you see; freelance graphic design, some print stuff, some web design, a few drops of Flash animation here or there. Nothing important. No, nothing you'd recognize, don't flatter me. But it did give me the schedule flexibility that I could disappear for a little bit whenever I wanted without endangering my livelihood. Anyway. So on this particular May day, as I engaged in my particularly favorite pastime of wandering the woods at the edge of the city, I chanced upon a new trail. This was not unusual; the forest is truly grand in scale, and well-known for having numerous little twists and turns and hidden spots for diligent hikers to find. For casual explorers like me, stumbling upon a path you hadn't seen before was an absolute treat, promising a whole new part of the forest to discover. The path was obviously not used very often. It was largely overgrown and at first I was tempted to dismiss it as a one-time excursion by some teenagers or something, which had just trampled the tall grasses a bit. But no, the more I looked at it the more it became clear that at one point some time ago the undergrowth had been cleared away and tamped down firmly; most of the overgrowth was encroaching from the sides of the trail, not growing up through the dirt. What's more, the remnants of a wooden signpost remained, though thoroughly rotted-out and faded beyond legibility. I still have no idea what the sign said originally, but I expect it was likely some sort of warning. Standing at the edge of this new path, I finally took notice of the shift in lighting; what had started as a bright, blue, clear, sunny day had turned quite ominously gray and overcast in the course of my several hours hiking. It looked very much like it might begin raining in due time. I glanced over my shoulder at the trail behind me, knowing that, responsibly, I should turn back now. It was unwise to risk being caught in a rainstorm in the middle of the forest. On the other hand... I never kept track of exactly which trails I went down. It could take me years to find this spot again, if I ever did. That was simply too much for the adventurer in me, and I shrugged my shoulders defiantly and began brushing the encroaching plants out of my way as I embarked down this new, exciting path. - II - THIS proved to be the strangest hiking experience I've ever had. As I continued down the trail, the tall trees around me thinned more and more and I found myself approaching a lush green clearing, I'd even call it a meadow, apparently nestled somewhere in the forest. More oddly, as I walked down the path the plant life around me gradually transitioned from drab, functional grasses, ferns, and the like into uncharacteristically bright and colorful flowering plants. From there the flowers became larger and even brighter, and the grasses and leaves greener and greener, until the surroundings began to feel outright psychedelic. Naturally this only encouraged me to carry on further, and I excitedly broke out of the trail, fenced-in by tall flora on either side, into the expansive meadow, with much shorter (but equally large and vibrant) flowers and grasses. A bright blue stream burbled right through the middle of the meadow with a pleasant, happy cadence to its flow. I furrowed my brows a bit at the vibrant blue of the water, considering the sky above was still resolutely gray and overcast, but didn't pay it much more mind. I assumed it was some optical phenomena that a physicist would enjoy giving me a headache over explaining it, and left it at that. So here I was in a bright green meadow, with its own bright blue stream, and bright pink, orange, purple, red, and yellow flowers all about me. It was an unreal, marvelous sight, and I was quite glad with myself for having decided to forge onward down the rarely- traveled path. Finally, over the light breeze that was whipping my hair and jacket, I detected a faint, chirpy singing. It sounded somewhat like a child. Was my spot not so secret? Had I interrupted a family picnic or something? Feeling a bit disappointed, I decided to nevertheless seek the people out and say hello, trailing the sound of the singing toward the stream. From there I followed it to a large pile of gray stones lying near the banks, surrounded by a large clustering of big, poofy dandelions. And sitting on those stones was a rabbit. A gray, round, fluffy little rabbit with a bright white cotton-tail, its back to me. Apparently, it was singing. I began to thoroughly question whether I had unintentionally ingested a psychotropic substance. Before I could react further, the rabbit stopped singing and looked over its shoulder at me. It had... frankly disturbingly large eyes, not like any rabbit I'd ever seen. It looked like one of those stereotypical, huge-eyed Japanese cartoon characters had its eyeballs amputated and glued to a rabbit. And then it smiled. No, it honest-to-god smiled at me. You have no idea how creepy it is to see a rabbit grin. "Hi!" it said, in a putridly saccharine sing-song voice. Yes, it said "Hi!" Yes, as in a human sentence with proper pronunciation and vocalization. "Uhm..." I began, assuming I was speaking to my own hallucination and unsure whether it was worth engaging it seriously. "What's your name?" it sang out, the nauseating sweetness of its voice sufficient to kill a diabetic. I stared, and I guess it took this as a cue to keep talking: "I'm Carrot Topless!" It then turned all the way around. And I saw that this rabbit had tits. No, I'm not talking teats, like little bunny-nipples. Or mammary glands like a pregnant animal would have. No. This rabbit had TITS. As in, boobs. Bazongas. You get the idea. It was sitting on its hind legs, and they were right over where its pectoral muscles would be if it were... you know... human. And they were round, and big. No, huge. Each one was the size of the thing's head. Granted, that's like... the size of a grapefruit, but that's pretty big on a rabbit, you know? It giggled, a putridly adorable little twitter: "Hee-hee, you like my tits?" I blinked. Did a rabbit just ask me if I liked its tits? "Uhm," I replied. It giggled more. "That's OK, everyone does! They're swelllllll!" It said this last word with a rising intonation that kept going forever, until I was about to throttle the thing, and then it finally stopped, laughing happily to itself. This caused its freakish bust to jiggle wildly. Then it kept laughing, even harder, and fell onto its back, causing even more lagomorphic wobbling, and began hyperventilating with laughter. "I, uh..." I began, then simply started to back away. It noticed, and immediately stopped laughing, sitting bolt upright. Its breasts hit it in the face, then stopped moving a few seconds later. "Oh!" it said, giggling a bit, "don't go! I'm sorry, where are my manners?" It thrust its chest out, making the two breasts look absolutely enormous in comparison to its body: "Go ahead, feel 'em up!" It emitted little bursts of air for a few seconds, as if holding in a laugh, before finally exploding in roaring guffaws again: "Get it? Get it? Feel 'em up? It's like fill 'em up but it's not!" Somehow its face turned beet-red with laughter, even though it was covered in white fur. "I... no thank you, I have to go," I stumbled out, totally convinced I was involved in illegal substance abuse of some sort. "Oh no no no no!" it shrieked, suddenly appearing behind me, moving with unbelievable speed for a rabbit so weighed-down. And then it leapt in the air and swiftly kicked my calves with both its powerful feet, sending me flying to the ground and landing in the meadow grass with my face a few inches from one of the poofy dandelions. It hopped (and bounced) over to sit behind the dandelion patch and face me, then giggled, "You're funny! No one's ever refused a good rub of my titties before, not even a girl! That makes me laaaaaaaugh!" Again the rising intonation went on forever, and I wanted to scream and plug my ears. Before I could reply, it continued, "And I looooooooooove laughing! So I'm-a gonna give you something speciaaaaaaaaaal as a reward for makin' me laugh!" I was about to open my mouth to beg it not to, whatever it was thinking. Before I could, though, the thing - "Carrot Topless" as it were - took a very deep breath (thrusting its chest out very, uh, prominently), grabbed the dandelion stalk directly in front of my face, and then blew on it full-force, sending an overwhelming cloud of little fluffy bits swarming and swirling into my face. I yelled out in irritated protest, amid the sound of its demented, insane, endless giggling. And then I sneezed. And then I sneezed harder. And then my entire body was wracked with a coughing, hacking, sneezing, wheezing, eye-watering, itching, tingling, spasming hay fever from hell. I was incapacitated. Simply existing was an excruciating experience in whole-body irritation. I had never had any sort of outdoor allergies before in my life. Whatever that thing had blown into my face, it was no normal dandelion. But then, given the circumstances, are we surprised? I stumbled to my feet, blinking away from my puffy eyes an endless stream of allergenic tears that warped my vision, and desperately tried to find the path back to civilization. But as I scanned the circular enclosure of the meadow, all the grasses looked the same. Wherever the path was, it was well-hidden by the overgrowth, and only a careful full-perimeter search would turn it up. At least, that was my instant, panicked assessment, and so I instead tried to stumble blindly toward the stream to wash my eyes out. Since I could barely see anything by this point, the idea was easier conceived than executed. And still that infernal giggling continued! "Eeeheeheeheehee, ahahahaha, heeheeheeheeheeAAAAAAAAAH!" The giggling turned sharply to a cry of terror as, while I stumbled around frantically, the toe of my hiking boot fortuitously hit Carrot Topless head-on, punting the awful little thing to who-knows-where. I heard its startled shriek trail into the distance, but was really far too distracted to pay it much mind. Eventually, I did lumber into the stream, where I plunged my face in and eagerly washed the dandelion debris off. This helped to curb the intensity of the reaction, but my eyes were still watering a bit, I kept sniffling, and my entire body itched ferociously all over. To top it off, a large portion of my clothing was now sopping wet. Disoriented, confused, terrified, bewildered, and so on, I wandered to the edge of the meadow and began circling it, trying to find the original path. I couldn't, even with a careful examination. My mind flashed back to earlier in the day, when I had contemplated taking an extra 30 seconds to leave my condo in order to find my compass. Of course, I hadn't. I never needed it before, why would I today? I kicked myself (as best I could) and sighed. The clouds overhead thoroughly obscured any chance of using the sun for navigation. I sighed again. The treeline was so thick and tall that it was impossible to identify any landmarks. I sighed a third time, and just struck out randomly into the forest, on the assumption it was better than standing still. - III - WANDERING through the woods without a beaten path to go on was considerably less fun than casual trail-walking. The ground cover was thoroughly inconvenient, the tree limbs were often hazardously low, and it was really quite impossible to keep track of which way you'd come from and where you were going. To make matters much worse, the persistent itching all over my body wasn't fading a bit since the reaction to that godawful dandelion had begun. It was getting so bad that I was rather willing to do anything to make it better, and thought that perhaps my clothing rubbing against my skin might be increasing the irritation. Since my shirt was already uncomfortably wet, I tied my jacket around my waist and then took my shirt off, slinging it over my shoulder. Since I went on endurance hikes so often, my body was well-toned, even if it wasn't particularly muscular, so I figured I wouldn't be offending any attractive women that I might (hopefully) pass by. And that's what matters, right? The cool air on my skin did help a bit, but not much. Still, not having a piece of soaked fabric clinging to me was also an improvement, so I left the shirt off. It took thorough willpower to resist scratching at my newly-exposed skin, but I reasoned that an allergic reaction probably wouldn't be helped much by scratching at all. No need to rough myself up and look like I'd been mauled by a bear. As I kept wandering further and further into unguided forest, I surrendered more and more of my clothing to the itching feeling, until I was walking completely nude, one hand held gingerly in front of my genitals to prevent any sharp sticks or branches or stinging nettles or poison oak from making the situation any worse. At one point I realized that I didn't have my clothing any more, and stopped to look for where I had dropped it. I couldn't find it. That was odd; when had I let it go? Overcome by panic at the darkening forest and the maddening itching, I just shrugged and forged ahead. At that point, embarassing myself in front of the rescue crew would be worth it just to see a rescue crew. Though, honestly, I didn't really expect to see a rescue crew any time soon. I lived alone, had broken up with my most recent girlfriend several months ago, and didn't have any deadlines coming up. With my freelance work and aloof tendencies, it could be a week or more before anyone took any serious note of my missing status. That only increased the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; but that feeling was quickly rivaled by the furious itching and irritating sniffling, and I went back to gritting my teeth and trying to will my nerve endings to shut up. At some point I began to realize the reaction was worsening, not fading, as I was experiencing swelling in my chest, thighs, face, and oddly even my ass. The areas weren't especially sore or tender - well, except my chest - but they were just ... bloated. My thighs were scraping against each other as I walked, and my butt was starting to be a noticeable presence behind me. On my face, I could feel my cheeks much more prominently, and my lips felt puffy and swollen. Again, they weren't sore at all, just bigger. My chest, though. Ow. Every time I would forget and accidentally scratch at it a little again, I would have to grit my teeth extra hard. It was very, very sensitive in addition to being swollen. Even my nipples were swollen. My chest practically looked like my sister's had when she was going through puberty (two teenagers and one downstairs bathroom - you see a lot, whether you want to or not). This prompted me to wonder just what the hell kind of allergic reaction my body was having, and worry that perhaps this wasn't just an allergy but a serious toxic substance. Whatever I had run into back there... wow. I knew that I must have gotten into something - mushroom spores maybe? - that caused me to hallucinate that freakish and unsettling rabbit. And I wondered what kind of hellish plant had masqueraded as a dandelion in that hallucination and itched, sniffled, watered, and swollen me up like this. I mean, not only was I lost, I was having what was becoming a serious physiological reaction to some plant substance. I realized this was getting really dangerous, and again kicked myself for being too cheap to spring for a GPS device or satellite phone. One thing - or I guess things - that weren't swelling were my genitals. Compared to my puffy chest, seeing my perfectly normal- sized penis and scrotum was highly reassuring. It looked like I'd get out of this without damaging my ability to reproduce someday. The other swellings, though, were getting much more severe as I walked. My thighs went from just brushing together a bit to being wide, fleshy cylinders that slid tightly against each other with every step, proving not just distracting but difficult to walk with. I tried to hold my legs farther apart as I walked, but that proved so awkward I gave up and just put up with the temporary crazy swelling. I stopped to turn and look at my ass and was equally disturbed, as it bloated out behind me with a noticeable shelf, quite unlike my usual non-existent bony boy butt. It even jiggled a bit with every step, which was just... weird, and also made moving more cumbersome. My lips were so swollen now that I couldn't help but notice it at all times, and though I couldn't see my reflection, it felt like they were bloated to the point of being forced into a perpetual pout or purse. They were noticeable in the corner of my vision whenever I looked far enough downward, along with my curvy cheeks. This was, I reasoned, not healthy. Plus, I was still itching all over, and sniffling, and periodically wiping away more of my watery eyes. Or was I crying, because I was scared and alone and my whole body was sick and messed up? I mean, at the time the idea never entered my mind, but in retrospect, all things considered, I really don't remember sneezing at all after the initial burst of dandelion. Just a lot of sniffling and eye-wiping during the long walk. Oh well. Anyway, so I was itchy, and teary, and sniffly, and my body was becoming cumbersomely swollen and jiggly all over and it was just so overwhelming and I was totally lost and... And that's why it was such a wonderful, wonderful sight when I came across the odd little cabin built into a great big oak tree. - IV - YES, really... built right into the tree. The tree itself was huge, big around as a small house, and the living arrangements looked to be mixed right in with the trunk. I imagined that it resembled what would happen if a home exploded with hurricane-force right next to a tree and embedded bits and pieces of house-shrapnel into the bark of the thing. At the base, near the roots, was a quaint little doorway with a cheery, worn welcome mat depicting a cartoon bee waving, with a cursive "Bee My Guest!" above it. A little ways up there was a small circular cross-barred window, and a little ways further above that was another window. A crude metal chimney-pipe stuck out at an awkward angle from the side of the oak and ascended into the treetops. The trees of the forest were growing in so close and so thickly in this region that practically all external light was blocked out, making it clear the oak-house was well-lit from within. A warm yellowish glow exuded from the two visible windows and the lites of the door; this made my heart jump excitedly, since it meant this strange little cottage (or whatever) was inhabited! Grisly images of me lying dead and devoured in the forest litter faded away reassuringly. I stumbled sluggishly toward the oak-house, taking great effort for each step since the swelling all over my body had become ludicrously extreme. I could barely slip my thighs past each other, since they were so round and fleshy that the spillover from each thigh somewhat interlocked. That, and my butt was now so noticeably enlarged that it genuinely added enough weight to each step to further slow me down. In light of these two distractions, my puffy chest and swollen facial features were easily ignored, since they didn't affect my movement very much. The infernal itching still remained, and I'm sure that my immense efforts to prevent myself from tearing my flesh off also slowed my progress down. So I moved, probably at a comically dull pace, toward the oak-house. Even fighting against the discomfort, I was able to keep myself moving forward toward that goal, powered by the reward of medical attention and a safe environment... until I fell. I don't know if it was a wet leaf or a patch of fungus or a dead raccoon or heaven knows what, but I felt something squish under my right foot and then the world rushed by me in an unpleasant vertical arc. A split-second later I was on my butt. It was a good thing that my swollen areas weren't sore, or I'd likely have been in agony. Instead, I merely hit the ground with a soft 'paff' as the immense swelling of my rear end and thighs cushioned me considerably. In fact, the swelling was so unbelievably severe that I was propped off the ground at a slight angle rather than lying flat on my back. I hoisted myself to a sitting position, and it was like my torso was attached to a giant bean-bag chair; my immense thighs and ass spread out beneath me so extensively that they felt more like furniture than a part of me. This gave me another chance to examine myself, as I caught my breath. It was obvious the problem was swelling from fluids or tissue inflammation, since my thighs and bottom weren't draping off of me like fat deposits but rather quite round and firm, if a bit soft. They looked to be healthy tissue, other than being freakishly oversized. That made me feel better, since I felt much more confident that when the swelling went down I'd be left without permanent damage. I turned my examinations to my chest, and saw that my pectoral area was still bloated out as well, more prominently than the last time I looked. More startlingy, my nipples were thoroughly swollen half- domes protruding obscenely off my already-swollen chest area, and the little nipple-nub itself was puffed up to the size of my pinky- tip. A ginger touch revealed that my chest definitely still held the honor of being the only swollen area to be sensitive. I ran my fingers over my lips and they felt just as fat and oversized as earlier, which was quite bad, considering. I tried speaking - "Teshting, teshting" - and quickly shut up; the swelling in my lips made my speech noticeably slurred and lispy. Getting panicky again, I decided I'd spent enough time taking a break and it was time to finish the 100 or so meters between me and salvation. The oak-house in the distance had never looked better. So I rocked back on my swollen haunches and - rolled back into place. My eyes grew wide as I realized that my backside was so heavy I was having trouble lifting it! This was thoroughly "medical emergency" territory. So I steeled all my muscles, took a deep breath, and - failed to get off the ground, again. My eyes were watering like crazy now, the itching was overwhelming me, and I literally could not get my ass off the ground. A third, flailing effort resulted in me losing balance and tipping over, and now the immense weight of my thighs was pinning me to the leaf-and-debris covered forest floor. I continued twisting and squirming about, occasionally brushing or slapping my chest against something and crying out from the sudden burst of pain. Soon I was filthy and coated with dirt and debris, but still stuck on my side. Determined not to be found by a predatory animal while in this state, I engaged in another panicked round of efforts, and managed to roll myself into a position on my hands and knees. "Well, thawt'll hoff tew do," I muttered unhappily through bloated lips, and began crawling like an infant toward the tantalizingly-close sign of civilization. As I crawled ploddingly forward, it became obvious that rolling around in dead leaves, pine needles, ferns, and whatever else likes to cover the ground in deep forests is not an antipruritic, because the itching on my skin had somehow gotten even worse. Lugging my immenese thighs and butt forward was even less fun on all fours than it was upright, and I was becoming exhausted rapidly. My puffy chest kept brushing against some devious fern or stick or flower or mushroom or whatever that was just the wrong height, prompting frequent bursts of stinging soreness that would make my eyes redouble their efforts at watering. In short, if progress up to this point had been frustrating, this was now outright hell. Then, about 50 meters away from the oak-house, I unwittingly pressed down a young, thin branch or shoot of something - whatever it was, it was long and supple. Whiplike is an important word here. As soon as I crawled forward a moment later, my hand unknowingly released it, and it whipped forward and slapped me with unbelievable force right across my two puffed-up nipples. Instantly, I collapsed to the ground; the entire world became neon-colored sparks and spots as my whole body shuddered with unbelievable pain. It was like being kicked in the testicles, but less nausea and more stabbiness, all radiating out from my chest. Memories of accidentally bumping into my sister in the hallway while her breasts were budding immediately popped to mind, and I muttered expletives that this stupid allergic reaction or toxin or whatever was making me as hypersensitive and wimpy as an adolescent girl. An eternity later - actually a few seconds, most likely - the nerve responses quieted down to a manageable, sore throb, and I became more consciously aware that I was once again lying on the forest floor, this time curled into a fetal position. I tried to get up, but my swollen body was exhausted and didn't want to comply. I tried to move at all, but every motion of air over me seemed to make the itchiness even worse. A few more seconds elapsed, and I openly burst into frustrated, hopeless tears, then began crying out for help in a blind panic. I hoped my voice would carry to the oak-house and that they'd be home. I screamed and screamed muffled pleas through my swollen lips until I was too tired to even do that (much less time than you'd imagine, really - I was pathetically exhausted at this point) and then just slipped into silent sobbing. I remember it only murkily, because I was almost completely passed out when it happened, but I heard a distant creaking sound like a sturdy door opening, and then a cry of shock. Then footsteps, I think, crunching over the forest litter. "Oh, you poor little man, have you gone and gotten into?" The voice trailed off at the end, but I think that's because I passed out, not because the sentence ended. The memory is pretty blurry, anyway. All I know is that I felt OK closing my eyes knowing that someone had finally found me, and I wouldn't be eaten by a bear or something. - V - I awoke inside the oak-house. At least, I assumed almost immediately I was inside the oak-house. The walls - well, wall, singular, is more appropriate, was circular, wrapping all the way around the living area with a color and appearance that looked like golden, dried wood. Above on the wall I could see one of the little circular windows. A quaint staircase carved right into the wood of the hollowed-out tree seemed to lead down to another floor, where I assumed the other window and the doorway would be found. A brightly-colored plaid quilt was draped over me, and a fluffy goose-down pillow supported my head. The frame of the bed I was in seemed to be carved right out of the tree also. Various other little country-cottage accoutrements like a soft pink carved-wood dresser, a storage trunk, and a wardrobe adorned various areas of the circular room. Everything inside seemed lit with a vibrant, slightly golden light, making the whole place seem vivid and cheery. More important to me, though, was the state of my body. I lifted up the quilt: I was still swollen, but considerably less so. My thighs looked capable of normal walking, with a bit of friction, and my ass no longer propped me up like a Swiss ball. My chest still seemed pretty puffed up, but since moving the quilt didn't bring tears to my eyes, at least the soreness seemed to have faded. I ran my fingers over my face and found that the swelling in my lips and cheeks seemed much better also. Great! Whoever had found me must have gotten me proper treatment. Maybe some mountain-man who knew a tried-and-true herbal remedy or something. Since I was feeling so much better, I decided to go find him and thank him profusely for coming to my aid. As I gingerly made my way down the carved stairway, I noted how low the ceilings were - was he some sort of recluse dwarfed person, fleeing to the mountains to avoid the ridicule of "civilized" folk? Eh, whatever, I was just glad they lived where they did. As I continued down the spiraling stairs, I suddenly realized - the itching! The horrid itching was gone! For ridding me of that loathsome reaction, I was contemplating kissing the guy in addition to thanking him. If, you know, that didn't sound so gay. I was thrown a bit off-guard when I came out of the stairwell into the ground floor of the oak-house. I had to continue stooping; the ground-floor ceiling couldn't have been more than 5 feet high, if that. A tidy little sink full of bright white dishes sat under the circular window in the room, which had a bright and cheery pair of light-blue drapes opened on either side of it. "He must have a generator," I murmured, noting the bright white refrigerator. An archaic little TV with bent rabbit-ear antennae sat in front of a plush sage-green couch with all sorts of multicolored little patches all over it. A small circular dining table with proportional highback chairs took up the middle of the room, and an intricate set of teapots, teacups, coasters and placemats was strewn across it. I noticed one of the chairs was considerably larger, and looked like I'd almost be able to sit comfortably in it, if I was a little shorter and thinner. Finally, a pair of doorways in the "back," that is, opposite the entry door, I assumed led to the man's living quarters and possibly a water closet or storage area. The entire ground floor had an equally vivid lighting to it that made all the colors seem flatter and brighter, and the entire setting seem cheery and happy. Since it appeared he had gone out while I slept off my affliction, I wandered over to the pantry to see if there were any snacks available; I was feeling a might bit peckish after not eating for practically the entire day, what with the frantic wandering and all. I figured if he was willing to save a stranger's life, he wouldn't mind them borrowing a bit of food. I was a bit perplexed to see the entire pantry contained nothing but quaint clay jars marked "HUNNY", which seemed to have been glazed on at the time of firing. Shifting them around a bit, I realized that behind the jars of "hunny" was just... more honey. At least, I assumed it was an uneducated misspelling, not a whole new substance. Well, I didn't really want to eat a handful of honey, especially with my blood sugar operating off an empty stomach. A good hiker manages their energy intake better than that. A good hiker also doesn't explore unfamiliar trails without letting someone know when they expect to be home, but let's not get into that. So I gave up on my snacking idea and decided to just find this mysterious mountain-man savior and see if he had any ideas for lunch. Or breakfast. Or whatever. The oak-house was so well lit, and the forest was so dark here, that without a clock it was quite difficult to guess the time of day. I was about to stroll out the front door when I noticed I was naked except for the quilt! I had forgotten about losing my clothing in my inflamed haze... oops. Well, if the guy found me naked, I'm sure he'd be okay with me walking around covered up by a blanket. Maybe once he knew I was up he'd have a change of clothes for me. - VI - I opened the front door (now realizing it was much tinier than it had looked from a distance), stooped further, and made my way outside, where it felt good to be able to stretch to full-height again. With my back arched, my puffy chest added a subtle but noticeable little bulge to the quilt; that was a little embarassing, but I reassured myself that I was still legitimately recovering from a severe reaction so it wouldn't be fair to tease me. I glanced around the immediate forest area and didn't see him anywhere. There was a noticeable trail through the leaves and debris of the forest floor where he had obviously dragged my unconscious form to the oak-house, and some ways in the distance I recognized where I must have passed out. Then I pondered how he managed to get me up the stairs if he couldn't carry me to the oak-house, and searched the back of my head for a bump. Nothing, and no headache. Well, whatever. I stretched again, and startled when something brushed my hand. Glancing up, I saw that a very cheery-looking bluebird had settled on my fist. And it was very, very blue. And very red on its belly. And had rather disturbingly large and animated eyes, reminding enough of that freakish rabbit to make me wonder if I was experiencing another hallucination. But thankfully, the bird didn't talk to me. It just chirped, then winked at me with one of its big, Japanimation eyes. I cautiously lowered my arms and it remained perched on my fingertips, trilling out a happy little song while bobbing its body. I smiled, even though this was bizarre. Then another bird landed on my shoulder, similarly-proportioned and equally vibrantly-colored. Well, that was cute, I thought. They both began singing. Then another bird landed on my head, and another on my other hand, all singing away happily. Well, that's neat, I thought. So much wildlife, and so friendly! I absent-mindedly wondered if we usually had these species in this forest, since I'd never seen them before, but whatever. Then another bird landed on my shoulder, and another on my arm, and another, and another. Soon there were about 25 of these strange little birds perched all over my body or hopping around my feet, flitting about and singing little birdsongs with enthusiastic gusto, creating a mind-jarring cacophony of tweets and chirps and more kept flocking onto me and - I screamed, shaking the birds off, who went flying in various directions with stunned looks on their faces. Then I took off running into the forest, making sure to keep the oak-house in sight, and hoping that whatever had attracted the birds to me was left behind. Drawing the quilt tighter around me, I stalked off toward a nearby ridge in the forest floor, hoping I could hike up its modest slope and possibly manage a look over the tree-line. I wanted to figure out where I was while I waited for the woodsman to get back. And, as I approached that very ridge, I coincidentally ran right into the individual that had rescued me, who was just reaching the crest of the ridge from the other side, holding two water-pails in their arms. It was a cartoon bear. - VII - YES, really. I was convinced I was once again hallucinating, and worried I might need psychiatric help, because it looked exactly like that one bear character - Vinnie the Fooh, or whatever - was cresting the hill and carrying buckets of water in its stubby arms. It had the solid-golden skin, or fur, or whatever, and the bright red T-shirt, and the adorable little face with the black button eyes. The only difference from my childhood memories was that this cartoon-bear-thing was wearing a trucker's cap with a naked woman posed on it. Well, that was odd, but the whole thing was an odd hallucination so I just rolled with it, you know? Anyway, at that point I didn't know this was the one who rescued me. I thought I was just having another mental breakdown. So I rolled my eyes at myself, and began walking backwards slowly, wanting to make my way to the oak-house and sleep off whatever fever was afflicting my brain. As I took another step backward, I heard a branch crack audibly behind me. And to my shock, my hallucination took notice. The cartoon-bear-thing looked up in curiousity, then saw me. Its face turned to shock and it dropped the water pails. Then it spoke, in a soft, slightly raspy, very adorable and friendly voice: "Oh my! My dear new friend, you should not be up! You should not be up at all yet, your treatment has not reached the stabilized stage yet!" My treatment, huh? So this must be the mountain man, and I was so hopped-up on his homemade remedy that I was hallucinating cartoon birds and seeing him as a cartoon bear. Well, I'd show my warped perceptions who was boss, I thought, and marched toward him in a friendly manner. "Hello," I called out, reminding myself that, when you discounted my hallucinating, this wasn't a cartoon bear but another human being. "Thank you so much for rescuing me," I added. The cartoon-bear-thing just stood there, muttering fretfully to itself as it picked up its water-buckets and frowned at how much liquid it had lost from them. Then it shook its head and turned to look at me again: "You simply musn't be up yet, friend. I wouldn't have left if I thought you'd wake up so soon. You got into a very bad batch of bussie-boppers and musn't expend any unnecessary energy until we've gotten your condition under control!" "I appreciate your concern," I replied, noticing that a very mild itching sensation was becoming present all over my body, "but I'm really feeling much better. It feels good to get up and stretch my legs, and I'd like to help out around the place a bit as a ways toward saying thank-you for..." As I continued with my humble and courteous little speech, I scratched absent-mindedly at my chest through the quilt. The cartoon-bear-thing's eyes immediately bugged out. "Egads! You're itching again! That isn't good, that isn't good at all! We've got to get you treatment, we've got to get you medicine immediately!" It looked around frantically, as if making a tough decision. "Uhm, listen..." I said, approaching it to calm it down, "it's really just a mild little itch, let me grab one of those buckets and we'll head back - " I was cut off. I was cut off as it finished climbing the ridge at a breakneck pace and lunged itself at me like a terrifying rabid raccoon. Now, in the two seconds it took for it to be in mid-air flying toward my face, I was able to visually register one other addition this thing had that the familiar cartoon bear of my memories did not. One was the trucker hat, and two was... this gigantic set of male genitals. "It" became "he" very decisively in my mind. And good lord. While the creature was only about 3-and-a-half feet tall, its penis must have been 9 inches long as it swung flaccidly between its legs. "Third leg" was more apt slang than usual here. It had some equally- proportionally-impressive balls to go with that. It was like some horrifying pornographic nightmare of a children's movie (well, besides what ends up between-frames in most actual children's movies). And as I said, it was flying toward my face. But this all happened so fast I barely had any time to react. I just stood there, feeling mildly itchy and very dumbfounded, as my brain tried to process what was happening. It propelled itself through the air with amazing distance and speed from one leap, and as it crossed the distance to me its large penis sprang from flaccid to fully erect (ending at a size which was a truly humbling sight for any male ego, I might add) in less than a second. Just as my brain finished recovering and started to send signals to my leg muscles to RUN, the thing impacted my face. It - he - was amazingly lightweight, and so I only stumbled a bit as the quilt fell to the ground, standing there with a cartoon bear- thing in a red T-shirt with no pants and a huge erect penis clinging to my face. Naturally, I was frantically beating on it and trying to rip it away from me. But this thing had claws! And they were dug in, gently but firmly, to the back of my scalp, so that ripping it away was both difficult and painful. I instinctively began to scream, and it instantly seized the opportunity to deftly manoeuvre its penis into my mouth. This was more than enough for me to decide that whatever was actually going on, in my head a cartoon bear-thing was trying to face-fuck me, and so in my little hallucinatory world, it was going to die. I fumbled around, came in contact with a (vertical) tree trunk, and immediately began bashing my face against it. Cartoon bear-things are surprising good insulation against concussive force, but they also seem irritatingly durable, since the thing didn't flinch or budge at all while I frantically tried to beat it off of me. "Take your medicine! Take your medicine!" it hollered at the top of its cute little lungs, and began undulating its hips in a lewd and awful fashion. I felt smooth, huge cartoon bear-thing penis sliding back and forth inside my mouth and against my tongue. My natural reaction to this was to bite down on the bastard, but even as my jaw began to move I felt warning claws dig deeper into my scalp. "No, you fool, don't fight it! Take your damn medicine!" it screamed. No thanks, I thought, my vision obscured by its advancing and receding smooth, fuzzy golden abdomen. I decided to chance it and began to bite down on the offending cartoon bear's... thing. WHAP! Before I could even figure out what had happened, I was dealt such a furiously strong blow upside the head that I was knocked off-balance and fell to the ground, stars ringing out in my field of vision. How in god's name could a little cartoon bear-thing hit anyone that hard? Disoriented and stunned, it took me a few seconds to regain my bearings (ha, ha) enough to realize I was now on my back on the forest floor, with a cartoon bear-thing sitting on my face and pumping an enormous schlong in and out of my mouth. My swollen lips were betraying me, as they were still bloated enough to wrap themselves around my teeth even if I didn't intend them to, and so the little ursine rapist was having a fairly smooth go of it. Finally my brain stopped rattling enough for me to grab the thing around its torso and attempt to rip it off me again, but it just swung its arm back and slammed into me with about as much force as it had used on my head. My arm flew right back into the dirt, stinging horribly and feeling borderline-fractured. I screamed around its penis, trying to roll over and smother the bastard in the dirt of the forest floor, but to my shock a large number of little feet were holding me to the ground quite firmly. And familiar chirps and twitters were ringing out from the direction of my torso and legs. Good god, I wondered, what kind of disturbed individual has hallucinations like this? My pondering was cut short as the cartoon bear-thing let out a happy gasp and my blood froze. No. No way. But yes, yes way... a moment later I felt the balls against my chin flex a bit, and then a thick and soupy substance pour forth into my mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I was reflexively swallowing. And... it was oddly comforting. Why did it taste so familiar? Why did it make me feel... better? It was strangely sweet and flavorful, without any of the overt saltiness or nasty flavor I expected based on what girls had described to me before. I snapped back to the present moment with the disgusted realization I was deliberately swallowing each pump. Yuck! But when I tried to stop, and tried starting to force it out, I just... couldn't. I would inevitably just swallow it after a few seconds of indecision. And Jesus, did this bear-thing ever have a load in it. Its penis seemed to keep pumping for millenia. Finally, it trailed off, and with a flutter of air I felt the weights on my legs lift. The penis slowly turned flaccid in my mouth, but I kept dutifully making swallowing motions, and then to my horror realized I was suckling needfully on the flaccid penis! Deciding this was entirely too much, I forcefully spit it out and turned onto my side, wanting to throw up. Wanting to, but feeling no real need or motivation. My mouth had a sweet, soothing, pleasant taste in it, and my stomach felt warm and happy. And the itching was gone, again. "There, friend. See, it wasn't so bad. I know we've never done it quite like that before, but I hope you'll realize when you're in better spirits that it was an emergency situation," I heard the bear-thing say to me in soothing tones, stroking my hair. "Now let's get you back to bed!" I laid there, in a numb and confused daze, as I felt the quilt draped over my body and then myself being dragged across the forest floor back toward the oak-house. Had I just willingly swallowed semen? Not just willingly, but enjoyably? Even if this was just a disturbing hallucination, what did that say about my state of mind? Was I a latent homosexual? I'd never had thoughts like this before, though. Not even mild urges. I was always very confident in my sexuality. I'd been friends with several gay men and never felt threatened or uncomfortable, just... not their type. As I felt leaves scrape my ear, a hazy image suddenly flashed into my mind. Of being in bed, in the upstairs bed I had woken up in. Of the bear-thing sitting on a stool next to the bed. Of a ceramic jar nearby, and a spoon being fed to me. The word "medicine" was present in its otherwise memory-garbled speech. The itching had stopped after I swallowed. Was that it? Was this... thing... or this man I was hallucinating as a bear- thing... was he feeding me his cum, maybe with an addictive substance mixed in, to make me some sort of sex slave? That would explain my sudden comfort with swallowing a load of semen. I wanted to jump up and escape, but I felt too numb and drowsy. Far, far away, through a rushing sound filling my ears as I blacked out, I heard a heavy oak door creak open. He had won for now. But I now realized I wasn't safe. I had to escape. And as soon as he left again, I would escape. - VIII - I woke up to the warm feeling of sunlight filtering on to my face. I snuffled a bit, then pawed the quilt off my face and batted my bleary eyes open. A familiar sweet taste coated my mouth, and I tried to spit, but my mouth was too dry. I settled for making a grossed-out face and frowning hopelessly. So it wasn't a dream, I was still in the clutches of a madman. What a terrible day! Or, apparently, based on the lighting... days, now. Which then struck me as odd. If the top-floor window was visible from the forest floor, that meant it was under the treetops. But if the forest was so thick around here that it was perpetually darkened, how was morning sunlight filtering in through my window? Unless I was on the third floor, and that spiraling stairwell hid an intermediary level between my "guest" room and the ground-floor living quarters. My imagination began to wander, wondering if that was the secret chamber where he kept his other captives, other lost hikers he used as sex slaves or maybe he ate them or... "So sleepyhead finally wakes up!" I heard his horrid, soft, adorable, breathy voice announce loudly and cheerfully. I gritted my eyes closed in disappointment; my escape opportunity was cut off, for now. Then I looked at the doorway which led to the stairwell. And saw a... cartoon bear-thing, sans trucker's hat, but still in a red T-shirt and lacking pants, and still well-hung enough to upset the MPAA. In his stubby arm-hand... things, he held a simple wooden tray, upon which sat a bowl of steaming something, some toast, an empty glass, a tall pitcher of milk, and some slices of fresh oranges, strawberries, and mango. "Good timing, friendly friend," it continued, "I was afraid your porridge might have to get cold" - so that's what was in the bowl - "because I didn't want to wake you if you were sleeping. You certainly need your rest after getting into bussie-boppers." It set the serving tray down on a little wooden TV tray that had appeared next to my bed overnight, then sat down on the stool near my bed and continued: "How do you even manage to get into those bussie-boppers? Most forest folk have the sense to steer clear of them. Oh, I bet it was that awful rabbit, always causing mischief and trying to get people to grope her tits." I jumped a bit. The rabbit? How did he know about the rabbit? I thought that was a hallucination. Maybe I had rambled deliriously in my sleep. Or maybe I was hallucinating this entire experience! Maybe I was wandering around inside a big dead log or something, talking to myself and stepping on opossums or something. "Uhm, you know the rabbit?" I asked cautiously, as the bear-thing lifted a spoonful of steaming porridge toward my mouth. "Blow it," it commanded. My eyes darted uncontrollably to its large sexual organs, and I felt immediately embarassed at the reaction. It laughed lightly and happily: "Oh, not that silly! The porridge... we don't want it to burn your mouth!" Feeling utterly ashamed, and very confused, I downturned my eyes to the quilt and blew gently on the spoon. This caused me to notice the swelling in my chest still hadn't gone down. The bear-thing continued, "Anyhow, of course I know that rabbit... so it sounds like you did encounter her. Awful, awful little cunt, she is. Always trying to trick people into groping her tits, then she lures them into some stupid prank or another." The bear-thing turned to me, a stern expression on its face. "Let me tell you, one time I showed her what-for, I knew she was trying to lure me into a part of the forest where she'd just thrown rocks at a hive of killer bees. Rotten bitch. Well, I don't want to chew your ear off, but suffice to say that by the end I was fucking her from behind while a swarm of very angry bees stung her face until she was so swollen she looked like a piece of cauliflower with rabbit ears, but she's such a little tramp that she just kept squealing out 'More! More! Oh you big bear, touch my tits! Go on, rub em!' And I went, I said, 'You want me to rub your tits? I'll rub your tits!' and I flipped her over and let me tell you, boy scouts could've started campfires with the friction I was building up and she just kept squealing and - " I held up my hand. "I think I get the idea, thanks." It was bad enough feeling like I was losing my own mind, I didn't want to hear some other poor mentally-ill individual's delusional ramblings. Rabbits were common creatures in fantasy, it was probably just a coincidence we both imagined the same kind of animal. "Oh, pother... I apologize. I do tend to get carried away when I'm excited. Anyway, if you ran into that nasty little rabbit I'm not surprised you're in the state you're in. It's too bad you didn't meet her sister, Bare Rabbit, instead. She is the very model of a modern cultured animal," said the bear-thing, placing another spoonful of porridge into my mouth. "Uhm, so..." I asked. The bear-thing's face lit up. "Oh! Of course! Where are my manners? We still haven't been properly introduced and here I am already talking about how well I fucked that rabbit. I'm often called the Hunny-Bear, and that name suits me very well, so if you please, do call me Hunny-Bear whenever you wish to greet me." "Uhm... OK, Honey-Bear," I replied shakily, now absolutely convinced I was the drugged captive of an insane gay woodsman. "Hunny," he corrected. I blinked. "Hunny?" I tried. "Yes, there you go! And your name?" asked Hunny-Bear. "Uhm..." I began. I wasn't sure I wanted this guy to be able to track me down. Creepy people like to use the Internet to pursue their disturbing little hobbies, after all. I glanced down at the quilt to hide my lie: "I can't remember," I mumbled, trying to sound upset. "Oh!" exclaimed Hunny-Bear. "You poor thing! You must have gotten a very, very bad dose of bussie-boppers, indeed!" It... he... whatever... frowned in thought for a moment, then brightened up: "I know! We'll just call you Bussie-Bopper, until you can remember your name! It fits, don't you think, considering?" "Uhm, sure," I replied. Lovely. Now I had a nickname too. Hunny-Bear and Bussie-Bopper. I couldn't wait to see the adult-baby fetish films I would be forced to produce at gunpoint. Hunny-Bear clapped his hands together happily. "Alright then, my good friend Bussie, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance!" It then extended its arm... hand... how did this thing manipulate objects with these stumpy, digitless arms? Well anyway, it extended one to me, and I took the hint and shook it half-heartedly. It chuckled: "You've got such a weak handshake... don't worry, you keep taking your medicine and we'll get you back up to full strength in no time!" I shuddered visibly at the mention of the word "medicine." "Thanks, but, uh, I don't think I want any more medicine," I replied, crossing my fingers that he'd accept the concept of No Means No. He just laughed happily again, closing his eyes briefly and smiling happily. Then he looked at me: "Oh, silly Bussie. I don't know why you're so stubborn, but I suppose nobody likes having to be sick and take medicine. That's why I mixed your medicine in with your porridge. You've already gotten your morning dose!" It giggled happily to itself. I stared at the empty bowl of porridge and the little bits drying on the spoon and edge of the bowl, ready to feel sick. Ready, but it never happened, because I instead became aware of how oddly delicious the porridge had been. I didn't really pay much attention at the time because we were busy chatting, but now the taste in my mouth was extra-savory, for porridge. This man just admitted he mixed his cum into my porridge, fed it to me, and was straight-faced calling it "medicine." And my stomach wasn't turning. I was just thinking about how lovely the porridge tasted. What was wrong with me? I was convinced it involved psychoactive substances, but I was also well aware of how much better I felt than the last few times I was awake. This internal debate prevented me from responding fast enough to announce my indignance, and Hunny-Bear continued: "Tricked you, huh? I know, I can be a cretin sometimes. But honestly, it's for your own good! You grown-up people can be just like children when you're sick, for heaven's sake." It leaned over the tray and picked up the pitcher of milk. At least, it was a crisp white liquid I hoped was unadulterated milk. "Now, let's get you some mugril milk to wash things down!" As it poured my glass full of what seemed like cold, frothy milk, I wondered what the hell a "mugril" was. Deciding I had nothing to lose, I asked: "What's a mugril?" Hunny-Bear chuckled. "Oh, mugril is a wonderful creature, to be sure. We'll go visit her when you're feeling better, I bet you've never seen a mugril before!" "Is it like, moose-milk or something?" I asked. Hunny-Bear laughed. "No, no, moose-milk is pain-pig sweat compared to what mugril produces. Just wait till you're feeling better, then I'll let you milk her yourself!" Great. So there was some species of milk-producing animal that this thing called a "mugril," or whatever, and he owned one, and he wanted me to milk it for him. My mind flashed back to the water- buckets he was carrying when we had our first (conscious) meeting. Maybe they were actually milk-pails? "Anyway," I said, "I'm actually feeling much better now" - he held the glass to my lips, interrupting me and forcing me to drink - "so can we go today?" The milk was very cold, very refreshing, and very different from cow's milk. It tasted... reassuring and familiar, somehow. I inwardly hoped it wasn't because it was also "spiked". Hunny-Bear just laughed lightly again. "No, no, no. You need to rest and let the medicine fix you up! When I'm sure you can handle getting up and walking about, we'll go out into the woods, I promise. Now eat your toast." As I crunched away on the delicious, grainy bred (it must have been thoroughly home-made), my original question - that I had tried to ask before it... he... whatever... thought I was trying to exchange names - popped back into my head: "Oh, hey? Uhm, Hunny-Bear?" Hunny-Bear smiled a friendly smile: "Yes, Bussie?" I winced internally at that stupid name. "I was all swollen up when I passed out and you found me - " "Yes," interrupted Hunny-Bear, "a very common side-effect to a bussie-bopper infection raging out of control." Infection? This was a disease? I hoped it was just a mountain-folk colloquialism equating allergies with disease, because I didn't think I could contract something that nasty just by falling into some dandelions. Anyway: "Yeah... well anyway, the swelling has mostly gone down - " "Yes," interrupted Hunny-Bear again, "a very common side-effect of taking your medicine!" It laughed lightly and happily. "Right... OK... well anyway, uhm... I notice one area is being kind of stubborn in that regard." I gestured to my chest, the area of the quilt that rose up quite noticeably in comparison to the rest of it. "When will my chest go down?" Hunny-Bear frowned a bit, looking thoughtful and adorable if you subtracted the giant dong. "Oh dear," it said, "my medicine is only so powerful. I can stabilize the bussie-boppers but I can't cure them entirely." There was that word it had used earlier, again: "stabilize". Apparently I would need proper medical attention to really fix things. Oh well, as long as the condition didn't deteriorate in the mean time I could live with it for a while. Which brought me to the concept of "mean time": "Oh. OK. So, then, do you have a way I can contact the outside world? To, you know, get picked up and taken home?" Hunny-Bear stared at me: "You want to leave?" That made my stomach sink. Then he sighed: "Oh, pother. Very well. But I don't go out of the forest much and wouldn't have any idea how to lead you home, wherever you came from, and I don't have a telephone." I frowned. This was getting worse. "Do you know where the nearest ranger station is?" Hunny-Bear stared at me again: "Ranger-station?" I gave up. "Never mind." "Alright," replied Hunny-Bear, smiling. "Now you just get some rest, and you'll feel so much better in a few days!" It patted me on the head, tucked my quilt in, and then tottered back down the stairwell, tray in hand. I was left feeling drowsy and with a full stomach. - IX - WHEN I awoke it was dusk. Or at least, from the reddish-purple lighting coming in through the window, it seemed to be dusk. I felt terribly hot and stuffy, and quickly kicked the quilt off, and then a comforter than had apparently been added below that. I definitely felt my chest react when I did that. In the murky lighting it was hard to really see, but the vague outline of two serious swellings on my chest was enough to make me quite sure the pectoral inflammation had not decreased. I sat up. God, they jiggled whenever I moved! I grimly thought that I knew what having breasts must feel like. Then I swung my legs off the bed and stood up - something didn't quite seem right, but I couldn't place it - and began looking around the room. I was still naked, and all the furniture was in the same place. I walked a little further and startled sharply as I ran right into the TV tray; I managed to grab it before it tipped over, and prevented too much noise from being made. If I had a chance to escape now, I was going to take it. Creeping down into the stairwell, I absent-mindedly brushed my hair behind my ear and peered around. No sign of Hunny-Bear. But it was dark. Most animals have better night vision than humans. I became paranoid. What if Hunny-Bear was lurking in some alcove, watching me? My heart started beating faster. No, no, don't get afraid! Animals can smell fear! I took a deep breath, noticing my chest rise out of the corner of my eye, and tried to calm down. I took cautious steps down the spiraling stairway, careful to come down slowly enough to be able to stop if a step started creaking. About halfway down (I estimated, based on the number of steps traversed), I heard a noise down below. Damn it! I quickly flattened my back against the wall, very conscious not to press my chest into anything right then, and - And fell backwards. I was suddenly in another room, with a circular window. Ah-ha! I had found the missing "second window" visible from the forest floor. To my chagrin, I hadn't fallen through a secret wall... just an unlocked, slightly-ajar door. Apparently I hadn't paid much attention to the walls on either side of the stairwell the one other time I'd come down it, but here was the second-floor door, in plain sight if I'd looked. Closing it carefully behind me, I peered around the room. It was almost pitch-black, subject to the light-blocking of the forest canopy. I spied a small lamp near me along with a box of long matches, but didn't risk lighting it in case the glow under the door gave me away. Instead I closed my eyes tightly and counted to 50, then opened them: success! The contrast made my eyes readjust, and I could make out vague outlines in the dark room. Most importantly, I made out a coat rack. And on it were my clothes! I was elated. I could now escape without being on the 11 o'clock news as the crazy, lost, hallucinogenic, nude hiker. Now I would just be crazy, lost, and hallucinogenic. Oh well, some improvement was better than none. Creeping over to it, I saw how much dirt and debris was stuck to the fabric... I must have been going through some dense underbrush in my inflamed haze when I shed them. Then a wonderful thought hit me. I fished into the pocket of my jacket, and was rewarded with my cell phone! Freedom! Free