From Hiking Boots to High Heels

You are lost, despite your insistence on carrying the map for the group. It had offered little support when the soggy earth collapsed beneath you. It hadn’t amplified your voice over the cacophonous thunder, signal to your friends that you had fallen off the path behind them or prevent the torrential downpour from soaking you to the bone. Ruminations on the irony have to wait until you are safe from this sudden storm. Above you is the 500-yard smear you left in the muddy ravine, and to either side of you is a sheet of rainfall. You turn your back to the cliff and make out a structure silhouetted in the storm. It looks like a cabin, which means shelter and potentially help, so you stumble towards it as fast as your aching body can move. You shed the unnecessary weight of your backpack for the last dozen yards, collapsing against the sturdy, wooden door to both knock and to pass out from exhaustion. Barely conscious, you feel a comforting warmth as the door swings open, foolishly but luckily left unlocked by the owner. You drag yourself fully out of the rain and catch your breath. As panic subsides, you lift yourself into a sitting position against the back of the sturdy door. You feebly start to undress, beginning simply with your muddy, well-used boots. You note how your fall had destroyed the leather and tore the soles from the toes, demonstrating that this would be their last hike. Socks easily come off next and rest in soggy balls by your shoes. You flex your pruney feet experimentally, confirming that nothing was broken in the fall. You shiver and continue stripping, going after your shirt next. The fabric is almost a second skin at this point, but you peel your torso free and fling the damp fabric aside. With a grunt of effort, you grip the couch behind you and pull yourself to your feet in order to get out of your pants and underwear. You stagger forward to lean against an expensive-looking, leather couch as you shuck you bottoms one leg at a time. Your cargo shorts and boxers fall with a moist thunk, and you step out of them. The cabin is dark and seemingly empty, allowing you privacy until you can get dried off. This place had to have a bathroom, which meant a hot bath and dry towels. If you are lucky, you can borrow some clothes from whoever owns this place when they inevitably return. They probably also got caught in the storm. You justify that that’s why the door was left unlocked. You squint and grasp into the darkness to find a light switch, finally illuminating the cabin’s interior.

It’s a well-furnished, rustic space, with a large fireplace as the main room’s centerpiece. Multiple seats of luxury leather point toward the hearth, encouraging conversations between its guests, and a round table on a thick carpet sat between it all. You are standing in the open space acting as the foyer. You notice a large pair of hiking boots by the door along with a more feminine pair. The guy who owned those boots must be a giant, considering his shoes were about three sizes too big for you. To your right is a staircase leading to the second floor, to your left is a hallway lined with multiple doors, but a portrait catches your eye: a man and woman, her draped affectionately across his broad chest and shoulder while his burly bicep pulled her possessively against his side. Their style matches the shoes you discovered earlier: the man is tall and broad, taking up most of the frame, and dressed like a cliche lumberjack in plaid and suspenders, his hairy pecs visible with three buttons undone. His partner is the height of femininity, the kind of woman you do not expect to find in the great outdoors. Her hair is bouncy and thick: impractical on overgrown trails. Her face is coated in professional makeup: time-consuming and liable to be sweated off. Her clothes at least match the environment but are tight and scandalous to show off what couldn’t have been natural curves: a bubble butt squeezed appreciatively by her partner and busty tits squished deeply into her partners ribs as her held her. Her silhouette takes up about a third of her masculine partner's. Their intense love for each other is obvious, and while the woman's gaze is angled up at her partner, the man is staring straight into your eyes, no matter what angle you view it. A puddle is forming beneath your feet, so you go looking for a way to get dry.