So ... fucking ... hot!
I'm sweating like a beast from the strain of trying to hike out of western Washington's Dark Divide range on a broken ankle. Earlier I felt chilled to the bone, not surprising given the shock of my injury, the wet snow on the ground, and the huge mushy flakes splattering onto my jacket. But now I'm just sizzling.
Wait, how did I get up here on the ridgeline again? Wasn't I trying to hike back down to my car? I'm lost. And confused.
And broiling. I pull off my hat and gloves, absentmindedly dropping them to the snow and leaving them behind. Still too hot! I peel off my outer jacket, the waterproof shell soaked on the inside from sweat, and I abandon that too. Not enough cooling. By the time I reach the opposite side of the saddle between two peaks, I've stripped naked except for my hiking boots. At least only my feet are roasting now.
I'm no longer aware that I'm in trouble.
Serious fucking trouble.
About-to-die trouble.
The last thing I remember is a giddy sensation of weightlessness.
As they say, it's not the fall that kills you. It's the landing.
< = = = + + = = = >
I should have known better. In contrast to my lack of immediate awareness that I was surrendering to hypothermia, I've always had the general awareness that in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, far more people succumb to its insidious effects than to everything else - lightning, animals, heart attacks and falls - combined.
I was also well aware when I started this hike that while it has been a warm, dry Fall, late October is always dicey when it comes to Northwest mountain weather. More specifically, I even knew that a minor storm front was expected to pass through. The forecast had called for the snow level to stay above my elevation, however, so I'd dressed for the cold drizzle that was expected. What I hadn't counted on was the light rain turning to wet snow just as I reached the mile-high summit of Jumbo Peak, quickly blanketing the rocky trail below me under four inches of the stuff, making my descent through the rocks suddenly treacherous.
I'd made it a few hundred feet down before slipping on a downsloped slab, somehow getting my other foot wedged between two rocks. I felt a sickening crunch, went limp and fell hard. I spent a long time lying there, inventorying my situation. My left ankle was almost certainly broken, rocketing pain up my leg if I put any weight at all on that side. To make things worse, I may also have broken my right elbow in the fall.
By the time I was able to get up, find a solid walking stick amongst the windblown subalpine firs and start my slow limp down the mountain, I'd lost a lot of time. And a lot of heat. I was shivering so uncontrollably that I could hardly stay balanced on top of my right leg and my makeshift crutch. I wasn't sure how I'd make it back down to my car by dark.
By the time I'd descended below the treeline, I was chilled enough to start losing the ability to complete the mental puzzles I was using to assess my cognition after the initial fall. I'd start reciting the alphabet, maybe make it to G or H, and my mind would drift somewhere else.
My body also wandered, apparently hobbling right past the trail junction I needed to get back to my car, instead climbing back up to the ridgecrest on the wrong trail.
And eventually feeling not like I was in a freezer, but rather an oven.
You already know what happened after that.
< = = = + + = = = >
I awaken with a profound headache. Actually, it's not just my head. Or even my broken ankle. Everything hurts: both legs, both shoulders, still my right elbow, my ribs, my ass. Everything. But I'm feeling neither chilled nor overheated, as I'd been in my various stages of illness.
Struggling to remember what's happened to me, I blink open my eyes.
Huh?
I'm in a cave. The opening glows with the pink light of what might be dusk or might be dawn. I'm next to a warm fire, under a soft woolen blanket. How could I have managed to stumble into a fucking cave? How did I manage to build a fucking fire? Where did this fucking blanket come from? The only possible explanation is that someone found me and helped me.
Oh, I guess I'm still naked under the blanket. Oops.
I lift my head and peer around the cave, looking for my rescuer. I see my clothes drying on the other side of the fire, so thankfully those aren't lost. I hear a rustle from the other side of the room, followed by a deep but somehow feminine voice saying, "Oh good, you're awake."
A woman? Wouldn't have called that.
Then the figure stands up.
That's. Not. A. Woman.
It's not a man either.
This being is seven or eight feet tall. Shaggy. With greenish-brown eyes and a warm smile.
I've been saved by ... a Bigfoot?!
Once again: Huh?
I haven't been one to believe in Sasquatch, or Yeti, or whatever other cryptid legends you have. I always figured that if they were real, we would have found traces of their existence by now, beyond the painfully obvious hoaxes. Such a creature couldn't possibly hunt or gather food, poop out its wastes, find mates to reproduce with, and raise its young, all without detection.
A lot of your outsiders who believe in Bigfoot seem to think the Northwest is full of these vast, barely explored, empty forests. Wrong. Besides the fact that ninety-five percent of the Northwest's forests were logged out decades ago, with no solid evidence of Bigfoot ever found during those operations, every square mile is now crawling with hikers every summer weekend. Doesn't matter if it's second-growth woods, or one of the remaining scraps of old growth like the less-known Dark Divide where I am now. In July, you can't go five minutes without running into someone else on the trail. No way could Bigfoot stay hidden.
But this Sasquatch - one that talks, no less - is no hoax. It - okay, she - is forcing me to rethink my views.
It - again, I mean she - is also prompting some questions.
Rather than opening with a brusque "What are you?" I start with something smaller. "Where are we?"
"On the side of Sunrise Peak."
"How long have I been here?"
"Just overnight. Coincidentally, that's the sunrise, in case you were wondering," she explains, indicating the glow from the cave mouth.
"How am I still alive?" Now I'm fully recalling all the stupid shit I did as hypothermia infused its numbing effects into my consciousness. Its victims are often known to strip themselves naked because they feel overheated. Or to simply wander off a cliff. I did both.
"Sheer luck. You went off a thirty-foot ledge, but survived by landing on the Washington State Flower." That's the prolific Mountain Rhododendron, which grows into sprawling shrubs that, in the Summer, become thick with spectacular pink and red flowers. "It's a good thing you survived your fall. I can heal almost anything, but not when you're already dead."
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but I thought you were a myth."
"We Sesqua, or Tsiatco, or Chiya-Tonka, depending on whom you ask, are not myths," she corrects. "We are legends. Much like the Mermaid, the Unicorn, or the Centaur." After a pause she adds, "Or the Wendigo," shuddering visibly. "Be thankful I got to you before that asshole did."
"So I'm not just dreaming you?"
"My dearest Joe," she chuckles, shaking her head. "You must believe that I have kept you alive. Just as it is people like you, those who believe, that keep us alive."
"I'm not sure I understand. But ... I guess now I believe?"
"That is what matters. We have been in danger ever since you modern people seized control from your Indigenous forebears, over whom we had watched for thousands of years. The danger to us is not that you would destroy our habitat or hunt us, but the very thing that would make hunting us impossible. You people won't see us, usually. But we require periodic communion - intercourse, if you will - with you to avoid vanishing fully into the spiritual realm."
"How is it you're able to heal me?"
"By nursing you to health." She leans over me tenderly and presents me with her nipple. "This will set your splintered bones, heal your bruises, repair your torn tendons and give you the nourishment your broken body needs to accomplish all of that."
As I open my mouth and suck in her teat, she gasps out what sounds like a combination of relief and ... I guess, pleasure? Her large breast is soft, just like a human woman's, not the muscular moob-like mound that I imagined. And while it is hairy, the hairs are long and soft, like silk. Or, come to think of it, like the remarkably plush blanket on top of me. Interesting coincidence. From the first sip, I feel a surge of strength rushing through me. This thick, sweet fluid carries a hint of sweet spice, much like eggnog, or maybe warm horchata.
"Mmmm," my Sesqua moans, almost sexually.
I suck harder, feeling something stronger than mere thirst for this elixir. I feel a compulsion to drink as much as possible, and it flows almost as fast as I can guzzle it.
"That's good," she gasps, breathily, cradling and rubbing my head. "You're dehydrated too. Drink up." She moans again in rhythm to my suckling.
Maybe it's the sense of simply being alive. Maybe it's that someone's caring for me. Maybe it's something magical in her milk. Or maybe it's the simple fact that there's a tit in my mouth. For whatever reason, I can't keep from feeling ... well, horny. My cock is fully hardened. Feeling it drag across the fibers of the blanket, as it erects itself, only stimulates me more. Once again, oops.
Reading my thoughts, she soothes, "Don't worry if my healing makes you feel aroused. An aphrodisiac effect is expected." She reaches under the blanket and starts stroking me, her warm, soft hand considerably larger than my penis. "I'm aroused too, you know."
Then this female megaprimate pulls the blanket away and straddles me, ensheathing my member in her dripping vagina. For a second, I'm amused by the alliteration of a 'Squatch squatting on me, but then I realize how incredibly hot she is inside. I don't mean hot as in sexy, although she somehow is. I'm talking about temperature. This is like the one time I did it with a girlfriend who was running a high fever. Which I swear was at her insistence, not mine. I guess it's also like that, in that I feel a guilty sensation I shouldn't be doing this.
My giantess's breasts are dripping, to the point that her milk is trickling across my abdomen and down my sides. I notice that whenever it runs across areas where I've been scratched or bruised, the injury there vanishes instantly.
I start sucking her furry tits again, moving my mouth back and forth between the nipples, cupping their plushness in my hands. She seems to enjoy this a lot, soon tensing up in what seems to be an orgasm, her vagina squeezing and stroking my manhood in a way that no human's has. Perhaps more amazing, at the moment of orgasm, her nipples pulse several jets of a different kind of milk, sweeter and faintly fruit-flavored. It's a flavor I can't quite place, subtle but something between cherry yogurt and strawberry milkshake. Or lychee?
"Human saliva is also required," she says. "Would you mind?"
Before I can ask, "Required for what?" she has straddled my face and taken my penis in her huge mouth, assuming a sixty-nine position. Or maybe I should call it a hundred thirty-eight, since she's twice the size of a human.
Despite my fears of being crushed, her long thighs hold her pelvis high enough to allow plenty of room for my head as I get my first taste of Squatchtwat. Hers is the sweetest puss I've ever tasted, yet remarkably tart at the same time. Her taste, combined with the soft, wet squishiness of her labia, make it feel like I'm actually consuming fresh mango. How can this be real? It is absolutely magical. Er, legendary, as she would probably correct me. I can't get enough.
Until I do. Soon she's trembling and cumming again. Once again, her boobs squirt, this time onto my belly, and I reach a hand down to sample the stuff again. The instant it touches my tongue, I find myself ejaculating into her mouth with no warning whatsoever. She spits out my semen, mixes it with her own fruity, creamy fluid and rubs it all over my body. I realize that when she is done, I don't feel any pain. Anywhere. At all. It feels like I'm fully healed. Oddly enough, the goo doesn't leave me a sticky mess when it dries. Just smelling nice.
She straddles my cock once again, saying, "Third time completes our communion." Is there something special about doing it three times? I realize she wasn't kidding about the word "intercourse" earlier. She really does have to connect with a human every few years or she fades into oblivion.
Despite the lack of a break, I'm as rigid as I've ever been, sliding once again into her hot Bigfoot cunt. Yet again, I suckle her breasts, and as we both approach our third climaxes, this kindly Sesqua uses a huge hand to squeeze her own tit. This increases the flow of healing fluid - damn, I wish I'd realized earlier that could happen! - into a gush. "The third climax will be unforgettable," she predicts.
Indeed, it is unforgettable, the squirts of sweet milk tasting somehow better than the first two times.
"But forgettable," she whispers, kissing me on the cheek.
< = = = + + = = = >
The next thing I remember, I'm crawling out - fully clothed - from under a rock outcrop where I seem to have spent the night. The snow has melted, and I realize I've been awakened by the sound of an approaching plane. I dig my emergency strobe and my signaling mirror out of my pack - despite yesterday's missteps, I do hike prepared, always packing the Ten Essentials - and try to alert the pilot. As the plane approaches, it dips its wings to indicate I've been spotted, veering downslope to drop a large object to the ground below me. I run to the package, finding in it blankets, warm clothing, energy bars and three liters of water. Survival supplies.
Forty minutes later, I hear the thump-thump-thump of the SAR helicopter.
I tell my rescuers, and later the news media, exactly what I remember happening. I'd slipped in the unexpected snow, sprained my ankle, and had to spend the night hunkered down next to an outcrop. Through a harrowing night outside, I'd barely kept warm enough, but somehow made it. My ankle even recovered overnight! I don't remember there being much more to it than that.
I find myself firmly believing in Sasquatch now, though I can't fully explain why. I also can't explain why I ever doubted her existence.
