Becky looked out of the window at the great ocean of trees and sighed happily. This was the life! Her years of growing up in an English suburb now seemed dull, grey and ordinary. Here, flying over the Amazon rainforest, she was seeing life in the raw – untamed still, though perhaps, regrettably, not for very much longer.
She was taking full advantage of her Gap year. In a few months she would be going to university in London, but for the moment she was free, and living life to the full. She had already been to Japan – what an experience that had been! She had followed that up with a visit to the south-western United States. And now she was exploring South America. Yesterday she had flown into Lima and stayed the night in a rather run-down hotel (she shuddered at the memory of cockroaches and large spiders). Today she was flying to Iquitos, from where she would begin a trip by land and river to Pacaya Samiria National Reserve. She was very much looking forward to trekking through the jungle.
Her parents had been reluctant to let her go on this jaunt around the world. They feared an untimely repeat of her rather unusual bowel problem. But she had not had any endless-poo experiences in over six months, and she managed to convince them that the problem had, at last, somehow gone away.
Yet since leaving England she had, in fact, pooped endlessly on three separate occasions. Two of them had been in Japan. The other had been in Los Angeles. The Japanese had been fascinated with her extraordinary condition – some of them even excited about it – the Americans, on the other hand, were rather more horrified and less sympathetic.
Still, she had survived those events pretty well, and she hoped that she would not have any more unfortunate accidents. At least, not until she got back to Britain. Secretly she was relieved that she had not seen the last of her ‘problem’ – but sometimes the timing was most inconvenient!
The plane lurched, and she bounced in her seat. Then it lurched again. Frowning, Becky looked out of the window. The sky looked ominously dark for nine o’clock in the morning.
“Looks like a storm’s brewing,” she said to her friend Suzy, who was accompanying her on her world tour.
Suzy was looking rather ill. “Don’t say that,” she said. “This turbulence is bad enough without you talking about storms.”
“Sorry,” said Becky with a shrug. “It just looks awfully dark, that’s all.”
The pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker, talking first in rapid Spanish and then repeating in halting English. “We apologise for the turbulence,” he said. “Please stay in your seats. The turbulence maybe will last for a many minutes.”
Just then there was a particularly sudden and violent bounce, and Becky’s bowels began to move. “Oh shit!” she said.
Suzy stiffened, and glanced quickly at her friend. “What?” she asked sharply.
“It’s happening again – I need to get to the toilet!” hissed Becky as she felt a thick pole of poo slide inexorably out of her anus and into her panties.
“Fuck,” muttered Suzy. “Just what we need.” She moved her knees out of the way as Becky clambered past her into the aisle. She shut her eyes quickly … but not quickly enough to prevent her from seeing the growing bulge in the back of Becky’s panties as it passed within inches of her face. Becky was wearing a light, and very short, red-and-white summer dress on account of the muggy heat that had been so oppressive in the hotel that morning. When she bent over even slightly, her white silk panties were revealed.
Becky hurried down the aisle towards the toilets, her panties rapidly filling to capacity, but she was stopped by a stewardess. “Please – return to your seat!” said the smartly-dressed Latino lady.
“I have diarrhea!” exclaimed Becky, and the shocked stewardess quickly backed off to let her past.
Shutting herself in the toilet, Becky sighed with relief. Nobody had seen … or at least seen much. She cursed the shortness of her dress – of course anyone behind her had probably seen the bulge in her panties. But it could not be helped. The main thing now was to try to stem the flow. She lifted the lid of the toilet and sat down, as hard as she dared. But the flow of poo coming out of her anus only accelerated. She looked down between her legs to see a lengthy rope of poo spilling out of the leg-hole of her panties and coiling itself around the inside of the bowl. Fascinated, she watched for a minute or two, until the bowl was getting full. Then she shook herself, and flushed.
Nothing happened. The suction was too weak to deal with the amount of poo she had produced. There was going to be no way to hide her misfortune. Still, maybe if she could stop herself soon, she could confine her accident to the toilet…
She tried everything. She threw herself at the wall, dropped suddenly to the floor, and punched herself in the abdomen (only once – it hurt). But the only result was that her poo was now pouring out of her rectum faster than ever before – she guessed the rate was three or four feet per second. She removed her panties – they were not doing any good anyway, and pondered her options as the toilet gradually disappeared from view behind her, buried under an immense pile of shit.
In a last ditch effort, she tried jumping up and down, bouncing on the spot, but a sudden patch of turbulence almost made her overbalance and fall into her poo. Sighing, she decided that she had done her best – it would stop when it stopped. She looked at her watch – there was still an hour of flight left. This was worrying – she could produce a lot in an hour!
She did a quick mental calculation. Her column of poo was spewing out of her anus at four feet per second – that was about 1.2 meters per second (this was going to be easier in metric). It was about two and a half inches in diameter – say six centimeters. The cross-sectional area of the column was therefore about (and here she furrowed her brow in thought) … 0.003 square meters. Multiplying this by 1.2 gave … 0.0036 cubic meters – this was the volume she was producing per second. This worked out to … about 0.2 cubic meters per minute. Her brow unfurrowed – this was getting easier. So (if she had calculated correctly) in five minutes she would produce a cubic meter of poo. She assessed the small room with an anxious eye – it could not be more than six or seven cubic meters in volume. She would fill it to capacity in half an hour or so. Already the floor was covered – she was up to her ankles in shit, and behind her the pile was three feet high.
But what choice did she have? Whatever happened, happened – there was no way to prevent it. In the meantime, she might as well enjoy it. She closed her eyes and began to masturbate…
In the cockpit, the captain was staring in bewilderment at his instruments. The plane had gained weight over the past half-hour – how was this possible? Already it was five tons heavier than it had been at take-off. That’s what the instruments were saying at any rate, and the increased sluggishness of the controls seemed to corroborate the story. “Pedro!” he yelled at his co-pilot. “How can we be gaining weight?” The co-pilot shrugged.
Just then one of the stewardesses appeared. “We have a problem with the toilet,” she said. “Someone’s been in there now for half an hour, and we can’t get the door open, even with the key. It’s jammed shut somehow.”
“Half an hour?” mused the captain. “Let me come and see.”
He and the stewardess hurried back to the toilet, and the captain tried forcing the door with his shoulder. It moved, but not by much. Striding back to the cockpit, he opened the tool cabinet and pulled out a small crowbar. He returned to the toilet door and shoved the sharp end between the edge of the door and the doorframe.
A single wrench broke the door free from its top and bottom runners. Instantly it was flung open as a wall of brown sludge six feet high poured out into the corridor. The stewardess just had time to scream before she was knocked to the floor and buried.
The captain was also knocked to the floor, but he managed to struggle to safety amid a growing depth of soft excrement. He looked back, just in time to see the figure of a teenaged girl being carried out of the toilet amid the surge. She was gasping for breath and was covered from head to toe in shit.
“Thank you!” she panted as she struggled to her feet. Her dress was gathered around her chest, its colour only to be guessed at. She was clutching a brown rag in her hands – her panties, perhaps. “I thought I was done for there!”
“What the hell is going on?” demanded the captain, getting up and disgustedly wiping handfuls of shit off his uniform.
“I have this medical condition,” apologised the girl. “I’m afraid I can’t stop pooing.”
The captain stared at the column of poo still erupting from between her buttocks, and the sight of it coiling up in a pile atop the spreading mass of poo in the corridor made him suddenly put two and two together. “You’re the reason the plane is getting heavier!” he said. “You’ll make us crash!”
“Surely we can get to Iquitos before that happens!” said Becky worriedly.
The head of the stewardess had appeared from beneath the sea of shit. She coughed and spat and wiped her eyes. “Filthy girl!” she shrieked. “You are a danger to all of us!” She turned to the captain. “I insist that you throw her off the plane!” she said. “If she stays on board, we’ll crash into the jungle! And look at the mess she’s making!”
“No! Don’t throw me off the plane!” said Becky, terrified.
The captain looked around at the shocked passengers who were falling over each other to avoid the spreading sea of poo. He saw one or two of them throw up. “You're right,” he said to the stewardess. Then he turned to Becky and said severely, “You cannot stay on the plane. You are endangering the lives of all my crew and passengers by remaining on board.”
And so, kicking and screaming, and still spewing poo at several feet per second from her anus, Becky was dragged down to the luggage hold (the captain knew that it was too dangerous to throw her out of the passenger exit) and the stewardess opened the luggage hatch.
Becky felt a rush of air pull her towards the opening, and she braced her feet. But the captain gave her a shove, and with a scream she tumbled out of the plane and plummeted towards the ground. Still screaming in terror, she tumbled end over end, her poo spiraling around her as she fell.
The plane had been flying at a mere twelve thousand feet, but the trees down below did not immediately get appreciably larger, and Becky had plenty of time to take stock and attempt to fight down her panic. She found she was falling at the same speed as her poo, which began to curl up in wiggly patterns around her.
Only one thought was on her mind: her imminent death. She managed to stabilize herself so that she was falling with her head downwards (the other way up, her poo-soaked dress whipped up and slapped into her face).
Perhaps, though, she thought to herself, she could make it quick. Falling into the upper branches of trees seemed like a nasty way to go – she might be impaled or something. But if she could contrive to land on that stretch of river…
She steered herself towards the silvery snake, angling her body the way she had seen skydivers do. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she could use her ‘problem’ to good advantage here. With a stream of poo thundering out of her anus, surely it had some kind of propulsive properties…?
Because of the more unfortunate consequences of pooing endlessly, she had never actually attempted to discover the limit of her talent. Now, however, was looking like a pretty good time. She gritted her teeth and pushed, and sure enough, the rate of flow increased. She pushed again, longer and harder this time. Then she paused, panting, and did it again.
The flow of poo was now unbelievably fast – tens of feet per second perhaps. And it was having a noticeable effect on her position. Now lying horizontally with her arms out for stability, Becky found that she was making rapid progress towards the river. In fact, if she was not careful, she would overshoot it by a long way. She steered herself to the right and began to follow the river’s course.
The trees were getting much closer now, and Becky’s panic began to mount again. Desperately, she angled herself upwards, so that her torrent of poo was now dropping directly downwards. Irrational though it was, she preferred to land on her feet rather than her head. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and braced for impact.
A few seconds later, it had not happened, and she opened one eye fearfully. The river was closer, but not as close as she would have expected – it was still a couple of hundred feet beneath her. The other surprising thing was that she was not falling nearly as fast as she had been. In fact, she seemed to be slowing down all the time.
And then it hit her – her poo was actually accelerating her upwards! She could have laughed for joy, except that it was still debatable whether the acceleration would be enough to prevent her from landing hard enough to be killed.
She strained and pushed as hard as she could. The river rose up to meet her, but ever more slowly. Fifty feet, thirty … ten … SPLASH!
She plunged beneath the surface, but no harder than she would if she had leapt into a swimming pool from the uppermost diving board. She paddled upwards, and broke the surface seconds later, coughing and spluttering. She struck out for the shore, which was about thirty feet away, hoping that there were no piranhas in this river.
Wet and bedraggled, but still somehow clutching her panties, Becky pulled herself out of the water and sat down on the muddy bank. Her flow of poo had stopped – no doubt from the shock of hitting the water. She flopped down on to her back and started sobbing with relief. She was alive! She had been thrown out of an aeroplane … and survived!
Then her face clouded over. She was so going to make those bastards on the aeroplane pay! But first, she needed to find her way back to civilization. She had seen no roads or settlements from the air, so perhaps it might be best to build a raft and float down the river.
But how was she going to build a raft? She had no idea. She had no means of sawing branches or chopping down trees. Nevertheless, perhaps there might be some branches on the forest floor. She got to her feet, pulled on her soaking wet panties, and started pushing her way through the thick undergrowth into the forest. After a short distance, she found herself splashing through a pool of recent flood water.
The going was slow, and very tiring. Without a machete, she often had to try to pull apart a tangled mass of small branches and leaves merely in order to progress a foot or so. It was very hot and humid, her efforts seemed hopeless, and after just fifteen minutes she stopped and sat down. This meant sitting in a foot of water, but at least the water was a little cooler than the air.
What she did not realize, however, was that leeches had been feasting on her legs ever since she had stepped into the pool. Now that she had sat down, they began to attach themselves to her flesh all the way up her legs. And these were Amazonian giants – Haementaria ghiliani to be precise – which can grow up to eighteen inches in length. These specimens were mere youngsters, ranging from eight to twelve inches, but they were still capable of drinking five times their own weight in blood. Nevertheless, Becky did not notice them as they attached themselves to her, for they injected a local anaesthetic as they bit.
The water was so murky as to be almost black, so Becky could see nothing untoward as she reclined against the tangle of vegetation and relaxed. The heavy, humid air was making her drowsy, and within a few minutes she was snoozing. She therefore did not feel it when one of the leeches wormed its way into her panties and fastened itself to one of her labia. Another slithered between her gusset and her pussy, and found the opening to her vagina. This eleven-inch monster probed inside with its slender front end, then began to haul the rest of its body, by stages, into her cunt. Once it was fully inside, it attached itself to her vaginal wall and began to drink.
By the time Becky awoke, almost all of the leeches had had their fill and dropped off her legs. One or two still remained, and when Becky stood up she saw them still clinging to her thigh, disgustingly fat and bloated. She screamed and tried to pull them off, but they were stuck fast. Eventually she managed to dislodge them, but her distress was heightened by the blood that was running from numerous tiny wounds (the leeches had also injected an anti-coagulant, so that her blood would not clot while they were feeding.
Then she felt the one in her vagina stir. Horrified, she pulled her panties down and stuck two of her fingers into her cunt. They immediately hit the leech, and she tried to grab hold of it. But it was stuck fast, and she could not grip it hard enough to pull it out. Reluctantly, and sobbing with horror, she let go and left it inside her.
She hurried back the way she had come – she could no longer bear to stand in the leech-infested pool. Soon she was on dry land again, but with no clear plan of what to do. After some thought, she decided that she might as well follow the river downstream – eventually it must surely lead to civilization.
She had not progressed far before she began to be bothered by mosquitoes. She swatted at them irritably, but she had a lot of exposed skin and she could not prevent them all from landing on her. Some of them were climbing up inside her dress. She might have been more diligent about keeping them off her body if she had known what they were carrying. Unfortunately some of these mosquitoes had been infected with tiny botfly larvae, which detached themselves on contact with Becky’s skin and burrowed into her flesh. Several of them immersed themselves in her breasts (she had not put on a bra that morning on account of the heat), and a couple found their way into her labia, as her over-stretched panties were hanging rather loosely. Her back, belly and buttocks were soon playing host to many more.
As she trudged onward, she found it impossible to escape the pests, and her efforts to flap them away became ever more feeble. Each infected mosquito was carrying between fifteen and twenty wriggling passengers, and soon over a hundred botfly larvae were residing beneath the surface of her skin, though when she noticed the red bumps she assumed they were just normal mosquito bites.
A couple of hours later, a breeze sprang up, and this kept most of the mosquitoes away, which was quite a relief. It was by now early afternoon, and she was both hungry and thirsty. She did not like the look of the river water, but she drank some anyway and hoped it was not full of nasty bacteria.
The ground was getting less and less solid. The river didn’t have a bank here so much as an edge defined by trees which were growing in several inches of water. Here and there patches of mud rose above the surface, but in between leeches began to attack her legs as she splashed through the water. This freaked her out considerably, and she decided to head away from the river for a bit.
She had to walk almost half a mile before she got to anything remotely resembling dry land, but it was a great relief when she eventually stepped out of the water and into a patch of squishy mud. She took a few steps, but with each one it became slightly harder to pull her back foot out, and soon she realized she was sinking steadily into the mud.
‘Oh help!’ she said to herself, and tried to yank her left foot out. It was buried up to mid-calf. She wiggled it back and forth, and it slowly began to work its way loose. Then, suddenly, it popped free (minus her shoe) and she fell backwards, landing on her bottom with a loud splat. This bump, unfortunately, had an unwanted side-effect, and Becky groaned as she felt her anus open and a thick pole of poo push outwards and into her panties.
Her right foot was buried almost up to her knee. She tried to pull it free but could not, and her efforts were merely serving to increase the rate at which her poo was issuing from between her buttocks. Soon she was sitting in a pile of her own poo which came up to her ribs, and had not made any progress in freeing her right foot. In desperation she got to her feet (not an easy task) and tried to make a grab for a nearby branch, but she merely succeeded in getting her left foot stuck fast too.
With a last, frantic lunge, she managed to grab hold of the branch, and she clung to it for dear life. Leaning forward and putting her whole weight on it, she hoped it would hold as she pulled it towards her, hand over hand. It did not break, and soon her outstretched body was making an angle of less than thirty degrees with the ground. Her legs were being slowly but surely levered out of the mud, and then, with an audible squelch, they came free, both shoes now lost to the mud’s sticky clutches. Becky landed hard, face down in the pile of her poo, filled with relief.
On her hands and knees she continued to crawl across the mud, until she reached drier ground. The undergrowth started to get thicker here, but she guessed this was the price she had to pay for leaving the water and the mud behind. She pushed through the tangled shrubs slowly, but glad she was not being attacked by leeches and treacherous quick-mud.
Before long, however, she was beginning to miss the water and the mud. Making her way through the undergrowth was exhausting work, and her dress kept catching on sharp twigs and thorns. In its sodden and abused state, it did not put up much of a fight, and was soon in tatters. After a couple of hours, it failed to even stay in place, the neckline having been torn in several places, and when Becky heaved herself through a particularly tight cluster of branches, she was disconcerted to see that she had left her dress behind. As she let go of the branch she had been holding out of the way, it whipped backwards, and the two halves of the dress were yanked apart.
With poo still pouring out of her anus, Becky looked forlornly at the two shredded rags that had once been her dress, and sighed. There was no saving it now. Then she caught sight of her panties hanging from a branch, and she retrieved them. They were still intact, so she kept hold of them – there was no point in putting them back on while she was pooing like this, but she might be glad of them in the future.
She continued to press on, until suddenly she stopped at the sound of drums in the distances. Drums! That meant people! Eagerly, she fought her way through another few feet of undergrowth, until suddenly she burst into an open area without trees. A large area of high brown grasses was dotted with huge-leaved banana plants, which looked rather sorry for themselves. Becky, worn out almost to the point of exhaustion, and naked as the day she was born, began to walk through the grass until she saw some huts of thatched palm in the distance. No sooner had she spotted them, however, than she was sighted herself. Shouts heralded the appearance of three dark-skinned men with patterned headbands and faces marked with red paint. They wore thongs and had necklaces of bones and beads, but wore nothing else. Becky hurriedly pulled her panties on, though she had to hold them in place as her poo kept trying to push them down again.
One of the men shouted at her in an unintelligible tongue. Becky merely shrugged and shook her head. The man said something else.
“I’m sorry,” said Becky, “I don’t understand.”
Then one of them frowned and skirted around Becky to look behind her. He uttered a cry and jabbered something to his friends, who also jogged around Becky. She stood where she was, almost paralysed with fear. Then, to her astonishment, the men ran around in front of her again and bowed down low. They began to chant a simple phrase, repeating it over and over, while practically prostrating themselves in front of her and touching the ground with their foreheads. Becky was completely nonplussed.
Then one of the men got to his feet and started to back away towards the village, beckoning for her to follow. Not having another option, she did so. Upon entering the village, she noticed that the women all wore nothing but panties made, presumably, of some kind of animal skin. Upon seeing her, they took only a moment to notice that she was gushing poo from her bottom, and they, too, fell on their knees and began worshipping her.
Becky was led into a large hut, where a throne had been set up. It was wreathed in flowers and had a hole in the middle of the seat. Becky was startled – had these people been expecting someone like her? It seemed that they wanted her to sit in the throne, so she did, placing her anus over the hole. Immediately her poo began to pile into a large wooden bowl that had been placed beneath the throne, and the delighted natives started jumping about and chanting with huge smiles on their faces.
A few moments later, a tray was brought to Becky. It was piled high with cut pieces of various fruits, most of which she did not recognize. She thanked the young woman who had brought it to her, and tried a piece of a bright orange fruit which looked as if it might be melon.
It was not melon, but it was very nice, and she smiled and nodded. The natives beamed and laughed. Becky was very hungry and ate her fill of the fruit. While she ate, the bowl beneath her throne was removed and replaced with another. The full bowl was taken outside. This procedure continued for the rest of the day. Becky was fed, watered and fanned by native women, and she attempted to learn some of their language (they soon picked up the meaning of her oft-repeated “What’s this?”).
As darkness fell, she was led to a hut that had obviously just been prepared for her. A hammock-like bed had been set up over a large tub that she might have called a bath, except for the fact that it was obviously there to collect her poo. She climbed into the hammock and positioned herself so that her poo was falling through the mesh and into the tub, and in this position she spent a rather uncomfortable night’s sleep.
In the morning she found she was very stiff, but she considered herself lucky to be alive and safe rather than dead or dying out in the jungle somewhere. She was still pooing, and she was surprised to see that the tub was still not full. Then a couple of men came in with buckets, and it occurred to her that they had probably been emptying the tub at regular intervals throughout the night.
Over the course of the next few days, she began to learn a little more about these people. As far as she could tell, they subsisted largely on food from the jungle, but they traded bananas with another tribe that farmed some kind of animal whose identity Becky could not figure out. They had almost no contact with white people, though they were aware of their existence.
The tribe had a problem, however – their crops were failing. Each year it had been a little worse, and this year was proving disastrous – the banana plants were hardly producing anything. Some time ago their wise man had predicted that a goddess would come to fertilise the ground and restore their crops to their former glory. This goddess, they were convinced, was Becky, and so they were religiously harvesting her poo and spreading it on the ground around the base of the banana plants and indeed all over the grassy area.
Becky hoped fervently that the banana plants would show some signs of recovery soon, otherwise these people’s welcome might prove short-lived. In the meantime she accepted their hospitality, and made the best of her situation. She fashioned a toothbrush out of a bristly plant that grew nearby, and allowed the native women to use it to brush her teeth (they insisted on doing everything for her). Men with bowls followed her around wherever she went, catching all of her poo, and the women of the village had taken to defecating in their panties in her honour.
As much as she was enjoying her stay, however, Becky was increasingly anxious to get home. Her parents would no doubt think her dead, since her friend Suzy would have alerted them to what happened on the plane. It would be nice, therefore, to get home before they got rid of her stuff and rented out her room.
Now that she had had a chance to think more clearly, she knew how she would get home. Or at least, part of the way home. The sky was, at the moment, overcast – there could not be a better time. Haltingly she addressed the tribe’s chief. “I must go home,” she said. “Into the sky.”
The chief nodded at the first part, then stared incredulously at the second. Whether or not he believed in her divine status, apparently he did not consider ascension into the heavens part of her powers.
“Wait here,” he told her, and he motioned to some of his people with rapid-fire instructions. A few minutes later they returned with gifts. “Our crops are beginning to recover,” he said to her in his own language. “We owe you great thanks.” He and several other men and women from the tribe presented her with necklaces and head-dresses. Becky bowed and thanked them. She noticed that all of the women wore heavily-loaded panties.
“I must go now,” she said. “Thank you for your … kindness.” She had wanted to say ‘hospitality’ but did not know the word. “Now, stand back please.”
The men and women of the tribe drew back, and Becky strained hard. Her excremental discharge increased in rate dramatically. She strained again, and again, and again. With each push, her stream of poo landed further and further away from her. Soon she found she was being pushed forward, and she braced her feet against it. Another push, and another, and she was having to lean backwards at an angle of forty-five degrees in order to maintain her position. Of course, this meant that the pile was now rapidly building up directly beneath her. With another, extra-hard push, she took off slightly, wobbled, flipped over, and landed face first in her poo.
Red-faced beneath her brown face, she got up and turned around, sending wailing natives running for cover. She realized to her utmost embarrassment that she had ‘gunned down’ two of the women, who were now picking themselves up in some shock.
Becky found she could not maintain her position, and for the next few seconds she was tossed in the air and brought down with a thump, then dragged along the ground, and lifted into the air again. Realizing how ridiculous she must look, she took off at a run across the grass when she next touched her feet to the ground. As she ran, she pushed still harder, and at last she took off and managed to maintain her orientation. Soaring into the air, she swooped back over the village, gave the villagers a friendly wave, and continued upwards over the tree-tops and out of their sight.
She sighed with relief – that had been a most unpleasant way to end her stay with those kind people. She took a rough bearing from the sun, and turned herself so that she was heading in what she hoped was a south-westerly direction. That was the way to Lima, where she could make a phone call to her parents. Except that she had no money.
This thought worried her. No money, no passport, no clothes except for her pair of worn-out panties that would hardly stay up any more. The people of Lima would see her as a freak – she might be thrown in jail, put in a circus, or worse…
The clouds were currently protecting her from the sun, but for how long? She could not hope to make it to somewhere safe … the States, perhaps … without being roasted alive along the way. Perhaps she could travel by night, using the stars for guidance. She knew how to find the pole star. But what if it was cloudy at night? And how would she spend her days? What would she eat?
She wondered just how fast she could go. Turning northwards, she strained hard several times, and managed to increase her speed considerably. She was becoming a better flier, now, and could comfortably maintain a height of about a hundred feet above the tree-tops. They were whipping past beneath her at an impressive speed – she estimated that she was traveling at about thirty to forty miles per hour.
Not fast enough, she told herself. It would take her forever to cross the continent like that. So she strained and strained and strained. For five minutes she kept gritting her teeth and adding to her speed little by little. The trees beneath her were now flitting past so fast that she climbed a little, worried that a tiny mistake in her aim might send her crashing into the trees before she could correct it.
She was doing at least a hundred miles an hour now. A lot more. Perhaps two hundred miles an hour. The air piling into her face was making it impossible to breathe, and this was a frightening experience. She stuck her arms out in front of her with an effort and placed her palms together, fingertips pointing forward. The flow of air immediately divided around her hands and lessened the impact on her head. She could breathe again now, with difficulty, but she knew she could travel no faster than this. With a start, she realized her panties were gone – the wind had whipped them down her legs and off without her even noticing.
For half an hour she managed to keep going like this, but her arms became exhausted and she knew she would have to slow down. But how was she to do this? She had only ever managed to increase her flow of poo, or stop it (occasionally). Never had she managed to slow it down.
She tried clenching her buttocks, but this was no good. She tried clenching her anus, but this proved impossible – the flow of poo was so incredibly fast that it felt as if she had a thick rod of solid concrete stuck up her bottom. Trying to close her anus was like trying to push one’s thumb into a paving stone.
She tried anti-straining … the movement she would make if she were trying to suck a poo back in once it had partially emerged. But this was no good either. In some distress, she tried turning around, and instantly her speed began to drop. When she was doing a mere fifty miles per hour, she turned back around, and her speed started to increase again. It did not take her long to reach her maximum again.
She tried spreading her arms and legs out, to increase the area she was presenting to the forces of friction. This slowed her a little, but was so painful that after only a moment she gave up and streamlined herself again.
She thought about putting a hand into her flow of poo. If she diverted it, perhaps she could lessen its potential for forward thrust. She discounted this idea quickly, however – with the speed at which her poo was moving, it might rip her arm right off. It finally dawned on Becky just what a dangerous game it was that she was playing.
Eventually she settled into a kind of foetal position, with her elbows against her knees and her head tucked between her forearms. Her hands formed a V-shape which split the flow of air around her head. This did not make the perfect aerofoil, exactly, but it was better than nothing and it allowed her to breathe. Better still was the fact that her poo was being directed exactly behind her (the angle had been problematic when she was stretched out at full length). Best of all, this was a position she could hold for a while without discomfort.
And so she did, for a full three hours, peeping between her arms every few seconds to make sure she was not gaining or losing too much height. Then, to her alarm, the sun came out. She turned over and looked up. It had come out before, only to pop back behind a cloud a few seconds later. Now, however, there was a great expanse of blue sky above her. She would have to seek shelter, or burn to a crisp. She did not even have her panties for protection now.
She angled herself downwards, and then noticed a glint of light up ahead. Steering towards it, she soon realized that it was a city – and a large one at that. Despite her fears about what would happen to her there, she aimed for it with a sense of great relief.
It did not take her long to reach it, but she was feeling the effects of the sun already. Her body was mostly smeared with poo, which helped a little, but those parts which were still clean were beginning to smart. Trying to smear the poo further was no good – it had long since dried out and become flaky – touching it merely made it lose its adhesion and vanish astern.
She descended gradually, hoping that she would somehow effect a disaster-free landing. But how could she hope to, going at this speed? Up ahead, a tall building in her path looked as if it might be a useful place to attempt a landing out of sight of the people below. As she approached, however, she frowned – the top of the building was not empty of people. Several people were there, in fact, and they appeared to be firing guns!
Shocked, Becky began to steer clear of it, but then she saw somebody totter backwards, right up to the edge of the building, and fall off. A moment later, she heard his cry of distress. Without thinking, she aimed for the ground and stretched out her body, forming the most aerodynamic shape she could. Propelled as she was, she managed to fall faster than the man, and by reversing her direction at the last moment, she managed to slow down enough to catch hold of him around his waist.
Together they spiraled towards the ground. Becky found it difficult to manoeuvre with her burden, but she was determined not to let go of him, especially when she noticed his policeman’s uniform. Within fifty feet of the ground she managed to turn herself right side up, and their rapid descent slowed steadily.
With a hard bump, they landed in a heap together, Becky winded but otherwise unhurt. The policeman was bleeding from his shoulder, but he looked up at her in utter gratitude and said, “Muchas gracias, senorita!”
Her flow of poo had stopped, and Becky sighed in great relief. She now had another problem, however – she was naked and smeared with poo in a strange city, surrounded by total strangers, none of whom probably could speak English.
Other policemen were rushing over to where she lay beside the wounded police officer. A blanket was thrown around her and a policeman helped her to her feet. He began talking to her in Spanish, but she held up her hand and said “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
“You are American?” inquired the policeman.
“English,” said Becky.
“You are … superhero?” said the man.
Becky laughed. “Hardly,” she said. But then she realized how it must have looked – a strange naked woman flying down like Superman to catch a man falling from a building.
The policeman in any case was having none of it. “You are superhero!” he said. He looked around at the poo splattered around the pavement. Her landing had been witnessed by many – there was no doubt as to her means of propulsion. “You are Mierda-chica!” he said. “Mierda-girl!”
Becky shrugged. Mierda-girl did not sound so bad. She said, “I need to phone my parents. They’re in England and they think I’m dead.”
At once the man’s expression grew serious. “Of course. Please follow me.”
In one of the police cars, she was taken to the station, where her new-found celebrity status more than made up for her lack of a passport or money. She called her parents, and then the British embassy – she had discovered that this city was Bogotá, the capital of Colombia. The place was apparently a hotbed of civil unrest and political turmoil at the moment, but the police assured her that she would be escorted to the embassy without any trouble.
And so she was. The nice folks at the police station had let her take a shower and had found her some clothes, and though her sunburn was beginning to bother her she traveled to the embassy in reasonable comfort in the passenger seat of the police chief’s utility vehicle. Once at the embassy, she was fed and given a room. A great many questions were asked of her, but she denied all knowledge of the events being described by the Colombians – she knew how they would sound to someone who had not witnessed it firsthand.
A few days later, she found herself heading home on a direct flight to London. As her plane descended toward Heathrow Airport in London, she reflected that Mierda-girl would not be gone for long...
It was at this moment that the botfly larvae decided to emerge. Pulling open the front of her dress, Becky almost threw up as she saw the grubs buried in her breast flesh, wriggling beneath the surface of her skin. One of them popped its head out and began to crawl out of her breast. She could feel more movement all over her body, including in her panties.