She stood on the outskirts of the city with her hands on hips and her long brown hair whipping in the wind; looming like a storm. She stood hundreds of feet tall; a colossus of a woman. She was undeniably powerful, perhaps a goddess. Her bare feet had, without effort, crushed several small residences, and were surrounded by debris and radiating cracks in the ground. The Earth itself had surrendered, quaked and crumbled beneath her casual step.  Yet there was evidence of her apparent humanity. Her tall, lanky body, while artfully sculpted, wore ordinary clothing, albeit of extraordinary size. Her massive, anxiously wiggling toes had their nails painted a bold, iridescent blue. She was wearing short-shorts (meters long) that accentuated her robust backside and towering legs and a thin tank-top which was plastered to her toned belly and hilly breasts. Her nipples poked shamelessly into the material and made it apparent to those minute onlookers before her that she was not wearing a brassiere.  And her sun-freckled face, gorgeous as a painting, was marked with mortal bewilderment. Her brow crinkled ever-slightly and her ocean-blue eyes wide with shock and wonder. And she was coyly biting her lower lip; though whether in anxiety or excitement, none could be sure…

Mere Minutes Earlier

She was sitting on her bed, in her stifling apartment, trying like hell to be productive and finish her paper on the exciting topic of women in power. It was for her Women’s Gender Studies class.  Thus far she was failing fantastically.  Her laptop rested on her crossed legs and her hands sat motionlessly on the keyboard. She HAD started her paper, but she had quickly grown bored and had started “stumbling” and ceaselessly checking her facebook, which was common practice for her. Now she was bored with that as well. She wanted to get up and be doing something fun. Her building feelings of boredom, longing for excitement (innocent or otherwise, especially otherwise) the fact that the humming laptop was relentlessly blowing hot-air on her already sweating legs, led to her completely abandoning any hope of writing her paper. So she powered the computer down and put it away. She looked around her room and frowned. Her bed was surrounded by an intimidating fortress of haphazardly stacked cardboard boxes. She had just moved to this new place and hadn’t really unpacked much yet.  She groaned and decided she should at least get her clothes put in the closet. She got up from her bed and searched through the stack for the box labeled “Closet-clothes” and upon finding it heaved it over to her newly-acquired closet.  She opened the folding doors with a creak and was happily surprised to see it was more spacious then she remembered, almost another room. She smiled and yanked the rusty chain dangling from over-head and a dim bulb crackled to life and bathed the closet in an aged, yellow light. It was in this light that she noticed a section of the wall looked funny. It was the same off-white color of the surrounding wall, but it seemed to be rippling, like water. “What the fuck?...” she whispered and set the box of clothes down.  She cautiously approached it and after a moment’s deliberation poked it with her finger, it wiggled and rippled in response. Wishing to further investigate she poked harder, and her finger went right through…

Which was somewhat unfortunate for one 747 and the people inside of it. It all happened very fast. Captain John Wagner and his Co-pilot, Thomas Gilborn were making naughty altogether inappropriate jokes about Stacey, the new raven-haired flight attendant.  Stacey had the double-bladed blessing/curse of being, as the layman would say, really fucking hot. As such she sometimes got things for free or at a discount, got smiled at frequently, and sometimes had very naughty, altogether inappropriate jokes made about her. Not a bad deal, all things considered. What WAS bad, however, was the wave of turbulence that shook the plane about half-way through the captain’s vivid description of something he would’ve liked to do to Stacey’s hind-quarters. The Captain, and friend, didn’t know what to make of it. One minute they were staring at the pristine blue summer sky, and then a crackling white light had appeared in the sky, almost directly in front of them. It brought with it the wave of turbulence. John and Thom stared disbelievingly at the light, paralyzed with awe. “A ufo?...” thought John briefly, “That sure is a pretty light…” thought Thom, thoughtfully. A shiny blue object began to emerge from the light, it was attached to something large and pinkish. Something pinkish with notable ridges on its underside and remarkably clear skin…it was like watching one of those picture puzzles of an object blown up when you’re supposed to guess  what the object is. The Captain was usually pretty good at those, a nano-second later and it clicked…”Dear God, It’s a giant finger!” The Captain proclaimed and finally, stirred by panic, attempted to dive the plane out of the path of the crackling light and the giant, and now he realized, feminine digit. Sadly, it was too little a little too late and the shiny blue fingernail sheared into the nose of the plan. It screeched metallically and crumpled, and the plane spun helplessly out of control. Stacey and Trisha (the other hot flight attendant) felt the disastrous rocking of the plane where they were naked and entwined in the lavatory. Trisha looked about, her face and wide brown eyes a font of worry. Stacey put a slender “ssshhhh” finger to Trisha’s pouty lips, caught her signature “come hither” with her piercing blue eyes, as if to say “Hey, foxy lady, it’s ok. Everything is gonna be alright.”  Stacey’s “come hither” stare rarely, if ever failed. They locked lips again, roughly, and made out even more passionately than they had been previously. The rapid loss of altitude and the likelihood of their simultaneous demise apparently acted as an aphrodisiac, throwing gasoline and dynamite on an already existing inferno. Their tongues and hands left no skin unexplored, no crevice unloved. Together, they were a sexual symphony; a love-making whirlwind, (a bumper-car track of coitus?), all sweat, hair and thrashing limbs. Several of the doomed passengers heard their loud, husky moans of orgasmic release shortly before the plane met the ground and exploded violently….

She pulled her finger back in. Something had bumped into it. It startled her a bit, but whatever it was hadn’t really hurt her so she wasn’t really concerned. The important thing was that her finger was still there and unharmed. And it had felt warm, and breezy…like outside?, in the wiggly-wall.  She couldn’t believe it. She had a freaking portal in her closet! This was very exciting. Screw homework and fuck unpacking shit. Her appetite for adventure and conquest returned and she stood up and faced the quivering wall dead-on. She steeled herself, this was it. Her body was a-tingle with nerves, but she was definitely going to do this.  She bobbed her head in silent affirmation and put her left foot through, something crunched beneath it and she followed quickly with her right foot. She walked into the portal, feeling at once curious, playful and just a little amorous…