Into the Wild

This week's F3 challenge: write a short story about being caught with your pants down. Now, all I can think about is that silly American Idol song about pants on the ground...

Excuse the, er, scatological nature of this particular story. Pants down and all, you know, this is where my brain went...
Prompt: Someone is caught with their pants down
Genre: Any
Word Count: I don’t honestly know what 1500-1800 words looks like, so let’s say keep it to less than two 8×11′s.
Deadline: Thursday, April 7, 2011 A.D., on or about 4:30ish.

Into the Wild

I don't know why my bowels have to move--urgently--every time I go hiking. Is it the fear of being in the wilderness, away from all that is known? Is it some sort of primal reconnection with my hunter-gatherer ancestors? Perhaps it's just that my gut is as obstinate and ornery as the rest of me.

I sigh and readjust my position. I managed to find a good couple boulders to squat against while doing my business, and the pine trees above provide shade. I life my head and smile against the feel of the sunlight filtered through the forest. I feel better than last time, when I was exposed on a ridgeline, with the caress of the mountain breeze against my vulnerable backside.

At least I know to be prepared. There's an entire roll of toilet paper in my backpack. If only my quads weren't burning from being stuck in this ungainly position, this would be a nice rest. I can hear the soft gurgle of a nearby stream. The birds have paused in their chirping, and all is silent. It's a little eerie.

I call out to my companions, thinking maybe they are approaching.

"Private business here!"

No response. Huh. I shift again, trying to relieve the pressure from a particularly pointy part of the boulder beneath my right butt cheek.

"Hello?"

Still no response. My forearms prickle and I reach for my backpack, thinking I'll grab the pepper spray I keep handy. The backpack slides away from me.

Shit.

I freeze as something big drags the pack across the sun-dappled pine needles, something I can only see a shadow of before my pack disappears.

My pepper spray is in there. My toilet paper is in there. I'm stuck, with my pants down, in the middle of the wilderness.

What if it returns? What if I'm the next thing it grabs? I look around for a stick, anything big enough I can use to defend myself.

I hear a low growl, and I grab the nearest thing--a 12-inch twig. Lotta good that'll do me.

I lift myself off the boulders, praying the numbness in my ass will disappear so I can run. So much for cleanliness. One-handed, I try to hoist my underwear and pants back up into position.

Before I can complete the task, a tawny hide appears. It's a mountain lion, slinking low across the forest floor, skimming its belly across the needles and almost blending in.

I drop my pants and take off, tripping over the clothes entangled around my ankles and rolling to a stop on my belly.

I throw myself on my back.

The lion pounces.