You pull yourself up onto the ledge formed by her giant rubber soul but are then faced with a polished dome of slick black leather. You rub your hand across it and pick up a thin greasy film onto your fingers. After having gone through officer's school twice (the first time there'd been this incident with a lieutenant's wife... 'well enough said'), you'd know this stuff at any size-scale. You rub the slick oil between your fingers -- "shoe polish..."
Your eyes get distracted again by the girl's alternating black and white knee highs. There's no way she goes to military school with those socks. 'Maybe some semi-strict school that allows flamboyance so long as its monochromatic..,' but before you can ponder all the possibilities, the shoe stirs and you're forced to grab hold of one of her corded laces to keep yourself from falling from the sheer cliff-face. Above, you can hear her crying reaching a denouement, her sniffles getting softer and softer. Soon they only sound like elephant's trumpets to you.
You tighten your grip and try to climb just for the heck of it while you still have time -- 'once she starts walking I won't have time for anything but hanging on.' You'd decided by now your best chance was to recruit this giantess to your aid. She'd already proven herself to be a soft hearted sentimentalist and women like that are easy to manipulate, Mike Anders knew from experience, 'girls could only be easier.' You kick your feet up against the face of the shoe, trying for a rappelling stance, but your feet slip off as sure as they would off a greased cookie pan. 'I need that giantess's help to move my ship to a secure position, but to do that I need to get her to notice me...
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