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by The Common Loon
The warm, golden midday sun frosted every facet of the beach, from the tiny shells and sand dollars in the sand to the whitewashed lifeguard stand far in the distance. A light, nearly imperceptible breeze disturbed naught but the smallest leaves and blades of grass that nature had to offer. Now and again, the gentle lap of the occasional diminuitive wave could be heard as it ran ashore, water spreading across the dark, wet sand only to be absorbed into it.
Maybe he owed it to the radiant sunlight and the faint sea breeze, maybe to the sheer majesty of the panorama... either way, Jim's skin lightly tingled all the same as he lolled over onto his back. The scene had changed little since he turned over onto his stomach some time ago, doomed to stare at the countless grains of sand underneath his chaise while his back absorbed every ounce of the abundant sunlight that coated it. Missing, however, were the piercing wails of a troupe of toddlers that had been frolicking in the shallow water about 50 feet past Jim's own: their afternoon soccer practice had encroached on their time at the beach. Instead, occasional tolerable shouts from a group of four grade-school children playing in the sand 100 yards to Jim's right had replaced them.
As Jim, through his gold-rimmed, smoke-lensed Ray-Bans, gazed off into the horizon, a single silver cloud drifted across the sun, the only cloud in the sky. Jim, too, began to drift: his eyelids suddenly twice as heavy, his field of vision slowly began to narrow.
Suddenly, Jim was driven back into consciousness by a soft metal "clink." He half-opened his eyes and glanced to his right to see an aluminum lounge chair resembling the one on which he was lying. The sound of sand crunching under a cloth beach bag came next. Instinctively, Jim returned his gaze to the line where ocean met sky. He resented having to share a plot of beach with a weird stranger, who would probably rape this silence by being intent on striking up conversation. Inane thoughts scammered through his head: how the weather has been lately, what he thought about those Padres... where was he when Kennedy was shot again?... No, he reminded himself. You're too young to answer that. There, he was ready for any meaningless drivel that could be thrown at him. All at once, those thoughts evaporated as a flash of tan and bright pink skirted his peripheral vision. Okay, he decided. I'll look.
He waited until a few seconds after the gentle creaking of aluminum had subsided to look to his right, and immediately concluded it had been a few seconds too long.
His eyes were introduced to her hair first, a shock of light brown that had seen much of the sun this year. It was brushed straight back and now laid across the white aluminum bar just above her face, which caught his gaze next: fair, smooth, tawny skin all round, encircling a pair of crystal green eyes, a perfectly-shaped nose, and slightly thin, modest lips that wore no lipstick today. He continued past her long neck and to her chest and swimsuit, a basic pink two-piece that you'd find at a discount store but, Jim decided, could never have looked better: a thin, pink strap emerged from under each perfectly contoured shoulder, continued down over her collarbone, and met at its apex a smooth pink lycra triangle, which in turn flowed down each of her firm, young, round breasts, stretching tautly across and nestling snugly underneath each one before attaching to another thin strap that disappeared underneath her back. He followed the graceful curve of her side down to her stomach, a lean prairie stretching tightly across her like a drumhead, with a sexy slit for a bellybutton. As the gentle curve of her hip flowed outward, the second half of her bikini, the same pink as the first, hugged her, beginning under each curvaceous hip, continuing across her stomach, just underneath her navel, before arcing downward, slowly at first, then faster, disappearing with a slight wrinkle impossibly high up between her trim thighs. Her lithe legs stretched to the end of her chaise, capped off by perfect feet and toes that wore no nail polish.
The thick, lusty cloud between Jim's ears would take a few minutes to burn off, and by the time it did, Jim realized he had been staring for what seemed like a half hour at this woman, yet even after regaining his faculties he found it impossible to look away. Her face reminded Jim of his ex-girlfriend, bringing back memories of why he had fallen in love with her in the first place: because of that same thick cloud that obscures vision, numbs senses, and shrouds all rational thought. Yes, this was that unmistakable feeling.
Though it is preposterous to think nearly five minutes of staring could possibly go unnoticed, Jim was nevertheless taken aback at the sound of a smooth voice that belonged to the vixen reclining to his right:
"Aren't those mountains beautiful?"
Mountains? Jim felt his heart skip a beat. The fog in his head instantly became a lump in his throat. She knows. He suddenly regretted everything: staring so long, staring at all... he regretted having turned over, even having come to the beach in the first place. Caught in his own voyeuristic gaze, he was all at once paralyzed. Make up a phony excuse, pick up your lounge chair and leave. He ran through the steps in his mind furiously. Instead, as he stutteringly exhaled, he uttered the only sound he was physically capable of uttering at that moment:
"Hmm?"
"Aren't those mountains beautiful today? I mean, you couldn't ask for better weather."
The words didn't reach Jim at first, but as he caught her line of sight off to the eastern horizon, it hit him. Of course! The Sierra! Realizing the folly of supposing her words to be double entendre, Jim was suddenly elated, though he didn't show it. This was the inane conversation he had so cynically prepared for, and a textbook one at that. However, struck by her sheer beauty and gentle manner, he was frozen, leaving the easiest question she could have asked unanswered.
Andrea was her name. Twenty-four years old and by his estimation about 34-24-34, Jim's head was soon swimming with statistics. They had talked for a mere few minutes, but Jim wished their conversation could never end. The sun was low in the sky now, casting smoky shadows on the sand that undulated with every movement. The children playing in the sand to Jim's right were still doing so, scraping around in the sand with small, feculent red shovels, now and again batting a beach ball back and forth, its many colors running together as it spun in the air. They were now of absolutely no concern to Jim, who decided to strike up another conversation with the glamorous Andrea relaxing on the chaise next to him.
Off they went, talking about the weather, politics, where each one of them grew up, sharing mutual gripes about society and stubborn jars of peanut butter. With any other person, this back-and-forth would be excruciatingly mundane, but to Jim it was the most fascinating and intelligent banter he'd ever participated in.
The clamor of playing kids suddenly crescendoed. Andrea swung her head over to see what was going on. Jim, too, craned his neck, looking over the voluptuous figure next to him in an attempt to see what could cause such a commotion. One of them, a short boy with messy, sandy hair and green swim trunks, began to run up the beach to where his parents lay on a spread-out orange towel. He was carrying the lifeless corpse of a beach ball.
Andrea looked back at Jim, and as she did, the evening sun caught her deep green eyes with an adorable twinkle that had to make Jim smile with adoration.
"That poor kid!" Andrea sighed sensitively. "You know, when I was little, I would cry and cry whenever one of my toys broke. It's almost as if they were a part of me."
"I know what you mean. Like last summer, I totalled my BMW. Never even saw the other car coming. After the accident, I laid in bed for about a week..."
"Never mind!" Andrea giggled, giving Jim a playful push on the shoulder. "You know, there might be something I could do..."
Jim rolled back over to face the sky, the first time in the last hour he had not been solidly planted on his right side. The ocean whooshed, and the sounds of the children scraping at the wet sand returned, though less frequent, almost halfhearted. Andrea was rummaging through her rather large beach bag, the sounds of paper rustling and cloth swishing overpowering the children and the ocean for the moment. Finally, the rustling stopped and Jim, in his peripheral vision, saw Andrea's hand bringing something out of the bag, something pink...
He glanced over and saw what it was. Andrea's long fingers and petite, unpolished nails held gingerly at the end of them an uninflated pink balloon.
Jim's heart quickened. As a little boy, he had found himself around balloons a lot: his older sister had had a clown act, his mother had worked at a florist. Balloons always held a special mystique for Jim. The way they looked, so perfectly curved and brightly colored... the way they felt, warm and tight yet with a certain amount of give... the way they smelled when he was in a room filled with them... the way they sound when air rushes into them or when you run a finger across their skin and it squeaks... even the bitter taste of the balloon neck had been fascinating to Jim ever since he was a toddler. As he matured, he found them to have another, more special quality that he kept to himself. The only drawback Jim felt was the dreadful bang a balloon makes when it pops. He feared that sound intensely, and would do almost anything to avoid hearing it. Still, seeing that limp balloon in Andrea's hand evoked a feeling of anticipation mixed with anxiety that no other experience in Jim's life could hope to match.
Andrea gave the balloon a pre-emptive stretch before she slowly brought the balloon up to her pink lips, and blew slightly. The balloon stood straight upright. Jim swallowed hard.
Andrea arched her back slightly and inhaled deeply, her plump breasts pushing against and stretching out the fabric of her bikini, the color of which matched the balloon in her hand. Then, she blew into the balloon slowly at first, then faster. There was a soft hiss as the air rushed in, high-pitched at first, then lowering as the balloon grew to the size and shape of a cantaloupe. Andrea pinched the balloon's neck in preparation for another breath. The pink balloon nodded up and down slightly as she inhaled again, this time a little deeper. Her breasts strained at her bikini as she did, and her ribcage slightly appeared under her skin below her perfectly-formed bust. She blew again, and with a sonorous whoosh, the balloon was now twice as big. She pinched its neck again, and once more the balloon nodded in her hand as she inhaled. After this breath was put into the soft pink balloon, it was nearly full: it was a smooth teardrop shape, and the thick pink area at the large end was now but an eraser-size dot. Jim was at rapt attention, staring at the 16-inch beauty and at the 66-inch beauty holding it. He could feel his pulse both in his throat and in his Speedo, as his manhood tested the limits of his black swimming briefs. Tie it off, he willed, to no avail. Andrea inhaled again, and Jim saw he wasn't the only one being aroused by this display: Andrea was clearly enjoying this, and her pink bikini was now growing tighter, revealing dainty new peaks. As she blew into the balloon again, Jim began to sweat. Frightened and fascinated at once, he wanted to look away but found it impossible.
The balloon swelled again, its body becoming larger still. Jim could see tiny beads of moisture inside its tight skin as the neck of the balloon began to inflate steadily with a soft squeak. The pink balloon was pear-shaped, with a neck about two inches long, when Andrea ran out of breath. She pinched the balloon off again and held it at arm's length to admire it. She gazed longingly at it, as did Jim. The sun glistened off its tight body and hers as the balloon waved slightly in the light summer breeze. After staring at it for a good ten seconds, Andrea released its neck briefly, letting a small hiss of air out and shortening the neck ever so slightly, before expertly pulling a knot into its neck, which snapped back to the balloon, making a hollow doing sound.
Jim suddenly realized the unflattering condition of his swimming trunks and turned over onto his stomach quickly. His eyes followed Andrea as she slowly arose, the large, tight balloon in her left hand, and walked over to the group of playing kids. He could see that she was coated in sand from her shoulders down her slender back and on either side of the pink bikini that ran from her curved-outward hips down her ample butt, once again disappearing tantalizingly high up between her graceful thighs. As her weight shifted from left to right, her soft behind tightened and trembled on each side in turn. Jim looked away for a few seconds, attempting to contain himself. When he looked back, the four children were running up to meet her and receive the marvelous balloon she had just inflated. The scrubby kid in the green trunks took it first, holding it by its sides and tossing it up in the air to slowly tip and float back down into his arms. Andrea turned on her heel and walked back to her chaise, laying back down slowly and exhaling a sigh that was almost a moan. She licked her lips slightly and settled down into the plastic-ribbon rungs of the lounge chair.
"They really looked happy," offered Jim once his dry throat had passed. The figure of the pink balloon appeared over the sweeping horizon that the reclining Andrea presented for him, then floated back down out of sight. "That was downright decent of you."
"Oh, that? It was my pleasure!" Andrea beamed. "I know it sounds trite, but I love making people happy."
Jim opened his mouth to speak, but stopped in mid-syllable to consider what he was about to say. Throwing discretion to the wind, he resolved to continue. "Well, you've certainly made me very happy."
"Oh, really?" asked Andrea suggestively.
"Uh huh," replied Jim, not cognizant of her innuendo. A silence followed... well, silent but for the soft squeaking of balloon rubber some distance away. The thick lusty cloud of passion had formed in Jim's head again as the swelling in his Speedo subsided. He rolled over and broke the silence by blurting, "Say, you want to join me for dinner? I know a place," his mouth and brain held incommunicado through the thick passionate fog between them.
"I thought you'd never ask," said Andrea after a dramatic pause. She grinned widely, her eyes twinkling once again and slightly narrowing to accomodate her endlessly long and dimpled smile. Jim, too, smiled fondly as she drew a slightly faded red pullover dress from her beach bag, stood up, stretched every part of her beautiful figure languidly, and put the dress on, its limp fabric draping and clinging to every curve above the middle of her thighs. Jim picked up the pair of slacks he had worn out of the sand and shook them out before stepping into and buttoning them, and shook out and donned his short-sleeved denim shirt. They both folded up their chaises with a clinking of aluminum and walked, arm in arm, down the trail at the edge of the beach towards the glow of the small downtown.
Maybe it was the ambience; maybe it was the spectacular food; or maybe it was the tastefully arranged bouquets of tight pastel-colored 14-inch balloons tethered to each table that drew Jim to Cibo Buono for dinner that night. In any case, he didn't regret it. As the strains of some Italian opera Jim couldn't recognize competed with the witty banter of sophisticated adults all around, Jim looked across the table at the reason he couldn't recognize the opera; the reason he couldn't think of anything else at the moment; the lovely figure of Andrea. It was a fairy tale. She was everything Jim had ever wanted a woman to look like: lithe, trim, not an inch of her skin was wasted (Jim having perused nearly every such inch a while ago), and every inch more beautiful than the next. At present, most of those inches were covered by a clingy red sundress that made her look all the more beautiful.
Jim still had the lusty cloud behind his eyes, a fog through which his senses and his sensibility could not relate, even if he had wanted them to. As Andrea swept her sandy brown hair over her shoulder, the waiter arrived. He was gone, it seemed to Jim, a second later. Had he ordered something? He must have... the menus were gone... what does it matter? The lusty cloud prevented his even remembering. Jim didn't care: he'd never been this wildly infatuated with a woman in his life. To top it all off, the image of her sensuously inflating that pink balloon on the beach, drawing out each breath, caressing the balloon with her long fingers, its translucent skin shining in the setting sunlight... that was an image he would carry with him the rest of his days. It was all too much. Jim felt his ears flush red. He wanted to know Andrea; wanted to love Andrea; wanted to make her feel as special as she made him. He could only hope she felt the same way about their relationship, and about the one thing above all that had drawn him to the relationship, the balloon. He had to know where she stood. He turned the question over in his mind scores of times, entertaining as many ways of breaching the subject. Finally he took the first step.
"You know, the look on that little boy's face was priceless." There, that was innocuous enough. He hoped she'd take the hint.
"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Andrea replied without missing a beat, without stopping to ask which boy Jim had meant. There had been enough kids playing on the beach that day to lead Jim to surmise she'd been thinking about the same thing he had. This was progress. Jim cleared his throat and took the plunge.
"Do... you always carry balloons around with you?" This drew a rather surprised look from Andrea, who had not expected Jim to breach this subject. Of course, after thinking of numerous ways to do it herself in the last few minutes, it was not unwelcome. He wasn't on to her... was he? He couldn't have been. But then, she did give him quite the eyeful at the beach. Play it cool, she thought, maybe that's not his intention.
"Oh, that," she started a little nervously. "Yeah, I've got a job at a party shop downtown. It's not uncommon for me to find a couple in my purse." There, that was safe. Now it was back in his court.
Jim's heart did a prompt flip. A party shop! Of all places to work, this was the last one Jim had hoped to hear. But all the better... Jim pressed on.
"A couple in your purse? I've heard of stealing paper clips from work, but..." Jim gave her a suspicious look which, he realized after the fact, was a bit overexaggerated. Nonetheless, it had the desired effect.
"Oh, you," Andrea giggled, the blue of her eyes twinkling in the muted light as she gave Jim a playful push on the arm: two characteristics that Jim had already found quite endearing, his pulse quickening as each happened. Was his face flushing? "So I take one or two from work. They never miss them. Besides, my sister owns the place, and she does the same thing once in a while."
"You certainly made that little boy's day, though," Jim repeated, then chided himself for doing so.
Dinner arrived: a hearty vitella parmigiana for Jim, and a light pasta primavera for Andrea. Jim barely acknowledged the waiter as he deposited the plates on the table and shuffled off. He had more important things to which to pay attention.
"Yeah," Andrea mused, continuing Jim's thought. "That boy reminded me of..." Andrea paused, and Jim could sense she was holding something back. She lowered her head slightly, took a bite of her pasta, and set her fork down on her napkin. She had suddenly lost some of her spirit. Concerned, Jim spoke up.
"Andrea? You all right?" Tentatively, he placed his hand atop hers, and felt that it was damp. Andrea looked up at him and cleared her throat.
"Sorry," she started. "I just had a painful memory. Don't worry about it." The way she hesitated, Jim could tell she wanted to get something off her chest. He looked at her fondly. She sighed, and decided to continue, knowing that the conversation would soon lose its happy note. She pinched the ribbon of one of the balloons tethered at the table, a soft blue tear-drop shaped balloon, and drew it down to the table. The balloon swayed back and forth as she held its knot, gazed deeply into it, and continued.
"When I was young, we had balloons around the house all the time. My father was usually at work; my mother, tending the house. That left my older sister Shelly, who was usually working at the party shop or spending time with her boyfriend du jour, my younger brother Bobby, and me. Bobby's the cutest little boy you've ever seen," she intimated, showing off her perfect gleaming teeth in a smile that made Jim's heart melt. "Anyway, Shelly would always bring home balloons from the party shop. Bobby was crazy for them. Every time she'd come home, Bobby would always run up to her, tug at her arm, and ask her if she brought him anything. Almost always, the answer was yes, and she pulled out a dozen or so balloons from her backpack. Bobby would always grab them, jump for joy, and run off to his room to store most of them away in his toy chest. Then Shelly'd go off to do homework or watch TV or whatever, and leave me alone with Bobby.
"He loved balloons so much. But he could never blow them up-- remember, he was about four or five years old-- so, of course, he came running out to where I was sitting with a balloon in his outstretched hand. 'Will you blow this?' he'd ask me," Andrea laughed. "Well, have you ever said 'no' to a five-year-old? You'd never hear the end of it! So I blew as he sat beside me and watched. The deal was, I wouldn't stop blowing until he said so. Sometimes, I was forced to tie a half-inflated balloon and give it to him; sometimes, he never said anything until it was so tight, I could barely tie the darn thing... or worse. I can still remember how our ears used to ring when he never said a word at all and the balloon burst all over the place." Jim squirmed in his seat. "So anyway, the ones that survived, he'd take back to his room and play with. I'd get back to what I was doing, and hear the squeaking of rubber in the background, occasionally a pop or two that scared me witless. It was great fun, though, making him so happy." Her eyes twinkled again. How did she do that? Jim silently wondered. But the twinkle soon turned to a tear.
"When Bobby died," Andrea continued to Jim's amazement, "I thought I'd never get over it. For weeks I blew up a balloon every day and placed it in his room in memory..." She hesitated. There was no more story to tell. She had ruined this, her first date with this amazing guy, and was breaking down. She let go the balloon she was holding, and it floated upwards, bobbing at the end of its ribbon.
Jim slid his chair out and stepped over to the crestfallen Andrea, embracing her in the hug that he'd been waiting the whole evening for but was now completely out of the context he'd wanted. He held her closely, reminding himself of the lack of sexuality this hug was supposed to convey. The waiter came by again to check on the status of their beaujolais, but soon shuffled off again after receiving no more acknowledgment from either of the two. Andrea spoke first.
"I'm sorry to bring you down like this," she said after she regained her composure. She was sure she'd lost, sure this man would want nothing more to do with her after this evening.
She sat down and picked at her primavera, while Jim did the same to his veal, and said little more the rest of dinner. Jim looked up at her expectantly now and then, only to stare right through her. She wasn't the same as she was a scant few minutes ago, and it troubled Jim. She had seemed so perfect, and he didn't feel any less attracted to her now than he ever did, but had she lost interest now?
Andrea watched Jim delicately eat, and kicked herself repeatedly for bringing up the Bobby subject. What had she been thinking? She'd just spoiled what she'd hoped would be her next relationship by destroying a fantastic meal with a horribly sad story. Resigned, she answered what she perceived as pitying looks from Jim with indifference. After all, what did it matter now?
Little did they know, however, just how golden this silence would turn out to be.
Marcelo, the waiter, finally returned with the beaujolais bottle. This time, however, it was not needed, so he shuffled off again, a skill that must have required years in waiter school to perfect. What a peculiar couple those two were-- how much more different can you get than veal parmigana and pasta primavera? After all, her dish didn't even go with the wine! In Italia, beaujolais with a primavera would be grounds for divorce! He shrugged, and decided there must have been more to that couple than met the eye.
Jim laid a check and a handsome tip on the table before slinging his beach bag over his shoulder, Andrea doing the same, and walking with an arm linked with hers out of the restaurant. He marveled at Andrea's sensitivity! He'd never met a woman so forthright on a first date before... recounting intimate details about her childhood. It was all terribly enthralling to Jim, something he'd never before experienced. Plus, she obviously liked balloons. But did it stop there? The balloons in her purse... did they speak to a much deeper liking of balloons than he dared hope? The mere thought of it made him love her even more! He could tell, though, by the way her arm hung limp in his, that she was disinterested. Doubt crept into his mind. He couldn't stand the thought of being apart from this woman. Suddenly, however, he realized she wasn't feeling the same way at all.
Andrea was numb. As she walked arm-in-arm with Jim down the cobblestone path, she ran over their first date in her mind again and again, cursing herself for spoiling such a good thing with her grim memoir. Jim would have been the perfect guy for her, too... smart, handsome, and there was that intangible quality: beyond sensitivity, beyond intimacy... something about the way she had inflated that balloon on the beach had set him on fire, she could tell. But what did it matter now? She'd soured the deal with the Bobby story. She resigned herself to failure, to hitting the dating scene again, maybe with Shelly, and starting fresh.
They got to the parking lot, and realized they'd parked alongside each other. Jim opened the hatch of his BMW roadster and heaved his beach bag and chaise lounge into the trunk. Andrea did the same, placing hers into the trunk of her silver Honda very slowly and dejectedly. After two hollow "thunks" of trunks closing, Andrea and Jim stood face to face for what each thought would be the last time.
Jim cleared his throat. What could he possibly say to her? He could tell she had too much on her mind to entertain the thought of a second date now. Or did she?
Andrea stared at her feet for a minute. She waited, ears pricked, for the inevitable brush-off, the "I had a lovely time" line that was doubtless approaching. She didn't, couldn't, speak first. Then, the line came.
"So, are you free tomorrow?"
It was Jim's voice, but the words were so unfamiliar and unexpected to Andrea that she had to think them over. He was interested! He wanted to see her again! In a flash, all the doubts she had had vanished.
It took longer than Jim had hoped for her to reply, but when she did there was no doubt. She threw her long arms around Jim's neck, her eyes twinkling once again and that infectious smile spread endlessly across her face. This was the hug Jim had been anticipating, and this one he could enjoy. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and pulled her closer, feeling her ripe, full breasts press against him, sliding his hands a couple inches lower and feeling the curve of her back and her firm butt through her thin sundress, his arms nestled on her curvaceous hips. He felt the outline of her slim bikini bottom through her dress. This was a sensual overload. He felt his pulse racing behind his eyes and behind his shorts. He wished this embrace would never end.
Andrea held Jim tightly, lifting one foot off the ground and leaning into him. She could feel his strong arms encircling her waist and could feel her breasts pressing into his taut chest. She was so relieved she felt like crying again. Perhaps this was the one. Any man who would come back after what she'd just done must be really special.
After what seemed like an eternity but was altogether not long enough for either, Andrea and Jim let go of each other. Andrea set her purse on the trunk of her car and produced a business card, on which she wrote her phone number in black pen. Jim perused it, and stuck it in his pocket.
"Great. I'll call you tomorrow. What time?" Jim asked, still recovering from the passionate embrace.
"How about you pick me up at work at 5?" Andrea said. "The address is on the card."
Jim nodded, beaming. "Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow?"
Andrea nodded, beaming just as brightly. "Count on it. Oh, before you go," she continued, and reached into her purse again. As she drew her hand out, Jim's chest tightened. She held, by its neck, a large uninflated pink balloon, identical to the one she had blown up at the beach. She placed it in Jim's palm and closed his fingers around it. "A memento of our first date," she suggested.
Jim was flabbergasted, but put the balloon in his pocket anyway next to the business card. Two precious commodities in one pocket, he climbed into his car as she did the same. Andrea blew him a kiss, Jim reciprocated, and they both drove side by side out of the parking lot before turning opposite directions and parting ways for what would only be a few hours.
That night, as Jim took off his shorts, he remembered the two items in his pocket, and took them out to lay them on his nightstand, a pink balloon and a business card. He put on his sleepwear and reclined on his bed to relax. He then picked up the balloon from the nightstand and held it in his hand, admiring the cool latex, the bright pink color, and the size of it: bigger than most balloons he usually saw. He stretched it twice, once lengthwise, once crosswise, and placed the nozzle in his mouth. He took a deep breath and blew, and the balloon came to life. Three more deep breaths, and he pinched the balloon between his fingers to let his lungs catch up. It was twelve inches' worth now, not quite full. Two more breaths, and the dull pink transformed to a glistening, shiny pink, a candy-like color. The balloon was teardrop shaped. Remembering Andrea's performance (how could he not?) he took two more breaths and blew into the balloon, nervously quivering, half-expecting it to promptly pop. It didn't, as neither did Andrea's earlier, but instead a bell-shaped neck of several inches formed for his effort on the end of the balloon, creeping slowly toward his lips. Again mimicking Andrea's inflation, he let a small amount of air out of the balloon with a short hiss, and tied a quick knot. What a thing of beauty it was: 16 inches across, with a gleaming pink color and brief bulging neck, stretching in all directions with the tightness and strain that only an inflated balloon can exhibit. Then he remembered the business card-- the other thing of beauty-- on the nightstand, and pinned it on the bulletin board across the bedroom, pinning the glorious pink globe of a balloon next to it. He would call that number many times in the future, he decided, and committed it to memory as he fell into one of the deepest, most satisfying sleeps he'd experienced since he was young Bobby's age.
Having called the number and making all the necessary arrangements, Jim was off in his silver roadster headed for downtown. He was a few minutes early; it was only a quarter till five; but he couldn't have waited a minute longer. As he headed down Main street, he glanced at the business card the gorgeous Andrea had given him: "Bobby's Balloons and Party Supplies," it read. Jim smiled fondly: Andrea and her sister must've named the place after their younger brother... what a tragic story that had been. So touching, though...
Building after nondescript building passed by (at least, to Jim they were all nondescript-- only Andrea's building had any meaning now). Finally, over the horizon of the hilly road, he saw it: an all-glass corner storefront that was much more brightly lit than all the others. It shone like the North Star, and Jim followed it accordingly. As he approached it, he could make out details of the window displays. To his delight, there were dozens and dozens of helium balloon bouquets tethered just inside the windows for all to see, and a spiral-arch over the inside of the doorway. Jim's heart raced again, and he thought silently of how difficult it would be to contain himself in the presence of not only the ravishing Andrea, but also the endless array of straining latex, each one stretching in all directions and filling space as only a fully-inflated balloon can. Jim swallowed hard and got out of his roadster.
Jim had thought he'd smelled balloons before, but this was overkill. He had just stepped into the store under the spiral arch of rainbow crystal-colored 12-inch balloons when the aroma hit him. It reminded him of his room, times twelve hundred or so. He took a minute to look around and admire the spectacle.
Aside from the balloons around him in the arch, there were, he counted, seven bouquets along each display wall, each containing 12- and 16-inch balloons, inflated halfway down their necks. The balloons were so tight, they made deep, hollow "doing" sounds as they wafted back and forth in the air conditioning and hit each other. There were also heart balloons double-stuffed into crystal-clear rounds and vice versa, mylar foil balloons here and there (but not overly many, to Jim's relief), and in one corner, four giant, three-foot balloons in red, pink, white, and light blue, maximally inflated with air and tied together in a cluster so they sat like a pyramid. Each one was nearly translucent, and showed off its fluting lines running from small, bell-shaped neck to the large, round end. In the center of the store were the aisles full of party supplies: paper plates, cups, plastic silverware, streamers, and the rest. The checkout counter was placed squarely in the center as well, behind which stood a tall, slender woman with long, straight brown hair tied in a ponytail, with a slim, athletic figure that probably required jogging to maintain. Her back was to Jim, exhibiting her mid-thigh-length shorts that snugly covered her tight backside and displayed her svelte, muscular legs as far down as the checkout counter would allow. There were about ten pear-shaped citrine yellow balloons leaning on the ceiling above her, dangling their yellow ribbons down to within her reach. The sharp, then softening and deepening hiss of a helium tank filling a balloon rang out, and Jim decided to approach the counter. As soon as he got there, the hissing stopped and the woman turned around, holding a teardrop-shaped, shining yellow balloon's neck between her long fingers. Jim could see the resemblance immediately. It was Shelly.
"Hi," offered Jim amicably. "Is Andrea still in?"
With a high-pitched squeak followed by an obscene raspberry sound, the balloon Shelly had been holding suddenly rocketed around the shop, turning the heads of the couple customers that were left as the yellow streak finally bounced off the plate-glass window and landed in a heap on the tile floor. Shelly's hand was up to her mouth now, hiding both surprise and embarrassment. She offered the other to Jim, who shook it delicately.
"You... must be Jim," Shelly started, laughing. "I'm Shelly, Andrea's sister." Shelly quickly gave Jim the once-over, from his sympathetic face to his khaki shorts and back again. "Boy, she wasn't kidding about you," Shelly joked, giving Jim a clandestine wink.
Jim walked the few paces over to where the yellow balloon landed and retrieved it. He twirled it in his fingers as he walked back, and offered it to Shelly to reinflate. "Nah," she refused, "I don't like to double-inflate. They can get unpredictably bigger that way. You can keep it." Jim shot her a coy look and stuffed the cool balloon in his hip pocket. He liked Shelly already-- she would make a fine sister-in-law...
"Andrea told me about the time you had last night," Shelly continued. "You certainly made a good impression on her. She can't wait to see you again... whoops," she restrained herself, "I wasn't supposed to say anything. Well, the promise's already broken, so I can keep talking, right? Anyway, she came back last night happier than I've ever seen her after a date. She was just glowing! She had to sit up until two in the morning telling me about you. She's like a schoolgirl in love. It's great."
"Wow," Jim pondered. "I didn't know I impressed her that much. She seemed a little preoccupied some of the time."
"Yeah," Shelly picked up his thought. "She told me she told you the Bobby story. She thought she'd lost you for sure with that one."
"Are you kidding?" Jim laughed genuinely. "I was even more taken with her after that story than before! She's such a sensitive person. Say," he hurried, moving the conversation back to its original purpose, "is that sensitive person here?"
"Oh, right..." Shelly said apologetically. "Sure, she's in back filling some end-of-the-day orders. Right through that door." She extended a lean finger towards a door marked "Employees Only" on the only wall that didn't have glass in it.
"Thanks a lot," said Jim. "I'm sure I'll be seeing lots more of you, so I'll say goodbye for now."
Shelly smiled a long, thin smile. "I sure hope so. So long," she sighed, then returned to her task, going after a balloon on the ceiling that had shed its ribbon. She dragged a stepladder over behind the counter and reached toward the ceiling as high as she could. As Jim turned the door handle, he looked back to see Shelly from behind again, every muscle in her legs and arms stretched, her small, round breasts pushing against her cotton blouse as she reached for the neck of the transparent balloon which was now resting sideways on the ceiling. Beauty, Jim decided, definitely did run in the family, as he turned around to enter the stock room.
The smell of latex was even stronger in the back room (he had grown accustomed to it in the front). He shut the door quietly behind him and listened as the sharp, deepening hiss of a helium tank began, continued for thirty seconds (a long time!) and stopped, followed by squeaking sounds for a few more, and then back to the hiss. Jim tiptoed down the short hallway that led into the stockroom and saw her sitting on a hard bar stool in front of a tall helium tank, a beautiful crystalline purple balloon swelling on the nozzle. Her back was to Jim as well, and she had not noticed him enter, so he stood as quiet as he could, admiring this scene. Andrea was wearing a pair of denim shorts, shorter than her sister's had been, and was sitting halfway on the stool, her right cheek bulging outwards sensuously and her left bulging toward him, enhanced by the curves and the pocket of her light-blue shorts. She was wearing a sheer white cutoff cotton tank top that could scarcely manage to reach her thin, sexy bellybutton. Two straps were visible on her shoulders, one thin white one for her top, and one even thinner one for her bra, the outline of which Jim could easily make out across her back, and could only fantasize for now what it supported in front. Her long, tanned arms kept her soft hands on the regulator of the helium tank and the nozzle of the rapidly inflating purple 16-inch balloon. Her long, light brown hair was done up in a quick ponytail as Shelly's had been, and hung down almost as far as her shorts' waistband.
Jim eventually took notice of the rest of the room. Bouquets of balloons, from 9-inch up to 18-inch and all expertly inflated halfway down their straining necks, were swaying everywhere, held to the ground via a cinderblock on their ribbons. There were so many balloons, Jim marveled, he couldn't count them all. He tried but stopped at two hundred. Each one looked like it could explode at any second, but Jim knew that wasn't going to happen, not the way Andrea handled them.
The hissing stopped, and Jim watched as Andrea took the bulbous purple balloon off the tank, swung her left leg onto the stool, held the tight balloon gingerly between her smooth, bare thighs and knees, and tied an expert knot in its neck. Then she noticed Jim, and in a purple flash the balloon she was holding flew out of her hands and to the rafters of the warehouse ceiling, bouncing noisily several times before settling down and leaning against the ceiling, its neck pointed sideways. Jim and Andrea, meanwhile, had silently prayed that the ceiling had no sharp points on it, and they were relieved when the balloon finally stopped moving. Now it was time to greet each other.
Andrea turned around, and Jim beheld her vivacious figure once again from the front side, her white tank top surprisingly low-cut, giving Jim an amazing view of her round, firm breasts as they stretched out the cotton of her top in all directions. Indeed, the top didn't quite make it to her bellybutton, affording Jim another look at her taut, smooth stomach and dainty navel. Her denim shorts were quite abbreviated, stopping only about a third of the way down her soft thigh, and showing off her trim legs down to her feet with unpainted toenails in a pair of tattered leather sandals. Jim's heart nearly came out his throat at her sheer sexiness, and he thought he'd keel over when she lifted her arms high, pulling her tank top three inches further up her perfect stomach and displaying the outer contours of her plump young breasts, and ran towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. Jim was so stunned, it took him a few seconds to reciprocate, and when he did, it was quite an arousing experience, all her tight torso pressing into his, his hands placed on her bare back. Once again, Jim wished this embrace would never end, and hoped he wasn't as visibly aroused as he thought he was.
When it finally did, Andrea piped up, "Jim! It's so good to see you again."
"I gathered that," was the reply. "Your sister told me you'd been anticipating this."
Andrea sighed. "I can't tell her anything without her repeating it, can I? So, what do you want to do this evening?"
"Your call," said Jim. "I picked the place last time."
"Well," started Andrea, "I still have to make some balloon deliveries before I can shove off for the day. See all these?" she gestured to a cluster of about twelve dozen behind her. All of them were tight 16-inch balloons, in transparent clear and purple. How could Jim not see those? "These go to the local country club for some ball they're having tonight. The rest go to a bunch of little places: homes, small business parties, quick stuff. I'm saving the country club for last, since it'll require some extra work and some air inflation for a big balloon drop."
Jim took the hint. "Would you like some help?"
Andrea leapt at the opportunity. "Sure, that'd be great!" Uh oh, too enthusiastic... play it down a little. "...That is, if you don't mind putting off our date for a couple hours."
"I practically insist," said Jim, then thought it too enthusiastic as well. "If you don't mind an amateur decorator traveling along."
"Great!" beamed Andrea. "The van's running out back. Could you give me a hand carrying these bouquets?"
Jim grabbed three bouquets, about 30 balloons total, and felt them pull on their ribbons. He carried them over through a loading dock door, and put them in the back of the climate-controlled van. Andrea did the same, and in five minutes the van was packed full of shiny helium balloons. Jim got in the passenger side of the van as Andrea ran back to grab what she called "some last items." She returned with her purse, a curious bucket-like device with a power cord, and a cardboard box. She set all three down on the seat between her and Jim, and he could see the open box contained hundreds of large uninflated balloons. The labels on the plastic bags read "20 inches". They were packaged in grosses: one gross of clear balloons, one gross of multicolored citrine balloons, and one gross each of three different shades of purple. Andrea closed her door and started the van.
As they pulled away from Bobby's Balloons and Party Supplies, Jim had a lump in his throat. He was raging with sexual tension over what he and Andrea were going to be doing: inflating these very big, clear, fragile balloons together, with her dressed to kill like she was... this was too much to bear. But he was also dreading the experience... what if one balloon were to burst? Jim was a brave man in most every respect, but the one thing he could not bear to withstand was the sharp, deep, intense bang of a popping balloon. What would he do if one of them made a mistake and inflated one of those 20-inchers too far? He'd been around 12-inch overinflation pops before, and they terrified him to no end. He couldn't even bring himself to think what a 20-inch balloon would sound like popped conventionally, let alone by inflating it till it exploded! His heart raced and his palms sweated, but he put the thought out of his mind for now, glanced in the rearview mirror at the hundreds of shiny, crystal-clear balloons behind them in the back, and focused once again on conversation with the Aphrodite in the seat next to him.
And grand it was. Andrea parked the van next to a large set of double doors on the side of the hall, and the building towered over them like Goliath over David. Jim nervously glanced in the van's rear-view mirror at the dozens of balloons still bumping around on the ceiling, dangling their ribbons down to the van's floor. Andrea jumped out and flung open the double doors, then jogged back to open the back of the van. Jim took the hint and climbed out of his side of the van, stepping over to meet Andrea for instructions.
"Okay. Each of these bouquets," she indicated the tight, glistening assortments of 12-, 16-, and 18-inch clear and purple balloons resting on the van ceiling, "has to go inside and be tethered. Just tie them wherever you can, but try to maintain some semblance of order. Come on," she finished as she swept her hand into the van and came up with three bouquets of a dozen balloons each. Jim did the same. Feeling the balloons tug at their ribbons, he walked behind Andrea into the Grand Hall.
It was even more impressive on the inside. Ionic columns lined the room's edge, forming buttresses that stretched across the thirty-foot ceiling. On one end of the room, the end closest to the main entrance, was a majestic staircase with two ornate railings sweeping down on either side. At the other end was two hallways that led to the rest of the building's facilities. In the middle of the room, four shiny strands of fishing line caught Jim's eye. They were hanging from the ceiling thirty feet above, and dangled down just a few feet above the floor, terminating in hooks.
Andrea caught Jim's curious gaze. "Those lines are for the drop bag," she explained. "I've got the bag itself in the van. As soon as we're done with all these helium balloons, could you run and get the boxes out of the front seat?"
"Will do," choked Jim, his heart racing in his chest. He watched for a minute as Andrea's lithe figure strutted around the room, her anatomy bouncing and jiggling in naught but the right places, as she tied shiny bouquets of balloons to wall hooks. Finally, when Jim brought himself to take his eyes off her, he swept his cloud of balloons over to the giant staircase and began tying bouquets to the railings at regular intervals. After his balloons were exhausted, he ran back to the van to get more, only to find out that Andrea had beaten him to it. She met him at the double doors, carrying twice as many balloons as she had before, all of them bouncing and softly squeaking against each other inside the giant transparent cloud above and behind her. The balloons framed her face, as if to draw attention to her fair-skinned features and bubbly smile, as if her face didn't command attention of its own accord. She handed Jim half her balloons, giving him a knowing look, and moved off again to resume tethering balloons.
Silently, Jim stood back to watch her again. Her tawny legs glided about the room, terminated in a barely-decent pair of whitewashed denim shorts that curved gently outward in the back, following the plump bulges of her soft butt. Her white cotton tank top struggled to contain a ripe pair of breasts that made Jim's heart skip a beat, the top reaching down her smooth stomach and ending just above her narrow slit of a navel. As she reached her long, toned arms above her head to tether balloons, that top raised as well, displaying not only more of her trim stomach but also every contour and detail of her bust in all its glory. Jim had a hot feeling behind his ears, and finally became cognizant of the fact that his khaki shorts were becoming fuller in the crotch. He shook his head slightly, a fond gaze in his eyes, and resumed his work.
As Jim walked up the staircase to attach balloons to the top of the railing, Andrea finished tying the last bouquet she'd brought and stood back, her eyes fixed on Jim and his bundle of balloons. She watched him tie bouquet after bouquet to the railing with his muscular arms and watched as his dark-skinned legs took him further up the stairs. Andrea was getting a hot feeling behind her ears, and was suddenly aware of two dimples poking through her tightening cotton tank top. She shook her head quickly in an attempt to concentrate on the task at hand, turned on the heel of her leather sandals, and walked purposefully out the double doors to the van.
Andrea returned with two final bouquets, for which she found room after some deliberation (there were now more balloons than there were places to tether them). She called out to Jim, who had just finished with his bouquets and was walking back to the center of the hall, on the dance floor. She stared into his eyes for a beat, and he reciprocated.
"Oh..." Andrea finally stammered. "The boxes. Out of the front of the van?"
"Oh, right!" Jim said hastily. "Be right back."
Andrea sat down cross-legged in the center of the dance floor and listened as Jim slammed the van's doors and returned with three cardboard boxes. He walked over to her and sat facing her, a foot or two away, and put the boxes down to their left. Andrea selected one of them and produced a rolled-up, folded net which she unfurled with Jim's help. It was bigger than it had looked, about 30 feet by 20 feet. Andrea attached eyelets in the corners of her end to the hooks dangling from the ceiling, and indicated Jim should do the same. When they were done, they had a sort of giant hammock hanging from the ornate ceiling of the Grand Hall. Jim didn't have to ask this time: this was definitely the drop bag.
Jim took a visual tour of the room again. The walls with their columns were scarcely visible in places, obscured by the large numbers of balloons tethered in front. There were balloons everywhere he looked, especially on the staircase which he had festooned with a dozen balloons tethered for each six inches of railing. Everywhere was a sea of clear and purple balloons.
When Jim looked back, Andrea was sitting cross-legged on the floor again, opening the remaining two boxes. One of them contained a plastic bucket contraption with a rubber nozzle sticking out the top and an electrical cord running out the base. Again, it was obvious to Jim: this was an inflator, and a serious one at that. The other box contained all the balloons. Andrea took out two plastic bags of twelve dozen balloons each, one bag of crystal clear, one bag clear purple. The bags read "20-inch decorator balloons" on the front, and in Jim's mind, they certainly looked it. He sat cross-legged facing Andrea again as she tore open the plastic bags of balloons and began to explain their task of the next couple hours. Jim's heart sped up and his mouth dried out as he listened in awe.
The uninflated latex lay in an amorphous heap on the heavily-urethaned dance floor, and Andrea ran her right hand through it as she talked. The hammock-like drop bag awaited to Jim's right, the balloons and inflator sitting off to his left, and the curvaceous Andrea directly in front of him, the reason he never glanced to either side. Her sandy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her tanned, exposed shoulders and midriff, her white cotton-coated breasts, her long, slender arms, her abbreviated whitish denim shorts, her long buttery legs crossed Indian-style, exposed as high up her thighs as could be considered beautiful without crossing the fine line of indecency... why would Jim waste his vision anywhere else? "Basically, we'll be blowing up these twenty-inch balloons for the drop," Andrea started, her gaze fixed on Jim's, the two staring almost through each other as her mouth ran away from her brain, which was preoccupied at the moment. "This inflator will make the job easier. You'd just about pass out trying to inflate one of these without stopping. Try to inflate them as fully as you can- when the neck starts to bulge out, you're almost there. We normally don't use the 20" balloons for drops, but this was a special customer request, and we aim to please. Here, let me blow one up to give you a benchmark." Andrea extracted a crystal-clear balloon from the pile, gave it a stretch between her fingers, and stretched its mouth over the nozzle of the inflator. She pressed down and all at once there was a whirring noise and the balloons sprang to life. In no time, it was the size of a basketball and still had a lot of latex left. The whirring continued, and the balloon stretched in every direction, inflating rapidly. Jim swallowed hard. This was the test he'd been so nervous about.
The balloon was now at least 15 inches across, and it stuck up between the two of them. Jim backed up a few inches to clear its tightening skin. He could see Andrea through the balloon now, though the skin was still cloudy, meaning the balloon was still nowhere near full inflation. The whirring droned on.
Slowly, the balloon took on a shine as if it were polished glass. It was now roughly at its rated size, and was beginning to bulge out at the neck. Jim could feel his heart in his throat, and his shorts were crowded anew. The giant orb was transparent now, as if it weren't even there, but shined like the surface of a still lake. It was far too big for Jim's confidence, but Andrea showed no signs of stopping. At the same time, the round body of the balloon continued to expand and the bulbous neck lengthened and tightened. Jim wanted to stop Andrea but was so transfixed he couldn't speak.
The latex at the top of the balloon was entirely stretched; there was no uninflated eraser-dot left. The balloon now had a sizeable neck and its rate of physical expansion was slower than it was before. It was clear the balloon had stopped expanding, and was now simply becoming tighter. Jim's limited knowledge about materials physics told him there wasn't much time left before the end of the stress-strain curve was reached and the balloon would tear itself apart with an ear-shattering explosion.
Andrea, having been momentarily distracted by the sight of Jim through the glassy balloon, suddenly noticed the balloon's condition. Her heart skipped a beat and she gasped. Instincitvely, she released her pressure on the inflator nozzle.
The whir stopped suddenly, and Andrea and Jim faced a nearly-invisible balloon that was far bigger than it should have been. Its neck was inflated nearly to its nozzle, and it swayed back and forth as a whole unit, with any flexibility in the latex now undetectable. Quickly, Andrea took the balloon off the nozzle of the inflator and let out enough air that the inflated neck dropped to half its size. She then tied a quick knot in its neck and held it at arm's length.
It was all Jim could do not to embrace her right then. She looked like a little scared puppy, breathing quickly, her heart pounding, an expression of disbelief on her face, as she stared at the huge balloon in her hand. Jim was aroused to put it mildly, and had he not been sitting, it would have been plain as day. But for the first time since the beach, he could see that he wasn't alone. Through the transparent skin of the balloon he noticed a dot pushing out of each of her round breasts, her thin white tank top doing little to hide the fact that she was as turned on as he.
Andrea glanced through the balloon at Jim, feeling her face flushing. She could feel the sexual tension, and knew she was obviously flaunting her part, as only the legally blind could miss her nipples through her tank top. She couldn't tell for sure, but she thought Jim looked excited as well, glancing for the bulge in his khaki shorts that she thought she saw. For a half minute she sat holding the balloon at arm's length, staring at it and at him, before she tossed it into the hammock to her left and watched it nestle down into its center
Andrea cleared her dry throat. "So that's about the size we're looking for," she laughed nervously. "Try not to get them too big like I did, though." "I'll remember that," marveled Jim. He certainly would remember that... it now was in competition with her beach inflation for the sexiest image he'd ever witnessed. "So, should I try one?" He offered hesitantly.
"That's why you're here, isn't it?" Andrea asked facetiously. She thought she had a good idea why he came, and thought it might be for the same reason as why she invited him to come along. She handed him a purple balloon, which looked more black in its present uninflated state, and sat back as Jim went to work.
Jim stretched the nozzle of the balloon over the nozzle of the inflator and tentatively pushed down. The whirring noise started instantly, and the balloon went from a dark blackish color to a deep crystal purple. Jim pushed down farther, and was rewarded with a faster stream of air, the balloon expanding at a decent rate. After ten seconds it was at about twelve inches; after thirty it was at rated size. Jim's heart raced again as he considered stopping. The balloon was now glistening as the one before it had, and the neck had just begun to bulge out. Shaking, Jim continued to inflate.
The neck bulged out further as the body of the balloon continued to swell. After a couple seconds, the neck was as big as the previous balloon's was, so he released pressure and took the deep transparent purple balloon off the inflator, clumsily tying a knot in its neck. He held it at arm's length as she had done and examined it in all its glory. He then tossed it in the drop bag to settle next to the clear balloon, two tightly-inflated globes of latex resting in a cotton webbing. There were still hundreds more to go. Jim's arousal was almost painful, and was now obvious.
Meanwhile, Andrea had been sitting back and enjoying this show, sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest at rapt attention. She felt a slippery feeling in her crotch and subconsciously rubbed her aching breasts against her knees. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and neck. She could plainly see Jim was just as aroused as she was, and this just made things worse
Jim glanced back at Andrea and noticed her glazed, sated stare back at him, and it was plain as day: she was as turned on as he was. Instantly, both of them knew that there was no way to get through this inflation job without losing control. In that same instant, too, their deepest suspicions of each other were confirmed. Each knew the other was a looner.
THE END... FOR NOW
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