Revenge

It was early Monday morning. I stumbled around blearily on my day off, trying to find the breakfast things. As I put the coffee machine on, the telephone rang. I glanced around the floor of my messy bachelor flat and eventually found it being used as a bookmark in "Gulliver's Travels". I recalled putting it in their last night before going to sleep, reading about Balnibarbi. An improvement on the last novel I read, which was "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory".

I picked up the telephone to hear a tearful woman's voice cry "John, is that you". Somehow this voice seemed familiar, very familiar, but I couldn't place it. I reply "um...yes. Who is this please?"

"It's Ruth."

A twinge of guilt and apprehension passed through me. Oh yes. Ruth.

"Oh, hello Ruth. I haven't heard from you in a while. How's your baby?"

"OUR baby's not a baby any more, John. She's at school now, you know."

"Oh yes, right."

"The thing is, John, I'm a bit upset, and I think you're really the only person I can talk to about this. Could you come over please."

I had to come up with a way out of this.

"Well, I don't know. I haven't even had breakfast yet." She can't invite me over for breakfast; she won't have anything in the house.

"You can have it here."

What now? Oh, I know. She never drinks coffee.

"But you know I'm horrible in the mornings without my coffee."

"I've got coffee. You know that almond essence flavoured stuff you used to love."

I began to relax. Things couldn't be too bad between us if she got that in. Probably bought it especially for me. But I really didn't want to get involved.

"My car won't start this morning. That's why I'm still here." Get out of that one, Ruth. You surely can't pick me up in yours. No way can you afford a car on a single mother's income.

"I'll call you a cab."

Finally I caved in. "OK Ruth, thanks a lot. See you soon then, bye."

I switched off the phone and waited, going through things in my mind. Ruth and I were never an item. We went on a couple of dates together, that was it. That and a one-night stand of no consequence. She never told me she wasn't on the Pill; it was her own stupid fault what happened. She refused point blank to get rid of it. She wouldn't stop phoning me after that. I ended up changing my number, and that put a stop to it. I had to get someone else to answer the door, it was a nightmare. But she didn't tie me down. I got out of it. I remember the last time I saw her, more than six years ago now, quite nearby, but she seemed so self-absorbed she didn't notice me. She was hugely pregnant by then, and she'd really let herself go. She looked like she was ready to burst out of the cheap-looking tracksuit top and leggings she was wearing. I ducked down an alleyway as quickly as I could, and I thought, thank God I'm not trapped with that fat, bloated whale now. She used to dress so well too. She really hadn't got it any more, not after they sacked her when they heard out she was expecting a baby.

A ring at the door announced the cab's arrival. I got in and the driver checked my name.

"John Thomas?"

"Yeah."

In a few minutes more, we were in the not exactly desirable neighborhood she chose to call home. I hurried out of the car and nervously into the piss-soaked lift that might, by some miracle, fail to break down before I got to her floor. Feeling relief mixed with apprehension, I stood in front of Number 88 in the long, anonymous corridor, and knocked on her door, the doorbell being obviously broken.

She opened it. My first impression was of how drastically she'd changed in the past six and a half years. She was fatter, her face more lined, a shadow of her former svelte and beautiful self, and she'd shaved off her lovely blond hair. I felt slight distaste at the thought that I could ever have gone to bed with this person. She smiled.

"Hi John! Great to see you. Come in!"

I entered her cramped rabbit hutch of a home. It was cluttered and full of worn-out junk. There was no sign of a baby, but I did notice a full coffee machine off in the kitchen, next to various other bits of clutter on the work surface. There was even an open bottle of pills right next to the dirty cups.

"Where's the baby?" I asked.

"She's at school John, I told you, and she's not a baby any more."

"Oh yeah, right."

"But don't worry about that now, John. I'm sure you must be ready for breakfast by now. You sit yourself down here." She pulled a chair out, and I complied. She went into the kitchen, and I heard the sounds of her clanking around in the mess behind me. I decided not to avoid the invisible elephant in the room.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened."

"Well, I think it's time to move on now. Anyway, how about you, what's been happening."

"Oh, things have been great! I've got a new car, a brilliant job, everything."

"That's wonderful. It's a pity your car's already broken down though, isn't it? Let's sit down together, and you can tell me all about it."

She came and sat by the table, carrying two mugs of coffee, one gaudily decorated with party balloons, the other with a plain black female symbol on it with a clenched fist inside the circle. They both didn't seem to be her style somehow; one overstated and kitschy, the other out of character. I'd never thought of her as one of those feminist types. She plonked the balloon mug down in front of me.

"What happened to your car, John?"

"Um, well, you know these new cars. They've got so many gadgets now, something's bound to go wrong. Anyway, enough about me. What's been happening in your life?"

"Well, actually things are pretty humdrum at the moment. Now Cassie's gone to school, I've got a bit more time on my hands, and I've finally got a job."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yeah, it's really good, John. I work in this warehouse that supplies anesthetic and scuba-diving equipment. It's really interesting. I'm a picker."

"What's that?"

"I get stuff when we receive orders from people and take it to be packed."

"So why aren't you there now?"

"Oh, I work nights. It's very quiet there at nights. You get left to your own devices. They're mainly gas tanks, breathing masks and tubes. Oh yes, they also do a side line in butt plugs"

"What are they?"

"Well, when someone goes under anesthesia, their bowels relax, so to keep the OR hygienic they have to stick this thing up their anus."

"Right."

"Yeah, it's a brilliant job. It gets very quiet sometimes. I just sit there and think about all the uses the equipment could be put to. I get some really wild ideas sometimes."

The conversation continued along these stunningly boring lines for several minutes. She just seemed so full of this gas supplies job. Maybe years at home with her rugrat had softened her brain. Ah well, at least she made damn fine coffee. I took a sip. It was heavenly. She'd actually remembered I liked it black with sugar. None of the other women I'd been with since had remembered that. Despite myself, I was impressed. It did taste a bit odd, though. Not unpleasant.

"Nice coffee?"

"Oh yes, wonderful. I'm surprised you're drinking it. I didn't think you liked coffee."

"Well, you know, I've changed a lot. I made that coffee with you in mind. I only bought the coffee machine yesterday, especially for you. I've done a lot of things for you. I've made lots of plans."

She smiled in a way that made me feel uneasy.

The coffee was marvellous though. I couldn't resist it any longer: I drained the rest in one go.

We carried on chatting for a few minutes more. I started to feel a bit tired, which surprised me because I should've just got a massive caffeine jolt from the coffee.

"So, Ruth, who looks after Carrie when you're at work?"

"Cassie. My mother comes over and sleeps here with her. It's all sorted out."

"Well I'm glad Carrie gets taken care of."

"Cassie, John. Yes, I'm very good at taking care of people now."

"Oh...Great."

She seemed very cheerful for someone who'd been crying on the phone half an hour before. She also seemed very happy about having me there. I was really getting quite tired now, and my speech was slurring a bit.

"You know, that coffee doesn't seem to have woken me up at all. I really could do with a lie down."

"Well, it was decaffeinated you know. You know, I went to the doctor's the other day. I had to get my prescription renewed."

What on Earth was she on about now?

"Your prescription?"

"Yes John, the one I've been on since you left me. I've been finding it hard to sleep since then, what with a baby constantly waking me, and before then. You wouldn't know this of course, not even second-hand, but it's not easy getting comfortable in bed when you're having a baby."

"Right, yeah, I s'pose zo. What prescribzhun?"

"Oh, the one for sleeping pills. What's the matter? You don't seem to be your usual eloquent self. Maybe it's the pills I put in your drink."

"Pills?"

"Yes, John."

"John?"

Everything was going dark. Finally, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, and I was plunged into oblivion.

I became aware of an extensive prior period of unawareness, then of some object firmly inserted into my rear end. As I surfaced gradually, I was also aware that a tube was sticking down my throat and a breathing-mask attached to my face. Then there was the fact that I couldn't move my hands or feet - something was resisting them. Later still came the awareness that I was wearing different clothes than the ones I had put on that morning. There was something tight and clinging, but also stretchy and comfortable, on my legs, and a similarly close-fitting thing on my torso. I was lying down. I opened my eyes to see a tube inserted into a breathing mask on my face, which was tied on. I was strapped down on a bed, wearing a zipped-up tracksuit top and matching black leggings which somehow seemed vaguely familiar. I turned my head, and jumped when I saw Ruth next to the bed. She was smiling. Some might say, grinning manically. She spoke.

"Good afternoon, John. No, don't try to speak, that breathing tube will stop you."

She was holding the other end in her hand.

"You know, when I met you, I had a good job, lots of money, a nice house, great prospects, everything to live for. Now I have Cassie, and she's great. I'd kill for her, you know. My only regret is that I can't provide for her the way I would've been able to before I lost the job, the house, the money and the only man I've ever loved. These few things.

"I don't expect you know what that's like, do you John? You don't know what it's like to live like this, to have to raise a child on your own, do you. No, John, you don't. And you don't know what it's like to have to give birth to a child. No, men don't have to do that. And you don't know what it's like to get really huge, the baby growing inside you, pushing you out bigger and bigger until you feel like you're gonna pop. No, you don't know what that's like.

"You know, after you left me and I lost my job, I had to sell all my expensive clothes. Well, I was getting so big, they wouldn't have fitted me anyway. I had to buy something I could afford, something I knew I wouldn't grow out of because it would stretch with me as I swelled. So I thought about it, and went looking for something, and finally I found that tracksuit top and those leggings you're wearing now. They're ideal clothing for someone who is going to expand suddenly: they've both got spandex in them, you know."

Suddenly, I remembered where I'd seen these clothes before. She went on with enthusiasm.

"My new job is just so great though. I look at the butt plugs, the oxygen cylinders, the air hoses, all that stuff, for hours and hours, and my imagination just works overtime. I think about all the possibilities the equipment has, and I come up with some really wild ideas."

This had begun to look distinctly worrying. As I was better able to focus, coming more into normal consciousness, I became aware of some bulky-looking object next to Ruth, standing on the floor. It seemed to be an oxygen cylinder. Ruth spoke again.

"For instance, sometimes I wonder how we mothers might help men to experience the sensations of pregnancy, and the pains of giving birth. Ever passed a pumpkin, John? No, I don't think so. And then I think, well, yes, the human body is hollow, and it stretches. Boy, did mine ever stretch when it was in that track suit you're wearing now. I suppose it was a bit of a rehearsal for it.

"Yeah, I got to thinking about how useful all that equipment might be. I mean, you know, to help men share our experience. Your body is as elastic as mine, you know; it can stretch a lot. It's also hollow."

I was getting an inkling of what was going on now.

"So anyway, through those long, dark lonely nights at the warehouse, I thought about how people are hollow and elastic. They get pregnant and expand, then contract again. They eat big meals that fill their stomachs, which spring back again after digestion, and they breathe in, and their lungs fill with air and then empty again. I started to wonder what would happen if I took a few things, whether anyone would notice. I also thought about what would happen to someone if you hooked them up to some of the equipment. Would you be able to blow them up like a balloon? No, you wouldn't. They'd fart all the gas out as quickly as it was pumped in. Then I remembered about the butt plugs."

As she spoke, she reached over to the bedside table and picked up a metal link, which she started to screw into the hose that ended down my throat.

"Yes, now if you put a butt plug in first, before you connected them to the oxygen cylinder, the gas wouldn't be able to escape by that means, and the person really would be pumped up like a balloon. Wouldn't that be funny? To see someone blown up like a balloon. Wouldn't it be humiliating for them? Wouldn't it be painful?"

She took the other end of the metal tube and started to screw it into the hose attached to the oxygen cylinder. She continued to talk.

"But then I thought, how could I even think about doing something so horrible to someone. Who would deserve that? But still, I wonder if they'd eventually explode. I mean the gas would have to come out somehow, wouldn't it? How's it feel between your buttocks, John?"

I started to struggle, to pull desperately at my bonds, but she had tied them well.

"I suppose the only sort of person who would deserve that to happen to them would be someone who breaks hearts, who never shows any interest in seeing his own daughter, who, despite his considerable wealth, is happy to see his child grow up in poverty and squalor. Yes, I think someone like that might deserve it."

She had me plumbed in to the cylinder now. All she had to do was open the tap and the oxygen would start to gush into me. I tried to crush the tube in my mouth. I tried to cough it out. Nothing worked. Uselessly, I twisted my head desperately from side to side, but nothing would dislodge the tube. She pointed to a gauge on top of the cylinder.

"This dial measures the volume of gas, as it would be under atmospheric pressure, that has been released from this full cylinder of compressed oxygen. Now, how much shall I give you. Um...I think I'll start you off with four and a half gallons. Here goes."

She only opened the tap slightly, but it was still enough to make gas pump into me at amazing speed. At first, it was just like gasping a really deep breath, only not under my own control. Panicking, I realised that I had to stop my lungs bursting, and the only course open to me was to start frantically gulping air down into my stomach. This made me feel very gassy and nauseous. I worried about how long I'd be able to carry on doing this. Maybe she'd see reason and stop. Would I end up choking on my own vomit? I felt the air fill my stomach, then get beyond it and reach my bowels, where it pooled. My belly started to swell visibly under the track suit and leggings, and I started to feel unpleasantly full, bloated and very flatulent. I saw her turn the pump off, and looked at her with pleading eyes. She was right. I understood now what pregnant women meant when they said they felt like a "beached whale".

"OK John. Dying for a fart, eh? Now, I wonder. Should I deflate you now? Have you had enough? No, I don't think so. This is nothing; you could be this big naturally. You pumped me up bigger than this six years ago with your cock. No; I think you need another five gallons of air. Right."

She twisted the tap open again, and I felt the pressure build up enormously inside me, but I didn't expand at all. Then, in a moment of indescribable agony and disbelief, I saw and felt my belly expand suddenly, well beyond the appearance of pregnancy, my whole body ripening with explosive potentiality. My stomach and throat muscles went into spasm with the nausea, only serving to open a wider channel to the gas. By the end, I felt incredibly stretched and bloated, "stuffed" full of gas, and explosively flatulent. My whole body was wracked with spasms as my reflexes tried to no avail to vomit and fart nearly ten gallons of gas out of my body. There was a dangerous visceral feeling and my insides stung intensely. All I wanted to do was curl up and relieve the pressure on my grossly distended innards, but I couldn't. At the end, I looked like I had stuffed a pillow under the tracksuit, but I knew it was all gas and all me. The zip wrinkled down my front and my clothes had become incredibly tight. I could feel my abdominal muscles parting rapidly to form a hernia. Ruth was trying to stop herself from laughing, and finally failed.

"My God, I never would've believed someone could really be blown up that huge! You're a balloon! That is one serious case of wind you have there, John. I really would do something about it if I were you. I bet that feels really nice, doesn't it? Like an erection all over? Actually, I'll tell you what. If you can tell me how lovely it feels to be pumped up like a balloon with gas, or say anything at all for that matter, I'll deflate you. Go ahead."

I strained against the enormous pressures inside me and the hose in my throat, desperately trying to make a sound, but I just couldn't.

"C'mon John, all you have to do is ask and I'll let the air out. Oh well. Five more gallons of oxygen then." With horror, I saw her reach round to the tap. How could anyone do this to someone? Surely I couldn't take any more air. I had no choice: she was going to pump me up to fifteen gallons and I was utterly helpless to stop her. I already felt like I was going to burst. She turned the tap on again.

This time the pain climaxed and faded. I think the pressure of the air was cutting the blood off to my pain nerves. I felt an ominous numbness spread over my body as I blew out to over a yard in diameter. My ribcage was forced up by the air pressure and the blood into my extremities, which became engorged, swollen and hot. The sensation of being inflated now filled my whole consciousness just as the air filled my insides. Through a dazed mist and a roar in my head, I could see the unbelievably huge bulk of my torso, now almost perfectly round. I faintly heard Ruth speak in the background.

"If I unzipped you now, you'd expand so much you'd burst, so that tracksuit is keeping you alive. Pretty useful garment, isn't it? I'm going to leave you like this for a minute now, so that you get to appreciate what it is to be inflated with fifteen gallons of oxygen inside you. Now I want to make sure you get to appreciate the full glory of going out with a bang - I want you still to be conscious when you explode. So after that minute, I'll suddenly turn the tap full on and something like fifty gallons of air will rush into you all at once, and you will burst instantly while still conscious. One minute then." She started to count down: "60, 59, 58..."

As I lay there, I reflected on the fact that it didn't look like I was going to get out of this alive. I was just so huge, so inflated with air. I couldn't move a muscle. The sensations of being so stretched and bloated, doubtless haemorrhaging inside, were overwhelming. I entered a strange kind of reverie as my brain was affected by my vast distension. I felt grossly huge with air and at the same time exquisitely fragile and sensitive, as if the slightest touch would make me explode.

She was down to 20. She said "You know, I could let you down even now. Your fate is entirely in my hands. I could deflate you, or I could make you burst. What shall I do? I know: I'll explode you."

As she reached over to the tap, all the intense sensations of being so inflated with gas, my body wall paper-thin against the almost untearable tight spandex of the tracksuit and leggings, so bloated and so close to bursting turned around in an instant from experiences of agony and fear to ones of intense pleasure that were sexual in their intensity.

Finally, she turned the tap full on and I inflated hugely and instantly to unbelievably enormous size, two yards across in every direction. There was a brief unbelievably overwhelming and orgasmic pause as I was so vastly inflated before I finally exploded with gas and pleasure, my last experience.

The rags and bits of organs splatter Ruth and the walls of the room as things fade away.

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