Big Debbie's Diving Mishap

Big Debbie’s Diving Mishap

By Latecomer

Revision #2

February 2012

It was another hot Sunday morning, with me upstairs in the lodge office working on the books as usual, when I glanced out the window and saw Big Debbie emerge from the changing room and stride purposefully toward the deep end of the swimming pool. She was wearing that one-piece satin swimsuit of hers that looks like something out of the 1950’s with all that gathered elastic in the seams and a short white skirt, and she was carrying something in her arms that I did not immediately recognize.

This piqued my curiosity because the pool was not officially open that early, and no swim or dive lessons were scheduled, so I pushed the laptop aside and watched her through the window.  According to the rules, she should not have been near the deep end without a lifeguard on duty, since girls her size (and she was the fattest of our regular members) generally can’t float without a buoyancy aid- nor can they hold their breath long enough for someone like me to run all the way out from the lodge building and get them out of trouble when they start to sink. As she sat down at the edge of the pool next to the compressed air tank, I finally recognized what it was she had in her arms, and I started to get concerned.

It was a piece of old diving gear of the sort that the safety attendants used so they could stay on the bottom of the pool while the girls were practicing their dives from the springboard. The one Big Debbie was then fiddling around with was the same vintage as her swimsuit- basically little more than a long hose that ended in a full-face diving mask and instead of a real regulator and an emergency rescue gas bottle, it just had a rubber breathing bag attached to the mask and a breathing valve that never worked quite right. You plugged the end of the hose into the air tank next to the pool, pulled the mask down, dove in, and then hoped the valves would function right for the duration of your shift down there while you waited to catch the girls who got into trouble and couldn’t surface without help. The last time I used that piece of junk before throwing it into the mop closet in the changing room, I got all the way down to 15 feet before I realized the damn valve was stuck shut and wouldn’t give me any air.

Now, I’m a big girl too and I’m used to the help that thing was supposed to furnish when I’m running safety for the dive class, but even with my training it was still pretty touch-and-go there for a while. Down there, my world quickly narrowed down to nothing but me and that stupid rubber bag- so I had to struggle back to the surface without buoyancy on just the air that was in the breathing bag when I jumped in the pool, which was not enough for a free ascent of 15 feet. Not nearly enough.  Believe me, the only good thing about an air panic in the pool is that nobody can tell when you wet yourself.  

So putting two and two together, it looked to me like Big Debbie was going to try an unattended dive with an air supply on which she had received no training in emergency procedures, and which was so unreliable that none of us safety attendants would use it ourselves, and which I should have thrown in the trash instead of in a mop closet where some dumb bunny could stumble across it and get ideas. Oh, swell… With this I closed the spreadsheet and got up from the desk, intending to get my own swimsuit on in anticipation of the inevitable crisis. That’s when all hell broke loose.

Luckily for Big Debbie, Suzette (another big girl from her swim group) was out there at the pool by then and she let out a shrill squeal of distress just as I reached for my suit. I dropped it and started running for the pool, unbuttoning my blouse as I did.  Apparently the red “EMPTY” flag had just popped up on the tank Big Debbie was plugged into, and Suzette then noticed not only that there was an air hose leading from it straight down into the pool, but also that whoever it was on the other end of the hose down there, she wasn’t making any air bubbles- all of which meant diver in distress.

Big Debbie had not even bothered to read the gauge on the tank before plugging in! Had she done so, she would have seen that it held no more than a couple of deep breaths of air, which she would quickly use up just in the process of getting her mask on. The tank was empty because the last team of divers and attendants had run it down the afternoon before, and since there was no class on the schedule for this morning, none of them had bothered pumping it back up to full pressure again.

By this time other swimmers were starting to show up and they clustered around the now-empty air tank, not knowing what to do. Suzette was in a full tizzy, dancing around in the hot pink bikini which she kidded herself still fit, even though it was at least two full sizes too small for her charms, carrying on about how poor Debbie was stuck down there with nothing to breathe except what was in her bag and in fifteen seconds she would start to suffocate if she hadn’t already and oh my god we’ve got to save her on and on and soon all the other girls were lathered up as well. By then I had my blouse and skirt off and was headed for the pool as fast as I could run. As I passed the first-aid locker I grabbed two emergency rescue gas bottles on the fly and with these in hand I did a sort of running belly-flop into the pool. I hit at a bad angle which totally popped my bra loose. Sudden boobage! The damn thing practically flew off as I plunged for the bottom with the gas bottles. So then, on top of everything else, my boobs were out… great. Total chaos.

Time was now of the essence. Although I had two gas bottles, I had to save Big Debbie while holding my own breath- because if I breathed anything from the bottles I had with me, there might not be enough left to make her float. By now there were precious few moments left in which to act, and no margin of error. I simply had to get the contents of the gas bottles into Big Debbie before I myself ran out of air, and before she lost it completely and went into a full-blown panic.

I followed her dead hose down and there she was, firmly rooted to the bottom by her own weight. The glass faceplate of her mask was steamed up with moisture and her breathing bag was quickly expanding and contracting as she breathed the same bubble of air in and out, in and out. When she saw me, she produced a muffled squeak and clasped a hand over one of her little pointy breasts and pointed with the other hand at her mask- the distress signal for help me, I’m out of air!

I nodded and held up the two green bottles full of rescue gas. Big Debbie stood before me motionless except for the futile rise and fall of the breathing bag as I floated before her and pulled the soft rubber mouthpiece loose from the first of the bottles, released the hose clamp on her mask, jammed the fitment on the bottle into the clamp, and spun the valve wide open.  With a dull hiss, the gas mixture entered her mask and the limp, useless breathing bag suddenly blew up into a perfectly spherical balloon right before Big Debbie’s eyes. She stared at the swollen bag in wonder. As the gas began to fill her, I then reached around her waist and pulled loose the drawstring on her skirt so her belly could fill to maximum capacity. But when I reached over to pull the straps of her swimsuit down off her shoulders so her lungs could do the same, she made an mmm-mmm noise in her mask and shook her head while covering her little titties with her cupped hands. Her conical nipples were erect and showing plainly through the thin material of her suit. What a silly time to be modest!

I cupped my hands under my own big fatties and hefted them a bit as if to say, See me? No modesty here! She relented and let me pull down her straps, and I watched her breasts rise and move farther apart as her chest expanded. I then felt her belly with my hand to make sure the gas was filling it too. I had never rescued a girl as fat as Big Debbie before, and I doubted that one bottle would be enough to make her buoyant- but I had a plan.

Big Debbie’s fat body was now rendered even fatter as it filled up with a mixture of oxygen to keep her conscious, helium for maximum lift, and nitrous oxide to relax her abdominal muscles so she could expand as much as possible- the classic rescue gas recipe. The first bottle was now almost empty, and as it hissed into silence I quickly realized that that she did not have enough buoyancy to rise. I also realized that I could not hold my breath much longer, and it would soon be my turn to run out of air at the bottom of the pool.

Quickly I pulled the crotch of her swimsuit away from the plump confluence of her huge, fat thighs and the swollen curve of her belly and before she could protest I firmly jammed the soft rubber mouthpiece of the second bottle of rescue gas into her crotch. I released the elastic material and it snapped back, holding the mouthpiece snugly in place there. With my heart pounding and my lungs ready to burst, I spun the valve open and without looking back, I swam for the surface with all I had.

The other girls who had dived in to help and watch the rescue described to me afterward what I had not witnessed: that her thighs, belly and butt began to swell up to enormous size, and just as the second bottle of rescue gas squirted the last of its contents deep into her bulging belly, she slowly and ponderously began to rise toward the surface.

My desperate ploy worked. I lay gasping for air on the concrete walk next to the pool as Big Debbie broke surface- first her head, tiny in comparison with the pair of beachball-sized breasts that followed, tinier still in comparison when followed by the huge spherical bulge of her belly and her gigantic thighs and hips. But something was wrong. Her whole body was rising up out of the water, and the ecstatic cheers of the other girls faded to  mute horror and then shrieks of distress as Big Debbie rose entirely free of the water. That’s when I noticed that Suzette was standing next to me with a third rescue bottle screwed into Big Debbie’s air hose in place of the empty tank. Now, if one bottle of rescue gas was not quite enough and two was a bit too much, the third bottle was blowing the poor girl up into a helium-filled balloon that grew bigger and fatter and rounder with each passing second as we watched.  Emitting a variety of muffled grunts, gasps and squeals, Big Debbie rose helplessly into the air, tethered only by the air hose leading from her diving mask to the rescue bottle that Suzette desperately clutched to her ample bosom.

Suzette whimpered in panic and fumbled with the valve, frantically struggling to close it with plump, trembling fingers. Then the seams of Big Debbie’s hopelessly-overburdened swimsuit suddenly split open. The spent second bottle fell away with the torn remains of her suit and she was fully revealed- completely nude and almost spherical.

Now Suzette squealed in terror as Big Debbie, drugged to the marrow on nitrous, moaned luxuriously, gasped, and then produced a series of panting cries from inside her diving mask and tossed her head about, left-right-left, no no no, the swollen breathing bag which would not be denied gaily bouncing to and fro. Her limp limbs quivered slightly and she arched her back as far as she could in her unfortunate circumstances and spread her thighs far apart. Then she caught her breath, reared back, and with a falsetto, trilling squeal she let loose a sudden gush of urine which spurted forth from her crotch as if she were a blimp shedding water ballast for a climb into the clouds. Which, after all, she now was.  

And she had a passenger: Suzette, all bulges in her tiny bikini, clinging to the air hose as if she were a member of Big Debbie’s ground support crew who refused to release her mooring line. Which, after all, she now was.