Coda - Expectations

"You know, I've never done it with someone else before." Says Amelia. She nuzzles forward, the abyssal moon is filigree to crown her blushes.

"That's…ballooning, I mean, not…you know"

Your hands intertwine gently as she plays with your fingers. Your elbows rest on the smooth goosebump-puce of her breasts, barely indenting them. Those are a girl's breasts, you keep reminding yourself, Just 5 foot wide and filled with helium.

She flushes now with the aftermath of discovery, letting you trace circles across the globe of her expanded femininity, mapping the contours of a virgin world. Upon the horizon stars to navigate by rise and sparkle, but the newness overwhelms you. How does she see you, a traveller come to her shores?

"So…I'm the first to get, umm, carried away?" You hadn't thought of it until now. She's incredible; but what does she see in you beyond a shared fantasy, an hour of dream? Why the sharing of secrets? The retreat from the real?

Amy doesn't answer at once, but flexes as her inflated breasts hold you tight all around. Her pleasure communicates to you through the soft pneumatic reverb of their embrace. The feeling of weightlessness returns as you bob and rise momentarily. Masked behind it is the pulse of her heartbeat; the atavistic rhythm of flesh and belonging.

"Yeah, kinda. You didn't pop for ages". She announces with a lavacious grin "I liked that."

You smile weakly, but feel estranged, suspended. Which of course you are; several thousand feet above London and adrift with the wind. It's almost soundless up here, and your voices feel thin, as if the helium has stretched you both to bursting. The air-currents which buoy you seem the only real thing, tangible and stronger than the press of skin and sweat.

"Not for want of trying, I hope." You reach out with a joke. "I was more worried about dropping your panties…umm, knickers".

"Awh." She softens to a smile with her head to one side, dreaming. "I thought you handled things quite well down there. Still don't believe it?"

"Yeah. I mean….no, but yeah. I just didn't…"

She flicks her eyelashes, with her head laid aside her shoulder, tawny hair askance from earlier exertions. "Silly American. All girls in London can do this. Ooops, no, wait. It's just me."

She plays her games; that much comes to you through her hesitation and whimsy. The love of teasing, the playfulness she uses to mask desire from herself. The stars reflect in her eyes, undimmed by the broken abyss of sodium lights, showing her clearly for the first time.

"I mean, that's….there's a difference between believing and understanding, I mean how do you…." You pause. Despite your intimacy it seems suddenly rude to ask. But Amy seems not to notice.

"Well, you see, there's this valve in my side and….it's complicated." She laughs, twirls her loose hair to a curl. "it's not all of me. Just my breasts. Like you care!"

She softens, and you feel her legs stroking along yours somewhere below. And below them several thousand foot of air and a breathless plunge. Rising through cloud earlier you trod a rolling carpet of dimpled grey wool. But you're under no illusions that the only thing keeping you aloft at the moment is this strange British girl with a hugely inflated bosom.

"Listen, you're really sweet," she continues, "and I really should have told you before, but…you wouldn't have believed me. I didn't want to hurt you…."

"You didn't trust me?"

"I couldn't. Not until I saw you. Not until I knew. You know, the trouble with your stories," Amy says, suddenly matter-of-fact. "is they are completely bollocks as a practical guide."

"Why do you say that?" The clouds part behind the nape of her neck where moonlight ekes along the estuary. Silver from the sky, water from the land.

"I just mean, both to ballooning, and the person. They get the sensations kinda right, but that first time – it's really scary, you know? Fun, but scary. But as for untethered…God, this sounds stupid. I had to put in a lot of reading. Lucy made me do it."

Lucy. So someone else knows. Or more than knows. A hint of strange, then. "…air currents, ballast, flight paths, temperature at altitude… As I said, I did a lot of reading. But then I found out I don't float like a hot air balloon; I'm smaller and less stable, so I tend to….Oh God, don't let me get started. Anyway, just saying the first time outdoors I ended up grazing a tower block before crashing into someone's allotment. I could have died. Or knocked myself out and been discovered, which might have been worse."

Unconsciously you find yourself squeezing a little tighter across the inflated expanse of her mammaries.

"Hey, relax, there. I know my way about my inflatable titties fairly well now." She flicks her gaze about, concerned. "Hmmm. Having said that I think we're still going up. It's hard to tell."

"Is that a problem?" You realise that for all the fantastical nature, this is the first time you're actually cognisant of any danger. Which is stupid, really, considering where you are. Where she has you.

"Maybe. Air above the city is a lot warmer, so I kinda went a bit overboard with the gas to begin with. Plus I kind overestimated how much I needed to carry you." "But we can get down ok, right?" You try to disguise the concern in your voice, keep it casual.

"Who says I'm going to let you down?" Her mood suddenly shifts, and her eyes narrow. "You made me a promise, remember? I want those names. All of them."

An icy feeling shoots along your spine. Have you misjudged her? Many miles to the west, aircraft lights pace you oblivious. You are embraced in human touch, remote of humanity in an element of her choosing. How far have you let her lift you? What if you can't get down?

"And if I don't tell?" You venture, bravely.

"Well. Let's see. I keep going up and up like an escaped balloon and you come with me. Maybe the air gets too thin? Finding it hard to breath yet? Or perhaps we run into some turbulence and your grip loosens or I jiggle too much…."

Her legs rise to straddle you, letting you feel the thrust of her grip and gift. Her breathing is deep, hooded by her eyes and falling hair. It's cadence is drawing you in and up, suspended in cradle of her loins. She speaks slowly, with the solemn purpose of a lover.

"Now, I am a very fuckable but very dangerous balloon girl. And you are so going to tell me everything."

The sky is still and potent as the dread envelops you. How many of your stories end badly for the protagonist? Just going higher; helplessly up and up until…. Then she bursts out laughing.

"Oh god, I'm awful." She giggles madly. "You should have seen your face. God. That was so funny. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. Seriously though, I want those names and..."

Suddenly, a phone goes off. For a moment the sound strikes you dumb. Above the helium lightness, your driven relief, it is the most unreal thing. The phone warbles insistently.

"Oh shit." Amy announces. "That's probably Lucy."