My Unfortunate Red Carpet Debut

Our local shopping mall was having the promotion of a lifetime: A free trip to the Oscars, plus a free designer outfit, plus a chance to walk on the red carpet. My BFF, Cheryl, was super excited at the news and insisted we go down there and enter the contest together. Cheryl has always been ga-ga over anything to do with Hollywood and the movies. Me, less so. Not that I didn't think it would be fun, just I've never had much luck winning any sort of prize. So it was a bit of a shock that I won.

Initially, Cheryl was pissed that I won and she didn't. To pretend to be a starlet for a day was her dream, and I had (unintentionally) robbed her of that chance. It wasn't like I had wanted to enter the contest to begin with; she practically dragged me down there with her. After much apologizing, Cheryl grudgingly forgave me. Eventually she warmed up to the idea that I was going.

Truth be told, I was lukewarm about the whole thing. Then I saw the outfit I was going to wear: a black Marchesa floor length strapless gown in silk faille. No way in a million years could I afford a dress like that. I was in love with it at first sight. During the initial fitting it conformed to my body perfectly, no additional tailoring was necessary. I felt like a princess. Any regrets I had about Cheryl not winning were immediately forgotten. Sucks to be you, Cheryl. This dress was destined for me.

The thought of walking the red carpet scared the bejeezus out of me though. Granted, I would be walking it long before any A-list celebrities showed up. But the sheer intimidation factor had me at a near panic attack. Cheryl, ever the supportive friend, gave me a pill to take an hour before I arrived. She said it would calm my nerves.

"Just take this and you'll be fine. Trust me honey, you're gonna be a big hit," she grinned.

So the big day arrived and I was a nervous wreck. I took the medicine Cheryl had gave me and prayed it would work. By the time the rented limo dropped me off at the red carpet I was feeling slightly better, and a little bit...tingly?

I took a deep breath, screwed up my courage, and strutted down the famous red carpet. A handful of paparazzi were there, using the early arrivals as test subjects so they could adjust their camera settings for when the A-listers showed up. I got to the midway point and preened, just hamming it up. I was vaguely aware of a strange hissing sound, but it was lost in the incessant click-click-click of the paparazzi's cameras.

Suddenly, my breasts spilled out of the top of my gown. At first I thought I was having a wardrobe malfunction. Majorly embarrassed, I hurriedly tried to tuck them back in but I couldn't. My pert B-cups had suddenly blossomed into double-Ds. And they were still growing!!! I stood there dumbstruck, just staring at my inflating boobs. What the hell was happening to me? The commotion in the crowd snapped me back to reality. The languid clicking of the cameras had quickly turned to a rapid-fire tempo as the paparazzi eagerly documented my humiliation. I had to get out of there!

I covered up my ballooning boobs with my arms and turned to run into the theater. But something went awry. My quick pivot turned into an awkward tumble as I was horribly off-balance by my enormous breasts. I landed on my backside, and something felt strange. My impact was a lot softer than I would have imagined. I glanced behind me to see what I had landed on. OH MY GAWWWD! My ass was inflating too! Each cheek was the size of a beachball! "Don't just stand there! Help me!" I wailed, but to no avail. The crowd was mesmerized by my stunning metamorphosis.

As if things couldn't get any worse, I felt pressure building in my torso. Now my belly wanted to expand too! The tight cut of the dress around my midsection did its best to contain my inflating form but it was slowly losing the battle. The clasp at the back of the dress stretched, and then snapped. The zipper shot down in a flash. Then the seams along the side of my dress began to fail. With a loud ripping sound, the tortured gown finally tore apart. My belly, released from it silk prison, burst forth with such force that I was knocked backwards. I lay there on my back, naked but for my lacy black thong and heels. My legs had grown stiff and were splayed out while my expanding ass was lifting them higher in the air. I tried to use my arms to sit up, but they had become stiff and immovable too. As my torso rounded out and continued growing, I felt it pushing my thong steadily downward. With a quick "thwip" it was finally propelled off me. My body kept expanding, bigger and bigger and bigger. The only consolation I had was my breasts had grown so large I could only see a canyon of cleavage and not the lecherous stares of the crowd. Suddenly, I felt myself being pulled up. But I didn't feel any hands on me. Then it hit me: my boobs were acting as balloons and pulling me up! I...I must be filling up with helium or something! But how??? Why??? A sudden chill ran through me. Could it have been that mysterious pill Cheryl gave me?

My bouyant boobs rotated me back upright. By now I was a four-foot round ball, with just my head, wrists and ankles protruding. Plus a pair of two-foot tits with huge erect nipples proudly pointing outward. Trapped, immobile, I could do nothing but stand there and turn into a blimp in front of the entire world. My skin squeaked as it stretched, the relentless pressure building within me testing the limits of its pliablility. The greedy whores that were the paparazzi did nothing to help me. Their photos of my inexplicable transformation into a human balloon was going to be a gold mine for them. Assholes.

My circumference continued its unrelenting expansion. It peeled the designer shoes right off me as it engulfed my feet. Soon, only dimples marked where my hands and feet were located on my globular body. Still I continued to inflate. My vulva, stretched beyond comprehension and now incredibly sensitive, sent waves of electric pleasure through me as it rubbed against the carpet. Ashamed, I moaned despite myself. Being naked and inflated was embarrassing enough, but to appear to be enjoying it in front of everyone? Oh God, please not that!

I was spared the ignominy of climaxing in public when I felt my body start to lift off the ground. I had inflated so much that I was now positively bouyant and slowly rising into the air. I thought I heard gasps from the crowd as I soared above them, a grotesque pornographic balloon. Up and up I floated, a gentle breeze carrying me (fortunately) to the east and not out to sea.

To be honest, being a balloon and having the wind caress your swollen body is an incredibly sublime experience. Or it would have been, had it not been for all the news choppers that followed my journey east. The helium, or whatever it was inside me, eventually outgassed and I settled back to earth just outside Tucumcari, New Mexico. Completely naked.

Cheryl eventually fessed up that envy got the better of her and she wanted me to make a spectacle of myself at the Oscars. The pill she gave me was an experimental helium generating device from the lab she worked at. She was immediately fired. Both as an employee, and as my friend.

Later, nobody would remember who won best supporting actress that year. But everyone remembers the girl who turned into a balloon at the Oscars.

Nieman Marcus is still riding my ass about reimbursing them for the dress I destroyed.