Doppleganger

Trudi was in a hurry. She’d enjoyed all the Wiccan events her friends arranged, as keen as any of the girls to spend an evening drinking, chatting and getting verbal revenge on their boyfriends. What she’d never expected was supernatural occurrences, let alone one that would strike such a chord in her.

Twenty-four hours. Plenty of time to execute the plan she’d made, the moment she heard the spirit make its promise. The plan was the easy part. She’d dreamt of this talent for so long, the problem was choosing which of her many dream scenarios she would have time to play out. Twenty-four hours. Would it be long enough? Would a taste of the fantasy ruin her life, leaving her hungry, playing out a hollow existence without hope or ambition? A haunting thought, but not one that would sway her path. She would have her prize, consequences be damned.

She jogged along the darkened streets, the full moon giving her a constant shadow that danced with those cast by the street lights she passed. Watching her dark silhouette, she imagined its outline suddenly bulging in her favourite places and the shiver it sent through her frame upped her pace for home. For a moment she wondered if her eagerness to finish the proceedings on the hill and get home had given the others a glimpse into her inner life, but decided it didn’t matter if it had.

It took ten precious minutes to get set up. With only a day to play with, every second seemed long and a minute felt an age. However, her interest ensured all the appropriate props were close at hand and ten minutes was small change compared to the nine hours she would have waited for the hardware and party stores to open had she been less well equipped. Then end result was a bit slipshod, but she was an inflation enthusiast, not an engineer. The helium cylinder was duct taped to the SCUBA reg. The SCUBA reg was duct taped to the inflatable mattress pump. The mattress pump was duct taped to her beautiful doppelganger: the doll she’d scoured the internet for. The doll for which she’d cut her hair short and bought exactly matching outfits to share with. Her, in inflatable form.

The limp doll lay on the floor, ready to receive the breath of life. Nearby, an oscillating fan arced back and forth endlessly. Curtains were closed, lights were dimmed, music was selected, a shot of courage poured and consumed.

One more touch before the get go. Trudi laid her diving weights on the floor, a metre from and in the centre of the arc of the fan. A length of string was tied to the belt webbing and its free end attached to the gusset of her panties, this delicate manipulation bringing gate crashing butterflies to the party in her stomach.

The cylinder valve was opened. The pump handle drawn up. The regulator wheezed, releasing gas on demand into the cylinder. Trudi paused to savour the sweet moment and slowly depressed the handle. The doll’s limpness was replaced with the subtlest signs of life. Thin, balloon skin rose slightly and wriggled a little as the helium sought an even distribution. This gentle awakening was lost on its cause, who was hugging herself as the sensation of inflation washed over her. The voodoo was doing the ballooning it was promised to do so well. Trudi couldn’t see any outward change and her lingerie didn’t feel tight, but she could feel the gas rush into her as the plunger was depressed and she definitely liked that feeling. The handle was raised and lowered again, more forcefully. Once more, the doll became more lifelike and Trudi more her dream self. Limbs, torso, face, breasts, filled with gas. Gas lighter than air. The rush: should she give in to it and pump away like mad or fight it every sweet step of the way and pace her inflation to last. A gentle hissing drew her from the dilemma. The regulator was free flowing. Just a slow leak, but it was filling the cylinder without aid, the pump handle rising slowly of its own accord. The choice, for the moment, was moot and Trudi stood, waiting for the cylinder of the pump to fill to see what would happen. As she’d expected, once the pump was fully primed, the overflow spilled down the hose and into her. It was just a trickle, but its insistent tickle was thrilling. She closed her eyes, cupped a breast and rubbed a thigh, sighing with satisfaction. Still no swelling, but every second made the doll more a woman and her more a balloon. Letting go her breast to grasp the pump handle once more, she noticed the first outward change. The freed mammary hung upward, drawn away from gravity’s will by the wonder gas it was slowly filling with. Tingles. The decision was foremost once more. The pump never worked so hard.

The helium filling the doll brought it to its feet, swaying gently in the fan’s draft. Trudi stared at it, noticing her matching lightness on her feet, stunned by the proximity of her fantasy: one pump away from floating. Her hand on the handle, staring at her own form made rubber, now almost full, mirroring her hollow, helium filled self. The tiny hissing, the final creases of doll flesh ironed out, her feet lifting gently from the floor. Trudi never gave the final pump, though she tried desperately to depress the plunger. Everything about her form now exuded upness, and down was taking its bat and ball home for a sulk.

She let go the pump handle and floated to her tether’s end, getting a tweak between her thighs as she reached journey’s end. She felt the swish of air moving over her, savouring the contrasting gasses either side of her skin, one free and fluid, one contained and rising in pressure. The fan’s first pass. She swayed backward, turned slightly, sprung back up, spun on her axis. Wispy negligee fluttered on taut flesh with each passing breeze.

Her doll, tethered on the pump hose, began to distend slightly, the trickling gas making itself felt in the areas most accustomed to stretching. Blue silk was stretched tight against bulging breasts, both in Trudi’s view of her doppelganger and her top. Arcing wind blew against pert nipples, showing clearly through the material.

The doll began to blimp into a parade float, torso inflating, distended limbs starfished, bloated breasts leading the way bravely upward. Trudi followed suit, feeling every slightest breeze in the swirling air outside, every cubic mil of helium inside her, every shift of cloth on skin as her form sought escape via the path of least resistance.

Swaying, spinning, dizzy with desire being fulfilled, Trudi wondered how much gas remained in the cylinder.