[I cannot believe I wrote this 21 years ago! But why not recycle?
I did clean it up a little bit over the weekend. Hope you like it! Tracy (f/k/a Tina ages ago....]
Party Girl
For a long time I stared at the invitation. I knew I had to go. I had missed every kid's birthday party in the neighborhood since I had been here, and this time I simply did not have, and could not make up, a credible excuse. Next Saturday I would be in attendance at Beth's birthday party. For most parents (and friends of parents like me) that would mean a slightly tiring afternoon, made well worth it by the happy kids. For me it meant only one thing: balloons popping. Popping while being blown up for the party. Popped by careless kids (or worse--careless adults). Popped just by sheer cussedness. And of course, the cleanup afterwards...
Then I felt the recognizable slow burn of anger and shame. Beth was the only daughter of my best friend Paula. Instead of happily calling up and saying "I'd love to attend!" I was (still) trying to think of any way I could gracefully get out of it. And all because I am just so afraid of balloons popping around me. Even more annoying is the equally incontrovertible fact that I get so hot when I play with balloons myself! I have even--on a couple of brave occasions--managed to deliberately pop a few small balloons. But I knew that this would not prepare me for an afternoon of unpredictable, and much louder, bangs, booms and pops. Erotic? Possibly. But much too frightening to be enjoyed.
Sounding more enthusiastic than I felt, I called Paula up and told her I'd be there. "Great!" she said, but I could hear a bit of hesitation. I asked what the matter was, with a sinking feeling in my heart. "I wondered if I could ask a favor, Tina," Paula started. "Could you come by about an hour early and help us set up?" Well, there was NO getting out of that one. Weakly I said that I'd be happy to help. I was pleased to hear her perk right up: "OK then, see you Saturday, Party Girl!", but I was shaking as I hung up.
Saturday took its sweet time coming around: that week I spent much more time than I care to admit thinking (OK, obsessing) about the party. On Saturday morning I woke up with my heart pounding in anxiety. Well, there was something I could do about that! I slid my hand down my body, under the waistband of my tap pants, between my legs, and I started caressing myself. Then I had an even better idea. I reached over to my low dresser and got out the bag of 7" balloons I had hidden there. Because I hate popping, I don't go through many balloons. I won't even tie off more than a few because I don't want to lose track of any of them (what if a balloon rolls into something sharp?!?). Now I knew I could survive these balloons popping, and I hoped I could acclimate myself to the noise a bit: maybe it would make the afternoon a little more bearable. In any event, it would CERTAINLY make the morning more enjoyable!
Still lying in bed, I gently stretched a little white balloon, put it to my lips and blew. It always amazes me how much resistance these balloons put up! Finally it bulged into shape, as I gasped from the exertion. As my fingers rubbed my nipple through my cami, a couple of small and very slow breaths got it round, but hardly what you could call full. I then turned to the task of knotting. Since I had not gotten a normal lifetime's practice at blowing up balloons, it took me forever to tie them off. On my third clumsy try my nail scratched right over the surface of the balloon. Miraculously it did not pop, but I jumped in fright anyway. Finally with my mouth dry, my chest pounding--and my pussy absolutely soaked--I got it knotted. I dropped it on the bed, grabbed my vibrator from the bedside table and drove it into my aching slit.
As I held the vibrator in place with my left hand, I got my cami off as quickly as possible, leaving me in just my black tap pants. I reached for a balloon with my right and started to blow. This one gave me an even harder time, because I hadn't stretched it out as much. As it inflated I let go and started playing with my breasts--much more forcefully than usual--with the slowly growing yellow balloon resting between my tits. I held the neck of the balloon closed in my lips (occasionally blowing a slight puff into it) as my vibrator and my fingers guided me to a powerful climax. As my body calmed down and my eyes opened, I looked at the balloon which had become quite big (for me anyway) with the neck starting to bulge! I immediately grabbed it out of my mouth and let a little air out--although it was still quite full--and decided to knot it instead of letting all the air out. My already slow knotting was even more hampered by the fact that one hand was quite slick with my juices. As I tied the balloon I felt myself getting quite hot again. This time, instead of my vibrator, I grabbed the less full white balloon, and slid it between my legs, rubbing my pussy and clit through my silk tap pants. I have never much cared for the tactile feel of latex, but I loved the feeling of the balloon squishing and bulging against my most intimate parts. I then got more industrious about blowing up some balloons--pausing in my self stimulation only long enough to knot off each balloon. First a pink balloon, then another yellow, then a red balloon got filled to varying degrees, before I shuddered through another hot orgasm.
I got up, showered and "put myself together" (and clipped my nails back--I learn quickly!) and started to dress. As I slipped on a white bra and bikini panties, I decided to steel my courage and pop the five balloons I had inflated. This would be a big step forward (I told myself)--coldly popping balloons without being emboldened by sexual tension! A woman who could do this could do anything (I told myself)! Still in my bra and panties I walked over to my "odds and ends" drawer and took out a pin. With my heart pounding (and a familiar moisture growing between my legs), I strode bravely forth to do battle, and nonchalantly popped the little white balloon that had given me such intimate pleasure an hour before. [To a neutral observer, of course, the picture may have seemed a bit different: a woman in her undies, weak in the knees, walking with a trembling step towards a tiny pile of tiny balloons, and with one hand over her ear--neck tilted to the side in order to cover the other ear as much as possible with her shoulder, jabbing at a balloon and jerking her arm back as though she was being shocked!] The balloon popped brightly, and I jumped back despite myself. Then I went after two quickly, before I lost my nerve. The first one popped so quietly and dully that even I was not too scared, but the third one--the one I had overinflated as it grew between my breasts--made a real BANG! OK, there was no question but that I was completely terrified. With one last show of courage I popped the remaining two balloons and then dropped back onto the bed, trembling.
After a few minutes I calmed down and congratulated myself on my fortitude with more than a faint sense of irony: instead of building up my confidence, I had just demonstrated to myself how unready I was for a balloon-intensive experience! I also realized that I had to change my undies...How was I going to get through this afternoon without having a nervous breakdown or a bone-shaking chain of orgasms--in either case in front of ten friends and twenty kids???
I changed into a fresh pair of pink panties, decided to slip on a matching bra, and started to go through my closet. I decided on a really cute, kind of tight, kind of clingy, kind of short black skirt and a slinky red crushed velvet top. Not trampy, but definitely attention getting. A pair of black thigh high stockings (I hate panty hose!) and 2" heels and I was set. One thing I had going for me was that (not having had any children) my figure was a good bit shapelier than most of the moms that would be there--and I was going to need every bit of self confidence I could get my hands on!!! At last the time came and I drove to the party.
I arrived in a few minutes. As I walked up to Paula's front door, exactly one hour before the party was to start, I steeled myself to enter a room full of balloons. With my heart pounding I knocked and stepped inside. The room was beautifully decorated, with streamers and paper lanterns and a gorgeous cake (Paula had really gone to town) but NO BALLOONS! Quickly I looked around and confirmed that there was not a balloon to be seen anywhere! I wondered if perhaps Paula was afraid of balloons--no, that was not it--what about Beth? That was it, I felt sure. Perfectly normal for a girl Beth's age not to like balloons. Thanking God for Beth, I greeted Paula much more effusively than usual (the relief was so strong I could have kissed her!!!). Paula was a few years older than me--34 to my 27--and was the perfect example of a successful single mother. Attractive, professional and self-confident would be a good description. She was fairly tall, with soft features, medium length auburn hair and an all-around "cute" appearance (even if she hated to be described that way!). A desk job and a child had taken the lithe edge off of her gorgeous college figure, but she kept in good shape as a result of a fanatical devotion to aerobics. But I was not, at the moment, looking at Paula; rather I was looking at the strange man behind her. Paula introduced me: "Tina, this is my cousin Mike...I think I told you he'd be staying here while he finishes his project downtown." Of course--Paula had told me a few days ago that she had a new houseguest.
Paula led us both back into the kitchen. I have always envied her kitchen: good sized, homey and comfortable--this usually was the center of social activity in the house. Things looked totally under control. The only activity was Paula's friend Jen was getting out some plastic cups and paper plates for the kids. I knew Jen socially--we ran into each other a few times a year, Paula being our friend in common. Jen was usually very quiet, a petite, slim woman about 26 years old with short brown hair that fell into a perfect pageboy haircut of its own free will (grrrr.....) and a slender face covering the most stunningly perfect set of teeth God ever put in a person's mouth. She also knew how to dress well, and was wearing a simple but very stylish summer dress that fell just above her knees. So much for blowing away the competition, I thought to myself, as Jen and I exchanged a few pleasantries.
I asked Paula what I could do to help. "Not a lot until Barbara arrives--she should be here in a few more minutes. Just sit and have some wine." So I got up onto a chair, smiling to myself: Paula could not have picked a less similar pair of helpers than Jen and Barbara. Barbara was taller and quite athletic (although like Paula, she had put on a couple of pounds since college), with bright eyes, long dirty blonde hair, a charmingly crooked smile and the most outgoing personality you've ever known. Strangely, she was able to pull off being enthusiastic about EVERYTHING without getting on your nerves!
As I reached for the glass of wine that Paula poured me, I had a chance to examine the new curiosity in Paula's house. I knew from Paula that Mike was 32, and that his consulting business took him all over the country. Medium height and build, with a decent haircut, he was not "drool material" (as Barbara liked to say), but he was cute in an odd, introverted sort of way. I immediately noticed three strong factors in his favor: gorgeous, expressive hands, intense dark brown eyes and a ready smile. While I was not on the lookout for anybody at the moment--and I certainly did not want to get involved with a person who would be in town for less than a month--in the abstract I could see him being acceptable date material...
My thoughts on the subject were interrupted by a car horn outside Paula's house. That HAD to be Barbara--nobody else uses their horn in the suburbs. We all got up and headed out the front door. Barbara had already gotten out and was opening the trunk. She was wearing her trademark jeans shorts and T-shirt. Never mind that it was a party--she would have worn jeans shorts and a white T-shirt to a coronation! "Hey Paula!" she boomed. "Got it all! No problems! Sorry I'm a bit late! Hey Mike! Give me a hand with this, wouldya?!" Mike started down the stairs as I saw Barbara unload two large plastic shopping bags from the trunk. Mike reached down to pick up the bags when Barbara said "No, not those--in the trunk!" Mike leaned over the trunk, grunted and came up. My heart nearly stopped, as he turned around staggering under the weight of a large, slender cylinder. A helium tank.
My heart restarted as I heard Barbara explaining to Paula how the party supply store was having a sale (!) And so the whole bill for all the balloons was only $90 (!) And look at all the pretty balloons I got for that (!!!) And won't Beth be happy (!) And on and on and on. I took one of the bags and started inside, peeking into the bag with a terrified curiosity. I could see that she had gotten a bunch of 12" balloons, as well as several smaller bags of other sized balloons (did that label REALLY say "16 inches"?!?). Well, that was that. I was dead. I would just have to endure this--there was no way I could plausibly escape and I was certainly not going to admit my childish fear to this group. As our balloon brigade marched up the stairs to the house, I braced myself for the upcoming ordeal.
The ordeal was not long in starting. Paula fired the opening round: "come on, we only have an hour." In an instant she had opened a bag of the 12" balloons and was inflating one with deep, steady breaths. I realized that there would be none of the ritual that I usually followed--no exhaustive checking of each balloon for color flaws or weak spots, no gentle stretching, no slow start to make sure nothing awful happened. I watched in horrid fascination as Jen took up at the helium tank and Barbara dove into her bag of balloons, and all the time my eyes returned involuntarily to the red balloon that kept growing in front of Paula. It had become tolerably full--and in an instant had become quite tight, with the neck beginning to bulge. One last deep breath brought out an odd--and very noticeable--shiny tint to the balloon as it became quite translucent. Even in my choked fear I noticed that the slightly overfilled balloon was considerably prettier and more festive looking than the anemic inflation jobs that I did by myself. Without sentiment or ceremony, Paula swung the balloon over and quickly knotted it, running her nails into, around and over the balloon with a carelessness that really brought home to me what it would be like to feel no fear at this time. And more than that--to feel no passion or arousal--as though one were doing dishes! Because the simple truth was that despite the absolute panic that I felt, I was also--much more subtly--finding this experience quite erotic. Not as a lesbian "thing"--I am straight through and through. Paula would never see it this way, but to my mind she was exercising an unfathomable power over something that sexually dominated me, and her ability to control that source of terror (and object of desire) was to me beautiful, awesome and incredibly sexy...
A familiar sound brought me out of my fantasies--the high pitched, slowly deepening rushing sound of a helium balloon being filled. I swung my head around to see Jen, a slight smile on her face, watching a beautiful pink balloon grow terribly rapidly. I could not help but start as the balloon swelled far beyond the size of Paula's. I nearly had a heart attack before I figured out that she was blowing up one of the larger balloons. I now watched, completely transfixed, absolutely sure of and dreading the inevitable, horrible BANG that would cause me to lose control completely. It, of course, did not come. Jen filled the balloon to a normal degree of fullness, deftly slipped in a plug with a long white ribbon attached (when did all of my girl friends become such experts at blowing up balloons? Was there a course I missed in high school?), and started again....
All of this had taken less than one minute. So it was the third time in one minute that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Barbara's hand brush my arm lightly. "Earth to Tina! Get busy girl! Have a balloon! Here--we'll let you start easy!" She pushed a white 12" balloon into my hand. I angrily decided that whoever wound up being Barbara's biographer would wear out the typewriter's exclamation point, and looked down at the "easy" balloon--so much much MUCH bigger than the 9" balloons that were the absolute limit of my daring during my moments of self-pleasure. There was nothing to do--Barbara had picked up a huge 16" balloon and was making shocking progress thanks to well-conditioned lungs that thought nothing of 10 mile runs. I watched for a second, noticing how totally goddam "all-American girl" she looked at that moment--tanned, healthy, shorts and T-shirt, cheerful blue eyes, with cheeks that bulged outward with every long, sustained breath. In my aroused state I also noticed her drawing in breath deeply, as her chest swelled out pushing the outline of her bra distinctly against the thin cotton of her T-shirt. Noticing (how could one not?) that the nipples on her ample chest were hard thanks to the exertion, I turned to see if Mike was enjoying this little show! He had vanished for the moment (to the men's room I guessed)--too bad for him!!! Three women (four, if you counted Tina the 'fraidy cat) in leg-showing party clothes, breathing hard (except for Jen, still flashing her fabulous teeth through a mesmerizing smile) was a nice enough view even for a balloon hater!
All this went through my head as I stretched my white balloon a few times. I realized that I could not give my usual FDA-like inspection, but I was damn well going to do what I could. I took a deep breath and let it out, as the white balloon jumped to life. Unconsciously I imitated the "experts" around me. One hand went out to the front/side of the balloon to steady it, the other guided the neck between my lips. After a few breaths I cheated a bit and took the balloon out of my mouth to check its body for flaws. No problems. So I continued slowly and, with knees shaking, managed to get it more or less full. I noticed Barbara, out of the corner of my eye, watching me as I clumsily knotted the balloon, trying to look nonchalant as I dropped it into the pile of seven balloons on the floor.
I picked up a second 12" balloon and started to blow it up. Paula, a very full 16" balloon in her hand, seated herself on a bar stool and, with her free hand, hitched up her skirt to midthigh (just us girls and her cousin around...) so that she could put her feet on the stool's support crosspiece, with her legs up and knees apart. She put the balloon between her legs, holding it between her knees to get better leverage as she pulled, stretched and contorted the neck--knotting it in a flash. She seemed quite happy with this arrangement, but all I could notice was that any time she moved her bare thighs would contract together a bit, bringing her knees inward and pushing a noticeable depression into each side of the balloon. The first time it happened I was so spooked--waiting for the POP--that I let go of the balloon I was inflating. It flopped around the room and everybody had a good laugh. Then Barbara quickly knotted her balloon, saying "C'mon Tina, quit clowning--we've still got a lot to do and we need those lungs, babe!" I took a yellow balloon and started blowing it up--not even stretching it out under the eyes of my new taskmaster. Sure that I was trembling visibly, I put seven successive deep breaths into it, getting a decent round shape for my reward.
Not good enough. In a flash the balloon was out of my hand and Barbara, now standing right next to me, was telling me "No, dummy! That's not full! You've got to keep going!" Before I could protest Barbara was demonstrating...deep breath, exhale (holding the balloon right out in front of my face), breath, exhale (now a bit of the neck showing), deep breath, exhale (I could see Jen THROUGH the balloon, attaching a ribbon to a smaller balloon), breath....
BANG!!!!!!! The balloon exploded in Barbara's mouth. A piece of latex hit my face seemingly even before I was aware of the noise. Then the horrible sharp/deep crack--so much louder than any balloon pop I had heard in recent memory, so much more than I was prepared for. I screamed and jumped. Barbara had given a bit of a shriek; so for that matter had Paula--only Jen was coolly unfazed by the bursting balloon. But--even though I did everything conceivable to restore my self control--they all clearly saw that I had overreacted. "Looks like we've got a bit of a screamer here!" Paula giggled, in a (to me, quite unfunny) reference to a sexual characteristic we had joked about in the past. "Yeah," the usually quiet Jen chimed in, "somebody needs to lighten up on the caffeine." Well, spilt milk and all that--for me the key was not to let my secret get out this way. With my stomach churning I collected myself and picked up another balloon as though nothing had happened. Of course, to the other girls nothing had happened!
"Geez, I can't take you women anywhere!" I heard from the doorway to the kitchen. Mike had returned. He looked at all of us, but in my paranoid state I saw his eyes constantly turning to me. Taunting me. As the terror of the popping balloon subsided a bit--leaving a still sharpened sense of anxiety--I became uncomfortably aware of the mounting sexual tension that always followed. Mike's eyes only enhanced that...he may not have been an Adonis, but he WAS a cute enough man, and up until now there had never been a man around while I had my "balloon fun." His presence--especially since I was sure he was staring at me--caused my mouth to dry out, my chest to ache and my hands to tremble...or was that just the fear and the lung fatigue? I raised yet another balloon to my lips, summoning the guts to blow up this balloon a bit more fully. More than anything I wanted to avoid another of Barbara's "lessons."
I was completely unprepared for what I saw next. Mike took a balloon from the bag and started to blow it up! I racked my brains for any memory of being in a room with a man as he blew up a balloon by mouth, and came up empty (my racing mind settled momentarily--for the zillionth time--on why it was that in our society balloons seemed to be "women's work"?). Barbara was a strong woman, but her lungs were no match for Mike's. In a flash he was holding onto a good-sized purple balloon. He looked directly at me, winked and with a faint grin put another gigantic breath into the balloon. I was utterly unable to take my eyes off him (though I did manage to get another couple of breaths into my own balloon). And now there was no question but that his presence was having an effect on me: in addition to my other symptoms, I felt my nipples stiffen, aching slightly, as my pussy started to tingle, with a comfortable slickness starting to grow deep inside me. Mike took his balloon out of his mouth, looked at his handiwork and quickly knotted the balloon. With a sidelong glance at me, he got up, walked over to Paula and volunteered to start putting the balloons up in the living room and dining room. IDIOT! I thought to myself. Why didn't you think of that? That would be scary work, but so much better than being tortured in this kitchen!?!?! I stifled an urge to kill Mike for taking over what should have been my job, watching as he gathered up some of the fragile globes and taking them out into the living room. With my fear in no way diminished, I returned to my work.
We continued for another few minutes--despite the show that Barbara put on, Paula was really making the most progress. "Probably because she has a kid and gets more practice blowing up balloons," I thought to myself. I was still captivated--and turned on--by her total calm. Every now and then, Mike would come back, standing in the doorway to the kitchen until a new set of balloons was ready for him. Then, of course, it happened again. This time Paula was the culprit--and I saw it coming. There was a sharp corner at the edge of the "bar" separating the cooking area from the breakfast nook--right where she was sitting. Still with a balloon between her legs she had swung around to get at her wine glass, and I knew instantly that she would drive the balloon right into the corner. I was right, and a green balloon (that had been an absolutely beautiful deep emerald jewel tone) vanished with a huge POP! Again I shrieked and started. Together, Paula's balloon and me caused Barbara to jump--involuntarily digging her nails into HER balloon, it popped with a somewhat less immense, but still far too loud, bang. And I jumped again! Instead of being angry, all three girls laughed uproariously--they thought this was too much! A fair amount of ribbing followed, during which time I once again used every means I had to reassert my self control. It was a much nearer thing this time--I was actually near tears. Fortunately, nobody noticed because they were laughing so hard...For the umpteenth time I regretted ever having come to this party. I also wondered how much of this Mike was seeing!
A few more minutes crawled by. Mike re-emerged and decided to give us a hand with our inflation tasks. Picking up a medium size pink (!) balloon, he gave it a good deep puff. "Oh god," I thought to myself. "He KNOWS...and he thinks it will be fun to make me jump and scream as well!" I was scared to death, humiliated, angry and unbelievably turned on. I was also utterly transfixed as he quickly, smoothly and (of course) fearlessly inflated the balloon to the "perfect" size--a beautiful round shape with the traces of definition to the neck starting to show. He instantly knotted the balloon, and picked up another. He looked up and, noticing I was staring at him, gave a quick smile before returning to his work. I was embarrassed at being caught staring like a lovesick 16 year old, embarrassed at the fact that my nipples were probably visible from the surface of the moon (WHY did I wear a clingy top?), embarrassed that Mike was probably just about to pop this pink balloon and have a good laugh doing it. But of course Mike was just being a gentleman and helping out.
[cont'd in next post]
I did clean it up a little bit over the weekend. Hope you like it! Tracy (f/k/a Tina ages ago....]
Party Girl
For a long time I stared at the invitation. I knew I had to go. I had missed every kid's birthday party in the neighborhood since I had been here, and this time I simply did not have, and could not make up, a credible excuse. Next Saturday I would be in attendance at Beth's birthday party. For most parents (and friends of parents like me) that would mean a slightly tiring afternoon, made well worth it by the happy kids. For me it meant only one thing: balloons popping. Popping while being blown up for the party. Popped by careless kids (or worse--careless adults). Popped just by sheer cussedness. And of course, the cleanup afterwards...
Then I felt the recognizable slow burn of anger and shame. Beth was the only daughter of my best friend Paula. Instead of happily calling up and saying "I'd love to attend!" I was (still) trying to think of any way I could gracefully get out of it. And all because I am just so afraid of balloons popping around me. Even more annoying is the equally incontrovertible fact that I get so hot when I play with balloons myself! I have even--on a couple of brave occasions--managed to deliberately pop a few small balloons. But I knew that this would not prepare me for an afternoon of unpredictable, and much louder, bangs, booms and pops. Erotic? Possibly. But much too frightening to be enjoyed.
Sounding more enthusiastic than I felt, I called Paula up and told her I'd be there. "Great!" she said, but I could hear a bit of hesitation. I asked what the matter was, with a sinking feeling in my heart. "I wondered if I could ask a favor, Tina," Paula started. "Could you come by about an hour early and help us set up?" Well, there was NO getting out of that one. Weakly I said that I'd be happy to help. I was pleased to hear her perk right up: "OK then, see you Saturday, Party Girl!", but I was shaking as I hung up.
Saturday took its sweet time coming around: that week I spent much more time than I care to admit thinking (OK, obsessing) about the party. On Saturday morning I woke up with my heart pounding in anxiety. Well, there was something I could do about that! I slid my hand down my body, under the waistband of my tap pants, between my legs, and I started caressing myself. Then I had an even better idea. I reached over to my low dresser and got out the bag of 7" balloons I had hidden there. Because I hate popping, I don't go through many balloons. I won't even tie off more than a few because I don't want to lose track of any of them (what if a balloon rolls into something sharp?!?). Now I knew I could survive these balloons popping, and I hoped I could acclimate myself to the noise a bit: maybe it would make the afternoon a little more bearable. In any event, it would CERTAINLY make the morning more enjoyable!
Still lying in bed, I gently stretched a little white balloon, put it to my lips and blew. It always amazes me how much resistance these balloons put up! Finally it bulged into shape, as I gasped from the exertion. As my fingers rubbed my nipple through my cami, a couple of small and very slow breaths got it round, but hardly what you could call full. I then turned to the task of knotting. Since I had not gotten a normal lifetime's practice at blowing up balloons, it took me forever to tie them off. On my third clumsy try my nail scratched right over the surface of the balloon. Miraculously it did not pop, but I jumped in fright anyway. Finally with my mouth dry, my chest pounding--and my pussy absolutely soaked--I got it knotted. I dropped it on the bed, grabbed my vibrator from the bedside table and drove it into my aching slit.
As I held the vibrator in place with my left hand, I got my cami off as quickly as possible, leaving me in just my black tap pants. I reached for a balloon with my right and started to blow. This one gave me an even harder time, because I hadn't stretched it out as much. As it inflated I let go and started playing with my breasts--much more forcefully than usual--with the slowly growing yellow balloon resting between my tits. I held the neck of the balloon closed in my lips (occasionally blowing a slight puff into it) as my vibrator and my fingers guided me to a powerful climax. As my body calmed down and my eyes opened, I looked at the balloon which had become quite big (for me anyway) with the neck starting to bulge! I immediately grabbed it out of my mouth and let a little air out--although it was still quite full--and decided to knot it instead of letting all the air out. My already slow knotting was even more hampered by the fact that one hand was quite slick with my juices. As I tied the balloon I felt myself getting quite hot again. This time, instead of my vibrator, I grabbed the less full white balloon, and slid it between my legs, rubbing my pussy and clit through my silk tap pants. I have never much cared for the tactile feel of latex, but I loved the feeling of the balloon squishing and bulging against my most intimate parts. I then got more industrious about blowing up some balloons--pausing in my self stimulation only long enough to knot off each balloon. First a pink balloon, then another yellow, then a red balloon got filled to varying degrees, before I shuddered through another hot orgasm.
I got up, showered and "put myself together" (and clipped my nails back--I learn quickly!) and started to dress. As I slipped on a white bra and bikini panties, I decided to steel my courage and pop the five balloons I had inflated. This would be a big step forward (I told myself)--coldly popping balloons without being emboldened by sexual tension! A woman who could do this could do anything (I told myself)! Still in my bra and panties I walked over to my "odds and ends" drawer and took out a pin. With my heart pounding (and a familiar moisture growing between my legs), I strode bravely forth to do battle, and nonchalantly popped the little white balloon that had given me such intimate pleasure an hour before. [To a neutral observer, of course, the picture may have seemed a bit different: a woman in her undies, weak in the knees, walking with a trembling step towards a tiny pile of tiny balloons, and with one hand over her ear--neck tilted to the side in order to cover the other ear as much as possible with her shoulder, jabbing at a balloon and jerking her arm back as though she was being shocked!] The balloon popped brightly, and I jumped back despite myself. Then I went after two quickly, before I lost my nerve. The first one popped so quietly and dully that even I was not too scared, but the third one--the one I had overinflated as it grew between my breasts--made a real BANG! OK, there was no question but that I was completely terrified. With one last show of courage I popped the remaining two balloons and then dropped back onto the bed, trembling.
After a few minutes I calmed down and congratulated myself on my fortitude with more than a faint sense of irony: instead of building up my confidence, I had just demonstrated to myself how unready I was for a balloon-intensive experience! I also realized that I had to change my undies...How was I going to get through this afternoon without having a nervous breakdown or a bone-shaking chain of orgasms--in either case in front of ten friends and twenty kids???
I changed into a fresh pair of pink panties, decided to slip on a matching bra, and started to go through my closet. I decided on a really cute, kind of tight, kind of clingy, kind of short black skirt and a slinky red crushed velvet top. Not trampy, but definitely attention getting. A pair of black thigh high stockings (I hate panty hose!) and 2" heels and I was set. One thing I had going for me was that (not having had any children) my figure was a good bit shapelier than most of the moms that would be there--and I was going to need every bit of self confidence I could get my hands on!!! At last the time came and I drove to the party.
I arrived in a few minutes. As I walked up to Paula's front door, exactly one hour before the party was to start, I steeled myself to enter a room full of balloons. With my heart pounding I knocked and stepped inside. The room was beautifully decorated, with streamers and paper lanterns and a gorgeous cake (Paula had really gone to town) but NO BALLOONS! Quickly I looked around and confirmed that there was not a balloon to be seen anywhere! I wondered if perhaps Paula was afraid of balloons--no, that was not it--what about Beth? That was it, I felt sure. Perfectly normal for a girl Beth's age not to like balloons. Thanking God for Beth, I greeted Paula much more effusively than usual (the relief was so strong I could have kissed her!!!). Paula was a few years older than me--34 to my 27--and was the perfect example of a successful single mother. Attractive, professional and self-confident would be a good description. She was fairly tall, with soft features, medium length auburn hair and an all-around "cute" appearance (even if she hated to be described that way!). A desk job and a child had taken the lithe edge off of her gorgeous college figure, but she kept in good shape as a result of a fanatical devotion to aerobics. But I was not, at the moment, looking at Paula; rather I was looking at the strange man behind her. Paula introduced me: "Tina, this is my cousin Mike...I think I told you he'd be staying here while he finishes his project downtown." Of course--Paula had told me a few days ago that she had a new houseguest.
Paula led us both back into the kitchen. I have always envied her kitchen: good sized, homey and comfortable--this usually was the center of social activity in the house. Things looked totally under control. The only activity was Paula's friend Jen was getting out some plastic cups and paper plates for the kids. I knew Jen socially--we ran into each other a few times a year, Paula being our friend in common. Jen was usually very quiet, a petite, slim woman about 26 years old with short brown hair that fell into a perfect pageboy haircut of its own free will (grrrr.....) and a slender face covering the most stunningly perfect set of teeth God ever put in a person's mouth. She also knew how to dress well, and was wearing a simple but very stylish summer dress that fell just above her knees. So much for blowing away the competition, I thought to myself, as Jen and I exchanged a few pleasantries.
I asked Paula what I could do to help. "Not a lot until Barbara arrives--she should be here in a few more minutes. Just sit and have some wine." So I got up onto a chair, smiling to myself: Paula could not have picked a less similar pair of helpers than Jen and Barbara. Barbara was taller and quite athletic (although like Paula, she had put on a couple of pounds since college), with bright eyes, long dirty blonde hair, a charmingly crooked smile and the most outgoing personality you've ever known. Strangely, she was able to pull off being enthusiastic about EVERYTHING without getting on your nerves!
As I reached for the glass of wine that Paula poured me, I had a chance to examine the new curiosity in Paula's house. I knew from Paula that Mike was 32, and that his consulting business took him all over the country. Medium height and build, with a decent haircut, he was not "drool material" (as Barbara liked to say), but he was cute in an odd, introverted sort of way. I immediately noticed three strong factors in his favor: gorgeous, expressive hands, intense dark brown eyes and a ready smile. While I was not on the lookout for anybody at the moment--and I certainly did not want to get involved with a person who would be in town for less than a month--in the abstract I could see him being acceptable date material...
My thoughts on the subject were interrupted by a car horn outside Paula's house. That HAD to be Barbara--nobody else uses their horn in the suburbs. We all got up and headed out the front door. Barbara had already gotten out and was opening the trunk. She was wearing her trademark jeans shorts and T-shirt. Never mind that it was a party--she would have worn jeans shorts and a white T-shirt to a coronation! "Hey Paula!" she boomed. "Got it all! No problems! Sorry I'm a bit late! Hey Mike! Give me a hand with this, wouldya?!" Mike started down the stairs as I saw Barbara unload two large plastic shopping bags from the trunk. Mike reached down to pick up the bags when Barbara said "No, not those--in the trunk!" Mike leaned over the trunk, grunted and came up. My heart nearly stopped, as he turned around staggering under the weight of a large, slender cylinder. A helium tank.
My heart restarted as I heard Barbara explaining to Paula how the party supply store was having a sale (!) And so the whole bill for all the balloons was only $90 (!) And look at all the pretty balloons I got for that (!!!) And won't Beth be happy (!) And on and on and on. I took one of the bags and started inside, peeking into the bag with a terrified curiosity. I could see that she had gotten a bunch of 12" balloons, as well as several smaller bags of other sized balloons (did that label REALLY say "16 inches"?!?). Well, that was that. I was dead. I would just have to endure this--there was no way I could plausibly escape and I was certainly not going to admit my childish fear to this group. As our balloon brigade marched up the stairs to the house, I braced myself for the upcoming ordeal.
The ordeal was not long in starting. Paula fired the opening round: "come on, we only have an hour." In an instant she had opened a bag of the 12" balloons and was inflating one with deep, steady breaths. I realized that there would be none of the ritual that I usually followed--no exhaustive checking of each balloon for color flaws or weak spots, no gentle stretching, no slow start to make sure nothing awful happened. I watched in horrid fascination as Jen took up at the helium tank and Barbara dove into her bag of balloons, and all the time my eyes returned involuntarily to the red balloon that kept growing in front of Paula. It had become tolerably full--and in an instant had become quite tight, with the neck beginning to bulge. One last deep breath brought out an odd--and very noticeable--shiny tint to the balloon as it became quite translucent. Even in my choked fear I noticed that the slightly overfilled balloon was considerably prettier and more festive looking than the anemic inflation jobs that I did by myself. Without sentiment or ceremony, Paula swung the balloon over and quickly knotted it, running her nails into, around and over the balloon with a carelessness that really brought home to me what it would be like to feel no fear at this time. And more than that--to feel no passion or arousal--as though one were doing dishes! Because the simple truth was that despite the absolute panic that I felt, I was also--much more subtly--finding this experience quite erotic. Not as a lesbian "thing"--I am straight through and through. Paula would never see it this way, but to my mind she was exercising an unfathomable power over something that sexually dominated me, and her ability to control that source of terror (and object of desire) was to me beautiful, awesome and incredibly sexy...
A familiar sound brought me out of my fantasies--the high pitched, slowly deepening rushing sound of a helium balloon being filled. I swung my head around to see Jen, a slight smile on her face, watching a beautiful pink balloon grow terribly rapidly. I could not help but start as the balloon swelled far beyond the size of Paula's. I nearly had a heart attack before I figured out that she was blowing up one of the larger balloons. I now watched, completely transfixed, absolutely sure of and dreading the inevitable, horrible BANG that would cause me to lose control completely. It, of course, did not come. Jen filled the balloon to a normal degree of fullness, deftly slipped in a plug with a long white ribbon attached (when did all of my girl friends become such experts at blowing up balloons? Was there a course I missed in high school?), and started again....
All of this had taken less than one minute. So it was the third time in one minute that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Barbara's hand brush my arm lightly. "Earth to Tina! Get busy girl! Have a balloon! Here--we'll let you start easy!" She pushed a white 12" balloon into my hand. I angrily decided that whoever wound up being Barbara's biographer would wear out the typewriter's exclamation point, and looked down at the "easy" balloon--so much much MUCH bigger than the 9" balloons that were the absolute limit of my daring during my moments of self-pleasure. There was nothing to do--Barbara had picked up a huge 16" balloon and was making shocking progress thanks to well-conditioned lungs that thought nothing of 10 mile runs. I watched for a second, noticing how totally goddam "all-American girl" she looked at that moment--tanned, healthy, shorts and T-shirt, cheerful blue eyes, with cheeks that bulged outward with every long, sustained breath. In my aroused state I also noticed her drawing in breath deeply, as her chest swelled out pushing the outline of her bra distinctly against the thin cotton of her T-shirt. Noticing (how could one not?) that the nipples on her ample chest were hard thanks to the exertion, I turned to see if Mike was enjoying this little show! He had vanished for the moment (to the men's room I guessed)--too bad for him!!! Three women (four, if you counted Tina the 'fraidy cat) in leg-showing party clothes, breathing hard (except for Jen, still flashing her fabulous teeth through a mesmerizing smile) was a nice enough view even for a balloon hater!
All this went through my head as I stretched my white balloon a few times. I realized that I could not give my usual FDA-like inspection, but I was damn well going to do what I could. I took a deep breath and let it out, as the white balloon jumped to life. Unconsciously I imitated the "experts" around me. One hand went out to the front/side of the balloon to steady it, the other guided the neck between my lips. After a few breaths I cheated a bit and took the balloon out of my mouth to check its body for flaws. No problems. So I continued slowly and, with knees shaking, managed to get it more or less full. I noticed Barbara, out of the corner of my eye, watching me as I clumsily knotted the balloon, trying to look nonchalant as I dropped it into the pile of seven balloons on the floor.
I picked up a second 12" balloon and started to blow it up. Paula, a very full 16" balloon in her hand, seated herself on a bar stool and, with her free hand, hitched up her skirt to midthigh (just us girls and her cousin around...) so that she could put her feet on the stool's support crosspiece, with her legs up and knees apart. She put the balloon between her legs, holding it between her knees to get better leverage as she pulled, stretched and contorted the neck--knotting it in a flash. She seemed quite happy with this arrangement, but all I could notice was that any time she moved her bare thighs would contract together a bit, bringing her knees inward and pushing a noticeable depression into each side of the balloon. The first time it happened I was so spooked--waiting for the POP--that I let go of the balloon I was inflating. It flopped around the room and everybody had a good laugh. Then Barbara quickly knotted her balloon, saying "C'mon Tina, quit clowning--we've still got a lot to do and we need those lungs, babe!" I took a yellow balloon and started blowing it up--not even stretching it out under the eyes of my new taskmaster. Sure that I was trembling visibly, I put seven successive deep breaths into it, getting a decent round shape for my reward.
Not good enough. In a flash the balloon was out of my hand and Barbara, now standing right next to me, was telling me "No, dummy! That's not full! You've got to keep going!" Before I could protest Barbara was demonstrating...deep breath, exhale (holding the balloon right out in front of my face), breath, exhale (now a bit of the neck showing), deep breath, exhale (I could see Jen THROUGH the balloon, attaching a ribbon to a smaller balloon), breath....
BANG!!!!!!! The balloon exploded in Barbara's mouth. A piece of latex hit my face seemingly even before I was aware of the noise. Then the horrible sharp/deep crack--so much louder than any balloon pop I had heard in recent memory, so much more than I was prepared for. I screamed and jumped. Barbara had given a bit of a shriek; so for that matter had Paula--only Jen was coolly unfazed by the bursting balloon. But--even though I did everything conceivable to restore my self control--they all clearly saw that I had overreacted. "Looks like we've got a bit of a screamer here!" Paula giggled, in a (to me, quite unfunny) reference to a sexual characteristic we had joked about in the past. "Yeah," the usually quiet Jen chimed in, "somebody needs to lighten up on the caffeine." Well, spilt milk and all that--for me the key was not to let my secret get out this way. With my stomach churning I collected myself and picked up another balloon as though nothing had happened. Of course, to the other girls nothing had happened!
"Geez, I can't take you women anywhere!" I heard from the doorway to the kitchen. Mike had returned. He looked at all of us, but in my paranoid state I saw his eyes constantly turning to me. Taunting me. As the terror of the popping balloon subsided a bit--leaving a still sharpened sense of anxiety--I became uncomfortably aware of the mounting sexual tension that always followed. Mike's eyes only enhanced that...he may not have been an Adonis, but he WAS a cute enough man, and up until now there had never been a man around while I had my "balloon fun." His presence--especially since I was sure he was staring at me--caused my mouth to dry out, my chest to ache and my hands to tremble...or was that just the fear and the lung fatigue? I raised yet another balloon to my lips, summoning the guts to blow up this balloon a bit more fully. More than anything I wanted to avoid another of Barbara's "lessons."
I was completely unprepared for what I saw next. Mike took a balloon from the bag and started to blow it up! I racked my brains for any memory of being in a room with a man as he blew up a balloon by mouth, and came up empty (my racing mind settled momentarily--for the zillionth time--on why it was that in our society balloons seemed to be "women's work"?). Barbara was a strong woman, but her lungs were no match for Mike's. In a flash he was holding onto a good-sized purple balloon. He looked directly at me, winked and with a faint grin put another gigantic breath into the balloon. I was utterly unable to take my eyes off him (though I did manage to get another couple of breaths into my own balloon). And now there was no question but that his presence was having an effect on me: in addition to my other symptoms, I felt my nipples stiffen, aching slightly, as my pussy started to tingle, with a comfortable slickness starting to grow deep inside me. Mike took his balloon out of his mouth, looked at his handiwork and quickly knotted the balloon. With a sidelong glance at me, he got up, walked over to Paula and volunteered to start putting the balloons up in the living room and dining room. IDIOT! I thought to myself. Why didn't you think of that? That would be scary work, but so much better than being tortured in this kitchen!?!?! I stifled an urge to kill Mike for taking over what should have been my job, watching as he gathered up some of the fragile globes and taking them out into the living room. With my fear in no way diminished, I returned to my work.
We continued for another few minutes--despite the show that Barbara put on, Paula was really making the most progress. "Probably because she has a kid and gets more practice blowing up balloons," I thought to myself. I was still captivated--and turned on--by her total calm. Every now and then, Mike would come back, standing in the doorway to the kitchen until a new set of balloons was ready for him. Then, of course, it happened again. This time Paula was the culprit--and I saw it coming. There was a sharp corner at the edge of the "bar" separating the cooking area from the breakfast nook--right where she was sitting. Still with a balloon between her legs she had swung around to get at her wine glass, and I knew instantly that she would drive the balloon right into the corner. I was right, and a green balloon (that had been an absolutely beautiful deep emerald jewel tone) vanished with a huge POP! Again I shrieked and started. Together, Paula's balloon and me caused Barbara to jump--involuntarily digging her nails into HER balloon, it popped with a somewhat less immense, but still far too loud, bang. And I jumped again! Instead of being angry, all three girls laughed uproariously--they thought this was too much! A fair amount of ribbing followed, during which time I once again used every means I had to reassert my self control. It was a much nearer thing this time--I was actually near tears. Fortunately, nobody noticed because they were laughing so hard...For the umpteenth time I regretted ever having come to this party. I also wondered how much of this Mike was seeing!
A few more minutes crawled by. Mike re-emerged and decided to give us a hand with our inflation tasks. Picking up a medium size pink (!) balloon, he gave it a good deep puff. "Oh god," I thought to myself. "He KNOWS...and he thinks it will be fun to make me jump and scream as well!" I was scared to death, humiliated, angry and unbelievably turned on. I was also utterly transfixed as he quickly, smoothly and (of course) fearlessly inflated the balloon to the "perfect" size--a beautiful round shape with the traces of definition to the neck starting to show. He instantly knotted the balloon, and picked up another. He looked up and, noticing I was staring at him, gave a quick smile before returning to his work. I was embarrassed at being caught staring like a lovesick 16 year old, embarrassed at the fact that my nipples were probably visible from the surface of the moon (WHY did I wear a clingy top?), embarrassed that Mike was probably just about to pop this pink balloon and have a good laugh doing it. But of course Mike was just being a gentleman and helping out.
[cont'd in next post]
Comment