Peter Lemon is every inflation fetishist's dream.
They are all his worst nightmare.

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This is the "cleaner" version of this story: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2026853/ They're not really that different. The adult content is not where its heart is.
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Content:
It's a transformation / inflation / horror / suspense / love story, if such is possible

Warning:
Sex happens but without details, Bondage, Humiliation, but lots of Love ("ewwww!," right?)

Also:
•There will be typos! I proofed it as much as I could, but hey, it's really big
•I suppose any TF could've worked in this story's frame, but inflation is so sensual and humiliating
•Boy is it long; but it's mostly dialogue. The text won't fit here, so view the file if you reach the end.

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Pear-Shaped Peter
(cleaner version)
By Roachqueen

The credits started rolling and he thought he'd leave, but when he tried to stand, he found that his bottom was firmly planted. Even after he grabbed the back of the seat in front of him for leverage, it was no good. The problem wasn't so much the size of the seat, but the shape of its arms; they extended beyond the seat and got wider at the ends, like little oar ends, so he couldn't lift himself straight up. The old theater had small seats and narrow rows, so he couldn't slide forward to clear the edges of the arms either. They were too small even for average people these days. He was stuck.

It had been that blond lady sitting in the row behind him. Each time she glanced at his lap, his hips got a tiny bit bigger. It wouldn't have mattered in a newer suburban cinema, but it was enough to get him wedged. He regretted not having turned around halfway through the movie and telling her "Please stop looking at me like that, it's making me uncomfortable," but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She was gone already, and the room was almost empty.

Ever since he had cursed himself he was afraid that he might get stuck in public, and this was the first time it had ever happened. He wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't panicking, but he was feeling the kind of dread that comes before panic. Fortunately no one was on the inside of the row needing to step over him. He just sat and waited to humiliate himself in front of the staff.

"Hey... are you all right?" He looked at the aisle expecting a pimply kid with a dustpan, but instead he saw someone who looked familiar. "Peter Lemon? Or is it Paul?" It was a young woman he knew from his office, whose name he couldn't remember. She had should-length light brown hair, was slightly chubby, and appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, which was his age. She was also quite plain, but didn't exacerbate it with bad makeup and hair. She was clearly an adult yet clearly young in her business causal women's wear.

"Uh, it's Peter." He looked down at himself. "Yeah, I'm just, uh, having some problems with some... swelling here. It's a condition I have." He wasn't lying-- he didn't say it was a medical condition. The rest of his body wasn't truly fat; he was just stocky in build and slightly overweight. His face was already large, being as Irish as he was.

"Oh, yes, I've heard people say that you have some kind of problem like that. That's why I just had to ask when I saw you struggling. Have you strained your abdominal muscles somehow?"

"No, no, I'm, I'm actually stuck. These old seats are just too small. I fit when I sat down, but not now." He was relieved at the apparent normalcy of the situation.

"Oh my. Should I try to pull you out?"

"It's worth a shot. Stand in the row in front of me." She did, and he gave her his hands. "All right, pull..." He strained to get up, and she put her weight into pulling him. The chair creaked a bit, and he hoped the nails would loosen and maybe let him slip out. No such luck. "Okay, never mind." He laid back again.

"Man, you're really in there!" She looked at his waist. "Maybe the swelling will go down later?"

He shook his head. "No, it won't. I'll have to be here until someone dismantles this chair."

"What, really? You poor guy." Her eyebrows creased up with concern.

"Yeah, these darned hips. As if their looks weren't bad enough."

"Well..." Her eyes fell to his middle. "They don't look that bad." She smiled a little.

"Ack..." The pressure around him increased, taking him from discomfiture to pain. She was doing it to him. "Oh no..." It was getting worse.

"What's wrong?"

"They're still getting bigger!"

"What?" She studied them, and watched as they grew a little bit more. "Wow, it's like they're inflating with air." She squinted. "Is this for real."

"Ah, yeah, it's real. Look." He lifted his shirt and moved his pants down a bit to reveal as much of his skin as possible. "No kidding. It's my own body, here." He had already unbuckled his black elastic belt.

"Whoa..." They got bigger again.

"Eeep! Ah, you've got to stop thinking of them like that!"

"Huh?"

She looked concerned, and for a reason he wasn't sure of, he felt secure enough to try to explain it to her. Even if she knew it was crazy, he figured, she probably wouldn't tell everyone at the office and humiliate him. "Listen-- I know this sounds nuts, but... I need you to think of my midsection getting smaller. Just look at it and sort of 'will' it to shrink."

"Eh?" She was confused.

"Try it."

"Uh, well, okay..." She mentally commanded his hips to shrink, sort of like how one stares at a computer that is taking forever to open a Word file. It worked, reducing his size by half an inch, and she stopped with a gasp. "What?"

"I know, it's really weird. Try doing it some more."

She focused on it again, and soon he was clearly free enough to stand on his own, and she stopped. He stood up and breathed a sigh of relief and laughed lightly as he did. "Oh... thank you so much." He could not keep himself from smiling broadly and his gratitude was written all over his face. "You have no idea how much you've helped me."

She spread her forearms and hands apart in an "I don't get it" gesture. "But I have no idea how I've helped you period!"

"It's really complicated." He tightened his belt, with plenty of slack to spare. He looked genuinely pleased. "I'd need a while to explain it. Are you walking home or did you drive?"

"I always walk."

"Okay. Is it all right if I walk you home?"

"Sure, but it's far," She arched an eyebrow. "And it sounds so old-fashioned."

"Heh, I know. I just want to talk to you." He picked up his black pea coat from the seat next to him. As he stepped into the aisle and they started leaving, he remembered something. "I'm sorry-- I don't remember your name!"

"Rachel Krugg. I'm in the records management department. We preserve emails and papers and organize them. It's unexciting, but complicated enough to require a degree."

"Oh, I guess that's why I don't run into you much. We in the marketing department don't spend much time there, but our work does." He opened the door for her, and they went out into the lobby.

"So... What is this problem you have?" She corrected herself. "Well, it's none of my business, I suppose. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's obviously very extraordinary."

"It is, and I'd love to tell it to you, so long as you promise not to tell anyone else." A little smile appeared on his lips. "Not that you'd be believed."

"I don't even think I believe what happened just five minutes ago."

___________2___________


His mother's sister had big hips, and his father's father had big hips, and his father's mother had large buttocks, and his mother's mother had large buttocks, so when all of that came together, he got the worst of everything. His hips were almost feminine if one was being generous, just plain feminine if one was being realistic, and if one wanted to be cruel there were any number of words.

This was not helped by his other prominent traits. Fair skin made him prone to sunburn, and in almost any bad weather his face had a sanguine appearance ranging from spotty pink to red all over. His thick black hair had a natural curl to it, making it difficult to style. The waist was just more straw in the bundle. He wasn't ever truly fat in any sense, yet his waist was always unusually plump and firm. As soon as it became apparent to everyone, he was teased for it, his classmates calling him the predictably alliterative name "pear-shaped Peter," which stuck with him through most of his life.

All in all, his physiology was "unfortunate," but not hopeless. He had fetching green eyes with short but dark lashes, a forgettable nose, and dark expressive, eyebrows, which weren't too thick or too sparse. His hands were clearly masculine, and his height was about average.

It was just those hips that bothered him, a bitterness that increased in high school. They weren't freakishly large, although it felt that way to him-- despite the fact that he was leading a completely normal life. He tried, but no amount of exercise or weight lifting would give him the shape he wanted. It was just the way he was.

He did find himself on the wrestling team, though, as it always seemed as if most other guys doing it had strange body shapes anyway, and anyone would in those uniforms. He felt strangely comfortable during matches, even wearing all that spandex. There was something about the sport that attracted apparent freaks of nature: Boys with huge Finnish thighs, 6-foot tall string beans who were too slow to play basketball, neckless blobs... they were all there and all rather good, too. Like school sports are supposed to do, it did bolster his self-confidence. Peter acquired several trophies, but off the mat he was a sharp student, doing well but not the best.

His sport did lead to dating one of the wrestling cheerleaders, but that didn't last very long. She teased him about his hips in public fairly often, and when he told her that he couldn't do anything about it but she could lose weight, she threw a fit. She was the type who threw fits, though.

He went to college later, where he was both an average guy and an average student. There were friends who were girls, and he had a few, but didn't get into anything more serious. He had to work hard on his classes, and was doing other things for his resume besides.

Although he wasn't a Finance student, he'd taken an introductory course and was good at it, so his professor recommended that he volunteer to help with a program to give free financial counseling to the poor and elderly who couldn't afford help. He found that he enjoyed it, and did it every semester for two years.

In his last semester, he returned to one of his previous clients, Maeve Wexer, an old woman with long white hair whose past decades of beauty still lingered on her wrinkled face. She was eager to thank him for his last visit. Her son-in-law had been trying to get her to cash in thousands of dollars in U.S. Savings Bond that hadn't yet matured and invest it in a company he liked. She thought she might do it, but Peter advised her not to. As a result, she still had the money when said company fell apart. He modestly shrugged it off, being happy to hear at least some good news, and proceeded to help her find some deductions for her tax return.

Just before he left she said, "You really saved me." She smiled. "Let me get you something."

"Now you know I can't accept--"

"It's nothing like that." She opened a wooden jewelry box decorated with roses in chipping paint and took out a small green and purple marble with silver speckles. "It looks like glass, but it's really a rock. If you wish on it, it'll change your appearance. That's all it does, so I've never needed it. I got it from an admirer with a note that said so." She smiled.

He humored her. "Really?"

"I've heard you make a few remarks about your hips-- which I think look all right. If it works you could wish for them to be different."

"Oh, well, maybe I could." He let her put it in his hand. He didn't think it had any monetary value. "Thanks."

He kept smiling. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Not really. But it's a welcome gesture, so long as you're not going insane, Mrs.Wexer." They both laughed.

On his walk home, he took the stone out of his pocket and looked at it. It was peculiarly colored and was completely scratch-free. No wonder people would imagine that it was magical.

He thought he'd try it, just for the heck of it. He thought for a moment. If his hips weren't the ideal, the what was? He didn't look at other guys' hips; only girls could know that. And then there was his bubble butt to worry about too. The perfect size would be what his prefect girl thought it was. He needed a clause that would be a catchall. He looked around himself cautiously. The sidewalk was empty, and no one would notice someone talking to himself in the city. He brought his hand closer to his mouth and spoke softly to the marble, "I want my midsection to be the perfect size whenever a woman wants it to be, whatever that is, until I marry, and then only what she wants."

Suddenly he didn't feel the stone in his hand any more. He looked, and saw that it wasn't in his palm, but he hasn't heard it drop on the concrete. He brushed off his coat, thinking it might be caught in a fold, and also looked in the grass. He'd lost it, and felt disappointed that he had, although he wouldn't admit to himself that he'd really wanted to keep that pretty little sparkly stone, nor that he'd been entertaining thoughts of getting a wife at his age.

He shrugged. "I guess that's that then." He forgot about it for a week.

He didn't think of it again until he took his pants off one night and noticed that the waistband had made angry red ruts in his skin, while they hadn't just earlier that day. He was displeased to find that he had evidently gained weight, but also puzzled. How could it have changed so quickly?

He remembered the stone marble briefly, but he gently admonished himself for thinking of such a silly excuse for being fat. Or was it fat? He pressed on his thighs and buttocks, and they felt tensile but firm. It was strange, but he put it out of his mind. It could just be bloat.

Two days later, though, while in a lecture he actually saw it happen. He was staring down at himself during a boring lecture, pretending to write notes and he both felt and saw himself expand about a quarter of an and inch. It was uncanny. He gasped lightly and corrected his posture to eyes-front, but the cold shiver lingered. He was sure he had seen it and sure he had felt it, but wasn't sure if he was just seeing and feeling things that weren't there. He remembered some other incidents like it, when he got an odd feeling around his midsection as if he'd been touched, but he had discounted those.

It was impossible that it could be real, but he had to put his mind at ease. He went to see Mrs.Wexer the next day, and explained his problem.

"Well," she said. "I do believe you. Still, I wonder if I can do it..." she commanded his hips to get much bigger; his midsection inflated a whole inch, and he jumped about half a foot.

"Eek!" There was no doubt it was real. "Oh-- oh lord!" He had goose bumps. "It's like it just filled with air!" He pressed his sides with his fingertips. "That's not water in there, as far as I can tell." He felt lightheaded as he processed the idea that he was defying physics. "It just came out of nowhere."

"That's so strange. I wonder if I can reduce it also..." She thought of "pumping" it, and made it wide and slender in rapid succession. "You're right. This surely is the problem you're having. It's not too much rice and beans."

He turned red. "Uhm... that, well, feels kind of--of odd! So..."

"Oh, of course, sorry." She stopped and thought of his hips getting much smaller, almost bony, and they did.

He smiled weakly. "That's a lot better. Now that actually worked how I wanted it to." He tightened his belt. His hands were shaking. "But what did I do wrong?"

"You did tell me that you said you wanted it to look how women wanted it to, right? You said 'want'?"

"I think so. Does it matter?"

"It does. Now any woman can alter the size of your midsection, as you asked, but just not how you thought. Desire usually isn't conscious. Any woman at all, even without her consciously thinking that she wants to do it, can expand your hips. All she has to do it look at it, think it looks good big, and it will become slightly bigger. But maybe it's not so bad. For it to get really large, she'd probably have to intently know she could do that."

"Yeah, but, why is it getting bigger and not smaller?"

"I think I see what went wrong. You had assumed that they'd always want it to be smaller. But you see, people only stare amorously at people the like the looks of. So most women don't even normally have you on the radar, as it were, when scanning the mating landscape, like you're invisible. So of course, they're not going to care about your hips."

His lips parted and his eyes widened a bit as he realized what she was saying, but he remained silent.

"Only people who care about hips care about your hips."

"Oh no," He was more embarrassed with himself than frightened. "What a mistake!"

"You didn't know, that's all."

"What've I done? I tried to make it right, but it got worse."

She shook her head. "I'm so sorry that I've caused this."

"It's... well it's..." He sighed. "It's not so bad. And it's my fault; I'm the one who made the wish and cursed myself." He put a hand on his head. "Who would've thought it would've worked! I would've been a lot more careful if I had thought so!"

"I wasn't sure if it would myself. It was sent to me by a man I met in Russia many, many years ago. He wasn't Russian himself, and I don't know where he was from or anything about the stone. I'm sorry, but I can't help you." The dim prognosis sapped Peter of any curiosity he normally would've had about mysterious not-quite-Russian lovers.

A moment later, she perked up again. "Oh! I do remember something... did you say 'until I get married' or something like that?"

"Well, yeah, I did. If I ever settle down, obviously it's my girl's opinion that matters."

She smiled a little. "That could be your escape clause."

"Yeah, but how can I find someone if I've got a problem like this?"

"It's not impossible."

He sighed for the umpteenth time. "We'll see about that." He thought for a moment. Mrs.Wexer, is it all right if I come back here every once in a while so you can, you know... make me smaller? Those glances build up over time."

"Well it doesn't put me out any. Of course I will."

___________3___________


"I still do see her when I need a little slimming down-- and to talk to her. That was almost seven years ago, and she's in a home now, but she's still sharp. She's the only one who knows." He corrected himself with a laugh. "Oh, and you too, now."

She laughed also. "Oh, I feel so honored. Thank you. Just two people in seven years... that's heavy. How different is your life now from before the curse?"

He looked at the sky. "It's changed me. I used to be at least somewhat gregarious and outgoing. I'd go out to bars and clubs like other guys. But now I feel really uneasy in crowded placed like that because being touched or brushed up against makes it dramatically more likely that I'll expand. And it-- well, it feels strange. I spend most of my time at home or other solitary things, like going to movies and reading."

"I love to do those things myself. Maybe it wasn't the curse so much as it was just getting older?"

"That's a curse too!" He smiled. "But that's natural. I got all this trouble because I thought my hips were too big. I used to think they ruled my life, but I was wrong. Now they do." He crossed his arms. "Maybe someday I'll find a girl who wants small square hips?"

Rachel laughed loudly. "That's not going to happen! Nobody wants a bony ass."

Peter's middle suddenly got a little bit larger. He just sighed and shook his head with a weak "I knew it" smirk on his face.

She was embarrassed. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. I'm used to it," he said nonchalantly.

"You sound sort of... defeated." she remarked sadly.

"There's not a lot I can do-- except the marriage thing. But a) It might not even work, b) my condition is freakishly repulsive as-is, and c) she might end up having exclusive control over me. It's hopeless. I haven't had anything like a relationship since this started."

"I'd marry you." Rachel blurted out. She immediately bit her lip.

He shot her a look of surprise with a small hint of fright.

She felt uneasy. "Well, n-not right away, of course. And I'd, well, I'd try not to control you. I wouldn't want to if it... makes you so sad." Despite his coolly well-mannered exterior, she suspected something. "If you haven't told anyone else about this besides Mrs.Wexer, why choose me next? Getting stuck in the theater must've really frightened you."

He couldn't think of an answer he liked.

"Is that why you're being so candid with me?"

"It was the first time it's ever happened to me." He looked ahead at nothing in particular. "Actually, now that I think of it, it seems like I've been getting... inflated, more often lately. Or maybe I'm just imagining it. I hope I am."

"Maybe big hips are becoming popular?"

"Pffft! Yeah right," He half-laughed.

"Well you know I think-- Um..." She looked sheepish. "Have I ever 'done it' to you, before tonight?"

"Maybe you have, not that it's your fault. I try ignore it as best I can, and I'm not a mind reader anyway. So I don't usually look for her." He thought for a moment. "Hey... Do I really look sad and 'defeated' all the time? Even at work?"

"A little, yes. Well, no. 'Serious' is the word. I've wondered what it was for a while, but now I know." He stayed quiet. "Will you... let me be your friend, Peter?"

"I could use one. I can't say no."

"Thanks."

"No, thank you."

In a few moments, they resorted to talking about the weather and work. Not long after, they in front of the porch of Rachel's apartment, which was half and an old renovated house, the kind that looks like its umpteen layers of paint have become part of its structure.

"Well, thanks for doing that," she said. "That the first time anyone's walked me home ever."

"Like you said, it is old-fashioned." She laughed. "Before I go, would you mind explaining to me... what's the appeal, anyway? I don't get it. Why do some women want me to have a huge midsection, when it's so un-manly?"

She didn't even have to think. "Because you look so cute, of course." She giggled, and his waist expanded.

He looked down at it with a crooked smile. "Yeah, but, why? What's so great about this?"

"I don't know, you just do!" He got larger still.

"But I don't want to be cute," He almost whined. "I'd rather look more like a guy."

She smiled. "You are, it's just that you're cute also. Girls like that." She leaned down and hugged his waist. "Maybe it's because it makes you so huggable."

A warm, pleasant feeling radiated from his waist. "Oh... I-- that-- Well..."

She backed off. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No-- well, it's just really touch-sensitive there. Because... desire makes the shape, the swollen area is by definition an... erogenous zone... whether I want it or not."

"Oh, I see... so that's another aspect of your predicament? I certainly can see why you don't go clubbing anymore. And why you were so uncomfortable being stuck tonight. I wouldn't like it if strangers could put their hands on my breasts easily or if they could get stuck in doors."

"Yeah." It was the perfect comparison, he admitted reluctantly. "But... when you hugged me just now, it did feel different, though. Quite different. That's never happened before."

"Hmm. Maybe it matters how I do it." She put her palms on his hips and rubbed them lightly in a circular motion, her fingers fanned out away from him.

He felt pleasurable tingling as she did. He shook it off. "Tha-that feels very good." All the same gently took her wrists away from his sides and put them back at hers. "And I really do like it-- I do-- but I'm not ready. Perhaps later. Please understand."

"Oh." She sounded a little disappointed, but embarrassed also. His hips then shrunk down to an abnormally normal square bony size. She smiled. "There. That'll give you some room for a while."

He smiled warmly. "Thank you very much." He was deeply gratified that he hadn't needed to ask.

"My cell phone number is in the office contact list. If you ever need help, please don't hesitate to call me. I'd love to help you."

He grinned sideways at her. "You feel that way about everybody, don't you?"

She blushed. "Ah, well... I try." A brief silence passed. She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. "Good night, Peter. And good luck."

"Thanks."

She went up the stairs and began to unlock her door. As she did, she turned and smiled at him. "I won't watch you leave, so you don't have to worry if I'll change my mind!"

He laughed and raised his arm to her. "Good night, Rachel."

When he got to the end of her street, it became clear to him that he'd just given up the chance to have sex-- which he really wanted-- in exchange for some precious personal security. "So this is what it's like to be a woman," he said to himself, and with so little sadness that even he was surprised.

___________4___________


Come Monday, it was business as usual at the office, and he was feeling as normal as ever and was as busy as ever. In the afternoon, though, he called Rachel and asked if she'd like to have lunch with him. She was happy to, and it instantly became a routine for them to eat together either in the break room or out for fast food. Their frequent appearances at the break room did not go unnoticed, but gossip was infrequent at their office due to everyone's general disinterest in everyone else.

If it ever became apparent to her that his sides were swollen up from random encounters with wandering eyes on the street, she'd just "reset" him right then without a word, which was always appreciated. They talked about anything and everything, and came to find that they had a lot in common and liked the things they didn't share, too. After about a week of daily chat, he Peter found out that she not only didn't have a car, and not only didn't have a license, but was afraid to drive. He said he'd teach her.

He went to see Mrs.Wexer some days later and told her about the new girl with whom they shared their secret. She told him he'd be a fool not to ask her to date him sooner rather than later, and that Friday he finally asked Rachel to go see a movie with him. "After all, I wouldn't dream of setting foot in there without you on my arm!" It made her laugh.

It was a boring two and a half hour movie about espionage, which entertained neither of them. When Rachel inflated his middle and started massaging it, he welcomed her fingers and didn't move an inch as the deep, warm pleasant sensation spread.

He took her hands in his. "Rachel..." he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"You're making something other than my hips grow."

She was the type who hated disturbing others during a movie, but it did not prevent her from laughing out loud. "What should we do about it?" she whispered.

"Never once in my life have I ever walked out on a film, but I think I'd rather be at my place. What do you think?"

She smiled. "Thank goodness you drove us tonight." She thought for a moment. "I don't... actually have much previous experience..." Yet her face said "any."

"Don't worry. I'll make up for it."

Even he didn't know what he was saying; It was unlike anything he had done before. Her touch on his skin electrified him, and he let her blow him up to a bizarre circumference, about two and a half feet around, knowing that they would both like it. She felt his appearance was disarmingly, sweetly, sexy, and he enjoyed being seen as such.

It became a habit to do this at least once a week.

As they dated, though, it did seem as if he needed Rachel's help far more often than he had ever needed to see Ms.Wexer. He was meeting lustful gazes frequently and expanding to slightly larger sizes also. He was sure he wasn't imagining it.

One morning he called Rachel and asked her to let him pick her up and take her to work so that she could shrink him. She gasped when she got in the car and saw that his waist was about two feet in diameter, and he had his seat as far back as it could go. His pants were taught, and even then pulled down to his thighs. She put her fingers over her mouth in surprise. "How did this happen?" She immediately began to shrink him.

"At the post office yesterday. I barely made it out unnoticed, and couldn't get any stamps."

She immediately defended herself. "I swear I've never, ever mentioned your problem to anyone. Not even by accident, I swear."

He did suspect she had let something slip, but hadn't planned to call her out on it.

"Peter, if I ever did anything to endanger you, I'd kill myself."

Regardless of how old the expression was, he still felt a stab in his chest. There was something in her tone that made it seem like more than that. "I- I don't blame you. I'm just unimpressed with it, that's all." His suspicion was gone, and he felt vaguely guilty for having had any.

As he drove out, her brow furrowed in thought. "There's still got to be a reason for it."

Later that evening, she spent some time looking online, and found that reason. However, it made her feel worse and not better. After work the next day, she presented her findings to Peter at her apartment.

"I've found out how these people have been able to inflate you so much, how they've known about it."

"How? And-- wait, they?"

"Yes, it's more than one person. That's how they know." She handed him a dozen pages of text snippets, evidently copied from various places.

"I found an old conversation on a 'Yahoo!' message board with various people talking about, well, inflation, and almost a year ago one person said that she'd seen a black-haired guy with cute plump hips and when he stared at them, she swore they got bigger. Then someone else said she thought she saw someone like that too, and then they started talking about where they lived and what you looked like, and, so on... then all these people who happened to be in the city started looking for you."

"Oh no."

"I can show you these boards if you want to see for yourself."

He skimmed the pages she'd given him. "This is enough. I don't want to see any more."

"But it gets worse. They've been taking pictures and video of you in public. They know where you live. They know where I live. They know I'm your girlfriend. And on top of that, people who don't live here are actually coming here to find you."

Peter's mouth was open, but he was silent.

"Peter? Are you all right?"

"...'coming' to 'find' me? Why're so interested in me?"

"It's this inflation fetish thing. Have you seen the other email I sent you?"

"No... not yet..." He opened his Gmail and had a look. "Okay, I see it." He opened some of the links in it, firstly some Deviantart collections. The thumbnails were more than enough. "Oh my Lord," he said gravely. There were people and animal-people blown up like giant balloons. He didn't think that he could ever get so ridiculously large, but just the idea made his stomach drop. "You mean people really like this stuff?"

"They don't just like it, they love it. No, they 'lust' it. Deeply. It's the only thing they get off to."

"Oh no. Oh no." He was starting to notice some of the graphic ones.

She went on. "I always liked your hips because you look so cute that way-- I'd never want to make them so big that you could barely move. I never even imagined it. But these people imagine what shouldn't be imagined."

"That's putting it lightly." He sighed. "I don't mince my words, Rachel; I am terrified. Horrified. Some of these people know who I am. They know what they can do to me. They've been following me. And you. Oh please..." His face broke for a moment, and he put his forehead in his palm.

"And you can't call the police or sue, because then your problem becomes public information and even more people will find out."

He just nodded. "You know there's only one possible way out now."

"Yes. Shouldn't we elope right away?"

"We've only been together 7 months. Marriage is always important, but for me it has even more profoundness-- eh, profundity-- because you'll have an exclusive power over me. I mean, it's not that I don't trust you, I just have to be sure if we're to spend the rest of our lives together. And I'm not even sure it will undo my curse."

"But with the matter at hand... oh, well, I can see why you're... Weddings... take a long time to plan, after all. Would it be all right if we just got engaged today, and then started putting all that stuff together? Churches, reception halls-- you know. That takes months to do. Then you'll have some time, but the sooner the better." She hugged him, and he sat up.

"Okay... that sounds fine. I'm sorry I don't have a ring or anything for you." He sighed exasperatedly. "This still doesn't feel right. I love you, but I want to marry you because of that, not because I'm scared that some Internet weirdoes are after me."

"Peter... you know, that's the first time you've ever said that."

"Said what?"

"You just said that you love me."

He looked momentarily dumbfounded. "I did... have you ever told me that?"

She grinned. "I've mentioned it. But you probably wouldn't remember."

"So I've just asked you to marry me without ever having said that I loved you," he smirked a little. "...and you're going to do it?"

"Hey, now..." She smiled broadly. "Did you forget? I said I'd marry you months ago. I've been waiting for you."

"Oh... so you did." He smiled as he embraced her and pulled her close into a deep kiss. He came off with an audible smack and rested his forehead against hers. "I'll marry you, Rachel."

___________5___________


About two weeks passed without an incident. Then. one evening Rachel was folding her laundry and she answered her ringing cell phone to find an audibly upset Peter on the other end.

"Rachel, I need you. I'm-- I can barely walk."

"Omigosh-- have you been in an accident?"

"No, it's... I never knew I could get this big!" He couldn't bring himself to directly describe the assault yet.

"I'm coming. Tell me where you are."

She took the bus to the mall, which took time to wait for and time to ride. He explained to her over the phone that while he was shopping for new stretch pants at JC Penney, his waist began to expand and wouldn't stop. He tried to look for who was staring at him, but there was no time. Desperate to escape, he dashed into a fitting room and hid, but by that time, he was too big to leave without being seen, and could barely keep his pants on. He had had to squeeze himself through the door to fit inside.

When she found him, he was about three feet in diameter and his face, which was usually red when he was too warm or upset, was quite pale. "Thank you," he greeted her.

"This is impossible," he said emotionlessly. "Or at least I thought it was."

"So cruel," she shook her head and began to deflate him. His skin shrunk back without any marks or colors to indicate that he had been stretched so much. Once there was room to do so, she stepped into the fitting room and shut the door behind her. She watched him pull up his pants and tie his belt strap into a knot, the buckle clearly broken. It struck her as symbolic, and after he was done she sprung forward and embraced him. It was a surprise, but a moment later his arms rose up and held her even harder. For several minutes they stood there. Peter wished he could say something to downplay the incident, but couldn't think of anything yet.

"I don't mean to insult you," she finally began, "but I think that if it's this bad, I want to be with you everywhere you go from now on."

He pulled back and looked at her. "You don't have to tell me twice." Suddenly he seemed to laugh silently. "But doesn't that mean we have to move in together?"

She had forgotten about that. "Oh... that makes sense. Which apartment?"

"Whichever one you happen to be in." Rachel had more trivia to talk of relating to living arrangements, but he stopped her mouth with a kiss.

They were to each live in their own apartments, and sometimes slept in one or the other, but always together. As a result, they started using Peter's Taurus more often, for a variety of reasons, like storing their things while going between apartments, taking more time to teach Rachel to drive, but most of all because he didn't feel comfortable just walking on the street anymore. He never said so, but she knew it. Of course, they slept together, and for a couple weeks things were generally normal, or as normal as was possible for Peter.

* * *


One lunchtime while they were working on their enormous burritos at Chipotle, one of their favorite places to take lunch, his hips began to expand with unusual celerity. "My... it's..." He didn't have to ask if it was Rachel or not; he already knew it wasn't. "Can you stop it for me?"

Her brow creased up painfully. "I can't. There are too many."

"What?"

"More than one person is trying to change you, and they are doing so intentionally. I can feel how your hips seem to be working against me. It's taking all my concentration to keep it down." His midsection was growing more slowly, but that was evidently all he could do.

Looking around, he saw two women, one thin middle-aged brunette and one young fat blond, at a table a few yards away looking at him intently. He said to them, "Would you please stop staring at me?" It was the first time he had ever chided someone for changing him in public.

The thin dark one smirked defiantly. "I'm just looking at you. It's not against the law. What are you gonna do? Call the cops?"

He turned around slowly and didn't let his mouth drop until he did. Rachel's was already open. He was resolved to take action, but was visibly frightened, in a way only she could recognize. His eyes shifted and his face was a mask. "Let's leave. I'll pick up our stuff, and you stay focused on me."

"All right." They retreated outside and around the corner to his car, escaping the malevolent gazes. She was able to shrink him down again. Neither were sure if anyone noticed, but neither cared. They got into his car and sat in silence for a few minutes before trying to eat their lunch again, not that they had appetites."

"I cannot believe those people," She finally said. "This means that even I can't protect you. We have to be very careful, now."

"Right. Let's marry sooner than planned. Whatever venues you can find that we can afford, book them. There's no time to be sentimental about those things now." He sighed.

For what seemed like a long time, she just started at him. He asked her, "What is it?"

"I can better imagine now what it must be like for you. You've been unable to control your condition for years, but I have been able to bring it under my control. When I couldn't do that today, I felt so helpless. It was so frightening. If it's that bad for me, I don't even want to guess what it's like for you. I thought I knew, but I didn't."

He cast his eyes downwards and was silent for a moment. "I just... try not to think so much about it."

"Maybe that's the best thing." She took his hand. "Listen. Suppose that someone was able to trap you-- and you know there are lots of ways to do it. I want you to remember that there's nothing you can do about that when it happens. If you can't fight it, don't fight it."

"So you're saying I should just accept it?"

"No. I'm saying that it wouldn't be your fault. Fighting it puts you in a lot of pain; it really strains you." She squeezed his hand. "You're so tense even now that you feel wooden, you know? So, if you're ever trapped so badly that you can't do anything to get away, don't struggle so much. People like these love to see others suffer."

"They do, too."

"And... I've read that bodies and how they're treated is an integral part of prisons and how they reform people, quote-unquote. I fear that others having such power over you might make you feel like you're losing your 'self' or identity ...it's really complicated philosophical stuff."

He didn't look up. "Foucault, right?" He smiled painfully. "Oh, and here I was thinking that my masculinity was the only thing being threatened. Now it's my entire being as well?"

"I didn't mean to--"

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I feel fine. I'm just glad you want to do all this hard thinking for me." He sat back in his seat. "We can tough it out until we wed. We were able to do something today, right?"

"I suppose."

He turned on his car. "Now... Let's go driving, shall we? We've still got twenty-five minutes."

"I'm still a bit nervous."

"Perfect. Driving can often be nerve-wracking, so it's best to be used to that."

___________6___________


A week or so later, they went to Wal-Mart, and intended to buy everything as most Walmartyrs do. She said she was going to try on bathing suits because the weather was warming up, adding with a smile "I haven't gotten a new one in years, and it works all right, but it's far too ratty to let you see." He opted to go do the shopping while she did, as she was probably going to try a dozen before she found one she liked.

He was looking over the detergents when his body jolted. "Ack!" Someone had just grabbed his bottom. "Well, that's new," he snickered.

A breathy, femininely deep voice whispered into his ear. "You'd better come with us, or else we'll make being in here very uncomfortable for you." He felt his midsection grow about half and inch. "I don't think I have to threaten you any further, do I?"

His face dropped, and he turned around to see a tall woman who appeared to be in her 40s with very long black hair and light makeup. She was tanned and beautiful, but there was something off-putting about her eyes and how they looked at him. She seemed like a grown-up Lucy from the peanuts, pretty but cruel and selfish. He could see it in her face. Beside her were a young fat blond and plain thin girl with glasses and a ponytail of brown hair, standing silently like girly goombas. He remembered the tall woman and the fat one from the Chipotle incident.

"You... What do you want?" he exasperatedly demanded, pretending that he didn't take her seriously. "I don't have time for this." He could not fool even himself.

"Don't talk to us," the apparent leader ordered. "Just go outside and to the back of the store. We'll be behind you, so don't try anything. There aren't any security cameras back there, either. I know for a fact that they're all fake back there. I have my sources."

He stared at them all in disbelief. He had had nightmares about this. The woman ordered him again threateningly. "What are you waiting for? Go already." This would be the very first time, he thought, that he'd ever failed to return a shopping cart to its place. But he knew it was ridiculous to remember such trivia at a time like this. "And don't go near the women's clothing section. We know your girlfriend is there, so forget it." Her thoroughness was disturbing. As he passed his cart, he reached into his pocket and threw his car keys into it. The ladies didn't seem to care.

As soon as they were outside, he turned and walked behind the building. It was deserted and because the lot was cut into a hill, walls of earth surrounded them. No one could see them, and his hands shook as he realized how vulnerable he was. Using his phone was out of the question, but just to be sure, the woman reached into his pockets and removed it with a contented smile. "Your Rachel doesn't need to know about this." He twitched visibly at the mention of her name. She put it in her purse.

"All right. now we can leave. Go get the van, Julia." The bespeckled one unlocked a van parked along the wall. Panic gripped his throat as he realized that he had a critical decision to make: if they got him inside it was over for him, but if he ran, they'd over-inflate and publicly expose him. For the first time, it was clear to him what was important.

He turned and ran, but not very far. The woman and her companion were laughing at him as his midsection grew and slowed him down to a jog. Hearing his clothes ripping, he looked down and saw that his thighs were being overtaken by the sheer size. It increased to his knees, and he was soon waddling. His arms were engulfed to his elbows as well. Finally he could not stay balanced and fell over with a pitiful cry he didn't even know he could make.

When he hit the ground he bounced a bit, much to his horror, and he was panting-- but not from exertion. He was almost hyperventilating, wide-eyed and slack-faced with gobsmackery. His diameter was now almost more than a meter, which was worse than he ever thought possible, and he was shocked to learn that it could absorb other parts of his body. No matter how much he struggled, he couldn't do anything but teeter from side to side. An ex-wrestler pinned without even being touched: the irony was caustic. He thought he might try to scream, but the ringleader didn't miss a beat. She ran up to him and quickly forced some rolled up cotton socks into his mouth, all the way in so that he couldn't spit them out. They were clean, and the scent of the detergent filled his nose. Very nearly choking on them, his eyes watered.

"Peter, Peter." She worse an "I told you so" smile and shook her head. "You shouldn’t have run. Looks like things have gone all pear-shaped for you!" The van backed up behind them, and the three of them rolled him inside. When they pushed him in, he was right up against the walls and couldn't hope to move his already bound limbs. "Heh, perfect," the woman observed. "It's like he's got built-in bondage equipment!" The other two laughed.

The skinny one got in the back and shut the doors behind her, sitting between his legs, and took the opportunity to lean against his enormous bottom. He tried to kick her, but could only flail his legs uselessly instead. "Mmmph! Mmmph!" he protested. She laughed at him.

The leader got in and put on her safety belt. "Aw, you playing with him Becky? You'd better used to that, Petey." He shut his eyes as he cursed himself for not having been more careful. She went on as the blond henchwoman started driving. "I guess it's time to introduce myself. I'm Bernadette L., this is Trish D. driving here, and that's Becky T. back there."

He sniffed up some mucous. He was lying on his back, with his head near the front, although it didn't feel like his back any more, and his tears and snot seemed to well up in him from the force of gravity.

"And I guess you're Adam Walsh, huh?" She and her cohorts chortled. The brass cruelty of the joke renewed his hate and contempt, and his tears stopped. Normal people don't laugh that much about a little kid being abducted, raped, and decapitated.

Bernadette mockingly stroked his head. "Don't worry. We won't play too rough with you. We won't fight over you. We know that thoughts compete for what happens to you, so we'll be good and think together. Wouldn't that be fun?" She pulled out the socks. "What do you say to that?"

He searched his mind for the right thing to say. He wanted to say she was a monster, a whore, or a dog. Putting on a face as serious as cholera, he chose something. "You've already been making my life Hell for months, haven't you?"

"Oh, I don't know..." She smiled lightly with malevolent pleasantry. "I think Hell's just beginning for you." She stuffed the socks back in.

* * *


Super Duper Mega Wal-Mart Centers were big, but not so big that she could circle the store twice and not see him somewhere. Rachel began to worry, but tried to stop herself. It would be insulting to think that way about a grown man. While re-checking the aisles, she noticed a cart that contained a lot of the items she'd put on her list. She looked into it, and found not only the shopping list she'd written, but his car keys as well. He was not a person who would abandon a cart, and he would never in a million, billion years leave his car keys out in the open like that.

She nervously dialed him on her phone. A breathy, femininely deep, and condescendingly chipper voice answered. "Ah! Hello! I was wondering when you'd call!"

"Who is this?"

"Don't bother to find us, we're miles away. But I'm so glad you called. Peter and the rest of us are going out of town for a lost weekend! How about that?" She could also hear muffled screaming in the background.

Her throat burned as she swallowed back some vomit. "Let him go. He doesn't deserve this."

"A guy with his talent deserves to be a professional sex toy. It makes sense. Anyway, I suppose I should let you know that if I or my party see anything like a cop at our, uh, 'secret lair,' heh-hah, we're going to do some truly nasty things to him. Not that they or you will be finding him anyway."

“Oh, Peter…”

”Hey, listen-- I'm about to throw this phone out of the window. I've always wanted to do that. Bye-bye." A moment later, she heard a whoosh, static, and then a disconnection error message. For a few moments, she just listened to the recording telling her to hang up and dial again.

* * *


"Wow, Bernadette, you sounded totally bad-ass!" The driver snorted. "But uh, are we really going to kill him."

"Heck no. But it's better if she thinks so, right? Don't want any cops spoiling our fun, now do we?" She patted Peter on the head. "Sorry I didn't let you two love birds say your goodbyes. Had to keep it brief. I couldn't go wasting all your minutes, now could I?"

* * *


She put away her phone, and picked up the keys to his Taurus. They absolutely had been left deliberately for her. She took them in her hands and stared at the center ring as if she had been consigned to deliver it to The Fires of Mordor. On top everything else, she was going to have to drive herself home. Fortunately, the space in front of her was empty, so she didn't have to back out. Her home was about five miles away, but she drove slowly and carefully. She had a small driveway to park in, fortunately, but almost forgot to put it in park. At least she'd just be able to coast back to the street later, she thought. Eager to find any clues, she rushed to get inside and in front of her computer, where all her notes on inflation fetishism were kept.

She failed and failed again to discover where Peter was being held. Apparently it was organized by private messages and email, and she knew that a group had assembled for some secret purpose, but she didn't know where or who they were. There was no trail to follow. He could be going to Mexico for all she knew. She kept on searching. She wouldn't stop until she found at least something, some loose-lip post on some obscure message board. Anything.

* * *



Peter never knew that someone could be groped for hours on end, but that was enough to please his captor throng. There were well over a dozen people there, touching him in every place possible, bouncing into him, on him, and making him various sizes, so long as he couldn't move enough to fight back. They seemed much less interested in his privates; those were common, but the rest of him wasn't. At over a meter in diameter, he was sensitive all over and each touch felt like a violation. Rachel had told him about what he should do if he were ever trapped, and he followed her advice, reminding himself to try to stay calm and accept the reality of his torture. One could say that he was rolling with the punches, but he was literally being rolled, too. The floor was freezing cold. It was a small barn with a concrete floor, but a new construction free of dirt and hay, just like a fire hall.

At some point, "Okay, I think it's time to water him," Bernadette L. said aloud. She opened a bottle of Aquafina, but with flair. Her swagger reminded him of a dominatrix, and suddenly he understood why everyone was so quiet and submissive around her: she actually was a dominatrix. That's what she was there to do.

She rotated him on his side, took out his gag, and let him drink, which his mouth was eager to do. He gulped it until he coughed on it. She screwed it shut again. He was still disgusted with her. "So kind of you to remember I'm a living creature."

"Oh, you're very welcome." She smiled.

"What are you going to do with me, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. Keep you here at out little recreational retreat. Maybe I'll put you in the van, and tour you around for various sexcapades. Either way, your life belongs to us now."

"Not that I have one." He still looked angry, but his eyes were shiny.

"Aww... do you miss your girlfriend?" she teased.

"Leave her alone."

"We don't give a crap about her. Not unless she gets in our way."

"But she won't. She'll never find you," another woman added.

Thinking of Rachel made his chest burn. He longed to feel her gentle, kind hands touching him, pulling his fleshy burden off of him as she so often did. "Yes. I miss her. I should've married her when I had the chance."

"That wouldn't have been any good," Bernadette cackled. "'Cause then she'd be a widow!"

She didn't know. None of them knew. It was the last secret he still held. The last shard of privacy he had in this Gulag. He tried to downplay its significance just to be safe. "Oh... well... I would've wanted her to know what she meant to me."

When the words left his lips, he found them to be half true. He hadn't realized what she meant to him until now. Before, he hadn't let himself really feel it. He couldn't tell her because he didn't know. He finally broke down, in an instant. Tears flowed freely, and he gasped and sobbed without inhibition. His entire freakishly large body bounced up and down with his quick breaths, much to the delight of his captors.

"Isn't this ro-mantic?" She clasped her hands and brought them to her chest in mock twitterpation. The others laughed at him.

"Oh, it is cute!"
"What an a-dor-a-ble toy!"
"Aww, he's shaking like a rubber ball!"
"We'll give you lots of lovin', honey."

As he'd done for much of his life, he thought it could get no worse, and as ever, he was wrong. When the laughter subsided a bit, the evil emcee's eyes lit up. "Just got an idea!" She stroked her chin. "I wonder... I wonder how big... we can make him? Is this really the biggest, the best he could be?" The group seemed enthusiastic.

His tears abated as dread choked him. "No... please don't do that," he begged helplessly. "Please, don't." he knew it wouldn't do any good, but he couldn't just say nothing. He didn't think it would be painful, but the prospect of becoming even less human in shape frightened him deeply.

"Wait, how elastic is he?" Someone asked. "We don't want to burst him, or stretch or warp him." Such was always an issue with inflatable, and the others agreed.

Bernadette tilted her head. "Well, we've been blowing him up and down all day and nothing's damaged at all. That's magic for ya! I'm sure he'll spring back as soon as we let him. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" She thought, and shrunk him down almost to normal size, much to his surprise. The skin on his belly and his limbs looked normal, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. Despite the cold touch of the cement, it felt good for all of him to be touching at once.

He didn't dare move, and he had nothing to say, but he did glare at her intently now that his view was better. She stood over him as he laid on the ground. "Just look at this guy. Like USA Today, he's red all over. He looks so angry. He's so mad he could just... blow up." She smirked, and his eyes flashed. She giggled, "Let's blow him up until we can't any more. It's what we all came here to do, isn't it? Let's do this nice and slow." She stepped away from him for clearance. "Okay, let's begin."

With eyes shut Peter braced himself as felt his midsection growing, lifting him upwards. Soon it was engulfing his limbs, and they seems to recede inside of him. The apparent thickness of his skin remained unchanged, though, as always. His genitals shrank into his burgeoning body until they were only little bump. Yet their disappearance was only visual. As they sank into him, his whole body became more sensitive than it already was, causing him greater trepidation. Keeping his eyes closed also seemed as if it was requiring less and less strain. The pressure scrunched up his face and he couldn't open his mouth or his eyes, but he could still breathe. A few surprised "mmmm!" noises made it out of him as well.

"Gosh, I didn't expect that! Better than a ball gag," Bernadette quipped. "Guess I can have my socks back!"

Soon, it stopped. "I guess that's it. It won't go any more." she announced. "Heh, that's got to be almost 3 meters in diameter! Not perfectly spherical, but close." The former contours of his body were vaguely visible, especially his buttocks and his former shoulders.

"Ooh, he looks like one of those old ancient fertility statues-- but better!" Someone commented.

The descriptions were as unbelievable to him as the sensation. It was a bizarre feeling he could barely comprehend. He couldn't feel his arms, legs, or hands. Only the very tips of his fingers stuck our of his sides, and he couldn't move them. Of his feet, the soles and the toes remained, and he could wiggle them. It didn't feel like the rest of his limbs were hidden inside of him; they were just gone. His sense of proprioception was destroyed, and he could only sense that his body was a single mass.

It was more than terrifying; it compromised his sense of being. He could not even allow himself to attempt to make sense of it, knowing that he would fail to do so. Again he remembered what Rachel had told him, and he understood her better than ever: he was going to have to either accept his state somehow or go crazy.

"Hmm, I wonder why it stops there?" Bernadette wondered aloud. "It must have something to do with math and proportions and stuff. I forget how that stuff works." She shrugged. "Okay, there's not much room to roll him around in here, but we'll do what we can. Maybe we can pick him up?" Everyone sounded excited to play with their new toy, and he was soon being felt up by scores of groping fingers. Every touch on his body felt as magnified as he was. The sensation wasn't pain, and absolutely was not pleasure, but it was something else. It was very much unwanted. Despite his intention to remain silent, involuntary noises came from his shuttered mouth intermittently.

The tension in his mind was unbearable, as if his brain was more likely to burst than his body. He wanted so badly for it to stop that the very anticipation of release was maddening. So he dropped hope like a hot panhandle and endured it. He could hear them, but what they were saying didn't mean anything. He accepted that he was a giant ball without any control over his circumstances, worrying only about the present, and far as he was concerned, there wasn't a future.

___________7___________


After hours of searching, she had discovered nothing besides a few gloating messages that said things like "I'm about to have the ultimate IRL inflation experience and UR not!" Feverishly she darted from page to page. At about 10pm, her phone rang, jolting her from a trance-like browsing cycle.

"Hello?"

"Rachel Krugg?" It wasn't the woman she had heard before; this voice was more monotonous.

"Yes?"

"I'm calling you because I want to help you. I can tell you where he is."

"Who is this?"

"Don't hang up. Listen, I've been where they're keeping him. I'd probably still be there if it weren't for Bernadette L.-- we don't reveal our last names. Anyway, she's nuts, and she organized everything. I can't let her know I squealed, and you can't just walk in and take Peter. I'm with them, but I can't stand Bernadette."

"What have you been doing to him?"

"What haven't we done to him?"

Rachel was so silent she forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Okay, no one has actually injured him yet, I'll tell you that-- but not for long. Bernadette L. hasn't told anyone, but she isn't just into inflation alone. I found a Deviantart account and a 'Yahoo!' account with the same name, Rubberscream921, and I'm very sure she owns both of them. The accounts are filled with balloon transformation fetish art and stories, and each one of them involves popping. Bernadette is... a popper."

"A what?"

"It is what it sounds like."

Rachel's mouth hung open and her eyes were blank. "Why would... why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know. I've never understood poppers. It's sadistic, making love to something and then getting the most pleasure out of destroying it. I don't even like it when it's with objects. But now she has the opportunity to do it with a real human."

Rachel couldn't decide whether she wanted to scream or cry.

"It's her ultimate fantasy come true. Some art in her account depict that happening. I don't know how long she's going to drag this out, or build up the tension, really, but when she's ready... well, you'd better hurry, that's all I'm saying. I've sent you a Google Maps link and more information through your office email. I found it on their web site. But that's all I can do for you."

The caller hung up and Rachel couldn't even move until her phone loudly reminded her so.

The informant's report painted a grim picture, but at least it was a picture. He was being kept in a medium-sized aluminum barn (or a large garage) in the countryside 20 miles out of town. The writer mentioned that she couldn't simple move him out of there because he had become so large that he could not fit through the door as he was. In a large garage a truck could go into. Rachel didn't even want to picture it.

There were about 17 people there, and Bernadette L. was their leader ("regardless of whether or not anyone said she was," the writer added bitterly). They had been chosen by her as being "worthy" for the occasion, so she had probably selected people who were as bad as she was. "I won't lie. I wouldn't be writing this if she wasn't a popper. I absolutely hate poppers, and she's been hiding it. She said we could keep him."

Rachel was glad to know where he was, but the informant was no savior and her tone made it worse. She thought the writer was childishly jealous, arrogant, and impetuous, like a kid who says "I'm going to take my ball and go home!" She winced at the thought of the phrase.

She printed out directions to the prison and the email itself and grabbed her backpack, a blanket from her bed, another from her couch, a flashlight, and an energy drink from her fridge. She couldn't wait until the next day. It was too urgent; she had to wait until everyone was asleep, and then sneak him out. She'd have to drive his car that far with her learner's permit too.

While driving there she saw out of the corner of her eye an old chubby man with glasses and thinning white hair wearing a white sandwich board and traditional slacks, white shirt and bolo tie combo outside a community center across the street. It said "The end is nigh, turn to god," on the front and he was loudly reciting scripture at passerby. And of course at that hour there were less workers inside the building to shoo him away. She remembered that he had probably always been there, but she'd never noticed him before. Clearly he was a nut. But she needed a nut.

She pulled into the middle of an empty office parking lot across the street and got out. When it was clear, she ran across the street and up to him. "Sir, are you a Reverend?" she panted.

"The very Reverend Holland Mills!" he proclaimed proudly.

"Oh, good! I need you help-- God's help. Reverend, can you marry people?" She was able to pass off her frenzied despair as devotional desperation. Maybe it was.

"Of course I can young lady."

"I need you to marry me and my fiance. Tonight."

"Well just tell me where to--"

"It's more complicated than that. He's being held hostage in... a sex orgy. He can't get out himself. But if I marry him, he'll be able to leave. It's a rescue mission. He doesn't want to be there but he's-- well he can't leave."

"The flesh betrays him?"

She was taken aback at how correct that sounded. "Yes! Yes, I couldn't have put it better myself! But marrying him will change that."

"And what about this den of sin of you speak of?"

"I'll... have you do what you may with them. I just want to bring him