Tiny Bubbles

by Gary Jordan

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Fiction, .

Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: She burst my bubble...(This is a Fish Tank Anniversary Celebration story.)

This is a Fish Tank Anniversary Celebration story. For one week, other authors, readers, and fans felt free to comment on the story in the Fish Tank thread in the Newsgroup alt.sex.stories.d (Look for the thread named "{ASSD} FT #52 Tiny Bubbles by Gary Jordan"), to help an author (me) become a better writer through positive feedback and constructive criticism. You can also find the comments archived at: http://www.asstr.org/~Desdmona/FishTank/base/

I woke up naked in The Bubble. I don't know what else to call it. I was surrounded by a spherical envelope. I couldn't see anything at all beyond its boundaries, but a dim light seemed to shine through the walls from every direction. Maybe the walls were the light source. I couldn't tell. I remembered an old show called "The Prisoner" where these white bubble things chased people, and some guy kept insisting he wasn't a number. Was this that kind of bubble?

I thought of it as The Bubble because there was the faintest hint of surface tension anywhere my body made contact with it. I could tell that there was a minuscule depression under my feet, a dimpling of the wall so slight it was barely noticeable. I had enough traction to take a step without my feet sliding away, but any change in my center of gravity shifted The Bubble around me like a hamster ball.

I'm neither a genius nor an idiot. Just average, I guess, but I liked to read, and I probably watched too much TV. My imagination began to run away with me. There was a Heinlein story where a guy investigating paranormal phenomena gets sucked into a fish tank. Would I have to scratch, "Creation took eight days" on my thigh with fingernail shards to alert humanity that we had owners?

I tried running, jumping, crawling, anything to create an effect that might change my perceptions. I always ended up at the bottom of The Bubble. That was when my panic really started.

There was a Clancy novel where the KGB broke an agent using sensory deprivation. Except my senses weren't completely deprived. I could see myself, I could feel myself. I could measure my heart rate and hear my own voice and breathing.

With nothing else to do, I remembered the formulae for chords and arcs and the circumference of a circle. I easily recalled all the thumb rules for the lengths of my limbs, having measured mine a time or two. (Elbow to fingertip, 18 inches; palmwidth, 4 inches.) The Bubble had a measurable arc; I estimated the diameter at 12 feet. The formula for volume is four-thirds pi times the cube of the radius. Call it a thousand cubic feet, give or take. How long would the air last?

Making the measurements and calculations had calmed me down some. Knowing the dimensions of my confinement and the potential limits of my air supply brought more panic. I remember screaming, and crying, and hurling myself about. I remember exhaustion, and finally oblivion.

The next time I awoke, I kept my eyes tightly shut for fear I would still be in the Bubble. I spread my hands about for reassurance and received none. I opened one eye - I was still there. I loosed a sob, and lay listlessly in my cocoon. Alone with an overactive imagination and an insufficiency of distraction. I finally got up and started walking. I paced myself with the beat of every song I could think of - anything to remain active. Show tunes. Reggae. "Tiny Bubbles." Beach Boys. Anything. If I used up all the air, fine--it was going to happen anyway.

There is more of this story...
The source of this story is Storiesonline

For the rest of this story you need to be logged in: Log In or Register for a Free account

Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Fiction /