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Message-ID: <37640asstr$1028311803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: PJcocoa@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Tiny Bubbles by Gary Jordan (MF Rom)
Date: Fri,  2 Aug 2002 14:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Tiny Bubbles
By Gary Jordan
Copyright 2002

This is a Fish Tank Anniversary Celebration.  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").  The
purpose of this exercise is to help an author become a better writer
through positive feedback and constructive criticism.  You can also
find the comments archived at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Desdmona/www/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.

Have you ever blown bubbles? Did you ever watch two bubbles merge? How
they touch and the surface tension creates a flat spot between them
and the area of contact grows until suddenly they're one, big,
wiggling bubble? That moment when it happens, there's a sudden growth
and a lot of shimmying and shivering...

By the time I noticed the change, it was well underway. I started to
reach for the flattened area when ploop! The bubbles merged. I was
tossed toward the new center of the larger bubble. I crashed into
something and instinctively held on. Holding on to anything not me was
an incredibly welcome change from the isolation of the Bubble. I swore
I would never let go. I felt arms and hands wrapped around me as well.

When the new, larger Bubble stabilized, I pulled my head back to see
what - or who - I was attached to. She was the most beautiful woman I
had - have - ever seen. Somewhere in the rational recesses of my mind,
some objective snippet of brain objected. Not Sophia Loren beautiful,
nor Meg Ryan pretty. Maybe not even handsome. But to the rest of me,
she was goddess gorgeous. Looking into her eyes, I could tell she felt
the same about me.

I put my head against her neck and clung with all my might. We sobbed
together, shared our fears and tears, and drew comfort from each
other. The comfort of discussion.  The comfort of snuggling.  The
comfort of intertwining limbs, of fingers sliding over silken skin,
tracing the convex and concave...


The fingers snapping in front of my eyes snapped me out of my daydream
as well. I looked into my wife's eyes and smiled.

"Penny for your thoughts," she offered, towelling her hair.  She'd
missed rinsing some bubbly suds from an ear.

I smiled and shook my head. "Just remembering when we met."

"When we were assigned as lab partners in the Industrial
Petrochemistry class?" Desdmona grinned. "What a couple of nerds we
were."

"Still are." I grinned back.

"True, but now we're old married nerds with kids."

"Kids who won't be home for another hour."  The last of the daydream
was still fresh.

"I hate to burst your bubble," she drawled, "but it takes way more
than an hour to *properly* make love."

I grinned. I couldn't help it. I grabbed her hand to pull her toward
the bedroom, but she pulled me there just as hard. I agreed about the
hour, but it's what we had for now.  A lifetime might not be long
enough.

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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