Wishing Underwater

By Bigby Wolfe

I didn't know what I was writing when I first started this and it ended it being a bit more romantic than I generally write. In fact, I guess this genre is BE romace.

Don�t read it if you shouldn't.

June 21^st

The bell rang at Hitchfield High. It was an old bell, up in the belltower, from when the school was built back before World War I and it rarely ever rang. The administration only let it ring twice during the school year � at the beginning and end of it.

And now it was ringing with the satisfaction of a thousand students, sighing with relief that school was over and summer vacation had begun.

Except one student wasn't sighing, nor exuberant about the summer that was already upon them. Emily fought the urge to run back inside the school and ask if she could stay, if she could just sit in the classrooms and read all summer.

It wasn't that she disliked summer vacation. It was that she had no one to celebrate it with. Her parents were like most parents � clueless to what their daughter actually thought and felt. She had no siblings and her friends were limited to the people she helped with projects in class. And she never met them outside of school.

So to her, summer vacation was a hiatus, where she could think of nothing to do and often did that. Reading was what occupied her last summer, but she couldn't think of anything to read today and she doubted she could think of anything to occupy her for the summer.

And so she walked, in the ninety-degree heat, back to her home. Her parents were already home and smiling in that awkward way where you have no idea what to say to your own daughter.

"How was your day, sweetie?" her mother said.

"Fine," Emily said.

"Is that it?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Emily said. "Just fine."

"Well," her father said, "I bet you're glad it's summer vacation now."

She shrugged. She knew if she said "No," they would want an explanation and she didn't want to do that. They were happy in their oblivious world.

"Now you have time to have fun," her father said. "No homework, no restrictions � except for your chores. You still have to do them."

"I know," she said.

"Oh, they can wait," her mother said. "Why don't you go to the pool right now? I bet that will help with this blazing heat."

"I don't have a swimsuit," Emily said.

"Oh, you can borrow mine," her mother said. "I never wear it anymore."

And so the conversation was over. Emily had no excuse NOT to go (no homework, no chores, swimsuit ready, and not actually enjoying swimming or the company of her peers would only confuse her parents), so she had to. She slinked upstairs and into her mother's room, where she found her mother's two-piece bathing suit on the bed. Apparently, her mother had preplanned their conversation.

Emily calming took the swimsuit and went into the bathroom. She took a deep breath, undressed, and then began to put the suit on.

It wasn't as is Emily was unattractive. She was thin, but not anorexic. She wasn't tall, but neither was she short. Her hair was brown, not luxurious, but not ugly at the same time. The only problem was that when she saw herself in the mirror, she saw the Stick Figure Girl.

It had been a drawing a friend had made in elementary school. It was of Emily as a stick figure. It was meant as a joke. Emily didn't laugh. She saw what was a drawing of herself and realized that it was the way she looked. No distinguishing features, no amazing curves. She was popular or unpopular � she was a nonentity. A stick figure.

And so, the harsh light of the bathroom, she put on her mother's swimsuit and saw that it barely fit. The top was too loose and Emily wondered if she could get out of going because of that. But she knew what her mother would do and say and so Emily merely pulling the top tight and knotted it in the back, so it didn't hang down.

Then she put on jeans and a t-shirt and walked back downstairs. Her mother and father said goodbye and her mother kissed her on the cheek and told her to be careful walking home. And then Emily left.

The pool was a community pool near the high school, so it was most populated by kids Emily knew or had seen (and some she hadn't seen, but heard about). Walking gingerly around splashing students, she went straight to the changing booths, where she removed her shirt and jeans.

Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the world pool.

The water was warm, but she still shivered a little. Water splashed in miniature waves around her as she drifted by. She took a breath and then plunged underwater and stayed there for a few seconds. Time was fluid here and wondered what would happen if she never left or what if she had never arrived.

But she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind when she saw the trio of girls that had just entered the pool area. Emily knew them by many names: the Trio, the Triad, the Trinity. Always with a capital T.

They were the cheerleaders who ruled the school. The beautiful, the pretty, the blonde. The leader was Suzanna, who kept all the rest of the students in check with her great figure, jutting breasts, and vicious personality.

Emily watched as Suzanne, clad in an almost-all-revealing bikini, entered the pool. The guys and girls flocked around her, fawning over her, complimenting her, trying to get on her good side.

And Emily wondered what would happen if she started drowning. Would anyone notice? Would they all simply say, "Oh, don't bother with her � she's a nobody! Why not watch Suzanne's breasts glistening in the water instead?"

Emily immersed herself again, in an effort not to stare at Suzanne. She was jealous, she knew. But what of? The looks? Or the attention? Maybe of both. She wished she could gain everyone's attention with her boobs.

Heh, she thought underwater. Wouldn't it be funny if I suddenly had bigger boobs than Suzanne? It would be a riot. And I'd likely cause a full-scale riot, as well. Oh, well, not like it's ever going to happen, may as well come up for air.

She relaxed her muscles, expecting to float to the top. She didn't. Her body sank like a stone, to the bottom of the pool. She thrashed about, trying to swim upwards, but some invisible force was pulling her down. She tried holding her breath as long as she could, but it was already two minutes and her lungs felt like bursting and she was still trashing and her lungs involuntary expelled their air and she�

�blacked out.

When she came to, she felt something in her mouth. She thought she was still underwater, so she quickly spread her arms and started thrashing again. Then she realized she was in the open air and the thing in her mouth was water and violently coughed it up on the ground.

"Whoa, there," a boy in front of her said. He was dressed in swim trunks and Emily recognized him as being in one of her classes. "You were underwater for a long time. If somebody hadn't heard you, you might have died. Luckily, someone did and I knew how to do mouth-to-mouth, so I think you're okay. At least, I hope so. You'd better go to a doctor to be sure."

"Yeah, thanks," Emily said and coughed a bit more. She tried to rise to her feet, but she was still unsteady and the boy caught her and helped her until she found her footing. "Thanks," she said, unsure of what to say next. "I'd better� go home. Thanks."

And so she walked to the exit of the pool and was almost outside, when the boy said, "I think you forgot something." She turned around, still unsure of what to do or say. "Your clothes?" the boy said.

"Oh, right," Emily said. She heard a snicker come from the crowd that had formed around her and she knew right away it was Suzanne. Emily ignored her and grabbed her clothes from a bench and walked to the changing rooms. Emerging in her t-shirt and jeans, Emily was confronted by the boy still standing there. She wondered if he was waiting for her to thank him again.

"You're Emily, right?" the boy said. "I'm Paul. We had a class together."

"Right," Emily said. "Thank you. I� have to go home."

"See you around sometime," Paul said.

"Yeah," Emily replied, her back already turned to him, her mind a mess of confusion.

And at her home, as she removed her mother's swimsuit, she failed to noticed that the top was unknotted and not loose.

June 24^th

Emily had decided to spend most of her time at the library. She couldn't read at home, with her mother and father constantly hovering over her whenever they were there. The library was the perfect choice � except she had no books to read.

So she brought a notebook and a pen and she scribbled. She doodled and wrote scratches of poems that sprang into her mind and then vanished and she wrote half-formed sentences that made no sense outside her fevered imagination.

Sometimes she read a book that was lying on the table and looked interesting. Most of the time, she just scribbled in her notebook.

Until that day, when she was scribbling away and someone sat down across from her. Nobody had done that before. She looked up.

It was Paul. "Hi," he said. "Told you I'd see you around. I guess we visit the same haunts."

Emily doubted that he visited the library that often, but didn't say so. "What do you want?" she asked

"My, you're direct," Paul said. "Can't I just sit here and talk? What ever happened to having a conversation?"

"We're in a library," Emily said, "and the librarian is shushing us right now."

"Fine," Paul said. "I can talk to you outside. Come on." He stood up and grabbed Emily's hand. Strangely, she didn't resist and stood up and walked out of the library with him. Outside, the sun shone brightly down and Paul found a convenient spot of shade.

"So," Emily said, "what do you want?"

"I told you," Paul said. "I want to have a conversation."

"With me?" Emily asked.

"No, with my one-legged grandmother," Paul said. "Yes, with you."

"Fine," Emily said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Uh," Paul said. "See, I hadn�t really gotten to this part in my head. Usually, right around here, I would dazzle you with my sparkling personality, but unfortunately, I haven't got one. So I shall ask: what do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing," Emily said. "I don't want to talk about anything."

"Oh, you must want to talk about something," Paul said. "Anything. Your favorite TV shows, your favorite books, how many cats you own, your shoe size. And these are merely the suggestions of a rambling mind that has no idea what it's saying!"

"Sorry," Emily said. "I don't have anything to say. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Paul said. "It's my fault. Shouldn't have dragged you out of there."

"Alright," Emily said. "Goodbye." She turned around and was about to walk away from Paul said something.

"But you have to admit, I did sorta save your life. So you kind of owe me."

Emily turned around again and repeated, "So what do you want?"

"To talk," Paul said. "To converse. To know you, to know the truth. Really."

"The truth," Emily said, "is that I have to get home. Goodbye." And then she turned again and walked away, hoping against all hope that he would say, "Wait" one more time and she would actually wait and listen and talk.

But he was silent and so was she.

That night, her nightshirt felt tight on her. It was at least two years old, but she had worn it last week with no problems, so she thought she was just imagining it. Then she couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep. She finally gave up, turned on her lamp, and started reading a book, any book. After ten minutes, she was soundly asleep, the book forgotten on the floor, her chest a little bit bigger.

June 31^st

He was always in the library when she was. She would sit down and start to doodle and he would be there, always sitting a few tables away from her. She caught him looking one time and she wondered why he did. Was she interesting to him? Was she some experiment to him? Did a secret cabal of popular students decide that she was to be their next sacrifice to the high school gods?

She remembered more of him from class. He was smart, but laid back. Had friends � popular, well-connected friends. She once saw him in the hallway, his arm around one of the Trio. It could have been Suzanne � Emily couldn't see her face or her chest.

And now he was in the library, sneaking looks at Emily. And he had been coming everyday since that day he tried to talk to her.

But he never tried to talk to her now. He kept his distance. Emily wondered if she had a stalker or if he had gone crazy. Or perhaps, she thought, I have. What kind of popular guy would stalk me? I must be hallucinating him.

And yet, for a hallucination, he was surprisingly real. The library eyed him from across the room, but never shushed, since he was always quiet. After a while, Emily would sneak glances at him to see if he was still there, too.

Emily wondered what would happen if she just walked up to him and started talking. What if she spilled her whole life story? What if she told him the real history of Emily � the ins-and-outs, the secrets and lies, as they say? She wondered if he would want to know or if he would run away when he realized how insane she was.

There's only one way to find out, she said. She stood up, picked up her notebook�

�and walked out of the library. She couldn't do it, she knew. It went against every cell in her body, although lately those cells were screaming out for her to talk to him. But she didn't.

In the shower that night, she noticed something weird. Her breasts, formerly in the diminutive status of AA, had expanded to a teacup-sized B. Emily looked at them with a keen eye as water cascaded down her back. She wasn't imagining things � her nightshirt had been tight, because her breasts had been growing.

She wondered if she should tell her mother. Her mom would be so excited about her development, but Emily wondered if she should be. What was happening to her? Did breasts expand this quickly over a week? She wondered when it started.

And then the water turned cold and she turned the shower off and put on her pinching nightshirt and crept into bed, because she didn't want to think about questions she didn't know the answers to. Like Paul the Enigma.

And in the air of the night, her breasts, hidden underneath shirt and blanket, grew ever so slowly.

August 6^th

He was still in the library, but he had stopped watching her. Now, when she sneaked glances, he was reading. Actual books, she noticed, not magazines or anything. She wondered what he was reading and if she had read it before.

She still felt the urge to walk over and talk to him and everyday it became harder not to. But still, she knew deep inside something was wrong with this, something wasn't right with this, and she resisted. She never talked to him.

One day, she sat in the back table and he sat in the front. She had to walk past him to get to the library's exit. His eyes didn't move as hers darted from front to side. Did he not notice her anymore? Than why was he still coming to the library?

And her breasts were bigger now, too. At least C-cups � she had surfed the web one day for some comparison pictures and come up with a handful of plastic surgery sites and millions of porn sites. She had taken to wearing baggy t-shirts to cover them up, but it still worried her.

And then she remembered the wish underneath the water. And it clicked in her mind. Was it the wish? Was that invisible force that pulled her downward pulling her toward Paul?

And then she settled it. Something was trying to control her and she didn't like being controlled. She put on sweaters after that, even when the heat was in the hundreds. She never stole glances at Paul and always took the farthest possibly table from him and always navigated the Byzantine maze that was the library shelves, rather than walk past him.

And she resisted the tugging and she willed herself strong.

But at night, when sleep came, her willpower dissipated in the wind and her breasts still grew unchallenged.

August 13^th

Her breasts were becoming harder and harder to avoid now. Everyday she would wear a baggy sweatshirt and her parents were asking questions. The heat combined with the sweatshirts make a red rash on her back, but she kept wearing them. She hoped this, combined with sheer force of will, would stop her breasts from growing.

And yet, they seemed to increase in size even more. After surreptitiously buying a tape measure, she figured out that she was probably a 42 D now. And they were still growing.

She wondered if what was happening to her was a spell of some sort. She often imagined that magic existed and she wondered if this was her proof. Her breasts defied all logic � at least Emily's logic � by continuing to grow. They were about the size of half-cantaloupes now, sticking out proudly whenever she didn't wear a sweatshirt. She couldn't wear a bra, of course, since none fit her � even her mother's were too small, now.

She also tried to think of some other place to go besides the library. Perhaps if she didn't go there everyday, she wouldn't think of him. She couldn't stay home, because then her parents were worry and then they would find out about her breasts and� well, she didn't want that. Not yet, anyway.

So she walked around the town of Hitchfield. One Starbucks, three fast food chains, and a local supermarket comprised the town's outdoor mall. She stayed in Starbucks one day and the fast food chains then next three days, until she ran out of allowance money.

And then she had to go back to where she needed no money, except the fifteen cents for late fees. She walked in the library, hoping against all hope that he wasn't still sitting there.

No such luck. Paul was sitting at his usual chair, engrossed in what looked like an exciting fantasy novel. Emily wondered if she had read it or if she would want to read it. She resisted going up to him, though, and walked an unusual path to the last table and sat down. Then, she pulled out her notebook and pen and, trying not to look at Paul, she doodled and etched and wrote.

And at night, her breasts swelled and she dreamed.

August 15^th

One night, she dreamed she was in the library with Paul. They were alone � no shushing librarians, nobody else except them.

"Tell me a story," he asked her.

"What kind of story," she said.

"A sexual story," he said. "One where the heroine cannot resist the carnal impulses she feels towards the hero."

"I don't know any stories like that," she said. "But I do know one involving djinns and magic lamps and vengeful gods."

"That's not a very good story," he said. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "Why don't you give in? I've heard drowning is a very nice way to go."

"I don't want to go," she said. "I want to stay. Why can't I just stay here, forever?"

"Because," he said, "this isn't the place for you. You belong somewhere else."

"Where?" she asked

"You belong with me," he said and then leaned forward and kissed her. She didn't try to stop the kiss, nor did she resist as he placed his hands on her breasts. As he removed her shirt, he whispered, "You shouldn't hide them. They're magnificent."

"I, I, I," she tried to say something as he leaned down and licked her nipples. He suckled her breasts and as he did, they grew. The bigger they grew, the more he licked, the more pleasure she felt.

And when she finally screamed in pleasure, she woke up and realized she had screamed in real life as well.

Her mother opened the door and looked at Emily with concern. "Emily?" her mother said. "Are you alright? That scream woke up your dad and me."

"I'm fine, mom," Emily said. "It was just a bad dream."

"Okay," her mother said. "If that's all� are you hiding something?"

"No," Emily said pulling the covers up to her shoulders.

"Come on, Emily," her mother said. "I want to be a part of your life, but you won't let me in. Please, will you let me this one time?"

Emily gulped. She didn't know how to answer the question or what to do. Finally, she asked, "Promise you won't freak out?"

"I promise," her mother said.

"Fine," Emily said and dropped the covers. Her nightshirt was stretched beyond repair and you could even see her nipples through it. The outline of her breasts was visible as well � Emily had recently measured them and found them to be 40 DDs. They seemed enormous to her.

Her mother's jaw dropped. Closing it, her mother sat down at Emily's bed and said, "Well, you've certainly gone through a change. But� well, this wasn't exactly unexpected."

"It wasn't?" Emily asked.

"No," her mother said. "I mean, you're a growing girl. And there are some very busty women on your father's side of the family. I think your aunt is about the same size as you."

"Yeah, but she's thirty-six," Emily said. "I'm seventeen."

"And still going through changes," her mother said. "You may even keep developing up until the early twenties. And I know it must seem fast, but growth like that is� well, yes, uncommon, but not unheard of. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

"Okay," Emily said. Her mother smiled at her and then walked to the door. Emily wanted until she was almost outside and then said, "Thanks, mom."

"You're welcome," her mother said. "And you don't have to hide it from us anymore."

She knew that and she felt relieved. Somehow, the fact that it wasn't a secret from her mother anymore made her feel better than ever had.

And then the image of Paul kissing her and licking her breasts appeared in her mind and she wondered if she could reveal them to him. Would the dream come true? No, she thought, I won't drown. I'm still going to wear the sweaters and I'm still going to not talk to him.

But she was less sure this time around and by the time she went to sleep again, her breasts were already growing, slowly but steadily.

August 18^th

There was one day when she slipped. She still wore sweaters outside, but she was getting so big that it hardly mattered anymore. At 42 G, her breasts were as big as full-sized cantaloupes and would stick out with whatever she wore and even wearing the sweater, she felt people's gazes as she walked down the street.

The slip-out came about when she was in the library and was walking to her usual table. She honestly wasn't paying attention to anything as she walked, only concentrating on getting to her table without looking at Paul.

And someone walked right out of the stacks and bumped right into her. The books he was carrying fell to the floor, as did her notebook. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled as she rubbed the leg that had took the brunt of the fall.

"I'm fine, thanks," Emily said as she got up and then bent down to pick up notebook. When she straightened, the boy that had bumped into her was staring at her chest. Her eyes widened as she realized she had just given him a flash of cleavage.

Shit! she thought. I have to get out of here. But where would I go? She decided to brave it and walked right past the boy and straight to her table. After she sat down, she sneaked a peak at Paul. Surely he had seen the entire thing, right?

If he had, he wasn't showing it. He was still engaged in a fantasy novel and Emily wondered if he actually came here to read instead of be near her.

And then, to her surprise, she found herself standing up and walking to his table. She sat down across from him and dropped her notebook at the table. His eyes flitted up and then back down to his book.

Emily took a deep breath (straining her sweater) and pushed her notebook forward. "Here, read this," she said.

Paul finally closed the book and said, "Why?"

"Because it's what you want," she said. "You wanted to know me, this is me."

"You can't be a notebook," Paul said. "It's impossible for a notebook to contain a� you."

"Just read it," Emily said. "I wrote in it."

Paul set aside the fantasy book and pulled the notebook in front of him and opened it. His eyes scanned page after page and thoughts flickered through Emily's mind about what she was doing. She ignored them.

"This is�" He paused. "This isn't you. This is a part of you, but not all. I want to know all."

"How?" Emily asked

"Let's talk," Paul said.

And they finally did.

August 21^st

She learned everything about Paul and he learned about her. She knew that his mother was diabetic and his father divorced her and left when Paul was five and that he was named after one of the Beatles.

He knew that she had two loving parents that tried to know about their daughter, but were often unsuccessful, and that she had once had a dog named Buster, except he was run over by a truck and that was the last time Emily had ever cried.

And everyday, they would go to the library and read and talk some more.

Finally, one day, she asked him, "Why did you save me?"

"I don't know," he said. "I heard you thrashing about underwater and� well, I couldn't leave you there. I didn't even know who you were at first � I didn't remember you from class at all. But you were there and you weren't breathing and I just� did it."

Emily put her hand on Paul's and said, "Thank you" and meant it. And then she asked, "And why did you try to talk to me afterwards?"

"You looked�" He searched for the word. "�isolated. Like you were cut off from the world. Nobody should be that way. And�"

"And what?" Emily asked.

"And your eyes were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen," he said.

"No, they're not," Emily said. "They're just brown. I'm sure Suzanne's eyes are better."

"Suzanne's eyes are cruel," Paul said. "Like she's mentally whipping you for every offense that she thinks you might do to her. Your eyes� had a mystery to them. A� striking quality, you might say. And, well, the eyes are the windows to the soul, they say."

"Who says?" Emily asked.

Paul just shrugged at the inquiry.

That night, Emily failed to get to sleep. She tossed and turned (mainly from side-to-side, as she could sleep on her back or stomach anymore) and finally she gave up. She put on jeans and a sweater and crept downstairs and outside. Then, she started to walk to the pool.

When she got to the pool, she saw that Paul was already there, his pants rolled up and his feet immersed in water.

"Hi," she said.

He looked up at her and then said, "Hi."

Emily leaned down and swished the water with her fingers. "I haven't told you everything," she said.

"I know," he said.

"There's something," she said, "I need to show you." As he looked up at her, Emily reached around and pulled the sweater off.

Her mother had gone to a dress shop a few days ago and bought her a custom-fit bra, but it was already pinching. Emily had measured her breasts again yesterday and come away with the knowledge that she was now an H-cup. They looked as big as� well, Emily couldn't come up with a great metaphor, and so they were as big as great big breasts. They were round and not pear-shaped and looked like they defied gravity. Her nipples were hard in the cold, night air and looked to be as big as pencil erasers.

Paul must have known, Emily thought. The sweaters didn't hide that much in the end.

And yet, he stared at them like a deer caught in the� well, headlights. "I," he started, "I don't know what to say. I thought� I never� I mean, you look� fantastic."

"Thank you," Emily said, disappointed and relieved at the same time. She thought Paul had known, but she was glad it was a surprise. And now she knew what to do. She reached behind and unclipped her now-too-small bra and then took off her jeans.

"What are you-" Paul said before Emily walked into the shallow end of the pool wearing only her pair of panties.

"Come on, Paul," she said. "It's been a month since I was in here last. It's nice to have a swim every now and then. So come on in."

Paul smiled and pulled off his shirt and pants and walked into the pool. He shivered. "It's freezing in here," he said. "I think the night would still be warm."

"You should move your body around to make warmth," Emily said. "Like this." She started to move around back and forth, her breasts submerging and reemerging from the water. They were so big they looked like they floated.

Paul started doing to same motions and warmed up a bit. "Another way to converse warmth," Emily said, "is body heat." She swam closer to Paul, her breasts just inches away from his chest.

"Is that so?" Paul asked. "Perhaps we should concentrate on that aspect."

Emily laughed. She grabbed and pulled Paul's hands toward her breasts and said, "Touch them, please." He did, rubbing them, playing with them. "Kiss them," she said.

"I want to kiss you first," he said.

And so, in a shimmering pool of moonlight, they kissed.

The End?