I carried the food behind the old couch to the bar, dropping Bobby’s clothes on the arm rest.
Sitting on a bar stool, I tried to concentrate on the sports report on Channel 4. Most nights in those days before ESPN and dozens of cable channels, the nightly sports was of extreme importance to me.
In those days, we received both morning and afternoon newspapers, but for instant sports news, the 11 o’clock report was it.
That night, though, the Dodgers-Giants game — even with Don Sutton and Mike Caldwell pitching – was second in line. So I tried, or pretended, to watch the news, but really was entranced by what was taking place on the couch.
In reality, it was pretty innocent.
With Marne’s arms positioned against her sides, only her back was visible. Her panty, albeit a bikini, was not overly scant. I had seen hundreds of more revealing bikini swim suits at the beach. Marne’s bum was completely covered, but it was perfectly shaped, two gorgeous, round globes with cotton fabric stretched across them. She was far from Twiggy skinny. I guess from a classic standpoint, she could have been 15 pounds lighter. Being as short as Marne was, those few extra pounds showed a little. Generally, though, she was a fine-looking girl, and a couple things, in particular, caught my attention. Marne had incredibly small hands and feet, as well as tiny toes.
I was staring as Bobby slowly, ever-so-lightly, ran his fingertips across her skin in long strokes from the nape of her neck to just above the panty. She was covered in goose bumps, and a couple times, as he strayed to her sides, she would whimper in a high-pitched, almost inaudible tone. Bobby, meanwhile, was rock hard.
I was completely unaware of the transition from sports to weather, and was jarred back to reality when I heard, “Well, that’s the news. Stay tuned for Fright Night. That Boris Karloff is a scary one. See you tomorrow, folks.”
No sooner had I turned back to the TV I heard rustling.
“That’s all,” Marne said. “I’m starving.”
In a rapid, single movement, she leaned up on her elbows and pulled the granny nightgown over her head. It left me wondering: Did I see anything? I think the answer was no, but wishful thinking left me hoping I had caught a glance of “her front.”
Once more taking those tiny steps on her tiptoes, she skipped over to the bar.
“Oh, Slacker” she said. “Give me a sub … and some of that potato salad. What have you been doing over there, daydreaming?”
Yeah, I was dreaming, I thought to myself, but it wasn’t about sandwiches.
I tore open one of the submarines and cut it into three pieces as she went to the fridge for Sundrop. Bobby pulled out three plates and put a big pile of potato salad on each. We sat down on the side of the pullout just as the movie began.
“You want me to fold up the couch,” I asked no one in particular. “I t’ll be more comfortable.”
“Nope,” Marnie replied. “I’m not done with it.”
“Uh, OK?” I said, posing a question in my mind, but not meaning to express it verbally. Somehow, though, it sounded that way.
“What? Marnie said mischievously. “When you were up on the steps bruising the subs I told you I didn’t care if you watched. It’s been months since I had a good tickle, and I want more. How about you, Bobby?”
“Yeah, I didn’t even get my turn,” he said.
“Liar,” Marne declared. “I sat on the steps and watched the Slacker give you a really good tickle. It was so good you had to take a shower, riiiiigth? And anyway, why don’t you put on some pants.”
“Later,” he said. “If we’re going to tickle some more, I’ll just keep this towel on.”
“Showoff,” she said.
“You know what I heard on TV?” he said. “If you got it, flaunt it.”
“I’ll flaunt you,” she kidded. “I’ll bet you haven’t been flaunted since I left for school.”
‘Yeah that’s right,” he countered. “And you know I love a good flaunt.”
While all this was going on, I was sitting there stupefied, not chewing the chunk of hoagie in my mouth, which ultimately caused me to choke.
“What’s wrong, Slacker?” Marnie asked. “Go down the wrong pipe?”
“Something like that,” I said, wishing I had taken time to put on underwear. With only cutoffs on and fully aroused, my physical condition, despite my “smallness,” was easily evident.
Her hoagie gone and her potato salad nearly so, Marnie took a big gulp and drained the rest of the Sundrop.
“Man, oh, man, was that good,” she said, placing her plate in the small sink behind the bar. “So tell me Slacker, have you ever tickled a girl.”
“Um, uhhhhhh, no; only Bobby,” I said in the high-pitched squeak that always marked my nervousness.
“Well, you are tonight, Slacker,” I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have two sets of hands tickling me. You’re drafted.”
With that, I choked again, this time on the dry end of the roll and Marnie’s words, coughing and hacking for about five minutes.
“Man, that happens to you a lot,” she said. “Maybe you ought to see a doctor, but not tonight.”