This is kind of a momentary inspiration I sort of got while watching Wild
Things. Threesomes rock!! The story doesn't really have much in common with
that movie, but there's something very sexy about the idea of three people
in a relationship.
Anyway, I don't own Hey Arnold. Also, it might seem a little bit out of character, but I figure that, like with all of my stories (Champagne in the Morning, Wine for Dinner) most people grow up to be completely different from what they were as children. But there are still some faculties left that, in turn, determine each character's outcome. Okay---here we goooo...
Chapter One
Helga G Pataki stretched out under the roaming sun, flexing her back and extending long, thin legs into the open from her rolled up jeans. Mud draped her body lightly as the rays gently kissed her porcelain skin. The blue eyes had been shut, and her eyebrows were cringing from the solar energy. With a simple boldness, she roamed her toes against the moist grass, carressed by the chilly, midsummer dew. A passing zephyr massaged her body and her senses were filled with a damp, humid hint of lake water and fresh cut grass. Birds chirped melodies, and filled her mind with complex thoughts, making it harder for her to breathe. With a quiet sigh, she embraced the pleasantness of the pretty day.
Suddenly, water gushed over her face and she opened her eyes quickly only to be blindned by its pressure. Helga elevated her head and rubbed her eyelids with hard knuckles, slowly backing away and looking with disdain at two laughing men that stood before her.
One was tall and muscular. His dark skin glowed in the sun with a sort of confident enticement, as he carried himself high. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and slender khakis that becomingly hugged his thighs. On his feet was a pair of clean sneakers, which cost a fortune, but seemed to have a monotonic feel to them.
The second was pale, with naturally highlighted blonde hair and a foolish grin on his face. His attire was simple, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both bought at some thrift store or other, to which little attention was paid. He was handsome enough, with deep blue eyes and sincere posture, although much slimmer, and not nearly as tall as his companion.
The three were inseparable, like a pretty set of siblings that never went anywhere without one another. Circumstances brought them together, but nothing could tear them apart. As if by fate, having all gone to the same school, they met one another in college and, with the influence of a sort of nostalgia that came over them, felt drawn together. Helga, Arnold, and Gerald, an inseparable bond it was. The gentlemen had been best friends since they were children, but only within recent years had the lady entered the picture.
As a child, Helga was always a tomboy, with a hard outer image but a gentle heart. Few had ever noticed it, and, those who had, she made her business to push away. Though determined and head-strong, Helga was also the center of denial, and her daily routine consisted of presenting herself as a menace to society. Never beautiful, she used to being ignored, used to never being able to depend on people. When she came to the big city, when she saw the nature as well as the concrete, she never imagined making new friends. It caught her completely by surprise when she encountered Gerald in her Psychology class, and shattered all of her inhibitions when she heard Arnold was attending the same university.
As a child, Helga had always had feelings for Arnold, feelings she could never confess to anyone but herself. And even the latter refused to believe it. She would hide her emotion from him, make him despise her, spurn him, hurt him, but never make him believe that she loved him. Over years, as she grew older, her obsession with him began to cease, until it, in all entirety, assimilated into thin air. After Arnold, she spent her senior year dating Brainy, who seemed to have matured as she had and understood her sorrows well. Unfortunately, by the fourth semester, he realized a few things about himself, including that of why he comprehended Helga so well. Supposedly, it was not his passion for her that fueled him but his passion for Arnold. They promised one another to remain friends, but scarcely spoke again.
By graduation, Helga's grades were exemplary, her activities, though not plentiful, well served, and her transcript quite impressive. The SAT's had gone her way, and it was enough to admit her into any college of her choice. She chose the Universtiy of Political Arts partially because it was a good school and partially because it was as far away from Hillwood as it could possibly get. The thought of living in the big city and making it on her own enticed and excited her. After all, what was better in life than that magical aspect of independence?
Arnold hated leaving Hillwood. Unlike Helga, he was drawn to it, he was attracted to the terms of endearment that only loved ones would utter. With hours of open road breaking apart the two ends of the string, Arnold was not certain he could handle it. But he knew he had to. This was the only college, and the best college, that would offer him a full scholarship. His family did not have the money to send him to a nearby University of Hillwood. He had to provide for his future by leaving. At first, he tried keeping in touch with the folks back home, but, with time, as all things do, his determination ended, and he viewed the aspect as simply being too much work. He did, however, call home occasionally, just to make sure everyone was still alive.
Gerald followed Arnold. Being given a valedectorian scholarship to a school of his choice, Gerald chose UPA because his best friend decided to go there. Because he had so many choices, it was easy for him to decide. Gerald was the sort of person who never had to fret about anything in his life. He had that shining light withing that immediately seduced lady luck, as it did all the other ladies. It bothered him sometimes, everything going his way had slowly dwindle into a spur of bore. He wanted to get away from Hillwood, and fortune, and popularity. He wanted to make something new of himself, something real. Gerald, himself, had always dreamed of independence. That, and he'd always dreamed of dating big city women.
Presently, Helga was standing on the grass, gathering her composure, and angrily drying her hair. Gerald, in his hand, held a half empty water bottle, as he giggled uncontrollably at Helga. She ran her hands over her drenched shirt, not realizing the funny way in which her small breasts popped through the trasparent, wet fabric. The accented, mocha colored nippled peeked gently against the inclination of the cloth. Both men noticed it, the way men notice such things no matter what situation they are in, but it did nothing to them. She was like a sister, and what would excite an ordinary person, had no effect in this situation.
"What's so funny?" She exclaimed, her usual attitude overtaking the harsh tone, "I don't think there's anything funny about that!"
"That's because you can't see yourself right now," Gerald laughed, "Damn I wish there was a mirror here."
"Oh that's very mature of you!" Helga said, hugging herself. The air began to feel colder now that she was wet, "what am I going to do now?"
"What do you mean?" Gerald continued, still laughing.
"Well," Helga remarked, "Do you expect me to go through town with a wet shirt on?"
"Hey you could always take it off," he giggled.
She brought together her eyebrows, "give me yours," was the declaration.
"What are you talking about?"
"You are the bastard that spilled water all over me so you have to give me your shirt to wear."
"No way!" Gerald grinned cockily.
"Yes way!" Helga screamed and jumped at him with all of her force, trying to pry off his garments. Her legs went around his, and he took her by the waist. With loud laughter, they fell to the floor and began rolling in the grass.
Arnold quietly watched from a distance. It was pointless to interrupt them now. It would take a long time before they finally regained themselves. He'd seen this flirtation many times, but never made anything of it until now. Helga and Gerald obviously had feelings for one antoher, feelings other than friendship, feelings other than love even. It was spark of sensuality that momentarily hit him as a shock. He ignored it, it was no true concern of his. After all, he never saw Helga as anything but a friend, he barely even viewed her as a woman. It was a tad surprising to him to see that she had such a drive within herself, that youthful exasperation when a young girl first learns what it means to brush her leg against a boy. She looked so innocent in Gerald's arms, however, it was almost a pity to have all that exhiliration go to waste because of a single night that had potential.
Her long tan legs stretched against the ground, Gerald's knees pushed in between her own. They sat in an upright position, her inner thighs gently squeezing themselves between his. Arnold felt almost uneasy watching them. It was almost as if they were engaging in intercourse, fucking, right in front of him. He would have turned around, had he not felt somehow obliged to watch. He figured it turned both of his buddies on a little. It even turned him on. In truth, he was always aware of it, this was merely the first time he'd ever realized it.
Perhaps it was the danger of the thing, like a little ten year old boy would secretly peek at his sister changing. It was wrong, and on any day he would proclaim it wrong. But in the heat of the moment he could not help himself but stare. He watched little Helga mature and it was a historic moment. He suddenly saw a nine year old girl, and it looked almost ridiculous, almost shameful. Arnold liked the word "almost." Almost, but not really; just at the edge, but not over.
"Give me your shirt, Gerald!" She screamed.
"You want my shirt?" He asked, "then give me yours."
"It's going to be small on you," she giggled as he pushed her off himself.
"Let me be the judge of that."
She got to her feet and walked away for some distance. Then, slowly, she peeled off her wet garment, revealing her exposed upper body. She was tall and lean, with a long, thing, accentuated turso, and small breasts. Her graceful, pale arms swayed in the air as she ran her hands through her short hair after throwing the shirt to the ground.
The two men watched her for a moment, without movement. Their little Helga had a hidden side to her that few could barely realize. She was the blonde, pale madonna, an untold story, a story yet to tell. Hesitantly, Gerald slipped off his own cover and handed it to her. Arnold watched with fascination as she pulled it on. His friend picked the object she had earlier thrown off the floor, feeling its dampness against his hand, before smelling it. He then quickly dressed himself in it.
Helga walked forward quickly, moving rather swiftly in the heavy pair of boots she had on her bare legs. The men joined her at both sides and the three locked elbows as they walked at a medium pace through the green field of the park.
That's it for now...what do you think??
Anyway, I don't own Hey Arnold. Also, it might seem a little bit out of character, but I figure that, like with all of my stories (Champagne in the Morning, Wine for Dinner) most people grow up to be completely different from what they were as children. But there are still some faculties left that, in turn, determine each character's outcome. Okay---here we goooo...
Chapter One
Helga G Pataki stretched out under the roaming sun, flexing her back and extending long, thin legs into the open from her rolled up jeans. Mud draped her body lightly as the rays gently kissed her porcelain skin. The blue eyes had been shut, and her eyebrows were cringing from the solar energy. With a simple boldness, she roamed her toes against the moist grass, carressed by the chilly, midsummer dew. A passing zephyr massaged her body and her senses were filled with a damp, humid hint of lake water and fresh cut grass. Birds chirped melodies, and filled her mind with complex thoughts, making it harder for her to breathe. With a quiet sigh, she embraced the pleasantness of the pretty day.
Suddenly, water gushed over her face and she opened her eyes quickly only to be blindned by its pressure. Helga elevated her head and rubbed her eyelids with hard knuckles, slowly backing away and looking with disdain at two laughing men that stood before her.
One was tall and muscular. His dark skin glowed in the sun with a sort of confident enticement, as he carried himself high. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and slender khakis that becomingly hugged his thighs. On his feet was a pair of clean sneakers, which cost a fortune, but seemed to have a monotonic feel to them.
The second was pale, with naturally highlighted blonde hair and a foolish grin on his face. His attire was simple, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both bought at some thrift store or other, to which little attention was paid. He was handsome enough, with deep blue eyes and sincere posture, although much slimmer, and not nearly as tall as his companion.
The three were inseparable, like a pretty set of siblings that never went anywhere without one another. Circumstances brought them together, but nothing could tear them apart. As if by fate, having all gone to the same school, they met one another in college and, with the influence of a sort of nostalgia that came over them, felt drawn together. Helga, Arnold, and Gerald, an inseparable bond it was. The gentlemen had been best friends since they were children, but only within recent years had the lady entered the picture.
As a child, Helga was always a tomboy, with a hard outer image but a gentle heart. Few had ever noticed it, and, those who had, she made her business to push away. Though determined and head-strong, Helga was also the center of denial, and her daily routine consisted of presenting herself as a menace to society. Never beautiful, she used to being ignored, used to never being able to depend on people. When she came to the big city, when she saw the nature as well as the concrete, she never imagined making new friends. It caught her completely by surprise when she encountered Gerald in her Psychology class, and shattered all of her inhibitions when she heard Arnold was attending the same university.
As a child, Helga had always had feelings for Arnold, feelings she could never confess to anyone but herself. And even the latter refused to believe it. She would hide her emotion from him, make him despise her, spurn him, hurt him, but never make him believe that she loved him. Over years, as she grew older, her obsession with him began to cease, until it, in all entirety, assimilated into thin air. After Arnold, she spent her senior year dating Brainy, who seemed to have matured as she had and understood her sorrows well. Unfortunately, by the fourth semester, he realized a few things about himself, including that of why he comprehended Helga so well. Supposedly, it was not his passion for her that fueled him but his passion for Arnold. They promised one another to remain friends, but scarcely spoke again.
By graduation, Helga's grades were exemplary, her activities, though not plentiful, well served, and her transcript quite impressive. The SAT's had gone her way, and it was enough to admit her into any college of her choice. She chose the Universtiy of Political Arts partially because it was a good school and partially because it was as far away from Hillwood as it could possibly get. The thought of living in the big city and making it on her own enticed and excited her. After all, what was better in life than that magical aspect of independence?
Arnold hated leaving Hillwood. Unlike Helga, he was drawn to it, he was attracted to the terms of endearment that only loved ones would utter. With hours of open road breaking apart the two ends of the string, Arnold was not certain he could handle it. But he knew he had to. This was the only college, and the best college, that would offer him a full scholarship. His family did not have the money to send him to a nearby University of Hillwood. He had to provide for his future by leaving. At first, he tried keeping in touch with the folks back home, but, with time, as all things do, his determination ended, and he viewed the aspect as simply being too much work. He did, however, call home occasionally, just to make sure everyone was still alive.
Gerald followed Arnold. Being given a valedectorian scholarship to a school of his choice, Gerald chose UPA because his best friend decided to go there. Because he had so many choices, it was easy for him to decide. Gerald was the sort of person who never had to fret about anything in his life. He had that shining light withing that immediately seduced lady luck, as it did all the other ladies. It bothered him sometimes, everything going his way had slowly dwindle into a spur of bore. He wanted to get away from Hillwood, and fortune, and popularity. He wanted to make something new of himself, something real. Gerald, himself, had always dreamed of independence. That, and he'd always dreamed of dating big city women.
Presently, Helga was standing on the grass, gathering her composure, and angrily drying her hair. Gerald, in his hand, held a half empty water bottle, as he giggled uncontrollably at Helga. She ran her hands over her drenched shirt, not realizing the funny way in which her small breasts popped through the trasparent, wet fabric. The accented, mocha colored nippled peeked gently against the inclination of the cloth. Both men noticed it, the way men notice such things no matter what situation they are in, but it did nothing to them. She was like a sister, and what would excite an ordinary person, had no effect in this situation.
"What's so funny?" She exclaimed, her usual attitude overtaking the harsh tone, "I don't think there's anything funny about that!"
"That's because you can't see yourself right now," Gerald laughed, "Damn I wish there was a mirror here."
"Oh that's very mature of you!" Helga said, hugging herself. The air began to feel colder now that she was wet, "what am I going to do now?"
"What do you mean?" Gerald continued, still laughing.
"Well," Helga remarked, "Do you expect me to go through town with a wet shirt on?"
"Hey you could always take it off," he giggled.
She brought together her eyebrows, "give me yours," was the declaration.
"What are you talking about?"
"You are the bastard that spilled water all over me so you have to give me your shirt to wear."
"No way!" Gerald grinned cockily.
"Yes way!" Helga screamed and jumped at him with all of her force, trying to pry off his garments. Her legs went around his, and he took her by the waist. With loud laughter, they fell to the floor and began rolling in the grass.
Arnold quietly watched from a distance. It was pointless to interrupt them now. It would take a long time before they finally regained themselves. He'd seen this flirtation many times, but never made anything of it until now. Helga and Gerald obviously had feelings for one antoher, feelings other than friendship, feelings other than love even. It was spark of sensuality that momentarily hit him as a shock. He ignored it, it was no true concern of his. After all, he never saw Helga as anything but a friend, he barely even viewed her as a woman. It was a tad surprising to him to see that she had such a drive within herself, that youthful exasperation when a young girl first learns what it means to brush her leg against a boy. She looked so innocent in Gerald's arms, however, it was almost a pity to have all that exhiliration go to waste because of a single night that had potential.
Her long tan legs stretched against the ground, Gerald's knees pushed in between her own. They sat in an upright position, her inner thighs gently squeezing themselves between his. Arnold felt almost uneasy watching them. It was almost as if they were engaging in intercourse, fucking, right in front of him. He would have turned around, had he not felt somehow obliged to watch. He figured it turned both of his buddies on a little. It even turned him on. In truth, he was always aware of it, this was merely the first time he'd ever realized it.
Perhaps it was the danger of the thing, like a little ten year old boy would secretly peek at his sister changing. It was wrong, and on any day he would proclaim it wrong. But in the heat of the moment he could not help himself but stare. He watched little Helga mature and it was a historic moment. He suddenly saw a nine year old girl, and it looked almost ridiculous, almost shameful. Arnold liked the word "almost." Almost, but not really; just at the edge, but not over.
"Give me your shirt, Gerald!" She screamed.
"You want my shirt?" He asked, "then give me yours."
"It's going to be small on you," she giggled as he pushed her off himself.
"Let me be the judge of that."
She got to her feet and walked away for some distance. Then, slowly, she peeled off her wet garment, revealing her exposed upper body. She was tall and lean, with a long, thing, accentuated turso, and small breasts. Her graceful, pale arms swayed in the air as she ran her hands through her short hair after throwing the shirt to the ground.
The two men watched her for a moment, without movement. Their little Helga had a hidden side to her that few could barely realize. She was the blonde, pale madonna, an untold story, a story yet to tell. Hesitantly, Gerald slipped off his own cover and handed it to her. Arnold watched with fascination as she pulled it on. His friend picked the object she had earlier thrown off the floor, feeling its dampness against his hand, before smelling it. He then quickly dressed himself in it.
Helga walked forward quickly, moving rather swiftly in the heavy pair of boots she had on her bare legs. The men joined her at both sides and the three locked elbows as they walked at a medium pace through the green field of the park.
That's it for now...what do you think??