Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.

1. Rising Heat

This was so wrong what she was planning.

Helga Pataki was standing in a lesser-used corner outside the Sunset Arms, facing the sauna. For such a barebones structure, its structural integrity was impressive. It was also in use. She knew by whom; she knew why.

The day had been a perfect storm for stressing out her beloved footballhead. Pop quizzes, homework assignments, plus Wolfgang pranking him for most of the day. And that's before his fabled mediation skills were stretched to their limits by such cases as Sid and Stinky thinking it would be funny to cause Eugene to go into anaphylactic shock by offering him chocolate-covered peanuts. Or Curly's latest effort to impress Rhonda, the details of which were still sketchy but which most eyewitness accounts seemed to agree involved a rubber chicken and a kiddie pool filled with green jello. After such a bizarre and stressful day, there would be only one place to which he'd retreat come the late evening. And from the steam billowing from the structure, she could only surmise that Arnold Shortman was well on the de-stressing path.

Helga Old Girl, you damn well better be sure about this!

Helga Pataki as she currently stood had survived a series of unfortunate events spanning three universes. The previous one had been a most bizarro version indeed which turned everything she thought she'd known on their heads. That was a place where Dona Phoebe Corleone ruled P.S. 118 with a steel katana and "The Art of War". It was a place where Arnold was living his happily ever after out in the boonies with Ruth McDougal. It was a place in which the laws of probability did not preclude Olga from being an almost implausibly more violent, more neurotic version of herself. Still, nothing a crowbar to the face couldn't remedy, Helga remembered slightly sadistically.

Before the bizarro universe, there was an ultra-realistic version which she inhabited with its even stricter adherence to the laws of logic, probability and credulity. Here she was part of an expedition to retrieve Arnold's missing parents. Here is where she established a relationship with Arnold, a body-and-soul connection built on mutual trust and understanding.

And that was why her current universe frustrated her so!

In comparison to the bizarro world, her current universe was a reasonable facsimile of normal. Plus – and this was a big plus – she had greater control over her immediate events. An even bigger plus was that she possessed advanced knowledge known only to her. People, places, events to come.

Dammit, it was so frustrating!

Suddenly Helga found herself reminiscing over two pasts. She was back in the hyper-realistic world, living with Arnold and his parents. Not in Hillwood, in San Lorenzo with the Green-Eyed People in their labyrinthine cave dwellings. Arnold had reunited with his parents, even snapped them out of a decade-long bout of concussion-induced amnesia.

What followed was effectively an almost all-summer-long hiatus from Hillwood for the Shortmans. And Helga too, who figured her stay in San Lorenzo would go unnoticed by her parents. It almost did.

The one big positive of the hiatus was how her time there afforded her a chance to become better acquainted with her beloved. Plus his parents, whom she found infinitely more palatable than hers. For one thing, they listened to her. They allowed her to open up to them about pretty much anything: her family, her views on life. They didn't judge her, they participated. From time to time they'd offer advice. Kinda like Doctor Bliss minus the professional detachment, as if Helga Geraldine Pataki wasn't a mere client or test case, but an actual person.

His parents were also the reason she almost got away with running away from home. Miles and Stella made her call home to inform her parents of her location. That phone call was many things: loud, angry, dramatic. No doubt there'd be words among the Patakis upon Helga's return.

But all of that was still secondary. There were other, more…confidential…details. Details infinitely worthier of being dwelt on.

xxXXXxx

While still steeling herself to enter the sauna, Helga allowed her mind to wander back to San Lorenzo. The – ultimately successful – goal of the trip might have been to locate Arnold's parents, but there was another prominent aspect of the excursion that stuck with the blonde girl.

It started with the mass skinny dipping by the local kids. Helga recalled how downright scary it was at first. The sight of all those naked tribal children, frolicking in the river with no regard for shame or modesty. It was too much even for her, a girl already harboring several impure thoughts over a certain footballhead.

Surprisingly, it was Arnold's parents who encouraged them to join their tribal peers in the activity. With their amnesia, Miles and Stella had arrived at the village effectively as blank slates and over time had been assimilated into the Green-Eyed People's customs, language and traditions. They thus saw nothing untoward in the two young blondes being a part of the proceedings.

At first, it was a case of safety in numbers, but over the ensuing weeks they gradually became more comfortable with each other au naturel, with or without company. It was only natural, wasn't it? Even before the bathing, Arnold and Helga had had a string of heart-to-hearts. They'd started kissing – they still were – from the initial quick pecks to more lingering examples. Hell, they'd even graduated to making out – away from prying eyes, of course.

This was the logical progression of this development, right?

She recalled that fateful moonlit night. They'd snuck away from the village for another private swim. The swimming hole was the perfect compromise of privacy and safety. She kept recalling too how that night quickly proved to be the turning point.

For reasons neither could remember, after a good amount of time spent swimming and giggling, they suddenly stopped to stare at each other. Staring through new eyes, with a new focus, a new intensity. And immediately, two truths were more vividly apparent. 1) They were naked in each other's presence, and 2) she who was Helga was suddenly feeling so much more aroused by being with him. Almost painfully so.

She had to act on it. She started with a kiss. Her chest pressed tightly against his, her hands holding his gorgeous football head, her lips pressed against his. He welcomed it, embracing her around her waist, returning her kiss.

Glorious, simply glorious!

Enough to push her good luck. She pressed her tongue out against his teeth, and he pulled back almost instantaneously. A beat of surprise from him, during which he didn't veer toward shock or anger. At worst she was curious; at best, intrigued.

He projected simple curiosity, reinforced by his question: "Helga, why did you do that?"

As he asked, he didn't let go of her; he remained pressed against her.

"Why?" Helga replied. "Didn't you like it? It's supposed to be a better version of kissing where we touch tongues. The girls back home would talk about it from time to time."

"It's not that I'm not willing to try it, Helga," Arnold responded, his voice measured, his tone careful. "It's just that I…I…"

And when he couldn't find the words, he went back to kissing her. As lingering as before, with absolutely zero resistance from her. Eventually, her probing tongue was once again begging ingress. He relented this time. Slowly he opened his mouth to accept her lingual exploration. It was…unlike anything she ever felt.

Their tongues touching, eventually swirling slowly in contact. A mutual transfer of electricity. The taste of Arnold. The taste of his quintessence. It was intoxicating as she allowed herself to be almost completely lost in it.

Almost, but not quite.

Not so lost that she didn't feel it as his hardening interest in her pressed against her body. She broke off the kiss to look Arnold in the eye, then down at his crotch for a while longer. She then looked him back in the eye with a knowing smirk.

"Ooo," she teased, "looks like we're both excited to be here."

Arnold, not knowing any better, felt it best to apologize as quickly as possible. "I-I-I'm sorry, Helga!" he began in a desperate stammer. "It just happened and I couldn't control it!"

Helga's smirk remained steadfast along with the eye contact she was maintaining. "Aw! That looks painful. I wonder if it's a cramp. Maybe I should try rubbing it. That usually works with cramps, don't you think so, Arnold?"

He had no time to reply; before he could, she had him firmly by his concrete boyhood and had started stroking it. His immediate reaction was a combination of surprise and confusion. His eyes betrayed an immediate inability to process being touched this way. His breathing was now a seemingly random sequence of gasps and grunts as she kept stroking his shaft relentlessly.

"Helga..!" he managed between grunts. "Helga…feels…aah…"

He couldn't complete the sentence. No matter how hard he tried, Helga's relentless motion bordered on merciless, leaving him lost for words. His breathing remained labored, his breath warm against her cheeks. His mouth, hanging open…so temptingly close to hers…so utterly irresistible.

Too much for her, as she covered his mouth with hers and resumed kissing him. This time he was extra receptive to her, even her probing tongue which he met to swirl around with his. Still, she refused to be distracted. She continued with her stroking, her motion quickening, her grip tightening. His gasps into her mouth, ever warmer, ever more electrifying.

And then it happened as he issued forth into her hand. With it came a look of dread from him, mixed with the afterglow of his exertion as he recoiled away from her. There was no doubt to the rapture he was feeling, but there was also the tiniest hint of guilt as if he'd shown Helga a part of him that not even he knew existed and which social decorum suggested he should be ashamed of.

Predictably, he sided with his good nature and opted to apologize.

"S-S…Sorry, Helga!"

"It's OK, Footballhead," replied Helga as she dipped her hand in the water to wash Arnold off her hand.

"But I just…I just…" he kept attempting to explain himself, to no avail.

"You got excited, is all," Helga explained.

"But I messed all over you!" a repentant Arnold insisted. "I'm so, so sorry!"

"Hey. No harm, no foul," Helga calmly insisted back. "It's nice to know you get so excited by being touched like that by me."

Having said that, she moved in for another kiss, tongues and all. If nothing else, he seemed to be getting the hang of this "French" kissing. And just like that – Uh-oh! – Helga felt herself once more succumbing to the moment. Arnold's soft moans and his taste…she felt a familiar heat rising from down below.

A heat she'd read about from peeks in Miriam's many heavily dogeared trashy novels – Bob not doing it for you anymore, Miriam? – and experienced herself every time she'd openly long for Arnold. Oh, if only he knew what fires he could stoke in her!

Fuck it, why not now? She reasoned as much as she stopped the kiss to focus elsewhere. Why not make me feel good while we're at it?

Spurred on by that thought, she reached for one of his hands and found it in no time. Her action didn't go unnoticed as Arnold found the necessary presence of mind to question weakly.

"Helga, what's happening? What are you doing?" he asked amidst heavy breathing.

"Shh, you'll see," she softly reassured, guiding his hand down to her pelvis. She guided it to her seam, after which she saw the shock in his eyes. She knew she'd be in for another litany of questions unless she could get ahead of him. She achieved her goal by kissing him yet again – how she loved kissing him! – breaking off intermittently to issue instructions.

"Make me…feel…good…too. Stroke…stroke me…rub me…down there…"

Her speech may have been labored in urgent anticipation, but her message got through to Arnold. He complied, slowly at first. Soon he was commenting on how much wetter it was becoming down there, even though the water was now only barely above their knees. His technique was leagues from perfect and required several whispered adjustments from Helga.

"Not so rough!"

"A bit faster…"

"Mmm…faster…!"

"Harder…Oof…Ooof!...Harder!"

She felt as his fingers kept pressing against her slit, so very close to being inserted within. So close. So close! Even so, she felt the bliss wash over her. Her moans and gasps intensified. The bliss…driving her crazy. Driving her toward release. Release she found by nipping repeatedly on Arnold's collarbone. And though he winced in response, it wasn't enough to stop him from his duty. If anything…

"Oh god…oh god…so…good!"

She was fast approaching her limit.

"Aaah…!" she gasped. "AAAH…!"

She felt her whole body go rigid, from her toes all the way to the topmost hair follicles on her scalp. Then came the juddering, a sensation expressed without words. A sensation whose aftermath left Arnold with a slicker and wetter hand.

"Helga?" he asked her, holding his hand up for her inspection. "Are you OK? What happened? Did…did you just..?"

She could only smile timidly at him as she answered: "Looks like we're even, Footballhead. Looks like…looks like we both made each other feel good."

What followed was a staredown, during which neither participant could think of anything meaningful or significant to say.

Until Arnold chimed in with: "I think we should call it a night…"

"You know, Arnold, that's a very good idea."

It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair!

The thought started Helga back into the here and now, staring at the sauna. That vivid memory, of their encounter in the river. It happened. It happened, goddammit! And it wasn't fair that she was the only one carrying the memory of that event. Well, that one and all subsequent events – of which there were many.

Whatever, in the here and now, those were all events still to come. Yet as far as Helga Pataki was concerned, they'd happened already, they formed part of her past. And now she'd have to wait for them.

Only…she couldn't!

Not after experiencing firsthand a world in which her beloved could find happiness without her. Not after her careful machinations in this world to set up any potential love rivals with alternative partners other than Arnold. Not after seeing how hot and bothered she'd left him by flashing him hints of her panties in his room.

And certainly not after that kiss post the Old Timers' Game. Hell no for that one! That kiss had been enjoying repeated mental playback, and during no iteration could she find any evidence that he didn't enjoy it.

Here she was, almost a year after returning to this world. She could have – she should have – let events brew and stew over time and she'd have Arnold again to herself. But her impatience had overpowered her; she wanted him now.

All she had to do was take that first step into the sauna.

So she did.

And that's it, ladies and gentlemen, the end of the first chapter.

Let's get straight to the elephant in the room: how did I manage to live with myself after writing such a scene? The answer, you'll be interested to know, is really quite straightforward. I simply consulted the Washington State laws on statutory rape. At first, I thought I'd find a "Romeo and Juliet" exception clause in the statute books in which mutually consensual sexual acts between two underaged (16 being the age of consent in most circumstances) participants aged within a given number of years from each other, are not criminalized. Alas, the State of Washington doesn't have that exception in its statute books. The statute as it stands does, however, provide for a legal defense against such scenarios.

So yeah, I reckon they're covered in Hillwood. More so in the Green-Eyed People's village, where I inferred from Dream of the Lost Summer that the children in the village are pretty much left to their own devices in terms of sexual development.

Having justified my creative choices, let me now emphatically state that I in no way endorse, encourage, or approve of underage sexual activity in real life.

And with that done, on to the Tidal list:

Constant Craving – k.d. lang

I Burn For You – Sting

And that's it for now, dear readers. See you next chapter.