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.
Acknowledgement: This story takes place in a universe conceived by The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i. The writer remains grateful for the latitude granted to him in his interpretation of the established universe.
PREEMPTIVE AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part of this chapter was inspired by a clip from an episode of House MD, episode 222, to be precise. The clip is viewable on YouTube (watch?v=GR1V34OU9jQ) and may yet convince you of my intentions to handle morally dubious material as discreetly and as eloquently as possible.
ICYMI: A meeting in the park eventually culminates in an awkward pose.
The latest chapter now awaits; have at it!
5. Saturday in the Park
Maybe she was being paranoid, but the bottle felt lighter.
That was after Miriam Pataki had opened the medicine cabinet to find the bottle about half an inch out of place. Then she'd picked it up and given it a shake. Louder rattling, lower content. Reinforcing the lighter feel to it.
How could this be?
Was it B? It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten his medication mixed up. Possible, but not likely after that time he'd confused his heart medication with those powerful laxatives. But that could only mean…
No, she couldn't…! She wouldn't…!
All the same, it was the one remaining option. The one plausible possibility.
But does this mean that Helga is…?
So thought Miriam Pataki as she focused on the bottle containing her birth control pills, all the while being horrified by the implications.
Meanwhile, on a bench situated in one of the more secluded corners of City Park, a young couple had managed to extricate themselves from their situation without any fuss or impropriety and were currently sitting in awkward silence.
"This is nuts!" proclaimed a blushing Helga. "We've already had sex, so why the hell are we blushing like schoolkids after nothing happened?"
"Um, maybe because we are schoolkids, Helga?" Arnold answered, his tone suggesting that she should already have known the answer.
"Who asked you, you walking buzzkill!" retorted Helga.
Arnold could only snort out a laugh in response, somewhat content that for all the intimacy he'd shared with his blonde friend, she remained as sassy as ever. His response left a bemused Helga in its wake.
"And just what are you finding so funny? What, you got a thing for suffering verbal abuse? Is that your kink, Footballhead? You get turned on by people yelling at you?"
"Not everyone," Arnold replied slyly. "Just you," he added.
"Hey now!" a suddenly flushed Helga spluttered incredulously.
Arnold, to remind Helga that he could give as good as he suffered, followed up with: "Oh yeah. Especially during last night." – he switched to an imitation of a more frantic, breathless timbre as he illustrated his point – "Oh Arnold! Oh Arnold! Oh Arnold!"
He concluded the act by violently shaking his head as he uttered three more words.
"Yes!" with a rock to the left.
"Yes!" with a rock to the right.
"YES!" with a rock backward, before feigning exhaustion with slow, heavy breathing as he tilted his head forward to smirk at Helga.
That did the trick: Helga's indignation manifested as her cheeks turned redder-than red, into a shade that had no right to exist within nature. The effect lasted for quite some time, her anger and righteous indignation building and building. It could not be bottled up, nor would it be repressed.
Eventually…
"Damn you, Footballhead!" Helga squawked. She then pivoted his way, raising her legs and feet above the seating surface. Next, she began peppering him with many rapid little thrust kicks on his thigh and flank, anywhere that wasn't adequately guarded. "Make fun of me at my most exposed, will you? Now take that, you rotter!" she added.
The first few kicks caught Arnold unawares. "Hey!" he was able to get out before the barrage of kicks made any attempt at reason an impossibility.
"Helga, wait!" Arnold attempted to de-escalate. "Stop it! I can see your panties!"
"So what?" Helga responded undeterred. "You've seen much more than that before!"
The kicking continued unabated before he was able to put up a guard and eventually catch and trap a leg by the foot. But Helga kept squirming for freedom.
"Let go, Arnold!" she demanded. "Let go so I can keep kicking you!"
Arnold held firm, not breaking his grip nor eye contact. Instead of worrying about Helga's kicking attacks, he seemed to be remembering an important past event. Helga was disarmed into curiosity.
"Um, hello! Footballhead?"
"Helga, doesn't this feel familiar?" Arnold asked very cryptically.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Helga asked, having regained her initial indignation.
"Well," Arnold explained, not relinquishing the foot of a still-squirming Helga, "I've had time to think of our past. In this world, anyway."
His statement put paid to Helga's bid for freedom and attack. Though her foot remained in Arnold's hand, either she'd given up on the matter or no longer cared. "OK, I'll take the bait," she sighed. "Where did this epiphany lead you?"
"Remember that foot massage on the bus?" he began. "When I was trying to win Lila from Arnie?"
For better or for worse, Helga's memory of her previous encounters with Arnold was eidetic. The indignation vanished as her answer came in goofy reminiscence. "You bet your sweet ass I remember! God, you worked magic with your hands!"
"Really?"
"Sure! Do you think I was in it for Lila's benefit? Hell no! I just wanted to cadge some alone time with you!"
"So that foot massage was all a ruse?"
Credit where it's due, Helga was neither defensive nor defiant in her answer. "For what it's worth, Footballhead, it was absolute bliss. Your fingers were like magic!"
"So…you wouldn't mind a repeat performance?" Arnold queried. Of course Helga was going to say yes. While she was formulating her answer, however, Arnold had already gently slipped her foot out of the shoe.
"Hey Arnold!" whooped a surprised Helga. "Aren't you being a bit forward!"
"Right now, you're the last person to be asking that question," Arnold countered as he went to work on Helga's foot. Rubbing and kneading, applying focused pressure to specific reflex points. The outcome was profound. It wasn't long before Helga's face started twisting and contorting to reflect her bliss.
"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh…!" she half sighed half grunted in a high pitch, barely able to get proper words out of her mouth. Eventually: "I…I…forgot…ooo…how good…aah…how GOOD this felt!"
Her reaction encouraged him to continue with his ministrations for several minutes. And though Helga's breathing slowed down over time, she maintained her blissful expression to the point where she closed her eyes in sighing contentment.
She was happy; Arnold was happy she was happy. This is why he hesitated and thought hard before shifting a bit closer toward her, letting his hands slip from her foot, past the ankle and onto the calf.
"Mmm," Helga reacted, Eyes still shut, smile still in place. "I see you've become a bit bolder, Arnoldo."
Neither a rebuke nor explicit permission, so he stopped the massage without letting go of the calf.
"Hey, did I say you could stop?"
This was a rebuke. Half-lidded and smiling, but a rebuke nonetheless. Back to work he went as Helga resumed her deep sighing to his motions. And then it happened: he felt his pants tighten as they did when Helga was straddling him the previous night. Yet for all the inconvenience, he didn't want to stop.
Down, boy! Down! He willed himself as he focused on his work. What didn't help his plight were Helga's lingering moans and murmurs in response to his actions. He had to keep himself distracted: why not keep her talking?
First topic that came to mind: "Say, Helga. Where'd you learn about...y'know…"
For all her pleasure, Helga remained very astute, sensing that her beloved had begun the process leading to critical mass and maybe needed some distraction.
Very well, Footballhead. Only because that Iggy incident will be nothing against a case of public spillage.
"About what, Arnold? You'll have to be more specific," she softly spoke, teasing him for a more specific description. Oh, she wasn't about to make it easy for him.
"Y'know…" repeated Arnold, "the moaning and the touching and just about everything. Where did they begin? How did you learn them?"
Helga opened her eyes to that question and pursed her lips, not really wanting to answer it. Still, fair was fair as she answered anyway: "Interesting question, Arnoldo…"
A lifetime ago – maybe in another universe, maybe even in this one – a six-year-old Helga Pataki arrived home from school in her customary silence. As expected, the house felt desolate and she didn't bother with any greetings. No surprise, really, as Bob was still at work "putting food on the table" and Miriam would be sleeping off her latest smoothie-induced stupor on the couch.
She wasn't. The couch was unoccupied. A cursory glance toward the kitchen found the blender still on the counter, clean and unused. And for the first time in a long time, Helga felt something for Miriam approaching concern. Sure, the woman may have been an alcoholic, but she was also the lesser of two evils when compared to Bob. She at least – during moments of lucidity – would greet Helga and try to bond with her. Her efforts didn't amount to much but hey, it was the thought that counted, wasn't it? She was about to call out to Miriam when the voice hit her.
Miriam's voice, coming from upstairs, moaning faintly. Concerned and more than a little bit curious, Helga followed the voice up the stairs to the parents' bedroom. The door was left ajar. Just a crack, but enough to peer through and be shocked.
There was Miriam on the bed, huffing and grunting. Sounding angry.
"Stupid, stupid B!" Helga was able to discern among the heavy breathing. "Does he think I don't have needs?"
Truth be told, it was a miracle Helga was following Miriam's words at all when it was her appearance that was worthier of attention. She was lying on the bed with her light purple skirt lifted all the way up and with one hand between her legs, vigorously rubbing against her panties. The other hand was kneading and fondling an exposed breast.
"B, why won't you…look at me?" she begged to the walls and ceiling as she continued with whatever it was she was doing. "Just…look at me!"
Six-year-old Helga was conflicted. She knew she was not meant to see any of this, but by everything she held dear, she couldn't look away. Not even when Miriam moved her lower hand under the panties. The rubbing continued as her breathing became faster. She was also kneading the exposed breast harder. So too did her words become more and more breathless.
"Stupid B! What…will it take…Aaah! What will it…take…to make you…notice…MEEEE!"
And then it all stopped as a sweaty and tired-looking Miriam started huffing as if trying to catch her breath. Yet for all the sweating and exhaustion, she was looking pleased with herself. This confused Helga. Wasn't Miriam angry just now? Did she not just try hurting herself? How could any of that make her happy?
Helga wouldn't have time to ponder that mystery because Miriam had started straightening herself up and would soon be back up on her feet – and sober. No way was either of them ready for such an awkward conversation. Helga bolted out of the house as quickly and as quietly as she could.
She barely succeeded, as by the time she reached the door, she heard Miriam's voice: "Is someone down there? Helga sweetie, is that you?"
Helga spent the rest of the afternoon in a park. She played back the spectacle in her mind's eye. Not because she wanted to, but because the images just wouldn't go away. So many questions. Why get mad and say such bad things about someone else, then touch oneself like that and feel good about it in the end?
Miriam was mad at Bob, right? For not paying attention to her?
"Sounds like my problem with Arnold", she postulated to herself. "I wonder if…"
She wondered for the rest of the afternoon before arriving home. The scene at home was more familiar. Bob was rooted in front of a basketball game that held significance only to him. Miriam seemed perkier than normal as she greeted the blonde girl.
"Helga! Sweetie, were you here earlier this afternoon? I could have sworn—"
"Nope! Nuh-uh!" Helga hurriedly answered, not giving Miriam time even to complete her question, nor follow up with a new one. "Met with friends, lost track of time!"
And with that, she rushed upstairs. And for the rest of the evening, the family had returned to its usual routine of Bob and Miriam watching TV and Helga in her room. Sensing her parents' indifference, Helga went about testing a hypothesis based upon her observations earlier that day.
The images of Miriam's actions were still vivid in her mind, so copying her actions would be simple. OK, so she didn't have the chest to play with, so…
Under the skirt and rub-a-dub-dub…
After a while, it started feeling…it was OK. The sweating and the heavy breathing were kinda there, but nowhere near like how she saw Miriam experiencing it.
Maybe…
"Stupid Arnold!" she whispered angrily.
And the rubbing recommenced.
"Stupid footballhead!" more emphatically, more emotionally. So too for the rubbing.
Oh! That felt a bit better. Keep talking, keep talking!
"Paste-for-brains won't even look at me. When will you notice me, when? When will you love me like I love you, Arnold? When?"
And with that, the heavy breathing began, along with the sweating. Just like Miriam! A blissful haze started descending over her as her brain became addled with strange new wonderful feelings.
A good evening was had.
"Your mother?" asked Arnold, unsure whether or not Miriam was indeed a character in Helga's story.
"Uh-huh," confirmed Helga too matter-of-factly for his comfort.
"You saw your mother?" Arnold repeated. His disbelief was manifest, his jaw slack at the revelation. But at least the issue between his legs was no more.
"Hey, no big deal, Footballhead. She doesn't know I was there. No harm, no foul," Helga kept rationalizing. "And by the way," she smirked at him, "what's the deal with your hands?"
Only then did Arnold realize that his hands were still on Helga's leg. He also realized how taken in he must have been by her story, and also how he might never be able to look at Helga's mother the same way ever again. He wouldn't have time to pursue that line of thought. To his shock, his hands had ridden up her calf, past the knee, and were now resting on her thigh. The leg itself had once again slipped its coop from beneath her skirt to be exposed in public.
But at least that realization exorcised any mental images of Miriam Pataki in any compromising position…
The current situation was a product of the two blondes' combined distraction. Arnold had unconsciously inched closer to Helga as he became more and more engrossed in her story. Slowly and unwittingly, he'd worked his way further up the leg against the hem of the dress, bunching up the fabric the further up he went and exposing more of the leg.
As for Helga, either she didn't notice Arnold moving up her leg or she didn't mind.
"So…how do you like them great legs?" she reminded him of his earlier compliment.
Very much, as it happened. Helga was highly athletic and conditioned, and her legs bore ample evidence thereof. Arnold had always considered the firm and toned limbs very pleasing on the eye, and now they were even more so to the touch.
Only…he didn't have the words for Helga, so enamored was he. Just as well, as Helga issued another question before he could respond.
"So…are you happy just touching, or is there something more on your mind?"
Typical Helga: half asking him, half daring him. Though this time he did have an answer, albeit a blushing one.
"Well, there is one thing I've been meaning to try with you," he began.
"Oh do tell, Lover Boy," teased Helga. "Do tell!"
"It's…well, it involves…I'm not sure how to explain it…" he havered.
"Oh Criminy, out with it!" Helga ordered, her patience now starting to wear out.
The answer came when he let go of her leg, to focus rather on grasping her shoulders and kissing her awkwardly but lovingly on the mouth. Now Helga was the one surprised as Arnold's lips remained pressed against hers. She remained in a daze for a brief moment after he broke off the kiss. She had to shake her head vigorously for passage back to the here and now.
"Wait!" she began. "All the things we've done, and you just want to kiss?"
"Well…" Arnold began. "…we can't have sex every day?"
"And why not?" challenged Helga.
"Helga!" Arnold firmly scolded, his shyness suddenly banished. This caused the girl to recoil. Damn, how easily she could forget that for all his patience with her, he wasn't a weakling. "I don't hate it, I just think it will be too much if we do it every day."
The little fucker has a point, she was forced to concede. She recalled the soreness from the previous night once the euphoria had worn off, the bow-legged walk from the bathroom to her bedroom.
"And well…" – he was back to being uncertain due to the intimacy of the subject matter – "…holding you and kissing you is just as nice…"
Be still, my palpitating heart..! So willed Helga, now awash with emotion at Arnold's magical words. In her mind, she was now floating throught endless skies in Cloud Cuckooland, held aloft by the footballhead's beautiful words.
"Helga, are you OK?"
And so she crash-landed back into reality, realizing too late that not only had she been daydreaming but she also had the goofiest smile plastered on her face, goofier than even her reaction to the foot massage. All she could do was smack herself back to seriousness and sidestep his concern. Anything to get back on topic.
"Yeah, Footballhead. I'm fine. Just peachy! Now about wanting to kiss…"
She trailed off, putting him back on the spot and returning him to a state of hesitancy.
"Well…I was wondering…I was wondering if you'll teach me how to do that…thing…you sometimes do when you kiss me…"
"Thing?" Helga queried, truly unsure of what he meant.
"You know…that thing you do with your tongue," he continued. "I really like it and I was hoping that…well…maybe you can teach me how to do it so I can kiss you like that too."
Bless his heart. Bless his heart of gold! Helga was dangerously skirting the realm of her daydreams again. He wants to make me happy too!
This time though, she caught herself early. She then looked at him with a scholarly smirk, like a teacher who was relishing the prospect of giving her pupil a hard time.
"So," she began portentously, "you want me to teach you?"
His nod was nervous, with a strong hint of what the hell did I just let myself in for? Too late, as Helga began laying down the law.
"OK Arnoldo, here are the rules. The lesson will last as long as required for you to attain proficiency. There will be a test in the end, with as many repeats as required. Are we clear on that, Arnoldo?"
Arnold held on to his trepidation initially, before letting it melt into a warm, accepting smile. "Crystal!" he confirmed as he leaned toward her.
"Well then, let's begin!" said Helga as she leaned toward him and pressed her lips against his.
A great afternoon was had.
And that's it, Ladies and Gentlemen: the end of another chapter! My manifold thanks for your patronage and, hopefully, enjoyment. Please let me know how you are finding this story by (guest-) reviewing it. Any feedback is welcome as it could affect future creative decisions.
Only one Guest review for the previous chapter, and dear reviewer, let me state how flattered I am that you're taking the story as seriously as I am. hence my attempts to keep Arnold as much in character as possible despite the circumstances. So as you can see, he is not averse to a physical relationship. He is, however, trying to temper Helga's passion with his own sensibilities. Whether he's succeeding or not...
Actually...the aforementioned House MD clip wasn't the only inspiration for that particular scene. Remember the show itself when Helga comments on how Arnold makes her girlhood tremble? Of course you do! It had to start somewhere, somehow, didn't it?
By the way, the title reference to the song by Chicago was wholly unintended. Honest!
And here's the chapter's Tidal list:
Come On – Barry White
A Girl Like You – Edwyn Collins
Tell Me How You Feel – Joy Enriquez
And with that, the end of this chapter. Until next time, stay safe and take nothing for granted.