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Buddies Reunite

By: joeyo43



From the time I met Bobby in seventh grade we were inseparable buddies.

However, we were never, as they say, "two peas in a pod;" rather, we were completely different.

Physically, Bobby, as far as most people were concerned, represented physical perfection. Taller than average, he was muscular without lifting weights, had perfect hair, a dark complexion (a permanent tan, he called it), and a handsome face.

Socially, he was confident and outgoing. Bobby, without saying so, generally believed he was they guy every other guy wanted for a friend and who every girl just wanted, period.

His girlfriends usually were a couple years older -- for maturity purposes, he always said -- and he had a level of "experience" that mostly involved kissing and sneaking feels. The latter condition, however, did not last for long. By the time he was in high school, he had advance far beyond that simple teen exploration.

I, meanwhile, was "the heavy guy" in our circle of friends. Average looking, at best, my hair was unruly, my nose a little too long and my legs too short for my torso. I always described myself as as 6-foot-6 from the waist up and 5-foot-6 from the waist down.

The whole waist down thing also posed a problem, at least in my mind. The day I turned 18, sitting alone in my dorm room at Gonzaga, I decided to pull out the measuring stick. It was about 5 1/2 inches, that's all; a little shorter than average and not particularly thick.

Socially, I was a mess. 

At 18, I had never kissed a girl, never been on a date -- no proms and Christmas dances for me --and was a frequent masturbater. It was like a career, and I vowed that I would, by graduation, masturbate in every restroom at the school.

I could not imagine a girl wanting to be with me, and resisted attempts by friends -- including Bobby when we were in high school -- to fix me up.

I just did not want to be someone's blind date from hell, the subject of a story they would tell their friends for 50 years.

Still, as opposite as we were, Bobby and I just meshed. We did everything together, from ballgames to movies to countless hours of discussions involving everything from school to girls, mostly girls, and mostly his interaction with them.

He constantly tried to prop me up.

"I don't know why you are the way you are," he would preach. "You're a nice guy. Girls like nice guys. They go with guys like me, but they also know guys like me are full of shit, that we want more than friendship and less than relationships."

That never washed, though. I was so painfully shy that a chance greeting in the high school hallway left me breathless.

I had some female friends, but only those "going steady" with other people. It was safer that way.

Bobby and I were pretty much extensions of each other's families; as if each of us had two sets of parents and two sets of siblings.

During summer months and on weekends during school we always slept either at his house or mine, generally in the basements, which were not overly fancy in our 1960s residential development. All the houses were pretty much the same: three bedroom brick ranch homes with the master bedroom over a single garage.

Our respective basements were tiled and furnished with pieces that had been phased out of the living rooms upstairs. He had a fold-out sleeper couch in his. Mine had a couch and a love seat.

The basements provided privacy in general and cool temperatures in the hot Southern California summers; sorry for us, no air conditioning in either.

We would bullshit far into the night in those summers, sleep in and then spend the days swimming and playing ball. Life was sweet without responsibilities, and even after we took on part-time jobs in high school, we still had plenty of time for fun.

The situation changed though in the fall after graduation.

I headed to Gonzaga and he worked in his dad's business, plumbing supplies. He had no desire for college, just girls, money and the prospect of a used Corvair a guy was selling down the street. Maybe Ralph Nader had no use for the Corvair, but Bobby did. At a time when gas was 30 cents a gallon, it was his dream car.

In a day without cell phones and e-mail, we sort of lost touch when separated. Both of us were busy, I guess, especially me, finding my way at college.

When my dad drove up to the dorm, though, to take me home for Thanksgiving vacation, there in the front seat with him was Bobby.

Brother,was it nice to see him. 

We loaded up the car and I introduced him to some new friends -- all guys, of course -- and off we went.

Once more, at least for a week, we were inseparable friends.

On the Friday night after Thanksgiving -- we both ate holiday meals at both houses -- we were hanging out at his house and around midnight, he said, "you staying?" and I quipped, "Sure, why waste energy walking 150 feet home."

That was a long-standing joke, discussing the energy it took to make it from one house to the other.

He unfolded the bed, turned on the portable black and white TV and we watched an old movie, as always, wearing night clothes that comprised white briefs and white T-shirts.

About an hour into the movie, he said, "Hey, you want to tickle?"

Wow, I had not heard that term since we were sophomores, when he found his first really serious girlfriend.

In those days, we spent many hours tickling each other's backs. There was nothing sexual about it and it was not designed to cause laughter. It was his description of brushing the skin very lightly with fingertips.

It always felt sooooo good.

At 18, though, the thought was sort of goofy, or maybe something else.

Remembering the sensation, though, I thought, "what the hell," and said, OK, you first.

He pulled off his T-shirt and tucked his arms beneath him. 

I was out of practice, but remembered quickly how to apply just the slightest pressure. After about 15 minutes, Bobby's back was covered with goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. As always, he let out a number of soft sighs during the process.

I slapped him on the shoulder and said, "My turn."

I slipped off my shirt and he returned the favor, which I loved. I always savored that sensation. But then he added a little twists.

Bobby slid his fingertips beyond my back to my sides, over my ribcage.

The feeling was so strong I could not breathe. 

"How's that feel?" he asked.

"Uh, OK," I wasn't expecting it," I said.

He just chuckled and continued on, eventually announcing it was time to switch.

Aware of how good it felt to me," I tried out the new idea and tickled his sides. At first touch, he shivered all over.

I don't know why, but that shiver had an effect on me. I don't know exactly what I felt, but it both excited me and freaked me out.

After a while, we changed again.

It was back to my sides and more breathlessness.

Matter-of-factly, he asked, "You ever tickle legs?"

"Legs," I responded, laughing. "Anything I didn't tickle with you I never tickled."

"That's right," he joked. "Mr. shy."

"Hey, I can't help it," I said, a little pissed.

without another word, he moved down to my ankles and tickled there.

Wow, sides were nothing compared to this. I was holding my breath at that point.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved up to my calves and then the outsides of my thighs. I was shaking all over.

"Geeze, settle down," he said. "It's just tickling."

Yeah, but somehow legs were sides and sides weren't backs.

I didn't stop him, though.

Buddies Reunite Ch. 02



"Roll over," he said. "I'll do the fronts."

By that point, I was no longer thinking clearly. I knew only that nothing I had experienced had ever felt this good. In its own right, that was amazing.

Here I was, a college freshmen who had never been kissed, never touched a girl.

However, I had experienced physical pleasure, even if it only was at my own hand -- and I do mean hand.

A few years earlier, I had discovered masturbation, albeit quite by accident in the shower one day.

It felt pretty good, the process, I mean, but the run up -- there's a term -- was not nearly as good as the final result. My first orgasm frightened me nearly to death. Based on the intensity, I thought something terrible was happening to me. 

I survived, though, and as it says on every shampoo bottle: lather, rinse, repeat.

The pleasure related to the tickling, though, was different. While it felt nice to stroke myself, the goal was always to produce an orgasm. The preliminaries were just that, the means to an end.

Tickling was just delicious. It always was, and the legs and sides carried that pleasure to a greater height.It caused me to shudder and at time barely be able to endure it.

Still, hungry for more "new sensations," I flipped over.

He started over again at my ankles, as always, barely touching. The feeling was different as he worked his way over the fronts of my calves, which were covered lightly with blond hair.

At times, he was touching only the hair, brushing his palm over it, making it stand straight up.

When Bobby moved past my knee, something else stood straight up. Embarrassed by the small, white tent, I began to roll over.

Bobby laughed.

"What?," he said. "You think I don't know you get hard?"

"Uh," I responded.

"Well, I know you do," he said. "A long time ago, over at your house, I got up in the middle of the night to pee and saw it in the moonlight, a little bump. Oh, I'm not saying you were playing with it; you were asleep. But it was hard.

"And one night last year, while you were sleeping here, I rolled over and it poked me in the back."

"Uh," I again replied, unable to think of a single word to say. Pretty sad for a communications major, huh?

"I'll tell you what," he said, chuckling. "I won't look. Now, let me finish you so I can have my turn."

I tried to relax, but could not. The higher Bobby went, the more my muscles tensed. I was so worked up I could barely feel the tickling sensation; well, maybe a little.

He got about three inches from the tops of my thighs and slapped me hard on the stomach and said, "OK, get to work."

Working on the backs of his calves, I was torn. For the first time, I was actually looking forward to my end of the bargain. For some reason, touching him was as exciting and pleasurable as being touched.

In fact, I am certain I spent much more time on Bobby than he did no me. I was almost entranced.

I didn't get the chance to tell him to flip.

After about 20 minutes, he rolled over. Glancing up and down the length of his body, I noticed that his small, dark nipples were erect. 

Gee, I wondered if mine did that. I was too nervous to notice when he was tickling. But in that instance I felt the skin on my chest tighten. They were hard all right,which usually was an embarrassment. As a chubby guy, my breasts were kind of fleshy and the circles around the nipples large and light pink. The nipples, themselves, were (and are) pointy and small.

By that time, I didn't care. If Bobby was not offended by my "tent," the hard nipples would not matter. He probably couldn't see, anyway.

With all that thinking going on in my mind, I did not realize I had worked my way past his knees and onto the fronts of his thighs.

His head was rolled back and his mouth wide open as I tickled. Slowly, slightly, his legs spread. Going with the moment, I let my fingers trail to the inside of his thigh, not very far up.

The reaction was immediate.

My little tent was nothing compared to what I saw next.

That giant cock of his hardened into a stiff sword right before my eyes. I saw the front of his briefs expand and could see the outline of his penis through the cloth.

Then, something more amazing happened. Reaching apparently what was its full length, his cock pushed the waistband out and the head, actually more than the head, followed.

I had seen him before in the shower at school and changing clothes, but never like this.

It was just immense; easily twice as long as mine and probably more than twice as thick.

I turned my head away. It seemed as if I shouldn't be looking at such a thing. Glancing upward, his eyes were tightly closed. 

Sitting up, I tried to gather myself together. Simultaneously, Bobby rolled over and out of the fold-out couch.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," he said, disappearing behind the curtain that separated the laundry-bathroom area from the main basement.

"Yeah, OK," I sputtered.

Out he went,and when I stood up to pull on my cut-off jeans, I glanced at the basement steps.

Yikes, there was Bobby's sister, Marne,just sitting and staring.

What a development.



Buddies Reunite Ch. 03



Standing there with one foot in the leg of my cutoff jeans, staring at Marne up on the staircase, I was both frightened and befuddled.

Scrambling to get the shorts pulled on, I ended up with both feet in one leg and stumbled backward onto the pull-out couch.

I grabbed for a sheet to cover myself and heard Marne chuckle.

"Hello, slacker," she said. "How's school? I know you're not killing yourself studying up there."

Still trying to untangle the sheet, I managed to grunt, "It's OK; still getting used to it."

"Quit fooling with that sheet," she said. "I have two brothers; I've seen guys in their underwear. Hell, I've seen you in your underwear."

For that, I had no response, although I wondered when the latter had occurred.

-------------------------------------

It was not as if Marne hated me, at least I don't think so. Rather, she believed I was an incredible underachiever, not taking advantage of my gifts, natural and otherwise.

Although she is two years older than I, we are in one way alike.

We both come from working class families and both became the first in our clans to attend college.

Just about everyone in Marne's and Bobby's families are involved in skilled trades. Their dad is a master mason and their brother, John, is an apprentice mason.

Bobby had just entered his apprenticeship as a steamfitter. Various cousins and uncles are welders, boilermakers and carpenters.

The girls all work after high school and ultimately become housekeepers. They have the toughest jobs of all, those moms, because the extended families are gigantic. Eight kids was pretty common. That Bobby only had one sister and one brother was not. Their grandmother, known to all as Bubba, always said she was cheated out of grandchildren because her next-door neighbors, bobby's parents, stopped at three children. Bubba had 14 children. Bobby's paternal grandparents had 11 kids.

From an early age, my parents expected me to attend college. They said I would not end up in the family business, engaging in back-breaking physical labor for modest financial rewards.

It was just the opposite for Marne. She yearned for college. By the time she was in sixth grade, Marne was talking about the Ivy League.

She studied endlessly, all in preparation for a college education upon which her family frowned.

"Get a job," Bubba said. "Save money so when you get married you can help your husband buy a house for cash."

A child of the Great Depression, Bubba did not trust banks and warned against mortgages.

"What's a mortgage?" she asked each and every child and grandchild. "You buy a house on a mortgage and spend your life paying the bank five times the amount for it."

Bubba could neither read nor write, but she could count -- and mortgages didn't add up.

Her parents were not much different.

They looked upon a college education as a waste of money. 

"We'll spend all that money on college and then you'll get married and have kids and quit your big, fancy career," her father preached. 

Her mom, who worked in a sewing factory until three weeks before Marne's birth, just nodded her head in agreement.

Marne was vigilant, though. Study was a full-time job, the library a second home.

In her junior year in high school, she began to apply for scholarships; big ones, little ones, any for which she could remotely qualify.

And then Marne hit the jackpot.

After posting a nearly perfect score on the Scholastic Aptitude Test -- she was perfect in math -- Marne was named a Merit Scholar. The colleges and universities began to line up.

It appeared her Ivy League dreams would come true, but Bubba put the kibosh to that plan.

"The whole way across the country, forget it," she said. "This is where I put my foot down. Don't make me call the priest."

In the end, the parish priest negotiated a settlement of sorts.

The son of Polish immigrants, Father Joe spoke Bubba's language, literally and psychologically.

"There is a Catholic college just two states away," Father Joe told her. "Gonzaga is where I went to college, and I turned out OK."

"Will they make her go to Mass on Sundays?" Bubba asked.

"No, they won't," he responded. "But once she is there, Marne will want to go to Mass. It is a blessed place and a wonderful school. I went there to study engineering and ended up a priest. What does that tell you?"

"Ohhhh," Bubba said, obviously weakening. "Maybe she'll come out a sister. Two of my sisters are nuns, Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Jon Mary."

"Only God knows," Father Joe said, and then sealed the deal. "You know, when my parents came here, everyone called the Poles dumb hunkies. My parents made sure I went to school, helped to build our own St. Stanislas School brick by brick. It is important for our children to become educated. Being a wife and a mother is a blessed vocation, but education can only help."

So off, on scholarship, Marne went to Gonzaga.

Four years alter, Bubba made the trip to Washington for Marne's graduation. Sitting in the audience that day, she told anyone who would listen: "That's my granddaughter, graduating with honors. With God's help, I sent her here. We're not a bunch of dumb hunkies, you know."

It sort of scalded Marne that I followed her to Gonzaga -- because I liked the basketball team, not the educational opportunities.

She always felt I was just sliding through life with no plan.

While she studied in high school, I shot baskets and played baseball in the park behind her house.

When I was a sophomore in high school and she was a senior, Marne often admonished me.

"You put nothing into school," she said. "It's all a big party to you. Your parents want you to go to college. Get ready for it. Be the best student you can be."

"Ah, hell, I don't know what I want to do after school," I would say. "Maybe I'll join the Army."

"Yeah, that's a good plan. Let Nixon get you killed in Vietnam," she scoffed.

In the end, though, Nixon didn't get the chance to send me anywhere. And the war ended before I could get myself involved, even though I was far from sure I wanted to be involved."

So it was Gonzaga for me. I saw Marne there occasionally, but there was no attempt at friendship, only the old disdain.

The greeting was always the same: "Hey slacker, you go to class today?"

I would just smile and shake my head because I knew Marne was right. 

It's a funny thing. For most of my life, I saw Marne just about every day. But somehow, I never really took a good look at her.

As she came down the steps, silently in bare feet, I was amazed at her height. She couldn't have been more than 5-feet-tall.

She always seemed to be so big, to lord over me, probably because of her forceful nature and the way I secretly admired her drive.

Marne generally wore jeans, baggy sweatshirts and tennis shoes. Her hair, most days, was pulled back in a pony tail.

As I lay on the bed wrapped up in the sheet, I saw a different Marne. I noticed that her face was a little like Bobby's, but in a softer way. She was really pretty, especially with her hair down around her shoulders. Exactly like Bobby, she had a perfect, dark complexion.

I really could not tell much about her physique. She was wearing a "granny" nightgown, which was common back then; a long, to-the-ankles garment with puffy shoulders.

One thing was for sure, although the nightgown completely covered her, it was the least clothing I had ever seen on a girl.

"Soooo, slacker," I see the tickling has grown in scope; no more backs-only."

Yikes, how did she know about backs only? And even more scary, how did she know about beyond backs-only?"

I tried to answer, but could generate no sound.

"Hey," she said. "Quit shaking, tickling is OK, it's not like you are some big gay guy. It just feels good."

Once more, how did she know? Maybe Marne tickled with one of her friends. That was an interesting thought.

"You gave old Bobby boy a jolt when you tickled the insides of his thighs," she said. "Sent him right to the bathroom, wink, wink. He's probably in there beating his meat right now."

"I think he's taking a shower," I responded, my voice cracking a little.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm sure he just wanted to get clean, for the second time in three hours. You're probably right."

"Yeah probably," I whispered.

"Or maybe he is beating off," she said. "I saw it come out of his shorts, but I'm not so sure he can just shower it away."

"I didn't notice," I lied.

"Uh, huh, you didn't notice, she said. "When that thing popped up, your eyes were as big as saucers."

"No, I didn't notice," I lied again.

"Maybe you were embarrassed when you saw it," she said. What's Bobby, about twice your size."

I just grabbed the sheet and pulled it tighter to me.

"Listen, don't be embarrassed," she said. "From what I've heard, he is the one who's freakish. The way I understand it, the average guy's about six inches, not twice that much like the Boy Wonder in there."

"Have you seen many?" I asked, feeling a little more comfortable. 

"I've seen a picture, or two," she said. "You're pretty normal. So, do you play with it?"

"Uh, play with what?" I mumbled.

"You know, stroke it, jack off," she said.

"Never," I said, but it sounded like a frog croaking.

"Well, it's OK if you do. Everybody does it," she said. "Bobby does it every time after you tickle. He sits there and watches you until he's sure you're asleep and then he does it."

"Jeez, how long have you been watching us," I asked.

"For a while," she said. "But don't worry. I won't tell anybody."

"Do you do it?" I whispered. 

"I," she began, but just then Bobby came from behind the curtain. I hadn't even heard the water go off.

"Hey, Mar." Bobby said. "When did you get home?" 



Buddies Reunite Ch. 04



Marne looked over at Bobby and smiled broadly.

"Just about an hour ago, little brother," she responded. "So, how was your shower? Work up a good lather?"

"Yeah, plenty of lather," he said. "There's scary movies on tonight; want to watch with us."

"Old or new," she said. "I don't like the new gory ones."

"It's an old one," Bobby said. "Your favorite, 'Bride of Frankenstein.'"

"Ooooo," she squealed. "Boris Karloff and Elsa Lanchester. I'm in."

"And guess what's up in the fridge?" he said, teasing. 

"Uh uh," she shouted. "Not submarines from the firemen?"

"Three of them," he said of the giant hoagies the local fire department sold once a month to raise money. "Mom picked them up for us because they were going to the cabin to clean it up for hunting season."

"Oh, man, after a month of dorm food, that's gonna taste soooo good," she said.

"That's not all," he said.

"What," she responded.

"You'll find out -- in due time," he said, laughing.

Turning on her heels, Marne pointed at me.

"What's he talking about, Slacker," she said. "What else is up there?"

"Uhhhhhhh," I said teasingly, a little more comfortable wrapped up in my sheet.

"Come on, you goof, tell me," she demanded, a crazy smile spread across her face.

It was a look I had never before seen -- gleeful silliness. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and her wide smile brought out a hidden kind of beauty.

"Ok. Ok," I said. "Bubba made potato salad, from red potatoes with the skins left on."

"Oh, wow," she said. "If only we had Sundrop, it would be perfect."

"Ding! Ding! Ding," Bobby chimed in. "Go over and open the bar fridge."

Marne, up on her toes, ran across the room taking tiny little steps to the bar her mason father had built in the corner.

She pulled open the old Frigidaire, and on the top shelf sat a six-pack of Sundrop, a great beverage that preceded Mountain Dew. It was much fizzier and much, much better.

"Oh, my God," she said. "And there's ice in necks. This is going to be so good. When's the movie start?"

"What, did you lose your memory?" Bobby said. "It's at 11:30, right after the news."

"That gives me just enough time to jump in the shower," she said. "I was going to wait 'til morning, but my hair smells like smoke from Bubba's cigarettes. I wish she would quit."

"Well, she won't," Bobby said. "You going up or down?"

"Down," she said. "I love the shower down here. It feels like little pins on my skin. The one upstairs is too soft."

"I guess I'll get it out of the way, too," I said, finally managing to pull on my cutoffs. "I'll use the upstairs bathroom."

"OK, it's a plan," Bobby said, still wrapped in a towel. "When you're done in the bathroom, grab me a pair of cutoffs and underwear. You can bring down the food, too."

"I need clothes," Marne said, pushing me out of the way as she ran up the steps. "And I gotta go first. I have to pee."

I followed her up slowly. I had more than a half-hour. Maybe a good soak would feel good. I love their old, claw foot tub. It was so roomy, perfect for a chubby guy."

Lying in the tub, steam rising from the water, I barely moved.

The dorm at school offered showers only, and no privacy. I never really felt comfortable with that situation, eight guys showering at once. I was always careful to keep my straight ahead, fearful someone would catch me peeking. Even worse, I hated the thought of being seen. It was bad enough being the floor chub, but the absence of size in another department was even more disturbing.

Soaking away, though, I had no such worries. And thinking about the tickling had somewhat of an affect on me. I was as hard as could be, and the head was sticking out of the water. Then I thought about Bobby. His, for certain, would have stuck out like the Rock of Gibralter. I also gave a thought to Marne, skipping over to the refrigerator in those little steps, and also wondering what all she had seen, that night and in the past.

Mindlessly, I began to stroke myself, but was jarred back to reality. It was nearly time for Fright Night, and I didn't want them to come looking for me. Drying off quickly and with no clean underwear, I pulled on my cut-offs and went into Bobby's room in search of clothing for him and, digging through my drawer, a T-shirt for me. His mom long ago had declared the bottom draw on the right as mine. Sleeping over so often, I always was leaving clothing behind, which she laundered. My mom did the same for Bobby. Actually, I wound some briefs in there, but too lazy to pull down my cutoffs, I just donned shirt and headed for the kitchen.

The food all gathered I found the cellar door open, which was good because my arms were full of submarines and potato salad.

I stepped into the doorway and heard a whisper.

"Ahhhh, lower, and softer," someone sighed.

It was Marne.

I softly descended two steps and sat down, shocked to my very core.

There she was, face down on the bed, that granny nightgown pulled over her head and clutched in front of her. Her elbows were tight to her sides. Marne's legs were tightly together and bent at the knees. 

I couldn't believe my eyes, which, for the first time, were gazing upon a girl in bikini panties, nothing spectacular, just white cotton briefs covered with tiny daisies. Even more so, I was absolutely stunned by the sight of Bobby sitting cross-legged beside her, tickling her back. In his position, the towel was bunched around his waist and that cock, that uncommonly large cock, was fully erect and tight against his stomach.

Absolutely rattled, I dropped the submarines, the sound of which caused them both to pivot around to my direction.

Oh. Sorry. You're busy," I stammered. "I'll wait upstairs."

"Hold on, Slacker," Marne quipped. "It's just tickling. I watched you. If you want to watch, it's OK with me."

"Yeah, I don't care," Bobby added.

Glancing between his legs, Marne, just rolled back over and said, "Get going. I have another five minutes coming. And by the way, cover up that monstrosity."

Looking over her shoulder, Marne yelled up the steps.

"Well, are you coming down to watch the movie, or are you going to roll subs down the steps all night?" she said. 



Buddies Reunite Ch. 05



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."



Buddies Reunite Ch. 06



In the time it took me to put away my plate and turn back to the pull-out couch, it happened again.

Marnie had managed to pull that granny gown over her head, flop down tummy first and pull her elbows against her ribs. I never heard her tell Bobby to turn away, which I found to be unusual. 

"Get over here, Slacker," she said. "You get on one side and Bobby can get on the other."

Already sitting on the edge of the mattress, Bobby just lay back and slid alongside his sister.

As I walked over, slowly and frightened as could be, I noticed Bobby's towel had come loose. He was on his side, his arm bent at the elbow and his head propped up on his hand. His cock was lying against his thigh, soft but bigger than mine when hard. How depressing. By the time I crawled onto the bed, he was already brushing his fingers along her spine in long strokes from the base of her neck to nearly the top of her panties.

Despite being tight, one side was stretched over the bottom of her right cheek. Wow.

"Well, what are you doing slacker, taking notes," she said. "Get to work or you won't get a turn."

I couldn't even imagine her tickling me, not even my back. No girl had ever touched me in that intimate a way.

With Bobby working on her back, I brushed my fingertips ever so slightly on the hair at the top of her neck, just at her hairline. I felt her muscles tighten and she shuddered.

"Oh, my God," she said. "Slacker, I never felt anything like that. I am all goosebumps."

Encouraged and calmer, I did my best. 

I slid the flat of my hand from the base of her neck and ran my fingers through her soft straight hair. I inhaled: Prell; I wondered if she had the big bottle with the pearl inside.

Inching down to the side of her neck, I tickled softly, teasing her ear.

She responded to our ministrations with quiet coos.

"You guys are killing me. This feels so good," she said. "And I thought you were a pair of idiots. It appears you do have some value."

I brushed my hand over the left side of her back, bumping Bobby's hand.

He did not respond, just moved to her side, tickling his way up from her rounded hip to her rib cage. When he got to her elbow, she moved her arm to the side. With new territory, Bobby ran his fingertips up to her underarm.

"Ooo, Oooo, you know that gets me," she scolded. "I'm so ticklish there."

"I'll stop, then," he said, feigning hurt.

"I didn't say it was bad," she responded. "I just said I was real ticklish there. Of course, you should know that."

"Yeah, I know," he quipped leaning back a bit.

I looked across Marne's back and there it was, hard as a rock and tight up against his stomach. Good thing she can't see, I thought.

"Hey, Slacker, you're loafing," she said.

I hadn't even realized that, staring at the spectacle before me, I had stopped.

"Do like Bobby, under my arm," she said.

Moving her elbow, I nearly fainted. There, inches away, was the swell of her breast, just a small portion of the side. I had seen pictures in the Stag magazine, but nothing like this, a real, live girl, in person, with part of her breast exposed, ever so slightly.

I stroked lightly under her arm, feeling the hint of hair. With Bobby and I doing it at the same time, she was rocking back and forth.

"Lower," she said.

I couldn't see what Bobby was doing, but I moved back to her rib cage.

"No, Slacker, not lower toward my legs, lower toward the bed."

I inhaled deeply, frozen in place. Lower toward the bed meant only one thing.

"Now! Now!" she implored. "Don't make me wait. Tickle now."

My had shaking violently, I touched my fingertips to the swell.

"Now you have it," she said. "That's perfect. Don't stop."

The skin was so smooth, soft but firm, if that's possible. Goosebumps, big ones, rose on the flesh."

She let out a moan.

"You two, your four hands, this is unbelievable," she said. "Slacker, do my legs. I want to feel this all over. Bobby, massage my shoulders."

What an invitation. I had never had the never had the nerve to even cop a feel of a girl's leg. Now one, a good-looking one, was asking me to do it."

When I rolled down to the end of the bed, I saw something shocking.

Bobby hitched up his towel, lifted up on his knees and swung his leg over the small of Marne's back. He leaned forward to place one hand on each of her shoulders and began to knead the muscles. And with each stroke, his butt came up a little and his balls, huge and covered with hair, were fully visible.

I wondered if she knew, if she felt them on her back.

Between moans, she called out to me.

"Slacker, are you doing my legs, or not?" she yelled. "This is my with dream -- all those hands -- you have to make it come true."

Concentrating, or at least trying, I was looking at her feet. They had been amazing me since she first came down the steps without socks. So small, half the size of mine, and a little pudgy, not bony like some girls. And her toes, so tiny that I wanted to touch them.

I reached out with the index finger of each hand and drew soft lines from her Achilles tendons to the tips of her middle toes. The soles of her feet were so soft.

"Geez, Oh, geez, Slacker, I never felt anything like that. Bobby, why didn't you ever tickle my feet?"

"Hell, I don't know," he grunted. "I tickled what you told me to tickle. What, is he better at this than me? He never even kissed a girl."

"You know what? He is. The Slacker is really tender, his touch is like a soft breeze across damp skin."

Wow, I didn't know I was that talented. I wondered what it felt like to be tickled by an expert like me.

I lifted her foot, bending her knee, and wrapped the fingers of both hands along her tootsie, completely surrounding it."

"Uh! Uh!" she said. "Don't stop. Do the other foot. No, stay on that one. I don't know what I want. I don't know if I can stand this."

I went back and forth from foot to foot, eliciting long sighs and soft, squeaky sounds. When I stated up Marne's calves, the muscles were tight.

For the first time in a half-hour I spoke.

"Calm down, it won't feel good if you're all tense," I said. 

After a minute or two, she let he calf muscles go limp. But when I stroked the back of her knees, I saw the muscles in her bum tighten, and when I went higher, Marne bucked her hips and knocked Bobby onto the side of the bed.

"Holy shit," he said. "Calm down. Are you going nuts, or what?"

Now she was the one without words. 

As I moved slowly up here thighs, she started to giggle and then softly sobbed. When I reached the tops and stroked the soft inside flesh, her hips began to rise and fall rapidly, she seemed to be pounding the bed.

I glanced over at Bobby, who had his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking as fast as he could.

And when I looked back at Marne's raised bum, I noticed a small wet spot on her panties. And the more I tickled, the larger it became.



Buddies Reunite Ch. 07



In what seemed to be one move, Marnie pulled her knees up under her, sat up and spun around.

Facing me, sitting back so her bum was resting on her heels she seemed to be out of breath. She opened her mouth as if ready to speak, but then covered her it with one hand.

I was frozen, not knowing what to say or do. Bobby had even stopped stroking himself. He didn't let go of that massive thing, but was sitting completely still.

Marnie was shaking, tears running down her cheeks. Then she spoke, her words ragged, forced.

"Slacker," she said. "I ... want ... you to know. ... I want you to know -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- I'm not that kind of girl. But it's true. I'm not that kind of girl. I don't just go to bed with guys.

"I've never done 'IT' with any guy. I mean, I touch myself, everybody does, even if they say they don't. I tickle with Bobby, but he's the only one ... until you. I have never gone all the way."

I looked her her and then at Bobby. He was just shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

I looked back and her arms were crossed over her chest, pushing those globes together making them look bigger through her granny gown. With the scoop neck, she was showing cleavage. I was going to say something, but I didn't know what to say, so I just sat there.

"Slacker," I have never felt anything like when both of you were tickling me at once. And you are really good at it. I am so hot right now that it can't stop with tickling. I want to feel something more, something better.

"Geeze, Louise, Slacker. I want to do it."

"Wait a minute," Bobby said, but she cut him off.

"Bobby, I saw when you guys were tickling; he isn't that big. It'll be perfect for the first time; probably won't even break my cherry.

"What are you Slacker, about four inches?"

Ouch! four inches!

"No," I said, obviously hurt. "I'm five. Stag magazine says that's average."

"I'm not saying it's bad or too small," she said. "I just think it will be the perfect size for my first time. Hell, look at Bobby. Who would want that thing at any time? It's ridiculous.

"But no more talking. If I keep talking, I'll chicken out."

With that, she pulled the granny gown down over her shoulders and to her knees. 

Marnie's breast were right there, right in front of me. Round, perfect, not too big but just perfect. Her nipples were small and pointy and a dark rose color.

I didn't have much time to ponder their beauty, because she lifted her butt of her feet and down came that panty, revealing a small patch of extremely dark hair, hair that appeared to be softer and straighter than I had expectected. It seemed to radiate out from the botton of the triangle.

Marnie quickly rolled over onto her back, pulled her knees to chest and pulled off the panty the rest of the way. 

All this new stuff at the same time was making me woozy. Below the patch of hair was more hair, less of it, lightly lining the lips of - Oh, my, I thought - her VAGINA. And that hair was wet and matted. The lips were slightly open, and between them, the skin was dark, dark red.

"Slacker," she said. "You ever done this before?"

"No, I just tickled Bobby and, tonight, you."

I tore my eyes away from her hips and up to Marnie's face. Her eyes were so wide open and she was rolling her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

"Well, tonight's the night," she said. "Get those shorts of and put it in."

She put her legs out straight and slightly spread.

Now, I was shaking.

So badly so that I couldn't unbutton my jean shorts. I was fumbling away when, all of a sudden, I was flying off the edge of the bed -- thanks to a brutal forearm from Bobby.

"No," he shouted. "This ain't gonna happen. "We have a deal."

"What deal?" I asked, rubbing the sore spot on my shoulder. "We don't have a deal."

"Marnie and me; we have a deal," he said, towering over me. "We made a deal a long time ago. Neither of us would go all the way 'til we got married. She was going to be a virgin for her husband and I was going to be one for my wife.

"Until then, it would only be touching. We would touch each other to keep us from doing it all the way with other people."

"Hey, I know you've touched other girls, and you said there was oral, too," I said.

"The oral was bragging. I know I touched other girls against the deal, but that's all. Just touching," he said.

"Ok. Ok," I said. "You didn't have to knock me down. All you had to do was tell me. I wouldn't have done it. Jeeze, I couldn't even get my pants off."

"Hey!" came a high-pitched voice from the bed. "Don't I have something to say about this?"

"No, you don't," Bobby said. "A deal's a deal."

"Go to hell," she said. "You broke the deal with your little friends, and even with the Slacker."

"Maybe with those girls," Bobby said, "But not with him. We just tickled. Backs, chests,legs, arms, that kind of stuff."

"Maybe you don't have to touch other places for it to count," she said. "I watched you two tonight, and a couple of other times, too. You both get real hard when you tickle, rub around the edges of the underwear. Bobby, you cock came out of your underwear with him tonight. He didn't stop, and you didn't stop him.

"You went to take a shower after; did you stroke it off in there? Slacker, have you ever gotten off in the bathroom after tickling with Bobby?"

Neither of us answered, but I knew I was had, and Bobby probably knew he was, too.

So, c'mon Slacker, the deal's off and I want to get off.

Gathering together all of my nerve, and knowing I probably was nuts for passing up the chance of a lifetime, I said, "Wait a minute."

"Maybe the deal is a good thing," I said. "Maybe you'll both be better off staying virgins, technically, especially Marnie."

"You can just keep on tickling. I'll leave."

"Yeah," Bobby said. "The deal's good."

"No way," Marnie said. "If Bobby was allowed to break the deal 'just a little' with those other girls, then I get to try something new."

"Like what?" Bobby asked.

"I want the Slacker to lick me," she said. "My roommate at school says its better than going all the way. Maybe you can lick a little, if you're good."

"Uh uh," Bobby countered. "There was nothing in the deal about licking. I'm against it."

"That's not true," Marnie said, smiling a tight, little smile. "Remember what I told you when you became an apprentice?"

Bobby's eye got really, really wide and his jaw dropped.

"Yeah," he said. "You told me you'd suck me when I made journeyman. That's going to be a while though; a long time."

"So, the deal's broken a little. We'll break it a little more, and everyone will be happy," Marnie said. "I get mine, and you get what you've been wanting forever."

Are you sure?" Bobby asked. "Will you really do it?"

"I'll tell you what, not only will I do it, I'll bet the Slacker would be willing to help."

"Hold on," I said. "I ... ."

"Well, let's just say maybe for the Slacker," she said. "But I think he will. I've seen the way he looks at your cock, Bobby. It amazes him. It amazes me. I've always wanted to suck it, and I don't think he will be able to resist.

"The Slacker deserves something out of this too. Bobby, if he helps me do you, you can help me do him."

"Not me," Bobby said. "I only like girls."

"Ahhh, I see," Marnie said. "But let's just say maybe about that, too. I've seen the way you look at his little peanut."

"Say what you want," I thought to myself. "I will be happy, more than happy, to do anything to Marnie. "She'll have to handle Bobby on her own. I don't do that."