Knox The Hatter
2nd Level Indigo Feather
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2003
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THE BIG, SQUISHY COUCH
By
Christopher Khoury
Copyright 2003 Christopher Khoury. All Rights Reserved.
*
“So, who was that blonde I saw you with last night?”
“What blonde?” Ben looked at his friend, tanned from the Gold Coast sun, looking much older with his salt and pepper hair that seemed to have appeared overnight.
“The tall blonde at the bar, you know perfectly well who I’m talking about.” There was a faint trace of a smile on Barron’s face, just under the walrus like moustache.
“Oh, that blonde.”
“Yes. Start disclosing.”
“I don’t know. Just started talking to her.”
“Sure you did…and then?”
“Then nothing. I never even got her name. Two ships passing in the night. Nothing happened.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“You have many times.”
Ben adjusted the string on the front of his bathing suit. The customary late afternoon thunderstorm that visited the area every day had already passed through, and a small crowd had once again surrounded the lovely blue swimming pool in the resort’s open courtyard. Four days into his vacation- a vacation not only from his job but his family and his nagging legally separated wife, he was growing somewhat restless. “Look, just because I lied to you many times before, it doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth to you now.”
“I’ll stake my chances on the percentages.”
“I came back here alone.”
“Yeah, sure. You just don’t want to make me feel any more like some ugly loser than I already am…”
“Oh, stop it.” Ben looked down at the pool, and saw this Breath of Fresh Air take a lounge chair near the diving board. She’d been coming down to the pool for the past few days, but had not seen her elsewhere in the resort. “You’re not a loser. You’ve just been divorced for a while and you’re afraid to get back into the game.”
“Maybe so…” Barron crushed his Newport into the ashtray on the table, one decorated in the logo of the resort. Ben had worked with Barron several years before; they had met again purely by chance in the bar two nights before. Since then, Barron had been a mild annoyance. Ben sincerely wished that he would go and find something else to do, rather than sit and bore him to death with waves of his insecurity; after all, he had better things to do. Such as sit and stare at this Breath of Fresh Air sitting by the pool. Or…maybe….
“So, are you getting divorced?”
“Oh, no, anything but that. I can’t afford it.”
“I wish I had your attitude.”
“Well…” the aforementioned Breath of Fresh Air kicked off her white beach shoes, and crossed her legs, as she made herself comfortable with a book. He could see her rich, luxurious mane of auburn hair and reflector sunglasses with huge lenses. A picture of peace, of inner calm. She didn’t have any annoying people clinging on to her at the moment.
“Listen, I gotta go,” said Barron, rising up to his six foot four frame.
“Really?” Ben could hear a chorus of angels begin to sing in the distance.
“I have to go down and buy cigarettes, and I’m gonna shower, and then I’m gonna go meet some people in South Beach for dinner. You’re invited, if…”
“Ah, no, no thanks. I have some plans of my own.” Plans that might pan out, or might not. Fun to speculate on…
With that, Barron departed. Ben got up, and headed inside to refresh his drink, but before returning to the balcony, he banged his knee on this huge plush couch in the living room. The couch to him was a sort of joke. Once you plunged into it, you literally had to fight to rise from it; it was so squishy in the middle. Muttering profanities, cursing the unsuspecting clods that designed and manufactured the couch, he then went back out to the balcony. The Breath of Fresh Air had not moved an inch; the sun had further retreated into the western sky, and shadows grew around the pool. After several minutes, her cellphone rang. The call lasted less than a minute, and it was apparent that she was intent on returning to her book.
“Anyone important?” Ben called down to poolside.
The woman pushed her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, and looked upward. She then glanced around, and noticed that she was the only one left poolside. “Why would that interest you?” she asked, in a voice of medium register.
“Oh,” said Ben, in a slightly nervous voice, “I don’t know…I was just trying to add some much needed conversation into this uh…void.”
“Well, you’ve filled the void.”
“Thanks,” he said. The woman returned to her book. “Listen, what’s your name, anyway?”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to know your name, for the past two days I’ve been referring to you in silence as Breath of Fresh Air.”
The woman giggled. “No, you haven’t.”
“Actually I have. And I know that’s just speculation on my part, but I do think I’m right.”
The woman put her book down. She made her more than ample figure more comfortable on the lounge chair, and flexed her tanned feet. “Well, if you must know, I’m Michele.”
Michele. “I’m Ben. Where ya from?”
“Virginia. Roanoke. And you?”
He sipped his Glenlivet and water. “Buffalo.”
“You didn’t come down with that tall guy with the moustache, did you?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he replied, smiling. “He’s just someone who I used to work with, ran into him by chance. Uh…you here with anyone?”
“Coupla girlfriends. Different schedules…”
“I see.”
“You know, that’s starting to look pretty good.”
“What?”
“The drink. You wouldn’t happen to have more where that came from, would you?”
*
“How do you feel about single malt scotch?”
Michele sat on the arm of the ludicrous, squishy couch. Ben’s well trained eye judged her at about five six, one ninety, maybe a little more. Just his type. Well, almost his type. In time, he hoped to find out if she passed what he considered the ultimate criteria. If she did, well, she was his type. “I love anything you’ll make for me.”
“I’m glad to see you’re so agreeable.”
“No, I’m not a difficult person.” Michele removed her sunglasses, and put them in a case. She had a pretty shade of hazel eyes, and an adorable smile.
“I’m gonna make you what I made for me. Glenlivet and water. Great scotch.”
“Throw an extra cube or two in there.”
“Sure.” He complied with the request, and then sat on the other arm of the stupid, squishy couch.
Michele eyed him suspiciously. “You afraid of sitting on this couch?’
“Oh, no, I just like sitting on the arm. Like you are.”
“I’m just sitting on the arm because…well…”
“Because you’re afraid of sitting on the couch, Michele.”
Michele laughed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Here, watch.” She then put her drink down on the end table, and sat in the middle of the couch. She immediately sank deeply into the couch, to where her feet were at least two feet off the floor, kicking up and down. “Jesus!”
“This is some couch, isn’t it?”
“Here, wait.” She tried to raise herself from the couch, tried to roll out of it, but was unsuccessful. “I can’t believe this,” she exclaimed in laughter.
“You need help getting out?” Ben asked.
“No,” she giggled. “I’m gonna do it myself.”
With a concerted effort, she tried to roll her way out. When she got close, he softly nipped her flanks with his extended index finger and thumb. “Hey,” she screeched, with a hearty giggle. “Stop that.”
“What?” A warm feeling came over Ben. Michelle was apparently one hundred percent, All-American, complete, total, polyunsaturated his type.
“That!”
“Oh, that,” giggled Ben. “Oh. OK, then.”
Once again, Michele tried to roll out of the couch. Ben then reached over, and gently ran spiderfingers into her underarms.
“Nooooooooo!” Michele yelped, the yelp melting into rich laughter. “Don’t, don’t do that!”
“Don’t do what?”
“That, damn it! I’m very ticklish, stop tickling me!”
“You’re very what?”
“I see you’re deaf. I’m ticklish!”
“Oh, you’re ticklish. Yeah, I see!”
“Please don’t tickle me. I’m begging you…”
Ben then reached over and playfully poked various spots on her stomach and abdomen, thus provoking rich, helpless laughter from Michelle. “Yes, I see you’re ticklish…”
“Yessssssssssssssshahahhahahahahhahahhahahah”, she tittered, with words like “stop” and “please” interspersed between the laughter. “No, no, no…”
“I’m sorry, but the devil’s making me do this right now. You know I can’t tell him to stop, you know…”
Michelle tried frantically to get off of the couch, but Ben found it quite easy to foil her in her quest. After aimlessly running his fingers all over her sides and her stomach, he then got up, and pinned her arms back with his knees.
“Please, Ben, no, I can’t take it,” she pleaded, through giggles. “Please stop…”
“Here’s a good spot.” His fingers became acquainted with her bare underarms, while her tank top soon became gray with sweat. Michele bucked and squirmed, and laughed helplessly, as his fingers danced frantically on her bare pits. In between laughs, Michele vowed revenge as the tears rolled down from her eyes.
“Uh, I don’t think you’re gonna get me in this position, sweetie. Hey, two for one!
“Huh?” she asked, hyperventilating.
“Two for one!” Ben attacked the left armpit with the fingers on his right hand, and her right flank with the others. Her laughter pealed out mightily.
“Stoooooooooooahahahahahhahaahhahahahhahahahahhahhaahahhahhahahhhahaha”
This went on for several more minutes, before he came up for air, and gave her a rest. “Please, Ben, I can’t take anymore, you, you…bastard!”
“Oh, no, no names!” Ben would’ve stopped long ago if he truly believed that she wasn’t enjoying herself. In fact, when she’d got her breath back, she started to playfully slap him.
“Yes, names! How dare you tickle me like that!”
“Quite easily.” He reached down, behind her thighs, and began to tickle in the region below her buttocks. She howled with tremendous, deep laughter, and her eyes rolled back into her head. “Wow, this is a great spot! Why didn’t I think of this one before?”
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehehehehehehhehehheheeehehheheheheehee” guffawed Michelle, her bucking and squirming seemingly making the entire room vibrate. His fingers went back and forth, up and down her thighs, offering special attention to the area behind the kneecaps. By now, the both of them had sweated through their clothes. He soon stopped, in order to let her catch her breath.
“Must you keep doing this?”
“Like I said, the devil is making me, I’m not doing this by choice!”
“Lying bastard!” she giggled. She then reached out a weary hand, and tried to tickle Ben in his ribs. He jumped out of the way…
“Uh, no,” he said. “Not supposed to tickle the host.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tried to find a clear path to his sides, but he was just a bit too quick. In a deft motion, he then pinned her legs down securely, thus bringing forth an exasperated cry. “What are you doing?”
“Not me. The devil.”
“Oh, stop with the devil!” she chirped.
Ben’s hand took a leisurely trip down to the other end, where he took his sweet time removing Michele’s snow white beach shoes.
“No, Ben, please, pretty please, not my feet, please, don’t…”
Ben gently removed both shoes, revealing a pretty pair of tanned feet, along with cherry nail polish. “Oh, the devil’s a bad man…”
“No, Ben, no, noooooooooooooooohahahahahhahhahahahhahahahhahahhahahahhahahhahahahahha!!!”
His fingers danced across a pair of very soft soles. She desperately struggled to extricate herself from this predicament, but there was no escaping the big squishy couch. She tried kicking, but there was little play, and one of his very strong hands held her down while the other tortured her soft, curvaceous soles. “Hey, these toes look very cute!”
“Ben, please, not my feet…”
His fingers reached into the spaces in between her toes, and danced. This set Michele off on a bucking, laughing frenzy. “Noooooooooooahahahhahahahahhahahhahahhahahahhahha…”
Ben continued playing with Michele’s feet, as tears rolled down her reddened face. After several more minutes, he finally stopped, and got up from the couch. As Michele hyperventilated and playfully called him names, he went into the kitchen, got a glass of iced water, along with a wet dishcloth. Returning, he sat on the edge of the couch, and wiped her forehead.
“Are you done torturing me?”
“Not only am I done, but I’m even gonna help you up from this couch.”
Michele looked into his eyes, and locked on to something that she found magnetic and wonderful. “You just wait,” she said. “You just wait. You know what paybacks are.”
Ben sipped his Glenlivet and water. “Yeah, I know. I know. Gonna make you work for it, though.”
With that, Michelle slapped him on his forearm.
*
By
Christopher Khoury
Copyright 2003 Christopher Khoury. All Rights Reserved.
*
“So, who was that blonde I saw you with last night?”
“What blonde?” Ben looked at his friend, tanned from the Gold Coast sun, looking much older with his salt and pepper hair that seemed to have appeared overnight.
“The tall blonde at the bar, you know perfectly well who I’m talking about.” There was a faint trace of a smile on Barron’s face, just under the walrus like moustache.
“Oh, that blonde.”
“Yes. Start disclosing.”
“I don’t know. Just started talking to her.”
“Sure you did…and then?”
“Then nothing. I never even got her name. Two ships passing in the night. Nothing happened.”
“You gotta be kidding.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“You have many times.”
Ben adjusted the string on the front of his bathing suit. The customary late afternoon thunderstorm that visited the area every day had already passed through, and a small crowd had once again surrounded the lovely blue swimming pool in the resort’s open courtyard. Four days into his vacation- a vacation not only from his job but his family and his nagging legally separated wife, he was growing somewhat restless. “Look, just because I lied to you many times before, it doesn’t mean I’m not telling the truth to you now.”
“I’ll stake my chances on the percentages.”
“I came back here alone.”
“Yeah, sure. You just don’t want to make me feel any more like some ugly loser than I already am…”
“Oh, stop it.” Ben looked down at the pool, and saw this Breath of Fresh Air take a lounge chair near the diving board. She’d been coming down to the pool for the past few days, but had not seen her elsewhere in the resort. “You’re not a loser. You’ve just been divorced for a while and you’re afraid to get back into the game.”
“Maybe so…” Barron crushed his Newport into the ashtray on the table, one decorated in the logo of the resort. Ben had worked with Barron several years before; they had met again purely by chance in the bar two nights before. Since then, Barron had been a mild annoyance. Ben sincerely wished that he would go and find something else to do, rather than sit and bore him to death with waves of his insecurity; after all, he had better things to do. Such as sit and stare at this Breath of Fresh Air sitting by the pool. Or…maybe….
“So, are you getting divorced?”
“Oh, no, anything but that. I can’t afford it.”
“I wish I had your attitude.”
“Well…” the aforementioned Breath of Fresh Air kicked off her white beach shoes, and crossed her legs, as she made herself comfortable with a book. He could see her rich, luxurious mane of auburn hair and reflector sunglasses with huge lenses. A picture of peace, of inner calm. She didn’t have any annoying people clinging on to her at the moment.
“Listen, I gotta go,” said Barron, rising up to his six foot four frame.
“Really?” Ben could hear a chorus of angels begin to sing in the distance.
“I have to go down and buy cigarettes, and I’m gonna shower, and then I’m gonna go meet some people in South Beach for dinner. You’re invited, if…”
“Ah, no, no thanks. I have some plans of my own.” Plans that might pan out, or might not. Fun to speculate on…
With that, Barron departed. Ben got up, and headed inside to refresh his drink, but before returning to the balcony, he banged his knee on this huge plush couch in the living room. The couch to him was a sort of joke. Once you plunged into it, you literally had to fight to rise from it; it was so squishy in the middle. Muttering profanities, cursing the unsuspecting clods that designed and manufactured the couch, he then went back out to the balcony. The Breath of Fresh Air had not moved an inch; the sun had further retreated into the western sky, and shadows grew around the pool. After several minutes, her cellphone rang. The call lasted less than a minute, and it was apparent that she was intent on returning to her book.
“Anyone important?” Ben called down to poolside.
The woman pushed her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, and looked upward. She then glanced around, and noticed that she was the only one left poolside. “Why would that interest you?” she asked, in a voice of medium register.
“Oh,” said Ben, in a slightly nervous voice, “I don’t know…I was just trying to add some much needed conversation into this uh…void.”
“Well, you’ve filled the void.”
“Thanks,” he said. The woman returned to her book. “Listen, what’s your name, anyway?”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to know your name, for the past two days I’ve been referring to you in silence as Breath of Fresh Air.”
The woman giggled. “No, you haven’t.”
“Actually I have. And I know that’s just speculation on my part, but I do think I’m right.”
The woman put her book down. She made her more than ample figure more comfortable on the lounge chair, and flexed her tanned feet. “Well, if you must know, I’m Michele.”
Michele. “I’m Ben. Where ya from?”
“Virginia. Roanoke. And you?”
He sipped his Glenlivet and water. “Buffalo.”
“You didn’t come down with that tall guy with the moustache, did you?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he replied, smiling. “He’s just someone who I used to work with, ran into him by chance. Uh…you here with anyone?”
“Coupla girlfriends. Different schedules…”
“I see.”
“You know, that’s starting to look pretty good.”
“What?”
“The drink. You wouldn’t happen to have more where that came from, would you?”
*
“How do you feel about single malt scotch?”
Michele sat on the arm of the ludicrous, squishy couch. Ben’s well trained eye judged her at about five six, one ninety, maybe a little more. Just his type. Well, almost his type. In time, he hoped to find out if she passed what he considered the ultimate criteria. If she did, well, she was his type. “I love anything you’ll make for me.”
“I’m glad to see you’re so agreeable.”
“No, I’m not a difficult person.” Michele removed her sunglasses, and put them in a case. She had a pretty shade of hazel eyes, and an adorable smile.
“I’m gonna make you what I made for me. Glenlivet and water. Great scotch.”
“Throw an extra cube or two in there.”
“Sure.” He complied with the request, and then sat on the other arm of the stupid, squishy couch.
Michele eyed him suspiciously. “You afraid of sitting on this couch?’
“Oh, no, I just like sitting on the arm. Like you are.”
“I’m just sitting on the arm because…well…”
“Because you’re afraid of sitting on the couch, Michele.”
Michele laughed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Here, watch.” She then put her drink down on the end table, and sat in the middle of the couch. She immediately sank deeply into the couch, to where her feet were at least two feet off the floor, kicking up and down. “Jesus!”
“This is some couch, isn’t it?”
“Here, wait.” She tried to raise herself from the couch, tried to roll out of it, but was unsuccessful. “I can’t believe this,” she exclaimed in laughter.
“You need help getting out?” Ben asked.
“No,” she giggled. “I’m gonna do it myself.”
With a concerted effort, she tried to roll her way out. When she got close, he softly nipped her flanks with his extended index finger and thumb. “Hey,” she screeched, with a hearty giggle. “Stop that.”
“What?” A warm feeling came over Ben. Michelle was apparently one hundred percent, All-American, complete, total, polyunsaturated his type.
“That!”
“Oh, that,” giggled Ben. “Oh. OK, then.”
Once again, Michele tried to roll out of the couch. Ben then reached over, and gently ran spiderfingers into her underarms.
“Nooooooooo!” Michele yelped, the yelp melting into rich laughter. “Don’t, don’t do that!”
“Don’t do what?”
“That, damn it! I’m very ticklish, stop tickling me!”
“You’re very what?”
“I see you’re deaf. I’m ticklish!”
“Oh, you’re ticklish. Yeah, I see!”
“Please don’t tickle me. I’m begging you…”
Ben then reached over and playfully poked various spots on her stomach and abdomen, thus provoking rich, helpless laughter from Michelle. “Yes, I see you’re ticklish…”
“Yessssssssssssssshahahhahahahahhahahhahahah”, she tittered, with words like “stop” and “please” interspersed between the laughter. “No, no, no…”
“I’m sorry, but the devil’s making me do this right now. You know I can’t tell him to stop, you know…”
Michelle tried frantically to get off of the couch, but Ben found it quite easy to foil her in her quest. After aimlessly running his fingers all over her sides and her stomach, he then got up, and pinned her arms back with his knees.
“Please, Ben, no, I can’t take it,” she pleaded, through giggles. “Please stop…”
“Here’s a good spot.” His fingers became acquainted with her bare underarms, while her tank top soon became gray with sweat. Michele bucked and squirmed, and laughed helplessly, as his fingers danced frantically on her bare pits. In between laughs, Michele vowed revenge as the tears rolled down from her eyes.
“Uh, I don’t think you’re gonna get me in this position, sweetie. Hey, two for one!
“Huh?” she asked, hyperventilating.
“Two for one!” Ben attacked the left armpit with the fingers on his right hand, and her right flank with the others. Her laughter pealed out mightily.
“Stoooooooooooahahahahahhahaahhahahahhahahahahhahhaahahhahhahahhhahaha”
This went on for several more minutes, before he came up for air, and gave her a rest. “Please, Ben, I can’t take anymore, you, you…bastard!”
“Oh, no, no names!” Ben would’ve stopped long ago if he truly believed that she wasn’t enjoying herself. In fact, when she’d got her breath back, she started to playfully slap him.
“Yes, names! How dare you tickle me like that!”
“Quite easily.” He reached down, behind her thighs, and began to tickle in the region below her buttocks. She howled with tremendous, deep laughter, and her eyes rolled back into her head. “Wow, this is a great spot! Why didn’t I think of this one before?”
“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehehehehehehhehehheheeehehheheheheehee” guffawed Michelle, her bucking and squirming seemingly making the entire room vibrate. His fingers went back and forth, up and down her thighs, offering special attention to the area behind the kneecaps. By now, the both of them had sweated through their clothes. He soon stopped, in order to let her catch her breath.
“Must you keep doing this?”
“Like I said, the devil is making me, I’m not doing this by choice!”
“Lying bastard!” she giggled. She then reached out a weary hand, and tried to tickle Ben in his ribs. He jumped out of the way…
“Uh, no,” he said. “Not supposed to tickle the host.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tried to find a clear path to his sides, but he was just a bit too quick. In a deft motion, he then pinned her legs down securely, thus bringing forth an exasperated cry. “What are you doing?”
“Not me. The devil.”
“Oh, stop with the devil!” she chirped.
Ben’s hand took a leisurely trip down to the other end, where he took his sweet time removing Michele’s snow white beach shoes.
“No, Ben, please, pretty please, not my feet, please, don’t…”
Ben gently removed both shoes, revealing a pretty pair of tanned feet, along with cherry nail polish. “Oh, the devil’s a bad man…”
“No, Ben, no, noooooooooooooooohahahahahhahhahahahhahahahhahahhahahahhahahhahahahahha!!!”
His fingers danced across a pair of very soft soles. She desperately struggled to extricate herself from this predicament, but there was no escaping the big squishy couch. She tried kicking, but there was little play, and one of his very strong hands held her down while the other tortured her soft, curvaceous soles. “Hey, these toes look very cute!”
“Ben, please, not my feet…”
His fingers reached into the spaces in between her toes, and danced. This set Michele off on a bucking, laughing frenzy. “Noooooooooooahahahhahahahahhahahhahahhahahahhahha…”
Ben continued playing with Michele’s feet, as tears rolled down her reddened face. After several more minutes, he finally stopped, and got up from the couch. As Michele hyperventilated and playfully called him names, he went into the kitchen, got a glass of iced water, along with a wet dishcloth. Returning, he sat on the edge of the couch, and wiped her forehead.
“Are you done torturing me?”
“Not only am I done, but I’m even gonna help you up from this couch.”
Michele looked into his eyes, and locked on to something that she found magnetic and wonderful. “You just wait,” she said. “You just wait. You know what paybacks are.”
Ben sipped his Glenlivet and water. “Yeah, I know. I know. Gonna make you work for it, though.”
With that, Michelle slapped him on his forearm.
*
ME WANT COUCH! ME WANT COUCH! 
