It All Started at the Dennis

He raised his head. "Want me to stop?"

Her eyes flew open. "You really are a funny guy."

Ross laughed and pulled her top back into place. "To be continued."

She exhaled into the wind. "I sure hope so!"

*****

Marc and LeAnne returned to their spot just minutes before their friends. Holding hands and smooching, the couples hardly looked like they had just met less than twenty-four hours ago. After another dip in the ocean, it was late afternoon and they decided to call it a day. As if it needed to be said, the girls accepted the guys' invite for dinner. They'd meet in the lobby of the Claridge at seven.

On the way back to Ocean City, the guys traded notes of their alone time with the girls. "She wanted more," Ross said, "and believe me, I would have honored her wishes had we been alone."

"Things got pretty hot and heavy with LeAnne, too." Squinting against the bright sun, Marc slapped down his visor as he entered the bridge out of Longport. "And what might happen next is up to them. I mean, if they want to get intimate with us, they'll have to sneak us past their parents. They have adjoining rooms, LeAnne told me."

"Rylie told me the same thing," Ross said, shifting his bare feet on the floor mat. "No matter, I'd say we've exceeded our expectations already."

"Yeah, more than might be good for me." Now he was driving along the causeway, a couple miles from Ocean's City's north end.

"How's that?"

"Jenette," he said, referring to his girlfriend. "Things could get complicated. I really like LeAnne. She's cute, she's smart, she's athletic, she's perceptive and we share similar interests. Not to mention that she's got the cutest tuchus I've ever put my dirty little hands around. We've seemed to hit it off, Miss Feigelson and I."

"Feigelson, Shmegelson," Ross said, affecting the accent of an old, Yiddish-speaking uncle. "These girls live hundreds of miles away. We're all going to different colleges. We'll never see them again. What happens here shouldn't affect you and Jenette in the least."

Marc wasn't so sure but didn't argue.

*****

"We should have rented tuxedos," Ross joked. They had just entered the opulent lobby of the Claridge, with its marble floor and gold-plated appointments, something out of the Gilded Age. A lobby like this could give some of New York's finest hotels a run for their money.

Marc scanned the room, the fine furniture and the chandeliers pressed against the mustard toned walls. "Makes the Fleetwood look like a shack," he said, referring to the Victorian era cottage where they were staying in Ocean City.

Their attire, khaki slacks and button-down sports shirts, reflected a token nod to the night ahead. Gone were the days when most tourists donned more formal duds to eat and then do the boards. Ross said he was glad they ditched their jeans for something dressier when he saw the girls emerge from one of the three elevators. LeAnne wore a sleeveless yellow and orange flowered print dress with low-heeled, yellow pumps. Her lips shined with white lip gloss, and her hair, parted in the middle, dropped straight below her shoulders. Rylie wore a light blue pants suit that exposed a couple inches of bare midriff. She wore white sandals on her smallish feet.

"Right on time," LeAnne said. The girls met their dates in the middle of the floor, embossed with big white and brown letters, CLARIDGE.

"Nice place," Ross said. "Are we in Atlantic City or is this the Palace of Versailles?"

"Fancy schmancy," I know, Rylie said, her tone almost apologetic. "Our parents have stayed here for years. They're used to the amenities. Speaking of which, they're meeting friends for dinner and then playing cards back here."

They climbed into Marc's car out front, and then headed for Maria's, an Italian restaurant a few blocks south on Atlantic Avenue. "We haven't even eaten yet," Marc said, catching in his rear view his friend and Rylie necking.

"Just keep your eyes on the road," Ross ordered. He and Rylie then resumed what they were doing.

LeAnne turned around and giggled. "Our turn will come soon enough, Marc."

When he parked the car, it did. The couples necked for a good two minutes before entering Maria's.

They got seated after a twenty minute wait. The décor was somewhat clichéd—dim lighting, red and white checked tablecloths, flickering lanterns, bad paintings of Venetian scenes on the walls.

Rylie looked up from her menu and said, "Ever notice the difference in noise levels between Chinese and Italian restaurants?" The other three got it and laughed.

The waiter came over and took their order. The girls went first, then Ross. "I'll start with the grapefruit sections," he said.

The table broke up. Not the waiter, a thin and balding middle-age man who didn't look like he suffered fools gladly. "We're very busy, sir," he said, barely controlling his annoyance. He stood there, pen and order pad in hand, his expression dour. "Try again."

"Man's got all the sense of humor of a pit bull," Ross said when he left.

Rylie, her hands folded neatly on the table, looked at Ross. "Should I say it again?"

"What's that?"

"You're a funny guy!"

After they broke up, Rylie explained to Marc and LeAnne what happened earlier. "Ross suddenly morphed into some gangster character," she said. "Something right out of a movie."

Marc offered up his best James Cagney. "You dirty rat."

Rylie pointed out that Cagney never actually said that. "Nor did Bogart actually say 'play it again, Sam,'" she added. "A little movie trivia there."

"Speaking of gangsters," Ross said, "Atlantic City's been their stomping ground for years. Al Capone and company met here to conduct their business."

"I know," LeAnne said. "Well, I'm sure you guys will protect us in case we run into some shady characters, Mafioso included."

"That we will," Marc said. He flexed his sixteen-inch bicep. "You can count on us."

*****

"It feels good to get moving again," LeAnne said when they hit the boardwalk. Like the other three, her stomach was stuffed with pasta and marinara sauce, among other Italian goodies. She held Marc's hand as they strolled north from Montpelier Avenue. Ross pointed out Teepee Town, the shop where his parents bought him a cowboy outfit years ago. Wistfully, he said, "I'm surprised it's still here."

They passed other resort landmarks—Million Dollar Pier, Convention Hall, James Salt Water Taffy, Kohl's Frozen Custard, Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs and grand hotels such as the Marlborough-Blenheim, Shelburne and Ritz-Carlton. "And just think," LeAnne said, pointing to the Dennis, "it all started here just twenty-four hours ago."

Marc squeezed her hand, leaned over and kissed her. "I can't believe that I've known you for a just a day. It seems longer."

She nodded and then gave him a deep smooch by the railing. "Yes, for me too."

By the time they got near the Steel Pier, LeAnne saw a Putt Putt and suggested a round of miniature golf. With clubs and balls in hand, they waited in line to tee off. Ross, restless from standing around, launched into shtick with his club. First he pretended it was a cane in a vaudeville act, holding it at his knees and doing a modified buck and wing. Then he raised it as he would a rifle, shooting down an imaginary target, replete with machine gun-like noises. "A ham and a half," Marc said. "With him it's always show time." The girls laughed.

They were getting ready to tee off at the first hole, when Ross caught something in the corner of his eye that put a damper on his mirth. Two men were glaring at him behind the fence. "Don't look now," he told Marc, "but I think we're about to hear from Guido and Carmine."

Before Marc could react, the men moved alongside the fence until they were just a few feet from the foursome. The shorter, wiry one with dark, slicked back, greasy hair, wore tan pleated slacks and a blood-red long-sleeved shirt. The taller guy wore an orange and white, short-sleeve Italian knit and white pants. His thick, straight brown hair covered his ears, circa Beatles '67. Both looked to be in their thirties and full of menace, the type that would slit your throat and not lose five minutes sleep over it.

Addressing Ross, Mr. Greasy Hair said, "You know sometin'? You're the most uncool cat I've ever seen in my entire life."

His sidekick passed a flirt at the girls. "Hey, dolls, what you doin' with these losers? You'll have more fun with us."

"Oh boy," Ross groaned, "we've got ourselves a situation."

Marc's words at dinner came back to haunt him. If they tried to put a move on the girls, what would he do? He knew what not to do, show fear. No mean feat with characters like this.

"Go away and leave us alone," LeAnne pleaded. "We're not bothering you."

"No bother, doll," Greasy Hair said. "Ditch these clowns and make time with us."

Ross let the players behind them step around to tee off. "You're ruining our game," he said.

Greasy Hair smirked. Glancing back at his friend, he said, "Is that right? Well, we'd hate to do that, wouldn't we, Perry?"

"Perry is it? And here I had you figured for a Guido."

Marc stepped forward. "Not the type you'd have seen at Woodstock," he said in reference to that huge rock concert which concluded the week before. He addressed the other guy. "You weren't there, were you, Carmine? I mean, I'm not feelin' the love."

The girls laughed nervously.

"The name's Wayne, smart-ass, and you're about seconds away from me teeing off on your ugly head."

Patrons nearby stopped playing to gawk. Wayne and Perry, still behind the fence, crept closer to the entrance. The manager, a tall, punchy guy in his forties, came out of his booth. Confronting the men, he said, "You're hurting my business. Get the hell outta here or I'll get the cops. This boardwalk is well patrolled."

They hesitated, then backed away, drifted across the boardwalk and stood in front of a surf shop. Wayne shoved a wad of gum in his mouth, while Perry puffed on a cigarette. Both glared across the boardwalk, making it clear they had unfinished business.

"They're not going away," Marc said. "Now what?"

"Maybe you can offer to sing their favorite song for a dime," LeAnne said.

Marc thought that was funny but didn't laugh. He was too busy thinking of an escape plan. The last thing he wanted was to appear cowardly in front of the girls. "What we have here," he said, "is a fight or flight situation."

"Great, I feel much better now with that brilliant clarification," Ross said. He flashed Marc a mock look of disgust which did make him laugh.

They continued to hang around the first hole, trading ideas. "Maybe we should just start playing," Rylie said. "By game's end, they might be gone."

LeAnne shook her head. "And if they're not, then what?"

"Then we charge across the boardwalk and beat them senseless with these clubs." She swung hers like a baseball bat, whacking the air.

"Rylie might be on to something," Marc said. "Look, it's two of them and four of us. Plus, we've got weapons."

"Yeah, and they've probably got switchblades, if not guns tucked away," Ross said. "So what's our plan B?"

"Listen, guys, I'm not in the mood to play anymore," LeAnne said, "not with them lurking around, planning to do God knows what." She turned to Marc. "You did promise to protect us, right? We could count on you is what you said."

"Me and my big mouth."

The guys traded knowing looks, as if they could read each other's thoughts. "Well, old buddy," Ross said, "I thought chivalry was dead but apparently not. Duty calls."

Marc shouldered the club as he would firing a rifle, pointing the handle toward Wayne and Perry. "Indeed." He put the club down and continued. "Okay, here's the plan. Ross and I will confront these guys long enough for you to make it back to the Claridge. It's only a few blocks south of here. You'll make it easy."

LeAnne shook her head. "Very chivalrous, Marc, but we're not abandoning you."

Rylie nodded in agreement. "LeAnne's right." When she reached out for Ross' hand, he took her into his arms.

LeAnne nestled up to Marc, who did the same thing.

They heard wolf whistles and catcalls from across the boardwalk. "Eat your hearts out," LeAnne yelled.

They turned in their equipment, then stood in front of Putt Putt glaring back at their adversaries. Wayne's jaws were still working on his gum, while Perry puffed away, taking hard drags on his second cigarette. He had one foot planted on the ground, the other braced against the shop's brick facade.

"Not people you'd want to meet in a dark alley," Rylie said.

Ross nodded. "Or on boardwalks."

It took some doing, but the guys persuaded the girls to wait there. Then they began to make their way across the boardwalk, dodging the rolling chairs and the throng of pedestrians strolling by. "Prepare to die," Marc warned, as they approached.

"Thanks for the confidence, pal."

"Anytime."

Ross spoke first. "Maybe it's time you guys moved on."

Perry took one last drag, then flicked his butt onto Ross' chest. A sinister smile creased his thin lips. His face, pockmarked and with what appeared to be a knife-like scar on his chin, added to his scary look. "You're fucking telling us to move?"

"Not telling, demanding," Marc said.

Ross glanced at Marc. "We are?"

Marc guffawed. "My friend here, the one you called an uncool cat? Always with the jokes."

Wayne uncrossed his arms and spit out his gum. "Tell me when to laugh. You both look like pussies."

"Actually, we're tourists who have the right to go about our business unmolested," Ross said. "So leave us the fuck alone."

Marc slapped him on the back. "That's telling 'um, guy."

"Thanks, I needed that."

Perry lifted another smoke from his pocket. "You know what? We could kill you clowns right now." He placed his hand on a bulge under his waistband. "But you're not fucking worth it. Too bad those babes you're with can't see that." He turned to his friend. "Come on Wayne, let's split."

The guys breathed sighs of relief as they watched the duo slink north, glancing back with every other stride.

The girls trotted across the boardwalk. "You guys are wonderful! Our heroes."

Marc slapped his hands together the way people do after finishing a messy job. "All in a night's work."

They asked Ross how they got them to leave.

"Marc started singing. That's all it took."

The girls traded incredulous looks.

"Seriously and lucky for us," Marc said, "they deemed whatever they planned to do not worth the payoff. Things could have gotten real ugly. They appeared armed."

Rylie covered her mouth. "Ohmygod!"

"Well, I don't know about you all," LeAnne said, "but I've had enough excitement for one night. Let's just chill."

They began to stroll south toward the Claridge. It was dark and just after nine. When they got to the hotel's huge lawn, Rylie said, "Excuse us a second." She then pulled her sister aside.

"Wonder what this is all about," Marc said. All he heard was whispering.

Ross shrugged. "You know how chicks are. Everything's a conference."

Seconds later, LeAnne said, "You guys wanna come up?" Marc asked about their parents. "Oh, they play cards with their friends late into the evening in one of the rec rooms. We're cool."

"Take a look at this place, would you," Ross said, admiring the hotel's spacious grounds, with its huge manicured lawn, topiaries and fountain, arguably the most impressive space surrounding any hotel in Atlantic City. It took them a few minutes before they reached the lobby. Then they took the elevator to the twenty-first floor.

Their spacious room was luxury personified, from the thick decorative carpet and two twin-sized beds, to the large color TV and two plush lounge chairs. And the view was to die for—an Oceanside vista allowing them to see ships miles away. "Definitely not the Fleetwood," Ross deadpanned.

Marc spotted a bottle of champagne sunk in ice on the dresser. "Yours?"

"Courtesy of our generous parents because we're on vacation," LeAnne said. "We drink modestly at home. Only wine, no beer or hard stuff."

"And before tonight," Rylie chimed in, "we didn't have anything special to celebrate. Now we do."

She got four clean glasses from the bathroom. Then she popped the cork and filled them. The girls raised their glasses. "To our newfound heroes from Beemo, who risked their lives to protect us."

They kicked off their shoes and sat on the edge of the beds, coupled up in the usual way. Rylie flipped on the TV. There wasn't much on in this era of a paltry three major networks, not unless you liked stale summer reruns of stale sitcoms, and none of them did. She cut the TV, then got up and cut the room light. Even with the curtains drawn, the room was far from pitch black.

Factiously, Marc said, "Now what do we do?"

LeAnne set her glass on the night table. "Somehow I doubt we need to show you."

The room offered no more privacy than Marc's Chevy, but at least there was a lot more space.

"Look, guys," Rylie said, "I know this is awkward, but it's the best we can do under the circumstances. We'll just need to stay ultra focused."

"Ultra focused...I like that," Ross said. He made good on it, too, as he began to kiss Rylie as if they were alone. Where this would lead, he wasn't sure, though he hoped to at least get to the point where they were on the beach. "You ARE a marvelous kisser," Rylie whispered.

The positions were reversed on the other bed. Mark took bottom and kissed LeAnne with the sort of passion he had felt for Jenette. However, he harbored no concerns about divided emotions tonight. "You love my tight little butt, don't you?"she whispered, when he shoved his hand down the back of her panties. "I do. And you ain't bad either." She giggled.

Rylie's bare midriff afforded Ross easy access. She squealed in delight when he licked her tummy, squeals that morphed into moans when he reached behind, snapped her bra and picked up where he left off hours earlier. Her nipples got hard along with something else. He figured there wasn't much he could do about that, not in this situation. Thus he reconciled to keeping the action above the waist.

Still topside, LeAnne dry humped her pelvis against Marc's crotch as they kissed. His hands, now planted firmly inside her panties on her bare butt, aided her efforts. Ordinarily, sliding her panties off—or at least attempting it—would come next. But try that here with a girl he barely knew and just feet from another couple? He wasn't sure he could bring himself to do it. His cock, that sometimes pesky organ with a mind of its own, uninhibited by social decorum, began its predictable ascent. "I wish we were alone," he whispered. Breathing heavy, she said, "Yeah, me too."

Rylie flung her top and bra onto the floor, leaving more than just her midriff exposed. Ross' hands and tongue were now free to roam. They did and he did. He inhaled the sweet aroma of her smooth, bare skin and whispered terms of endearment into her ear. She whispered back, and then began to slide out of her slacks, something he didn't expect. "Now you," she said. "It's only fair." It's only fair? He chuckled and then followed her lead. He threw off his shirt, leaving them both stripped down to their underwear.

"Do what he did," LeAnne said, after stealing a peak at Ross' near naked form. She moved aside, freeing him to strip at the same time she peeled off her dress. Now they were "even" with Ross and Rylie, stripped down to their skivvies—all dressed down with plenty of places to go. Marc took top and got between her legs. His emotions, plus his sheer carnal desire, chipped away at his inhibition. He wanted to make love to this girl, and if the situation was less than ideal, so be it. Gripping the edge of her yellow panties, he began to slip them off. Then he heard this: "There's something you should know." He froze. "I'm a virgin."