Who will wash the dishes? (PG-13)

It was my senior year in college. For two years I had been seriously dating a
sweet, perky little coed named Jenny. (Eventually we married, but that's
another story.) Jenny's mom, Margot, seemed to like me a lot, and when spring
came, Margot invited me to along for spring break to a condo she was renting in
Destin, Florida. Of course I agreed (who would turn down a free vacation on the
beach with the woman he loved?), and so I found myself enjoying a week of
leisure in a spacious condo with Jenny, Margot, and Margot's best friend Kris.

A bit about these three women. Jenny has chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, a
twinkling smile, and a gymnast's compact, bouncy body. Her mother has a similar
build, but being middle-aged she had filled out in the places a woman tends to
fill out. Margot played tennis regularly, so she was in good shape and avoided
much of the sagging that might be expected of a nearly-fifty-year-old woman.
Like Jenny she had dark hair and eyes, but her complexion was darker and she
wore a bit more make-up, most noticeably a dark brown lipstick that somehow made
her lips seem particularly inviting. Kris also played tennis constantly (she
and Margot were doubles champions in their country club league), and thus she,
too, was in nice shape for a forty-something woman. She was, however, quite
petite, probably not even five feet tall, and therefore she wore huge heels
whenever she went anywhere besides the beach or tennis court. Blonde and
fair-skinned, Kris wore pink lipstick and nail polish to compliment her
coloring.

So, here I was, enjoying life, doing little but eating, lazing on the beach, and
waiting for Margot and Kris to go out together so that I could be alone with
Jenny (if you know what I mean). Everything was perfect. Well, there was one
little rub. Just a little one. The dishes.

Despite being a pretty luxurious rental, this condo didn't have a dishwasher.
We went out to eat the first few nights, but breakfasts and lunches caused a few
dishes to begin piling up. At first Kris was doing them because she was a
take-charge kind of woman. But the night we cooked our first dinner, we ended
up with more dishes, not to mention pots and pans, to wash. We were sitting
around the table, all of us sipping on red wine and talking pleasantly about
nothing in particular, when Margot brought up the subject of the dirty dishes.
"Jenny, honey, why don't you and Matt do the dishes? Kris has been doing them
so far. I think she needs a break."

Jenny was in a playful mood; she wasn't against cleaning up the kitchen, or
enlisting me to help her, but she decided to annoy her mom. "Gee, mom, I
haven't seen you doing anything productive around here," she giggled. "I've
been picking up your magazines and shoes for the past two days. Maybe you
should do the dishes?"

Margot didn't take her daughter's reply as an insult, but I could tell she was
determined now not to back down. For several minutes the two of them argued
good-naturedly about who should be stuck with the chore, while Kris and I
laughed at how similar and funny the mother and daughter were.

Finally Margot said, "Ok, let's just have it out. We'll arm-wrestle. If you
win, I'll do the dishes. If I win, you and Matt do them."

"But Mom!" exclaimed Jenny. "That's not fair!"

"Come on, Jenny," I said. "You can take her."

"You don't understand," Jenny snapped, looking at me. "Mom's really strong."

"Yeah, but you're twenty-two. And she's, well, she not twenty-two any more."

"Come one, sweetie, are you afraid of your old mommy?" teased Margot as she put
her elbow on the table and leaned over, holding out her hand to embrace Jenny's.

"Oh, all right," pouted Jenny as she put her elbow on the table and clasped her
mother's hand. Immediately she began straining, trying to catch Margot off
guard. But the older woman quickly recovered and held her ground. Jenny moaned
and grunted and tried to throw her body into the match, but within thirty
seconds Margot, grinning, smashed Jenny's wrist and arm convincingly to the
table.

Margot laughed deeply and then winked at me. "Didn't think I had it in me, did
you, Matt?" she asked teasingly.

"Well, I just thought, since Jenny is younger and all...," I stammered.

Kris interrupted me. "Did Jenny ever tell you that Margot and I don't just play
tennis? We also go to the gym three times a week. We're pretty buff for old
women!" To punctuate her claim she did a bicep pose. Sure enough, she did have
a little knot of muscle on her small arm. To me, though, it still looked like
the arm of a middle-aged woman, with a bit of flab on the tricep. But I nodded
approvingly.

Jenny was still pouting as she began to do the dishes. "I can't believe you
bullied me into arm-wrestling my mom," she whined. "I hate washing dishes."

"Well, I can't believe you lost to your mom," I retorted, playfully but with a
hint of truth. "She's more than twice your age!"

"Watch it, Matt!" came a voice from the other room. It was Kris. "Tomorrow
you'll be the one wrestling to see who does the dishes if you keep this up."

"Ha, ha," I said dryly. "If I wrestled, then you two would be in here with suds
on your hand.

"We'll see about that," said Kris. There was some conversation in the other
room that I couldn't quite hear, and then she and Margot erupted in laughter. I
just shook my head and flicked soap suds on Jenny. I soon forgot about the
older women in the other room as Jenny and I flirted and groped each other while
cleaning up the kitchen.

The next day began like all the others. Breakfast, lazing on the beach, lunch,
lazing on the beach. Here and there some smooching with Jenny. That evening
the four of us wound up together in the living room. Kris and Margot had just
come back from the beach, so they were both wearing swimsuits; Margot wore a
purple bikini that showed her chest to full effect, and Kris had on a hot-pink
one piece that was cut low in the front, revealing more than a little breast.
Margot poured us all some wine and we reclined on the sofas comfortably, making
small talk.

Then Jenny said, "I'm hungry. Let's make some dinner. Anyone want some pasta?"

Kris replied, "Well, before we start cooking, let's get it straight about who's
going to wash the dishes tonight." She and Margot laughed, remembering last
night's arm-wrestling match.

"Since Jenny and I did them last night," I said quickly and forcefully, "it's
only fair that you two do the dishes tonight." Jenny nodded her head
vigorously.

"So you want fairness, huh, Mattie?" teased Margot. "I heard you teasing poor
Jenny last night about losing to me. Maybe it's your turn tonight?"

"Oh, come on," I said. "I'm twice your size. That wouldn't be a contest. I'm
as big as you and Kris put together."

"But he's ticklish," interjected Jenny. I stared at her, and she giggled
slightly. I sensed Kris and Margot exchanging glances.

"Whose side are you on?" I asked her.

"Maybe you should do the dishes by yourself tonight," said Jenny, smiling
sheepishly. Kris set her wine down on a table and stood up, heading toward me.

"What are you guys thinking?" I demanded as Margot set her wine down and also
headed in my direction.

"Ticklish, huh?" asked Kris as she stood over me. At this point Jenny scooted
away from me on the sofa, giving the two older women plenty of room. I sank
down into the cushions defensively, and looked up at Margot to my left and Kris
to my right.

"Look, you better stay back," I warned through my nervous laughter, pointing my
finger at Kris, who was now reaching out her polished nails as if to begin
tickling my ribs. "I don't want to hurt a couple women."

"We can take care of ourselves," said Kris. Suddenly she grabbed my extended
index finger with one hand and my wrist with the other, and immediately she bent
my finger backward toward the back of my hand.

"Oww!" I wailed in between my laughs.

"Get his other hand!" Kris directed Margot, as I was trying to force the blonde
to release her grip on my right hand and finger. Margot quickly complied and
seized my left forearm with both her hands, pulling it away from my
still-captured right hand.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I grunted despite my laughter.

"Who's hurting who?" asked Kris.

"You're about to get hurt," I managed to say, jokingly. Enough was enough. I
rose to my feet and managed to jerk my left arm out of Margot's grasp. Turning
my full attention to Kris, I pried her hand from my finger and then grasped both
of her wrists. She was strong for her size, but I towered over her. For fun, I
criss-crossed her arms across her neck and held her helpless, despite her
squirming. Margot was trying, ineffectively, to recapture one of my arms. All
four of us had been laughing hysterically throughout this struggle.

Panting, I asked, "Had enough? Are you and Margot going to do the dishes?" To
emphasize my dominance I gave her arms a squeeze.

I thought that she was about to admit defeat. But then Jenny shouted, "Remember,
he's ticklish."

Margot, standing behind me, immediately began to run her nails across my ribs
and sides. I tried to twist away from her without releasing Kris, but Margot
stayed with me. Unfortunately, Jenny was correct: I am very ticklish, so
ticklish that I couldn't stand even ten seconds of Margot's assault before I had
to relinquish my grasp on Kris's wrists and try to cover up my torso. Of
course, this allowed Kris to join in the attack, and now four sets of
fingernails were torturing me.

My only option was to flee. I tried to make a break for the bedroom, but Kris
realized my plan and jumped on my back in an attempt to stop me. She wrapped
her legs around my waist and both her arms around my neck, squeezing me like an
octopus. She couldn't have weighed more than 100 pounds, so I could normally
have supported her easily, but what with Margot still tickling me furiously I
lost my balanced and fell sideways onto the carpet.

Both women howled with laughter as they kneeled on either side of me, tickling
mercilessly. I rolled to my back, hoping to be able to use my arms as defense,
only to find that I left too many spots open to attack. So in desperation I
rolled to my stomach. This proved to be a fatal error as Kris straddled my
lower back and somehow wrenched my right arm into a hammerlock. Before I knew
it the two women managed to force my left arm behind my back, also, and know the
petite blonde held both of my wrists between my shoulder blades. This allowed
Margot free reign to tickle me without obstruction. I screamed in laughter,
pain, and frustration.

"Would you like to do the dishes, Matt?" asked Kris in a mockingly sweet tone of
voice.

Instead of answering, I just bucked and kicked, trying to escape.

Then I heard Jenny's voice. "Matt, can you really not get up? Are you trying?
Can you really not get away from Kris?"

"Of course I'm not trying," I shouted, suddenly more angry than playful. "I
don't want to hurt them."

Kris shoved my arms higher up behind my back. "I think I really have him," she
giggled, bouncing on my back for emphasis.

That was too much. With a burst of anger I bucked and threw my body sideways,
spilling Kris onto the carpet. Quickly I rolled over and sat up. My arms
actually ached a bit from being twisted behind my back. Kris grinned playfully
as she watched my massage my biceps to work out the pain, and she did a double
bicep pose to taunt me.

"Let's get him again," suggested Margot. "He still hasn't agreed to do the
dishes."

"Look," I said. "That wasn't fair. I wasn't trying, and tickling isn't fair."

"Then try this time," said Margot as she lunged at me from the left. Kris
simultaneously dove on me from the right. I fell back onto the carpet and found
that each woman had a solid grasp on one of my arms. Margot saw Kris pressing
my right arm to the carpet and stretching it out, so she followed suit with the
left. Despite my size and strength advantage, I couldn't break free. Kris was
holding my righ wrist with one hand, my elbow with the other, and had both her
knees resting on my arm. All her weight was driving my arm into the carpet.
Margot mirrored her actions with my left arm.

"Are you trying now?" asked Kris, bouncing on my arm and causing me real pain.
I clenched my teeth to avoid whimpering. I balled my hands into fists, then
opened them up, vainly looking for some means of escape. I tried forcing my feet
against the floor and bridging up, but the women had my arms firmly secured and
I went nowhere. In a last act of desperation I kicked my legs up.

Unfortunately Kris caught my right ankle as I swung it up. Quickly Margot did
the same thing with my left. "Let's bend him in half!" suggested Kris. The two
women began forcing my legs toward my head, to the point that my feet were
touching the floor. I was howling in agony. In this position it was hard to
breathe.

Sensing that I might actually be hurting, Kris and Margot released my legs after
a moment, but they stayed firmly planted on my bruised and aching arms. The
women leaned over so that they were staring straight down at me.

"Want to wash some dishes, honey?" asked Kris, licking her shiny pink lips at my
frustration.

I refused to answer. I just lay there panting and occasionally squirming
helplessly.

Margot suddenly said, "Well, I have to use the potty. All that laughing is
making me need to pee."

"That's OK," said Kris. "I can hold him from here."

Unbelievably, Kris was correct. As soon as Margot released my left arm and
stood up, I gave a renewed effort to escape. But several minutes of having my
arms pinned beneath the women's knees had apparently weakened them immeasurably.
To my surprise and horror, the petite middle-aged woman was able to quickly
straddle my chest and force both my arms back to the carpet. She rested her
knees on my biceps and dug them in, causing me to grimace in pain. Then, as
payback for my earlier teasing of her, Kris actually criss-crossed my own arms
across my neck. She held my right wrist by my left ear and folded my left arm
over it so that my left wrist was at my right ear. I kicked and bucked and
jerked, but the little woman only giggled down at me. She was leaned over so
that her breasts, hammocked in the hot-pink swimsuit, dangled directly over my
face. It was a moment of supreme humiliation when a drop of sweat fell from one
of her hard nipples, so obvious under the thin layer of nylon, and landed on my
face.

"Want to wash some dishes, Mattie?" Kris asked. Her mouth was so close I felt
like I could taste her lipstick. Again I struggled and bucked, but finally I
realized that I was helpless.

"Please let me up," I mumbled.

"What will you do for me if I let you up?" she asked.

"I'll wash the dishes."

"What else?" she giggled.

"Anything you want," I admitted.

"Do you have that on video?" Kris asked. I turned my head. Margot was standing
beside her daughter, giggling insanely. Jenny was holding her video camera.

"I've got almost the whole thing," said Jenny. "It looks like poor Matt is
going to be doing your dishes for a long, long time."