Dare Me (new 5/11)

[neverdoubted]

Very close but not quite.

[perseus]

Very close but not quite.

Who's guess was the closest? Is being close good enough for the next chapter?

[jojo12026]

Hopefully......

[Themarble]

Ok, I got the guess we are going to have to bring our minds together. I don't want this to end like that. Hmmm. I'll be thinking, I hope the rest of you are.

[neverdoubted]

It was a noble effort and there were a few very close guesses. Perhaps I was being too strict in judging them. As a compromise, I will post the next part and offer the same challenge for part 3. It should be much easier to guess this time around.

[Themarble]

I think everyone would be very appreciative of that. Thanks!

[neverdoubted]

Dare Me - Chapter 13 - Hardship Study Buddy (Part 2)

My summer started out ok. I spent those first few weeks much like every other teenager did. Still too young to drive, I would ride my bike everywhere; often ending up at a neighborhood basketball court near the junior high. Having made the team as a seventh-grade bench warmer, my goal for next year was to actually get on the court in a game. I was strong, pretty tall, and still growing. So, there was even an outside chance I might get to start a few games.

But my summer experience was soon spoiled by the weight of financial responsibilities. Mom struggled to find a job, and by the end of June, our money supply was running dangerously low. Of course, Aunt Julie offered mom all kinds of bad career advice-like stripping. When I overheard that, I actually shot soda out of my nose. Sure, mom would have made a lot of money that way, but at what cost? She had just quit a job because her boss was basically treating her like a piece of meat. Doesn't being a stripper mean everyone treats you like meat? It didn't make any logical sense!

The suggestion alone was enough to make me change my opinion of Aunt Julie. I knew she and mom had grown up in a... rougher environment. That’s a nice way of saying it. The honest way is to admit they were poor white trash. Mom always kept us kids away from her side of the family for that reason. It explains why, when given the opportunity, she had run away with my dad at a young age and done everything in her power to break free from that pattern.

She had made it a priority that her kids be raised in a typical American middle-class suburban environment. Aunt Julie had taken a very different path. She had been married - and divorced - three times and lived in a crummy apartment somewhere deep in Chicago with her only son, Josh. He was my only cousin that I was aware of, but we hardly ever saw each other growing up.

Anyway, I was glad to hear mom shoot down the idea of stripping to make a quick buck. But don't worry, Aunt Julie had plenty of other terrible career ideas. One of her less appalling suggestions she had found listed in the back of Hot Rod Magazine. Apparently, some sketchy promotions company was hiring female sales associates to attend motorcycle and car shows and stand next to the vehicles extolling their virtues.

I located the magazine at a gas station and was able to research the listing and the company. It did promise good money, but also required lots of far-flung travel on the car show circuit, especially on weekends. Sales Associate was a questionable job title for what they were asking. A more accurate one might be "booth babe" or "eye candy". The company clearly only hired attractive women if you know what I mean.

When she couldn't find anything better, mom finally gave in and took a minimum wage job at a fast-food place and a second part-time job on nights and weekends, while I did my best to stretch every dollar we had left. It was definitely a lean time.

The hardest thing for me, as a growing teenage boy, was our limited grocery budget. It was probably the low point of the summer when mom brought her first paycheck home. I had been waiting for days to buy more food and eagerly opened the envelope only to discover some guy named FICA had stolen a huge chunk of her earnings!

Pouring over the growing pile of past due notices and bills which I had filed in the "Urgent, pay these immediately" stack, I was disturbed to estimate how little we would have left for our food budget. It didn't help that my stomach was literally grumbling at the time.

Exasperated, I leaned back and uttered a phrase I thought I would never hear myself say in a million years, "I hate summer."

Mom gave me a pat of assurance on the shoulder. She expressed her gratitude that I had taken the financial decision-making load, which would normally be handled by another parent, off her. But she couldn't stay around long. She had to get cleaned up quickly to make it to her second job in time.

Lucy, being so used to extracting whatever she wanted out of mom, chafed under the draconian restrictions I put in place as the new overseer of funds. She grew to resent me and threw more than a reasonable number of tantrums those first few weeks as her extravagant lifestyle and usually extensive wardrobe took a serious hit.

I must give her credit, though. Despite continuing to complain about her unfair new spending budget, she really came through for the family in a myriad of ways. From the beginning, she put every effort into making that garden succeed. And like everything she puts her mind to, it bore fruit. You could say that girl was a natural green thumb and actually seemed to enjoy working on it. The very same night I was bemoaning our lack of grocery funds, she proudly brought in her inaugural vegetable harvest.

It was a modest haul, perhaps enough to make a side salad, but I was relieved when I laid eyes on those leafy greens, cherry tomatoes and radishes. I'm not going to say that garden solely kept us from starving to death or anything, but her dedicated labors sure did make our meals more respectable and nutritious, and the savings allowed me to deploy much-needed funds elsewhere.

A secondary benefit of her efforts was the flower garden. She started making cute little bouquets and gifting them to our elderly neighbors who were very grateful. I think a lot of them, especially the men, just liked getting attention from a beautiful young lady. But I saw a greater potential there. I had her design some business cards, which came out beautifully, and bought some vases and tissue paper. That's how “Blooms by Lucy” came into existence. Before long she was selling, rather than gifting, her little creations and turning a tidy little profit.

Rather than spend it, or let Mr. FICA lay claim to his cut, I invested the profits back into her backyard enterprise. On a reconnaissance trip to a florist in town, I learned how to price our bouquets to undercut the competition but still maximize our profits. Lucy had already planted some roses, but they grew more slowly and wouldn't be producing anything at least until the following spring.

Whenever a bill collector came around, I learned to play the "my mom isn't here, she's at work" excuse, which was true most of the time. Somehow, we made it through June without going bankrupt, and as July rolled around, I found I wasn't dedicating every waking minute to worrying about money…only most of them.

It was around Independence Day when I first sensed her itch starting to return. Being somewhat cyclical in nature, I had come to expect its return and had learned the signs to look out for.

I knew without a doubt by then that her itch for risk-taking was tied inextricably to some other primal need; a pleasure buried deep inside her that longed to come out from time to time. If she didn't scratch it, it would drive her crazy. But she didn't know how to do it. She could try, and probably did try countless times, to get there on her own. But although her solo gratifications likely did extract a modicum of pleasure, without my contributions, her efforts were doomed to come up short by comparison.

That's because I alone had cracked the code. Only I knew how to properly apply the perfect catalysts; that sublime triumvirate of heat, pressure, and time. And that's why she needed me. She had been conditioned to see me as the only conduit by which she could truly conquer that maddening itch whenever it returned.

Being able to clearly understand and predict her actions is what allowed me to place the whole thing on the back burner of my attention. In times past, I may have felt pressure to instigate or prematurely plotted to goad her into asking for her next dare.

But with everything going on, as strange as it sounds, I actually welcomed the break. And when I caught that familiar gleam in her eye one evening in mid-July and knew her itch had returned, my inner excitement was also accompanied by a small sense of dread. How was I going to manage her dare while also juggling so many other responsibilities?

My plate was so full managing our finances, hunting for a job somehow suitable to a 14-year-old with no marketable skills, and dodging creditors, I hardly had the bandwidth to add dare master duties; which could really be its own full-time job. If you have been paying attention, you know that giving half my attention and effort to her dare is a recipe for disaster. That's precisely why I felt that dread in the back of my mind and hoped she wouldn't ask that very night. I welcomed any opportunity to put it off.

Luckily, she had to wrestle with her own sense of dread. I had successfully added numerous conditions to the process over time to test her resolve and commitment. She had done enough dares by that point to know, once she said those two little words, she was committing to carrying a heavy burden for an indefinite period of time. She had to essentially give up all control over her body and subject herself to whatever humiliating tasks I could dream up for her. And to top it off, she was not allowed to pleasure herself until the dare was complete. If girls at that age were anything like boys, that last stipulation must have caused a heavy burden indeed!

As rewarding as it always was for her in the end, her brain's preservation instinct had to be begging her every time not to do it. The dare always extracted its toll; whether social, emotional, or physical. Surely, the rational side of her brain screamed that it wasn't worth it and fought to keep those words out of her mouth. But the urge would not be denied.

That’s why I wasn't surprised when she didn't come right out and ask that very first night. I was content to bide my time and watch her demeanor change as she held out as long as she could. It amused me to watch the pressure gradually build as her resolve was put to the test day by day suppressing the urge.

The balance shifted one day while we were out walking in the neighborhood together. Her flower orders had exploded as "The Olds" used word of mouth to spread news of the industrious local young lady who had started her own business arranging and selling flowers. You wouldn't believe how many old people occasions call for flowers!

Lucy had many deliveries that day and had asked me to help her. While she handled the transaction and actual face to face stuff, my job was to drag the little red wagon full of bouquets around from house to house. It was hot and boring and a little emasculating. I wanted to complain that the task was beneath me, but since I still hadn't figured out a way to get a job of my own, I had no standing to protest.

My fortunes changed when we reached Mr. Beski's house. A prominent neighbor and friend of his had been hospitalized and he had ordered a bouquet from Lucy to show his sympathies. Several other neighbors were doing the same thing that week. Mr. Beski looked especially frail when he came to the door. Like any retiree as they age, his health had been steadily declining, but I didn't realize it had gotten this bad.

He looked positively decrepit and could only get around using a walker. Lucy had to carry the flowers inside for him and put them on the counter. He looked to me like a shell of his former self; like he was about to drop dead any minute. I don't want to sound morbid, but I wasn't too far off on that prediction. He had been hiding a cancer diagnosis from everyone, including his family, and was losing the battle.

We sat politely with him for a while and talked. He didn't get many visitors and I could tell he appreciated our company. I didn't mind. He was a nice man who had always been kind to us, and it was nice to get out of the heat for a while.

When he asked us to deliver the flowers to the hospital for him, I figured out he had no intention or method of delivering them himself. He had just ordered them so someone would come visit him. It made me sad that his health was failing, and his family lived so far away. But I guess that explains what he did next. He offered me his car on indefinite loan. All I had to do was pass the written driver's test to qualify for a hardship license and the car was mine for as long as I wanted.

I really wish he had told us about the cancer, not that we could do anything to help. But he shouldn’t have kept it a secret from everyone like that. Poor, lonely, generous Mr. Beski. May he rest in peace.

My head was swimming as we said "goodbye" to him and resumed our deliveries. I had never even heard of a hardship license. Was it really possible that they would allow me to drive a car at 14? It would sure solve a lot of our transportation problems and it would allow Lucy to expand her flower delivery range. I couldn't help but grin giddily at the possibilities. I needed to get to the library ASAP and research what he had said about the license. If I really did qualify for a hardship exception, I could be driving my own car as soon as tomorrow!

Lucy sensed my excitement and noticed the gears turning inside my brain. She started buzzing with proximity excitement which caused her buried itch to flare up-like when you blow onto smoldering ashes. The dam of her resolve was crumbling. She wanted to ask me for a dare but managed to hold her tongue as we completed the remaining deliveries.

As soon as we got home, I made an announcement.

"I'm going to ride my bike to the library," I declared.

"Can I come, too?" she asked, not wanting to be left out of all the excitement. Her eyebrows lifted and her whole body tensed up hopefully as she eagerly awaited my answer.

I didn't want her there. I was on a mission. Mr. Beski had said something about passing a written test, and I had seen older kids at school studying some sort of driver's license book. Obviously, the two were related. If I could get to the library quickly and figure it all out fast enough, I might even be able to check out a copy and start studying as soon as today. Having my little sister tag along everywhere would only slow me down.

"No, Goosey, you stay home," I decided, "I'll be back soon."

"But I want to help!" she whined, stomping her foot like the childish little brat she could sometimes be. Why did she always pick the most inopportune times to make it about her?

"You can...umm...help me study tonight," I offered dismissively. My mind was already dreaming of the open road! Thinking the matter settled, I jumped on my bike and was about to head out.

"Mikey, wait!" she said desperately, "I...I need something...before you go!"

"What?" I snapped back, impatiently. I stood poised with one foot on the pedal; intending to parry her final inane request and take off immediately after. I couldn't conceive of anything she could possibly say to make me delay my trip for even a second longer. But she managed to do exactly that, and she only needed two little words.

"Dare Me"

[perseus]

I'm generally not very good at guessing where a story is going but I'll give it a shot.

My guess is that Lucy will have to be naked until Mikey passes the test. I'm guessing that studying for the test will take some time and Mikey will want to make sure he passes it on the first try. In the meantime Lucy will have to deliver her flowers to the neighborhood while naked. Perhaps Lucy's dare will be completed when Mikey is able to drive to the hospital and Lucy delivers the flowers there while naked.

[jojo12026]

See!! That's why I am not an author, and only a reader. Excellent guess Perseus!

[Themarble]

Perhaps she will receive a new gardening outfit? One that aligns with the more natural aesthetic? Perhaps, nude?
Could be embarrassing whenever or if someone visits?