Dare Me (new 5/11)
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jojo12026
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Re: Dare Me (new 8/24)
Don't hold back! We want you to feel free to post. We will stay up with you! Lol
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neverdoubted
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Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 7)
Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 7)
She barely acknowledged me when I got home. She had changed out of her dress into play clothes and spent the afternoon in the living room practicing all the cheers one last time before her tryout. She was uncharacteristically quiet at dinner. I think the nerves of her upcoming tryout were starting to affect her.
I wanted to encourage her - instill some confidence that she would make the team and had nothing to worry about. But realistically, I knew it wasn't a sure thing. The team was typically an even blend of girls from the eighth and ninth grades. They simply couldn't accept everyone who applied, and seventh graders were usually the first on the chopping block.
Someone that young would have to be a special talent with just the right qualities to remain in consideration. Having said that, if they were going to take anyone from her grade, I couldn't imagine any girl making a better impression than Lucy.
Around bedtime, she knocked on my door and slipped tensely into my room when I answered. Her stated excuse was that she needed help picking out what shade of nail polish to wear to the tryouts. That was an easy decision. Of course, I suggested my favorite color: bubblegum pink. Something about that color just always looked so good on her. Know what I mean?
Anyway, just before she left, the real reason for her visit came out.
"Uh, Mikey," she began, digging one toe nervously into my carpet. She was already wearing her night's chosen sleeping attire, a red flannel top. That girl always did have an irrational fear of being cold, even to the point of wearing flannel to bed in the middle of the summer.
But apparently even Lucy has her limits when it comes to warming needs. She had already shed her matching flannel pants, rolled up her sleeves, and undone several buttons down the front to improve ventilation. She was now showing a lot more skin than the outfit originally intended, but who's complaining?
I could tell she wanted to ask me something important, so I waited patiently for her to summon the courage.
"So...do you think...with my tryouts being tomorrow, that we could...maybe, pause my dare just for a day?" she asked with a hopeful look before adding, "please?"
She knew pausing a dare was not normally allowed. So, she was taking a big risk by asking me to make an exception. But my response totally threw her for a loop.
"What dare?" I replied with a blank look.
"Ha-ha, very funny," she said sarcastically, "stop messing around - be serious."
"I am being serious, Lucy," using her real name instead of my nickname for her to indicate my sincerity. My voice never wavered, "I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing to pause because you're not doing a dare."
"...but you said I had to...and I went..." she started to say, but her words trailed off.
"How can you be doing a dare when you never asked for one?" I insisted, “when you never even said the words."
Her mouth fell open as it dawned on her that every humiliating thing she had done that day, from stripping in the exam room and refusing to wear a hospital gown, to following her doctor upstairs, to wandering the halls of a county building and ending up sitting in the DMV stark naked and making sure no part of her body was covered, was voluntary. She had done it all on a suggestion, not a dare.
"Trick" is such a harsh word. It carries a subtle insinuation of malicious intent. I wouldn't call what I did to her a trick. Based on the redness in her face, I'm not sure Lucy agreed with that assessment. She spun in place and marched angrily out of the room without another word.
The next morning, she must have still been mad at me, because she refused to even acknowledge me even though I generously drove her to the school for her tryout. I escorted her to the gym foyer where a registration desk had been setup. The other guardians, all women, were doing what protective mothers do. They fawned over their little angels making sure every single hair and hem was in place to make the perfect impression on her prospective coach.
After she had been checked in and before she headed into the gym, I offered her one last wish of good luck. She did not say anything in return. I chalked it up to nerves. It being a closed tryout, no one else was allowed inside. Even the small windows built into the doors had been covered with construction paper.
I had absolutely no desire to hang around a bunch of jittery housewives in the lobby. So, I went for a drive and returned at the designated time. When I picked her up, I tried to ask her how it went, but she was apparently still giving me the silent treatment. The roster was not to be announced until the next morning. With nothing to do but wait and an anxious sister stomping all over the house, I kept mostly to my room and avoided her the rest of the day.
I came down around dinnertime and overheard her telling mom a little about the tryout. The older girls had intimidated her. She had messed up several of the skills assessments and totally blanked on one of the cheers because she was so nervous. After spending all day obsessing over and picking apart her performance, doubts about her chances of making the team were starting to creep in. Mom tried to encourage her, but I could tell Lucy's worry was growing bigger by the hour.
At dinner, she barely picked at her food and looked totally stressed out at the table. I didn't see anger on her face anymore, only a kind of creeping dread.
The first word she said to me that day was "thanks", in response to me offering to do the dishes even though it was her night for that chore. I took that single word as a glimmer of hope that she was starting to forgive me for manipulating her at the clinic.
She didn't speak to me again until after midnight when I was awoken by a sniffling sound. Looking up groggily, I saw a shadow outline hovering by the foot of my bed and thought it was a ghost at first. Rubbing my eyes, I recognized the outline of my sister and reached for my nightstand lamp.
It had been a while since Lucy last interrupted my sleep like this in the middle of the night. Normally, I would be very upset. But given the circumstances, I didn't hold it against her.
She was wearing the same flannel top as the night before. Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were tear stained. She looked like she had been crying for a while.
"It's not fair!" she complained, stomping her foot, and hugging her middle.
I sat up into a recline on my elbows. My guess, even though I ended up being wrong about it, was that she had come to the conclusion that she had flunked her tryout and didn't make the team. If so, she had come to me for consoling.
"Oh, Lucy, don't cry. Come 'ere," I offered, opening my blanket. Immediately, she crawled into bed and cuddled up under the blanket and I wrapped my arms around her. Then, within seconds, the waterworks came. The last thing she said before crying herself to sleep in my arms revealed the real reason she had come into my room.
"It's not fair," she repeated between sniffles, "you didn't tell me it wasn't for a dare. I didn't know...it's just not fair..."
My eyes flew open, and sleep fled as I processed what she had just said. She wasn't upset about her tryout. This was about her dare, her WC!
The knowledge tormented me and made sleep impossible. At the clinic, the timing couldn't have been better. Her body had been ready and responded to my suggestions as if they were part of a dare. But once she discovered the truth, that it was all a trick, her-what did Dr. Alabar call it? Her chemical pathways went haywire.
Now she was stuck in limbo. Her urge had returned in full force, and she needed to make a diamond. But, having never said the words, never completed a dare, she couldn't get the hormones to come out in the way her body so desperately needed. She was right. It wasn't fair.
I felt sorry for her, but I didn't feel guilty. After all, how was I supposed to know her chemical systems were so fragile? I didn't even know she had WC until after I had met with her doctor. By then, it was much too late to reverse course and stop her from humiliating herself at the clinic.
I didn't have a clue what would happen next, but I sensed I was in trouble. If she asked for another dare, a real one this time to make up for the one she thought she had already done, the timing for me couldn't be worse. Tomorrow was Wednesday. If she made the team, she needed to start prepping to leave on Thursday evening for weekend cheer camp. They were taking a school bus to Westfield on a teambuilding expedition and wouldn't be back until late Sunday.
As I hugged my sister, still whimpering in her sleep, I was reminded of the last time she had come to me in the middle of the night. That's when I had, after a couple of false starts, figured out the magic recipe for a successful dare; heat, pressure, time. If she didn't make a diamond in time, her symptoms might not die down before she left for camp. The consequences of that could be disastrous. That only gave me a very short window, a day and a half, to come up with and execute an effective dare for her. Time, for once, was not on my side. That meant I could only depend on heat and pressure.
I tried to wrack my brain for ideas. But despite my frequent boasts to the contrary, I'm actually not that creative. I wondered if there was some other way to neutralize the time crunch. What if I simply incorporated her dare into the cheer camp itself? Maybe I could dare her to spend all camp without any panties or something. Doing all the twirls and jumps while trying to keep her cheer skirt from flying up and flashing her privates would certainly be challenging. Surely that would produce some moments of embarrassment.
At its core, there was a lot to like about that idea. It gave me the flexibility to extend her dare when she got back from camp if necessary. And Dr. Alabar, with his letter, had opened the door for her to be legally excused from normal uniform requirements. I was confident, if I got in front of her cheer coach that I could convince them to accept her doctor's orders. On the other hand, it was a big risk giving her a dare all the way in Westfield without any way for me to keep an eye on her.
I didn't commit to the plan just yet. But since no other good ideas came to me, it did become my first option by default. I decided, if she made the team, that I would at least meet with her coach and lay the groundwork for a uniform alteration should I have to go that route. But, as I nodded off, I convinced myself it would ultimately be unnecessary, and I fully intended to come up with something better in the morning. You can probably guess how well that plan went.
She barely acknowledged me when I got home. She had changed out of her dress into play clothes and spent the afternoon in the living room practicing all the cheers one last time before her tryout. She was uncharacteristically quiet at dinner. I think the nerves of her upcoming tryout were starting to affect her.
I wanted to encourage her - instill some confidence that she would make the team and had nothing to worry about. But realistically, I knew it wasn't a sure thing. The team was typically an even blend of girls from the eighth and ninth grades. They simply couldn't accept everyone who applied, and seventh graders were usually the first on the chopping block.
Someone that young would have to be a special talent with just the right qualities to remain in consideration. Having said that, if they were going to take anyone from her grade, I couldn't imagine any girl making a better impression than Lucy.
Around bedtime, she knocked on my door and slipped tensely into my room when I answered. Her stated excuse was that she needed help picking out what shade of nail polish to wear to the tryouts. That was an easy decision. Of course, I suggested my favorite color: bubblegum pink. Something about that color just always looked so good on her. Know what I mean?
Anyway, just before she left, the real reason for her visit came out.
"Uh, Mikey," she began, digging one toe nervously into my carpet. She was already wearing her night's chosen sleeping attire, a red flannel top. That girl always did have an irrational fear of being cold, even to the point of wearing flannel to bed in the middle of the summer.
But apparently even Lucy has her limits when it comes to warming needs. She had already shed her matching flannel pants, rolled up her sleeves, and undone several buttons down the front to improve ventilation. She was now showing a lot more skin than the outfit originally intended, but who's complaining?
I could tell she wanted to ask me something important, so I waited patiently for her to summon the courage.
"So...do you think...with my tryouts being tomorrow, that we could...maybe, pause my dare just for a day?" she asked with a hopeful look before adding, "please?"
She knew pausing a dare was not normally allowed. So, she was taking a big risk by asking me to make an exception. But my response totally threw her for a loop.
"What dare?" I replied with a blank look.
"Ha-ha, very funny," she said sarcastically, "stop messing around - be serious."
"I am being serious, Lucy," using her real name instead of my nickname for her to indicate my sincerity. My voice never wavered, "I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing to pause because you're not doing a dare."
"...but you said I had to...and I went..." she started to say, but her words trailed off.
"How can you be doing a dare when you never asked for one?" I insisted, “when you never even said the words."
Her mouth fell open as it dawned on her that every humiliating thing she had done that day, from stripping in the exam room and refusing to wear a hospital gown, to following her doctor upstairs, to wandering the halls of a county building and ending up sitting in the DMV stark naked and making sure no part of her body was covered, was voluntary. She had done it all on a suggestion, not a dare.
"Trick" is such a harsh word. It carries a subtle insinuation of malicious intent. I wouldn't call what I did to her a trick. Based on the redness in her face, I'm not sure Lucy agreed with that assessment. She spun in place and marched angrily out of the room without another word.
The next morning, she must have still been mad at me, because she refused to even acknowledge me even though I generously drove her to the school for her tryout. I escorted her to the gym foyer where a registration desk had been setup. The other guardians, all women, were doing what protective mothers do. They fawned over their little angels making sure every single hair and hem was in place to make the perfect impression on her prospective coach.
After she had been checked in and before she headed into the gym, I offered her one last wish of good luck. She did not say anything in return. I chalked it up to nerves. It being a closed tryout, no one else was allowed inside. Even the small windows built into the doors had been covered with construction paper.
I had absolutely no desire to hang around a bunch of jittery housewives in the lobby. So, I went for a drive and returned at the designated time. When I picked her up, I tried to ask her how it went, but she was apparently still giving me the silent treatment. The roster was not to be announced until the next morning. With nothing to do but wait and an anxious sister stomping all over the house, I kept mostly to my room and avoided her the rest of the day.
I came down around dinnertime and overheard her telling mom a little about the tryout. The older girls had intimidated her. She had messed up several of the skills assessments and totally blanked on one of the cheers because she was so nervous. After spending all day obsessing over and picking apart her performance, doubts about her chances of making the team were starting to creep in. Mom tried to encourage her, but I could tell Lucy's worry was growing bigger by the hour.
At dinner, she barely picked at her food and looked totally stressed out at the table. I didn't see anger on her face anymore, only a kind of creeping dread.
The first word she said to me that day was "thanks", in response to me offering to do the dishes even though it was her night for that chore. I took that single word as a glimmer of hope that she was starting to forgive me for manipulating her at the clinic.
She didn't speak to me again until after midnight when I was awoken by a sniffling sound. Looking up groggily, I saw a shadow outline hovering by the foot of my bed and thought it was a ghost at first. Rubbing my eyes, I recognized the outline of my sister and reached for my nightstand lamp.
It had been a while since Lucy last interrupted my sleep like this in the middle of the night. Normally, I would be very upset. But given the circumstances, I didn't hold it against her.
She was wearing the same flannel top as the night before. Her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were tear stained. She looked like she had been crying for a while.
"It's not fair!" she complained, stomping her foot, and hugging her middle.
I sat up into a recline on my elbows. My guess, even though I ended up being wrong about it, was that she had come to the conclusion that she had flunked her tryout and didn't make the team. If so, she had come to me for consoling.
"Oh, Lucy, don't cry. Come 'ere," I offered, opening my blanket. Immediately, she crawled into bed and cuddled up under the blanket and I wrapped my arms around her. Then, within seconds, the waterworks came. The last thing she said before crying herself to sleep in my arms revealed the real reason she had come into my room.
"It's not fair," she repeated between sniffles, "you didn't tell me it wasn't for a dare. I didn't know...it's just not fair..."
My eyes flew open, and sleep fled as I processed what she had just said. She wasn't upset about her tryout. This was about her dare, her WC!
The knowledge tormented me and made sleep impossible. At the clinic, the timing couldn't have been better. Her body had been ready and responded to my suggestions as if they were part of a dare. But once she discovered the truth, that it was all a trick, her-what did Dr. Alabar call it? Her chemical pathways went haywire.
Now she was stuck in limbo. Her urge had returned in full force, and she needed to make a diamond. But, having never said the words, never completed a dare, she couldn't get the hormones to come out in the way her body so desperately needed. She was right. It wasn't fair.
I felt sorry for her, but I didn't feel guilty. After all, how was I supposed to know her chemical systems were so fragile? I didn't even know she had WC until after I had met with her doctor. By then, it was much too late to reverse course and stop her from humiliating herself at the clinic.
I didn't have a clue what would happen next, but I sensed I was in trouble. If she asked for another dare, a real one this time to make up for the one she thought she had already done, the timing for me couldn't be worse. Tomorrow was Wednesday. If she made the team, she needed to start prepping to leave on Thursday evening for weekend cheer camp. They were taking a school bus to Westfield on a teambuilding expedition and wouldn't be back until late Sunday.
As I hugged my sister, still whimpering in her sleep, I was reminded of the last time she had come to me in the middle of the night. That's when I had, after a couple of false starts, figured out the magic recipe for a successful dare; heat, pressure, time. If she didn't make a diamond in time, her symptoms might not die down before she left for camp. The consequences of that could be disastrous. That only gave me a very short window, a day and a half, to come up with and execute an effective dare for her. Time, for once, was not on my side. That meant I could only depend on heat and pressure.
I tried to wrack my brain for ideas. But despite my frequent boasts to the contrary, I'm actually not that creative. I wondered if there was some other way to neutralize the time crunch. What if I simply incorporated her dare into the cheer camp itself? Maybe I could dare her to spend all camp without any panties or something. Doing all the twirls and jumps while trying to keep her cheer skirt from flying up and flashing her privates would certainly be challenging. Surely that would produce some moments of embarrassment.
At its core, there was a lot to like about that idea. It gave me the flexibility to extend her dare when she got back from camp if necessary. And Dr. Alabar, with his letter, had opened the door for her to be legally excused from normal uniform requirements. I was confident, if I got in front of her cheer coach that I could convince them to accept her doctor's orders. On the other hand, it was a big risk giving her a dare all the way in Westfield without any way for me to keep an eye on her.
I didn't commit to the plan just yet. But since no other good ideas came to me, it did become my first option by default. I decided, if she made the team, that I would at least meet with her coach and lay the groundwork for a uniform alteration should I have to go that route. But, as I nodded off, I convinced myself it would ultimately be unnecessary, and I fully intended to come up with something better in the morning. You can probably guess how well that plan went.
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jojo12026
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Re: Dare Me (new 8/24)
I can see it now, Mikey has to go with her to cheer camp as a chaperone, due to her medical condition....Start the diamond factory!!
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neverdoubted
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Re: Dare Me (new 8/24)
I do love a good prediction. He would make a good assistant coach for the team. 
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neverdoubted
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Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 8)
Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 8)
Lucy woke up before dawn and camped beside the telephone all morning. The glorious call finally came around noon. Miss Easterling called to formally welcome Lucy to the team and to introduce herself as her new cheer coach! Lucy celebrated by running around the house. No, I mean, she was so excited that she literally went outside to scream for joy and ended up running all the way around the house.
Miss Easterling finished by giving us some information about the upcoming cheer camp so she would know how to pack. Before ending the call, I asked if she might have time for a short meeting that day. Because of the sensitive nature, I explained it would be better to speak face-to-face than try and do it over the phone. She had been making congratulatory phone calls all morning and would be around several more hours making final preparations for camp. I told her I would drive over to the school right after lunch.
I need to stop here and explain something. Even though I had never formally met her, I actually knew quite a bit about Miss Easterling. Every boy in my school knew who she was. That's because, if you took a poll for the hottest teacher, Miss Easterling would at least be in every boy's top three. I would put her at the top of my ballot. She taught English and Literature, but the joke was that, with a body like hers, it's a shame our school didn't have a Human Anatomy class she could teach!
She was one of those people that you could tell was born to be a teacher. She certainly dressed the part, wearing professional, modest-length pencil skirts with pantyhose and high heels most days. She had a large collection of suitcoats of various muted colors and usually wore a simple silk blouse underneath. And she was short-sighted. I don't mean she didn't do a good job planning ahead. She was as organized and studious as any teacher needed to be. Rather, she was literally unable to see very far and always wore her black rimmed glasses as a result.
Her default hairstyle was a messy bun held together with two pencils. But she was constantly reaching for one to write something down as inspiration struck. Whenever she did, her silky black tresses would cascade down and fan out like she was modeling for the cover of some trashy romance novel about a naughty teacher.
She didn't look or act like the other coaches, even though she technically was one. I suspect she had only been roped into coaching cheer because she was young and maybe the administration assumed she had been a cheerleader herself in school.
She may have been built like a cheerleader, but she wasn't bubbly or perky like one. She was mild-mannered and rarely got worked up or excited unless you got her started on Shakespearean sonnets. I don't get it, but I guess some people just get off on being compared to a summer's day.
Her first love was obviously the written word, and she was more comfortable holding a pencil than a pom-pom. If you were casting a movie about a cheerleader, sweet Nikki from the practice VHS would be the ideal candidate. Miss Easterling would be the mousy best friend who was secretly hotter than the main character.
I couldn't say for sure why she always dressed to under-emphasize her voluptuous curves, or if she was even doing it on purpose. Maybe she thought people would take her seriously in her chosen profession if they weren't staring at her body all the time.
But if she thought dressing conservatively would make for a less distracting learning environment for her students, she was sorely mistaken. She seriously underestimated junior high boys' ability to fantasize about their teachers. I guarantee, every time she turned to write on the board, every single boy in her class was composing sonnets to the panty line hugging her bulging round ass instead of paying attention to the lesson. You could say at least that part of her was bubbly.
I wasn't nervous about going in to see Miss Easterling. On the contrary, I was brimming with confidence. I had little doubt I could convince her to agree to some questionable outfit modifications for Lucy because I had done it before with more than one of her former teachers. First her history teacher, Mr. Clark, had allowed me to dress her in practically nothing for her presentation as a Roman slave girl. Then, Mr. Morrison had agreed to let her strip completely naked in his own classroom one Saturday so she could paint an unforgettable, winning self-portrait for the art contest.
The key, I knew, was to treat it as meeting of peers. She was Lucy's coach, and I, her guardian. I would address her respectfully but not necessarily treat her like I would my teacher. I needed her to view me as a fellow adult discussing a serious matter about a student. You would be surprised how far a little confidence and some big words can take you in life.
Arriving in a nice, respectable outfit to show I meant business, I found her in the gym writing on a clipboard. It being summer break, she was dressed casually in a light, form-fitting blouse and shorts, instead of her typical teacher's attire. She usually held parent meetings in her classroom, but suggested we go to one of the athletics offices she had temporarily expropriated as a home base during tryouts. It was much closer, located just inside the girls’ locker room.
I started to sweat when she invited me into the inner sanctum forbidden to junior high boys everywhere. It was vacant since there were no girls’ activities scheduled that day, but that didn't stop my imagination and my libido from running wild when I stepped inside, especially when I spotted the shower heads along the far wall. Having been in that room once before might have helped me stay calm and act like it was not as big a deal.
I was grateful when she brought me into a smaller office out of sight of the girls’ showers and sat down across a desk from me where I could both no longer see the tempting curves of her bare legs, and more easily hide my growing erection. It took an immense effort not to look down and stare at her broad chest which she always kept hidden beneath a suit coat during the school year.
Some lucky bastards in her seventh period last year had told me stories about how her classroom faced the afternoon sun and, on hot days, she would sometimes remove her suit jacket to beat the heat. That was usually the only time the true shape and size of her ample bosom could be accurately appraised. The rest of the time, its true size remained a great mystery, concealed safely beneath multiple layers of rather frumpy, teacher clothes.
I'd heard from multiple sources the rumor of one memorable day in her class when she took off her jacket to reveal a loose, scoop-necked blouse, one she had never worn - before or since. Following her custom, while the students worked individually on their writing assignment, she walked around the room. When the first boy asked for help, she leaned over his desk as usual to see what he had written and make some suggestions. She was so focused on assessing his work that she didn't even realize her blouse had fallen away from her chest and he got to assess something himself; namely, her impressive, bra-covered rack. That day, every boy in the class requested repeated help with the assignment!
That legendary story was running through my mind as she read Dr. Alabar's letter. But I managed to keep my eyes fixed on her face and not let them drift down to check out her rack, even though I desperately wanted to. I was prepared to help her translate his scratch, but being an English teacher, she had no trouble with it. Her concerns were more about the contents than the cursive.
"Oh my," she responded when she had finished reading it, "thank you for bringing this to me. My Aunt Carolyn suffered from a severe wool allergy her whole life. Of course, we will accommodate Lucy however she needs it!"
Wow, that was easy...too easy. I nodded graciously even though it sounded like she had misunderstood the point. She looked down to study the letter further. "I must have missed where her doctor specified the types of clothing to which she is allergic. I'd like to make a complete list, so I know what to avoid. Which materials affect her?"
She looked up in surprise when I replied, "all of them, really." I was quick to clarify, "Miss Easterling, Lucy doesn't have an allergy."
I went on to briefly explain, in extremely vague terms, that her condition is not about a reaction to any particular type of cloth. When her symptoms manifest, there is no telling what she may and may not be able to wear. I made sure to use as many of the big words I could remember from my meeting with Dr. Alabar.
"Are you saying there are times when Lucy isn't able to wear...anything at all?!" she asked incredulously. She looked scandalized when I nodded my head grimly.
She frowned. "This is highly irregular," she finally said, getting up from her desk, "I don't remember reading anything like that on her medical release form."
As she bent over a half-height filing cabinet behind her to look for Lucy's release form, her shorts rode up her bare legs and her rounded bottom jutted out enticingly. I wanted nothing more than to appreciate the rare sight of the hottest teacher in the school’s incredible ass in shorts, but I knew this was a critical moment in the meeting. I had come all this way and gone to bat for Lucy. I couldn't afford to let my own overheated arousal distract me from my mission.
"Lucy is in perfect physical health," I insisted, keeping my eyes trained on one of the blank walls so I could concentrate. "I didn't mean to imply... Uh, you may not know her that well, but she is very excited about being on the team. She is enthusiastic and a hard worker. You must have seen something in her or you wouldn't have chosen her. She will be a great asset! I don't know why this needs to change anything."
She ignored my platitudes and kept her head buried in the filing cabinet. I felt myself floundering. I needed to get her attention off the medical release and back onto Dr. Alabar's letter. Sensing I was losing my advantage, I changed my tone of speech and played my legal trump card.
"Frankly, I'm surprised at how callous you are being, Miss." She stopped rifling through the papers and looked back at me in mild shock. I continued, "I did not expect a representative of the school to act so blatantly discriminatory towards a student with a disability."
"I...It's not," she began, standing up and turning to face me. It caught her off guard to be sternly rebuked by a student. But remember, I wasn't here in the capacity of a student. I was Lucy's protective guardian. I was taking a chance by mentioning the administration. If she were thinking clearly, her proper response would have been to stop right there and schedule another meeting.
Things could get messy if she thought to bring in someone from the principal's office or the district to weigh in on Lucy's unusual medical condition as it pertains to school functions. That's where Miss Easterling's age worked against her. She was a great English teacher, but lacked the experience to know she ought to get the administration involved. I knew I had her when she closed the filing drawer and sat back down. I preferred the matter to be settled today between the two of us, not some district bureaucrat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins," she said with a sincere smile, "I did not mean to be callous about what is obviously a sensitive situation. Of course, we will accommodate Lucy in any way she needs. But please try to understand my position. I am responsible for twenty-three girls, and I don't even have an assistant coach to help me. If any medical emergencies-"
I cut her off quickly, "there's no need to worry, Miss Easterling. Lucy knows exactly what to do if she feels her symptoms coming on. Even then, there are no triggers to avoid, nor is there even a guarantee if or when her symptoms will manifest. She may never have an episode as long as you are coaching her, or it could happen tomorrow. There's simply no way of knowing. I just wanted you to be aware ahead of time."
She nodded her head and snatched a pencil out of her hair so she could take down some notes. Now that she was on board, I felt it prudent to keep talking and keep her doing something that brought her comfort, writing.
"Lucy is an incredibly resilient person with an indominable spirit. I know this news is coming as a shock to you, but she has lived with this condition for some time. It’s all laid out in the letter. Her symptoms will pass with time, they always do. The best thing you can do for her is treat her just like any other member of the team and not draw unnecessary attention to it. The worst thing you can do is single her out because of her disability."
I don't mean to brag but, by the end of our meeting, she was eating out of my hand. Even though I still considered it just a backup plan, I left feeling proud of myself. Getting her new cheer coach on board with Lucy's treatment made integrating cheer camp into her dare an actual viable possibility.
On the drive home, I went about the business of figuring out what to do with the rest of my day. I had been doing nothing but stress over Lucy's problems for so long, I needed some way to blow off steam. Thinking a pickup game would be a nice diversion, I drove past a nearby park to check out the basketball court. But it was empty. It was just too hot and humid out. Some rain showers were due to track through the area and cool things off by the weekend. Basketball would have to wait until Saturday.
What I really needed was some "alone" time. Nothing blows off steam better than that! I had been trying for a few days without success and had woken up that morning with a huge morning wood. Since Lucy had intruded into my room last night to sleep with me, I wasn't able to make another attempt. But now, with images of Miss Easterling in her cute, little athletic outfit fresh in my mind, I wanted nothing more than to try again.
Unfortunately, my bratty little sister wouldn't leave me alone. She practically met me at the front door with a classic whine of, "Mikeeeey, where were you?"
I shrugged off her inane nosiness and headed to my room. I changed out of my stuffy meeting clothes into something more comfortable only to find her loitering in the upstairs hallway waiting for me to exit my room. Little sisters have an innate ability to make themselves extremely annoying, especially when you don't want them around.
"I'm bored. Wanna play a game?" she asked.
"No thanks," I said. I wanted her to hear the perturbance in my voice. But she was either oblivious or choosing to ignore it. "Aren't you supposed to be packing for camp?"
"I already packed," she replied perkily. She proceeded to follow me downstairs into the living room, telling me every single thing she had packed. It sounded like way too much for just a weekend getaway.
I tried to watch tv, but her irritating little sister act was in rare form, and she kept finding ways to bother me. I swear, she was so anxious about her trip, she asked me at least five different times if I thought she should switch to a suitcase or stick with the duffel bag she had packed in. The way she kept asking me the same questions reminded me of how she had acted the night before we left for our vacation. You would have thought, from the humiliating way that turned out, that she would have learned her lesson and restrained herself. But, alas, no.
It didn't take a doctor to see that her nervous excitement was fueling her condition and making it flare up. The way she stood, shifting her weight side to side, the way she kept rubbing her hands up and down her arms, the wild intensity in her eyes. I knew the truth. She wasn't bored. She didn't want to play a game. She wanted-no, she needed a dare. But there were just too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong to make me comfortable pulling the trigger on my plan. So, I still held out hope that I could run out the clock and postpone her dare until she got back from camp.
Mid-afternoon, I got up to look for a snack. Being a teenage boy, I was always hungry. But really, I was just trying to get away from my sister. Of course, she trailed right behind me into the kitchen.
"Watcha doin?" she asked, as if it wasn't obvious. The mere sound of her voice was starting to get on my nerves.
"What does it look like?" I replied dully as I glared at the hot pocket in the microwave.
"You shouldn't eat so close to dinner time," she informed me.
"What are you, the snack police?" I shot back, "leave me alone."
She didn't respond to that jab. But after a few seconds I heard her complain, "Mikeeeeey, I'm bored. Let's do something."
That's when I snapped. "LUCY, I SWEAR, IF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE..." I yelled. I didn't intend to bite her head off. But in my defense, I was already on edge because of my own pent-up situation and she was being over-the-top annoying.
When I saw her flinch, I immediately regretted my tone and tried to backtrack, "I'm sorry for yelling. It just that...I'm not in the mood to play right now. Can you please just give me a break?"
She nodded her head, but I saw her shoulders slump as she retreated from the room. I felt bad about how I had treated her. I know her actions were being driven by her condition and mostly out of her control. Her urge had come on a little early and started out manageable. But by now, it was in full effect. She desperately needed to let off steam just like me. But if the doctor was correct, she literally couldn't without first performing a dare. Normally, she would come to me to help out with that part. But I was being uncooperative and asking for space. The poor thing.
She made a valiant effort the rest of the evening to give me the space I had asked for. But around midnight, I guess it became too much for her to bear. She crept into my room and woke me up like she had the past two nights.
When I turned the lamp on, I saw she was wearing the same flannel shirt. But tonight, the front was completely unbuttoned, and she didn't have anything on under it, not even panties. Her eyes were wild, almost frantic, and her hair was, once again, disheveled. I could tell at a glance that she had been playing with herself in her room, trying to let off steam using the only method she knew. But the effort had only left her frustrated and unfulfilled.
I groaned. She had just disrupted a vivid dream I was having about a certain, sexy teacher. I begrudgingly opened my covers so she could climb into bed knowing it meant giving up a chance at my own physical pleasure that night.
For the second time in a row, she cried herself to sleep in my arms while sobbing "It's not fair!" over and over. Her sniffles continued after she had fallen asleep. Only this time, they were accompanied by an occasional, unconscious plea for relief. The recognizable mumble of two distinct words, "dare me".
Lucy woke up before dawn and camped beside the telephone all morning. The glorious call finally came around noon. Miss Easterling called to formally welcome Lucy to the team and to introduce herself as her new cheer coach! Lucy celebrated by running around the house. No, I mean, she was so excited that she literally went outside to scream for joy and ended up running all the way around the house.
Miss Easterling finished by giving us some information about the upcoming cheer camp so she would know how to pack. Before ending the call, I asked if she might have time for a short meeting that day. Because of the sensitive nature, I explained it would be better to speak face-to-face than try and do it over the phone. She had been making congratulatory phone calls all morning and would be around several more hours making final preparations for camp. I told her I would drive over to the school right after lunch.
I need to stop here and explain something. Even though I had never formally met her, I actually knew quite a bit about Miss Easterling. Every boy in my school knew who she was. That's because, if you took a poll for the hottest teacher, Miss Easterling would at least be in every boy's top three. I would put her at the top of my ballot. She taught English and Literature, but the joke was that, with a body like hers, it's a shame our school didn't have a Human Anatomy class she could teach!
She was one of those people that you could tell was born to be a teacher. She certainly dressed the part, wearing professional, modest-length pencil skirts with pantyhose and high heels most days. She had a large collection of suitcoats of various muted colors and usually wore a simple silk blouse underneath. And she was short-sighted. I don't mean she didn't do a good job planning ahead. She was as organized and studious as any teacher needed to be. Rather, she was literally unable to see very far and always wore her black rimmed glasses as a result.
Her default hairstyle was a messy bun held together with two pencils. But she was constantly reaching for one to write something down as inspiration struck. Whenever she did, her silky black tresses would cascade down and fan out like she was modeling for the cover of some trashy romance novel about a naughty teacher.
She didn't look or act like the other coaches, even though she technically was one. I suspect she had only been roped into coaching cheer because she was young and maybe the administration assumed she had been a cheerleader herself in school.
She may have been built like a cheerleader, but she wasn't bubbly or perky like one. She was mild-mannered and rarely got worked up or excited unless you got her started on Shakespearean sonnets. I don't get it, but I guess some people just get off on being compared to a summer's day.
Her first love was obviously the written word, and she was more comfortable holding a pencil than a pom-pom. If you were casting a movie about a cheerleader, sweet Nikki from the practice VHS would be the ideal candidate. Miss Easterling would be the mousy best friend who was secretly hotter than the main character.
I couldn't say for sure why she always dressed to under-emphasize her voluptuous curves, or if she was even doing it on purpose. Maybe she thought people would take her seriously in her chosen profession if they weren't staring at her body all the time.
But if she thought dressing conservatively would make for a less distracting learning environment for her students, she was sorely mistaken. She seriously underestimated junior high boys' ability to fantasize about their teachers. I guarantee, every time she turned to write on the board, every single boy in her class was composing sonnets to the panty line hugging her bulging round ass instead of paying attention to the lesson. You could say at least that part of her was bubbly.
I wasn't nervous about going in to see Miss Easterling. On the contrary, I was brimming with confidence. I had little doubt I could convince her to agree to some questionable outfit modifications for Lucy because I had done it before with more than one of her former teachers. First her history teacher, Mr. Clark, had allowed me to dress her in practically nothing for her presentation as a Roman slave girl. Then, Mr. Morrison had agreed to let her strip completely naked in his own classroom one Saturday so she could paint an unforgettable, winning self-portrait for the art contest.
The key, I knew, was to treat it as meeting of peers. She was Lucy's coach, and I, her guardian. I would address her respectfully but not necessarily treat her like I would my teacher. I needed her to view me as a fellow adult discussing a serious matter about a student. You would be surprised how far a little confidence and some big words can take you in life.
Arriving in a nice, respectable outfit to show I meant business, I found her in the gym writing on a clipboard. It being summer break, she was dressed casually in a light, form-fitting blouse and shorts, instead of her typical teacher's attire. She usually held parent meetings in her classroom, but suggested we go to one of the athletics offices she had temporarily expropriated as a home base during tryouts. It was much closer, located just inside the girls’ locker room.
I started to sweat when she invited me into the inner sanctum forbidden to junior high boys everywhere. It was vacant since there were no girls’ activities scheduled that day, but that didn't stop my imagination and my libido from running wild when I stepped inside, especially when I spotted the shower heads along the far wall. Having been in that room once before might have helped me stay calm and act like it was not as big a deal.
I was grateful when she brought me into a smaller office out of sight of the girls’ showers and sat down across a desk from me where I could both no longer see the tempting curves of her bare legs, and more easily hide my growing erection. It took an immense effort not to look down and stare at her broad chest which she always kept hidden beneath a suit coat during the school year.
Some lucky bastards in her seventh period last year had told me stories about how her classroom faced the afternoon sun and, on hot days, she would sometimes remove her suit jacket to beat the heat. That was usually the only time the true shape and size of her ample bosom could be accurately appraised. The rest of the time, its true size remained a great mystery, concealed safely beneath multiple layers of rather frumpy, teacher clothes.
I'd heard from multiple sources the rumor of one memorable day in her class when she took off her jacket to reveal a loose, scoop-necked blouse, one she had never worn - before or since. Following her custom, while the students worked individually on their writing assignment, she walked around the room. When the first boy asked for help, she leaned over his desk as usual to see what he had written and make some suggestions. She was so focused on assessing his work that she didn't even realize her blouse had fallen away from her chest and he got to assess something himself; namely, her impressive, bra-covered rack. That day, every boy in the class requested repeated help with the assignment!
That legendary story was running through my mind as she read Dr. Alabar's letter. But I managed to keep my eyes fixed on her face and not let them drift down to check out her rack, even though I desperately wanted to. I was prepared to help her translate his scratch, but being an English teacher, she had no trouble with it. Her concerns were more about the contents than the cursive.
"Oh my," she responded when she had finished reading it, "thank you for bringing this to me. My Aunt Carolyn suffered from a severe wool allergy her whole life. Of course, we will accommodate Lucy however she needs it!"
Wow, that was easy...too easy. I nodded graciously even though it sounded like she had misunderstood the point. She looked down to study the letter further. "I must have missed where her doctor specified the types of clothing to which she is allergic. I'd like to make a complete list, so I know what to avoid. Which materials affect her?"
She looked up in surprise when I replied, "all of them, really." I was quick to clarify, "Miss Easterling, Lucy doesn't have an allergy."
I went on to briefly explain, in extremely vague terms, that her condition is not about a reaction to any particular type of cloth. When her symptoms manifest, there is no telling what she may and may not be able to wear. I made sure to use as many of the big words I could remember from my meeting with Dr. Alabar.
"Are you saying there are times when Lucy isn't able to wear...anything at all?!" she asked incredulously. She looked scandalized when I nodded my head grimly.
She frowned. "This is highly irregular," she finally said, getting up from her desk, "I don't remember reading anything like that on her medical release form."
As she bent over a half-height filing cabinet behind her to look for Lucy's release form, her shorts rode up her bare legs and her rounded bottom jutted out enticingly. I wanted nothing more than to appreciate the rare sight of the hottest teacher in the school’s incredible ass in shorts, but I knew this was a critical moment in the meeting. I had come all this way and gone to bat for Lucy. I couldn't afford to let my own overheated arousal distract me from my mission.
"Lucy is in perfect physical health," I insisted, keeping my eyes trained on one of the blank walls so I could concentrate. "I didn't mean to imply... Uh, you may not know her that well, but she is very excited about being on the team. She is enthusiastic and a hard worker. You must have seen something in her or you wouldn't have chosen her. She will be a great asset! I don't know why this needs to change anything."
She ignored my platitudes and kept her head buried in the filing cabinet. I felt myself floundering. I needed to get her attention off the medical release and back onto Dr. Alabar's letter. Sensing I was losing my advantage, I changed my tone of speech and played my legal trump card.
"Frankly, I'm surprised at how callous you are being, Miss." She stopped rifling through the papers and looked back at me in mild shock. I continued, "I did not expect a representative of the school to act so blatantly discriminatory towards a student with a disability."
"I...It's not," she began, standing up and turning to face me. It caught her off guard to be sternly rebuked by a student. But remember, I wasn't here in the capacity of a student. I was Lucy's protective guardian. I was taking a chance by mentioning the administration. If she were thinking clearly, her proper response would have been to stop right there and schedule another meeting.
Things could get messy if she thought to bring in someone from the principal's office or the district to weigh in on Lucy's unusual medical condition as it pertains to school functions. That's where Miss Easterling's age worked against her. She was a great English teacher, but lacked the experience to know she ought to get the administration involved. I knew I had her when she closed the filing drawer and sat back down. I preferred the matter to be settled today between the two of us, not some district bureaucrat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins," she said with a sincere smile, "I did not mean to be callous about what is obviously a sensitive situation. Of course, we will accommodate Lucy in any way she needs. But please try to understand my position. I am responsible for twenty-three girls, and I don't even have an assistant coach to help me. If any medical emergencies-"
I cut her off quickly, "there's no need to worry, Miss Easterling. Lucy knows exactly what to do if she feels her symptoms coming on. Even then, there are no triggers to avoid, nor is there even a guarantee if or when her symptoms will manifest. She may never have an episode as long as you are coaching her, or it could happen tomorrow. There's simply no way of knowing. I just wanted you to be aware ahead of time."
She nodded her head and snatched a pencil out of her hair so she could take down some notes. Now that she was on board, I felt it prudent to keep talking and keep her doing something that brought her comfort, writing.
"Lucy is an incredibly resilient person with an indominable spirit. I know this news is coming as a shock to you, but she has lived with this condition for some time. It’s all laid out in the letter. Her symptoms will pass with time, they always do. The best thing you can do for her is treat her just like any other member of the team and not draw unnecessary attention to it. The worst thing you can do is single her out because of her disability."
I don't mean to brag but, by the end of our meeting, she was eating out of my hand. Even though I still considered it just a backup plan, I left feeling proud of myself. Getting her new cheer coach on board with Lucy's treatment made integrating cheer camp into her dare an actual viable possibility.
On the drive home, I went about the business of figuring out what to do with the rest of my day. I had been doing nothing but stress over Lucy's problems for so long, I needed some way to blow off steam. Thinking a pickup game would be a nice diversion, I drove past a nearby park to check out the basketball court. But it was empty. It was just too hot and humid out. Some rain showers were due to track through the area and cool things off by the weekend. Basketball would have to wait until Saturday.
What I really needed was some "alone" time. Nothing blows off steam better than that! I had been trying for a few days without success and had woken up that morning with a huge morning wood. Since Lucy had intruded into my room last night to sleep with me, I wasn't able to make another attempt. But now, with images of Miss Easterling in her cute, little athletic outfit fresh in my mind, I wanted nothing more than to try again.
Unfortunately, my bratty little sister wouldn't leave me alone. She practically met me at the front door with a classic whine of, "Mikeeeey, where were you?"
I shrugged off her inane nosiness and headed to my room. I changed out of my stuffy meeting clothes into something more comfortable only to find her loitering in the upstairs hallway waiting for me to exit my room. Little sisters have an innate ability to make themselves extremely annoying, especially when you don't want them around.
"I'm bored. Wanna play a game?" she asked.
"No thanks," I said. I wanted her to hear the perturbance in my voice. But she was either oblivious or choosing to ignore it. "Aren't you supposed to be packing for camp?"
"I already packed," she replied perkily. She proceeded to follow me downstairs into the living room, telling me every single thing she had packed. It sounded like way too much for just a weekend getaway.
I tried to watch tv, but her irritating little sister act was in rare form, and she kept finding ways to bother me. I swear, she was so anxious about her trip, she asked me at least five different times if I thought she should switch to a suitcase or stick with the duffel bag she had packed in. The way she kept asking me the same questions reminded me of how she had acted the night before we left for our vacation. You would have thought, from the humiliating way that turned out, that she would have learned her lesson and restrained herself. But, alas, no.
It didn't take a doctor to see that her nervous excitement was fueling her condition and making it flare up. The way she stood, shifting her weight side to side, the way she kept rubbing her hands up and down her arms, the wild intensity in her eyes. I knew the truth. She wasn't bored. She didn't want to play a game. She wanted-no, she needed a dare. But there were just too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong to make me comfortable pulling the trigger on my plan. So, I still held out hope that I could run out the clock and postpone her dare until she got back from camp.
Mid-afternoon, I got up to look for a snack. Being a teenage boy, I was always hungry. But really, I was just trying to get away from my sister. Of course, she trailed right behind me into the kitchen.
"Watcha doin?" she asked, as if it wasn't obvious. The mere sound of her voice was starting to get on my nerves.
"What does it look like?" I replied dully as I glared at the hot pocket in the microwave.
"You shouldn't eat so close to dinner time," she informed me.
"What are you, the snack police?" I shot back, "leave me alone."
She didn't respond to that jab. But after a few seconds I heard her complain, "Mikeeeeey, I'm bored. Let's do something."
That's when I snapped. "LUCY, I SWEAR, IF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE..." I yelled. I didn't intend to bite her head off. But in my defense, I was already on edge because of my own pent-up situation and she was being over-the-top annoying.
When I saw her flinch, I immediately regretted my tone and tried to backtrack, "I'm sorry for yelling. It just that...I'm not in the mood to play right now. Can you please just give me a break?"
She nodded her head, but I saw her shoulders slump as she retreated from the room. I felt bad about how I had treated her. I know her actions were being driven by her condition and mostly out of her control. Her urge had come on a little early and started out manageable. But by now, it was in full effect. She desperately needed to let off steam just like me. But if the doctor was correct, she literally couldn't without first performing a dare. Normally, she would come to me to help out with that part. But I was being uncooperative and asking for space. The poor thing.
She made a valiant effort the rest of the evening to give me the space I had asked for. But around midnight, I guess it became too much for her to bear. She crept into my room and woke me up like she had the past two nights.
When I turned the lamp on, I saw she was wearing the same flannel shirt. But tonight, the front was completely unbuttoned, and she didn't have anything on under it, not even panties. Her eyes were wild, almost frantic, and her hair was, once again, disheveled. I could tell at a glance that she had been playing with herself in her room, trying to let off steam using the only method she knew. But the effort had only left her frustrated and unfulfilled.
I groaned. She had just disrupted a vivid dream I was having about a certain, sexy teacher. I begrudgingly opened my covers so she could climb into bed knowing it meant giving up a chance at my own physical pleasure that night.
For the second time in a row, she cried herself to sleep in my arms while sobbing "It's not fair!" over and over. Her sniffles continued after she had fallen asleep. Only this time, they were accompanied by an occasional, unconscious plea for relief. The recognizable mumble of two distinct words, "dare me".
Last edited by neverdoubted on Fri Sep 01, 2023 3:56 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Themarble
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Re: Dare Me (new 8/27)
Two teens needing release and relief. Oh how things could go from here. You always surprise us ND. I can't wait to see what happens. I hope it involves getting that release, for both of them. But I hope its somewhat embarrassing none the less.
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axel_qwerty
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Re: Dare Me (new 8/27)
Fantastic story! I've been a fan of yours since Thornwood and very much look forward to seeing more of that story too.
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