Rachel's Dare Ch. 02: Bare in Boston

I had a hard time processing what I was seeing for a moment. The woman was completely topless, her lacy white bra and blouse either lost or stuffed into her handbag. Her plain, light grey business skirt was also missing in action too. As I struggled to think, it dawned on me that this was the reason she'd visited the ladies' toilets back at the cafe.

Her breasts shook slightly as she swayed from side to side, and the movement of nipples was hypnotic, as her beautifully formed chest dragged my attention this way and that. She winked at me, and then ran a hand down her tummy, stopping at a thong that only barely qualified as meaning that she was "only half-naked". She did a sexy pout with her lips as she touched the thong, and snapped one side of the thong's thin connecting straps to her skin.

I realised after a few seconds of this that I'd actually forgotten to breath, and had to take in a deep intake of air to stop from just fainting on the spot.

As I took all of this in, the lift doors finally started to close. Rachel gave me one last wink, and blew a kiss in my direction.

"Good luck with that presentation. I know it'll be... 'hard'... but I reckon you've got the 'balls' to pull it off... a 'stiff' task..."

As the lift doors slid shut, I found myself with the one of the largest, hardest, most obvious erections of my life. Without even the confining material of my underwear to restrain it, my penis pushed out my trousers so it looked like I had an iron rod jutting out from my crotch. Nothing I could think of or visualise could reduce that erection, and now I had to go in there and present. Not good, not good at all.

Closing my eyes, I briefly thought of calling the presentation off. Well, that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? I briefly thought about getting someone else to present it for me. Yes, good luck with explaining that one away, I said to myself admonishingly. As I quickly ran out of options, I resigned myself to what was about to happen, and took a few hesitant steps towards the room. As I did, I heard the lift doors open behind me again. Curiosity, caution, and paranoia all competed for control at that point, but curiosity finally edged the contest.

I turned around. Rachel was still standing there, in the lift, coat now closed. She seemed positively decent and well-groomed in that outfit, I thought. As I opened my mouth to say something, she lightly tossed something at me, and then let the doors silently slide shut again. She was gone as quickly as she'd reappeared. Whatever she'd thrown at me had landed squarely on the bulge protruding through my trousers.

Looking down, I found a lacy woman's thong, resting innocently on my now-throbbing, practically untameable cock.

God, that woman was hot!

***********

"Remind me again why you're supporting the Patriots in this match." I said. As the hours had ticked down towards the start of the game, I'd become increasingly pessimistic about the Bears' chances.

Rachel and I were now in Garry's Sports Bar, and the healthy assortment of Patriot's shirts on display left us in no doubt who the home team was here.

Rachel grinned at me, and took in the entire crowd with a quick, sweeping wave of her hand.

"Look at this people, Pete. Dozens of our fellow citizens, here to watch a game. If you didn't know they were Patriots fans, you might almost think they were ordinary, decent, upstanding people like you and me."

Rachel sat back and surveyed the scene, and then pressed on.

"So... when half time comes, and we find out which team's winning, they get to see one of us in the outfit that the other has purchased for them." Rachel prodded the small backpack that lay by her foot under our table, drawing my attention for what seemed like the twentieth time to the secret clothes that she'd brought along for just such an eventuality. She'd been deliberately quiet on what was hidden in that bag. To be fair, I'd been similarly reticent to tell her what outfit I was keeping stashed in my own backpack.

"If the Patriots are winning," Rachel was explaining, "then the crowd will be in a good mood, and our predominately male friends here will be far more tolerant of you strutting around in the clothes I've chosen."

Rachel paused at that, seemingly to visualise something that a brought huge, goofy smile to her face.

"However," she finally said, with the smile now being replaced by a solemn expression, "should the Bears be winning, then these people will need cheering up..." Rachel paused again, letting the magnitude of that scenario sink in, before seeming to brighten up slightly at the next thought.

"And I suspect you've got just the outfit in that bag of yours to bring a little joy back into these poor men's lives."

Rachel leaned back in her chair, and drank her beer, as the start of the first quarter began to play out on the big screen.

Half time, I thought. It all starts at half-time. We'd arrived in Boston a few hours ago, and checked in to the hotel. I was only staying overnight, and had a Monday morning flight back. We'd booked in separate rooms, dropped off what luggage we'd brought, and grabbed a quick bite to eat. We were staying in central Boston near one of the main entertainment districts, and we'd found the sports bar that Rachel had been told about fairly easily.

The rules we'd agreed to yesterday had been fairly simple. We'd watch the game together, and wait until half time. Whoever's team wasn't winning at half time, then had to go change into the outfit given to them, and wear it for the rest of the match. Rachel had expressed her limits on what I could choose in a very straightforward manner. Nothing that would get her arrested, other than that, I was to use my imagination. I'd told her the same, and the twinkle she'd got in her eyes suggested that she was way ahead of me in thinking what to get.

Whoever's team wasn't winning would then get to experience just how long a half of football can drag on for, until we discovered who the ultimate winner of the match was. That's when things would get _really_ interesting. Rachel had clearly been doing her homework on what there was to do in Boston. As she'd explained on the phone yesterday, she knew there were two strip clubs relatively close to the sports bar. The first was a ordinary, naked-girls-on-stage strip club, the second was of the opposite persuasion - a male strip club.

I felt my mouth go dry again as I recalled what I'd thought as Rachel explained the night's finale. The loser was to go to a strip club, and the winner was to talk the manager into letting the loser strip. Rachel had laughed at my obvious discomfort at that prospect, and had compromised by saying that the loser would only have to strip down to a thong. However, she added, in a mysterious tone, the winner would be allowed to present the loser with an 'optional' dare to really add the final punch to the whole stripping experience.

For some reason now lost on me, I'd agreed to all of that. Perhaps it was the sense that my luck was due to turn. Perhaps it was the mental image of Rachel stripping down to the thong I'd seen her wearing, in front of a crowd of strange men. Perhaps it was just the simple desire not to back down and somehow disappoint her. Whatever it was that had caused me to say yes, we now found ourselves here. With a slight note of resignation, I sighed as the Patriots went 7-0 up...

*********

Rachel cheered on with the rest of the crowd as the teams disappeared from the field for the half-time break. There was a good reason for the crowd's high spirits. Despite a closer than expected tussle, the Patriots had gone into the half time break with a 21-19 lead. In a high scoring match, the Bears had been limited to only one touch down, and had relied on four field goals to keep them in range of a red-hot, three-touchdown Patriots offence.

A small fightback in the second quarter had briefly raised hopes of a half-time lead for the Bears. The Patriots had stopped the drive cold though, and despite my protestations that they should try harder, the Bears seemed happy enough to only be down by two points at the end of the first half.

With a glint in her eye, she dramatically grabbed her backpack from the floor, and make a small ceremony of presenting it to me.

"Your second half attire, my good sir." she said, with mock seriousness.

I grabbed it off her without speaking, and tried to give her a glare. She just giggled at that, and I completely failed to hold the glare for more than a few seconds. Sighing, I asked what I'd find inside.

Hold up a hand to stop my questioning, she simply said that I'd need to go change in the men's toilets and find out.

"Now, no cheating and taking a peek on the way over. I want you to strip completely naked before opening the present I got for you." she clapped her hands at that, with a delighted expression on her face. "I do so like giving presents!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, pity I can't give you mine!" I retorted, as I got up to leave.

Rachel blew that away dismissively. "Oh, I know what you got me." she said.

"What?" I said, "Hey, I thought we agreed 'no looking'!"

"Oh, don't worry. I didn't look in your silly bag." Rachel stopped and made a show of inspecting her nails. "Didn't need to. You men are _so_ predictable! Let me guess, in that bag of your's, there's a sexy, slutty, sophomoric Wonder Woman outfit, isn't there?" she leaned closer now, and gave me a teasing look.

Damn! How'd she guessed that's what I'd go for? Then I remembered. I remembered opening my big mouth one day, and bizarrely deciding it was appropriate to tell Rachel that I'd had a huge crush on Lynda Carter while growing up. I'd lost count of how many re-runs of Wonder Woman I'd watched as a teenager, and I strongly suspected that she knew I secretly read the comic books to this day. There were more than a few times that I'd wished that I could either go back in time and stop myself from telling Rachel that, or that at least I'd been drunk when I'd told her. Sadly, I knew that the first wasn't possible, and the second wasn't true.

Rachel was nothing if not a merciless tease.

"You can't be sure of that." I lied, trying to retain some air of mystery.

"Oh, I'm sure." smirked Rachel. "You see, men are so easy to read. We women on the other hand - well, we're always full of surprises!" At that, she silenced my attempted retort with an imperious wave of her hand, and shooed me away towards the men's toilets instead.

"Hurry back!" she called after me, as I trudged off to change, "I'd hate for you to miss a second of the game!"

I half considered giving her the finger, but maintained my dignity (at least for this moment in time), and disappeared into the toilets.

Thankfully, I'd somehow beaten the worst of the half-time rush, and there was one cubicle still free. With a nervous look plastered over my face, I closed the cubicle door behind me, and quickly slipped out of my clothes. Dropping them to the floor, I picked up Rachel's backpack and held the zip for several seconds. Countless possibilities flash in front of my eyes, as I guessed at what Rachel's devious mind had dreamt up for me.

Summoning the courage to finally open it, I slowly began to undo the top of the bag. I peered inside. As I saw what was inside, my eyes closed and my mouth opened to let out a low groan.

Inside the backpack, in the bold colours of the red, white and blue, lay a sexy, slutty, sophomoric Wonder Woman outfit. In exactly my size.

*********

The second half of a football game had never before gone so slowly as the second half of this Bears/Patriots match.

When I'd arrived back at the table, my face was burning with embarrassment. Rachel had applauded louder at seeing my new look than any man had cheered when the Patriots scored in the first half. She threw her hands out in front of her, as if to indicate a masterpiece of art that she'd just completed, and then gave me two thumbs up.

"It's like Lynda Carter is standing right in front of me!" she cried, delightedly. I had to disagree with her on that point. The Wonder Woman outfit we'd bought each other had a very revealing pair of sparkling blue hot pants that barely covered my ass, and a bodice that carefully displayed half of my man nipples. The bodice didn't even reach the hot pants, and instead left a healthy dose of my midriff on display. To top it all off, I was fairly certain I looked absolutely ridiculous with the tiara perched on my head. A pair of red knee-high boots had what seemed a deeply impractical heel for a supposed super heroine, and made my ass even more prominent in the blue hot pants.

The walk from the men's toilets back to the table had not gone unnoticed. Several men were now openly laughing at what I was wearing, and pointing out me out to their friends. It seemed to take exactly ten seconds for the entire bar to suddenly be aware of my predicament, and all thoughts of the Patriots were temporarily put aside.

As I sunk into my chair to try and slide under the table, Rachel chose that exact moment to realise she'd finished her drink.

"Hmm..." she said. "I think it's your round next, isn't it?" she asked, innocently. "Actually," she then added, clicking her fingers, "I've just remembered, I think it's going to be your rounds for the rest of the match!"

I groaned outwardly at that, but Rachel was insistent, and began to complain of a parched throat. Finally, I gave in, and dragged myself out from under the table, making my way submissively to the bar, where several men (and a few women) made a space for me, treating me to huge smiles and long stares.

As I bought the next round, the bar was relatively quiet, further accentuating my embarrassment. Then, with the drinks in my hand, I turned around to discover Rachel has followed me to the bar.

"You'll have to excuse my friend." she said, in a loud voice to anyone who cared to hear. "You see, he's a Bears fan, and he's having to pay the price for the Patriots taking a half time lead!"

The crowd roared their approval at that. I could feel my face matching the red in the outfit that stretched across my body, barely covering my ass and nipples. Laughing, Rachel took her drink off of me, and we walked back together to the table.

"Look on the bright side." she said, suddenly trying to reassure me. "As bad as things seem now, just remember how fondly you'll think of that outfit..." she stopped to take a sip of her drink, before flashing me with a naughty glance, "... when you're up on stage in just a thong!"

The wink she gave me almost sent mover the edge, but I summoned the self-control to sit stoically there, and watch the third quarter unfold.

Bit by bit, score by agonising score, the Patriots were starting to show their dominance of the match. A fumble by Chicago's offence gave the Patriots a prime position for a drive that resulted in a touch down, and as the minutes dragged by, my mind suddenly realised just how close I was getting to having to strip in front of a bunch of strange women.

The thought of seeing Rachel have to strip now looked like a pipe dream. I groaned again, in sync with the crowd's roar, as the Patriots quarterback threw an inch perfect pass for yet another touchdown. The Patriots were suddenly up by 16, and the Bears were beginning to look like a disorganised rabble. Come on, I shouted, in the confines of my own head. Show some fight, guys!

Rachel demanded another round as the third quarter drew to it's soul-crushing conclusion, and was clearly in high spirits as I headed back to the bar. The tight outfit was riding up and slipping down in the most inappropriate of places, and I tugged at it constantly, trying to eek some measure of coverage from the costume. The comments from the others weren't helping. it was all friendly banter, but every word and syllable caused my heart to race just that little bit faster. I'd never been dressed in what was essentially women's clothing before, and people were leaving me in no doubt as to how they felt I looked.

With drinks now in hand again, and Rachel growing more and more animated, we settled in to watch the final, evening-defining quarter. Sixteen points down, and with the Patriots hot on attack, I now resigned myself to having lost yet again. The Patriots Quarterback caught the snap, and seemed set to throw to one of his receivers, who'd run into the end zone unmarked. As he brought his arm back, almost as if to hammer in the final nail into my coffin, a Bears defender suddenly materialised out of nowhere and tackled the Quarterback in mid-throw. Jarred from his hands, the ball went lose, and my eyes went wide as I saw a second Bears player also come out of nowhere to pick up the ball.

The play then degenerated into a chaotic scramble, before a Bears player surprisingly found himself in the clear with a sprint ahead of him. I banged the table, with my fist, urging him to run, run, run as fast as he could. As he madly sprinted towards the end zone, I realised that this time, this blessed time, the Patriots weren't going to catch him. I could feel the temperature in the sports bar drop a few degrees as the Bears player coasted into end zone, and the graphics flashed up the replay of the touchdown. Down by ten, but with a kick still to come. Did I dare believe in miracles?

I sat transfixed for the next few minutes, even managing to forget that I was dressed as my favourite super-heroine in a crowd of strange men. The Bears had themselves undergone some magical transformation. Gone was the rabble of the third quarter. Here instead was a team fighting for survival, and for the honour of at least one of their fans. The Bears pushed hard into Patriots territory, restricting their opposition to only a couple of modest drives, before a fake by the Quarterback gave our Running Back a perfect opportunity to tear down field, slipping through tackles, and stunning the home crowd with yet another touchdown.

I jumped to my feet, wobbling slightly in the heels, and cheered. The reality of my current predicament flooding back to me as I realised I was the only one making any noise.

The mood in the bar was beginning to dampen significantly as the Bears kicked the extra point and brought the deficit back to two. I looked at Rachel, and saw it in her face too. The Bears were roaring back into contention, and I had mad recollections of the time they chased down the same deficit to pull off a similar heist. I could tell Rachel was having the same flashback. The faintest hints of fear and anticipation were now etched on her features, and the teasing had stopped as she solemnly watched the proceeding kick off.

There were only two minutes left now. The Patriots had rallied to make a good drive, and when the Bears received the ball, it was deep into their own territory again. As the Patriots defensive line dug in, the first two downs were entirely unproductive, and the crowd began to pick up again as they sensed they'd hold on for a dramatic victory. My heart was in my mouth, and I could see Rachel clench her fist. I wondered who she was cheering for now. I wondered if part of her wasn't secretly willing the Bears on, like I was.

Then, third down and ten, the Quarterback made a clutch play, and sent the ball arcing towards a receiver sprinting down field. The ball hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity, before the receiver caught, almost fumbled, juggled desperately, and then hung on for dear life past the half way line. The tackle came eventually, but the Bears were back in striking distance.

My head almost exploded from the tension, and I stood up again, unable to sit still.

The lines reformed, and the Patriots steeled themselves for the final onslaught. First down. No gain. Second down. Incomplete pass, as I howled for a penalty on an illegal tackle. Not forthcoming though. Third down. No gain again, with a poor running option seeing the Running Back crunched in a heavy tackle. Fourth and final down now, seconds remaining on the clock, and only one option left. The field goal. The distance flashed up on screen, the Bears would need to make a 55 yard field goal to win the match.