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 Dare Me by neverdoubted

   Dare Me - Chapter 12 - My Nightmare (Part 4)

   Don't judge me!  I -(TM)m not even sure it qualified as manipulating
her. Ok, sure, the word literally means  -�to control something with your
hands -�.  And, ok, sure, the origin of the word is  -�handful -�.  And,
ok, sure, I did literally have a handful of her body and was controlling
her with my hands when I got her to say the words.  But that doesn -(TM)t
change the fact that she said them!

   She should have known by now, what she was signing up for when she
uttered those two little words.  She had to know.  I never forced her to
say it.  But now that she had, there was no way I was going to let her back
out.  I had a reputation to maintain and had warned her in the past about
saying it too flippantly.  It was my duty to teach her not to be so
careless.

   With that in mind, I started to realize the enormity of my task. 
Gifting an embarrassing poster to her P.E.  teacher was a good start.  But
I had to aim higher; especially if I was going to get a diamond this month.
I owed her that much.  All during dinner I pondered the puzzle.

   Heat, Pressure, Time.  There wasn't much time left until the end of
school.  Only Thursday, Friday, and Monday plus a weekend in between.  The
only way to produce enough heat in such a short amount of time was to amp
the pressure way up.  But how?  I was drawing blanks until Lucy mentioned
something during dinner.  It ended up being the perfect opening gambit of
her dare.

   We were talking about the end of school, and she said how disappointed
she was in herself.  She had been working all semester on an idea for the
end of year art contest.  But our recent schedule disruptions, an
unexpected vacation in May, and being tasked with planting and maintaining
a garden for our household, had put her well behind.  And like any artistic
endeavor, tight deadlines are usually fatal to the creative process.

   After dinner, I asked to see her sketch pad with an eye toward somehow
drawing inspiration for her newly minted dare.  Like everything she put her
mind to, she was a skilled artist and very talented.

   "Lucy, these are very good," I said truthfully.

   Her mood improved at hearing my compliments, but she was still
unsettled. "Thanks," she said, "but none of those are good enough to enter
in the contest.  I want to win, Mikey!"

   She always did have a competitive streak.  I wasn't exactly the most
qualified art critic and didn't know how to advise her.  Her art teacher,
Mr.  Morrison, was the real deal.  He could spend all day lecturing on the
differences between Baroque and Renaissance styles, then put on his
favorite Jefferson Airplane album and talk about the importance of using
art to speak truth to power.  Did I mention he was a total hippy?



   I didn't know about art, but I was becoming a pretty good psychoanalyst;
for a 14-year-old.  A big part of her problem was the subject matter of her
drawings.  If she wanted to win, she needed to appeal to a wider audience.
We're talking about a bunch of kids who don't exactly frequent the Louvre.

   She would need Mr.  Morrison on her side, too.  The winner was decided
by a vote of all sixth graders on the last day of school.  But as the art
teacher, he got to choose the ten finalists.  In order to be in that last
group, you had to make something that spoke to him.  A drawing of Bart
Simpson might get a ton of student votes, but he would ensure something
like that never survived to see the voting stage.

   My mind made up; I spoke.  "Truthfully, your drawings are incredible. 
But if you want to win, you need to come up with better subject matter. 
What does Mr.  Morrison always say?  Art must evoke an emotion in the
beholder.  And to do that, it must evoke an emotion in the artist. 
Otherwise, what's the point?"

   Absorbing my words, she slowly nodded in agreement.  As much as she
hated it, she would have to go back to the drawing board, literally.

   To inspire her, I ran upstairs and returned with a drawing we had gotten
while on vacation.  A beach sketch artist had made a funny cartoon of Lucy
as a mermaid.  If she wanted to be evocative, she needed to make something
more like the image on that placard.  Did I mention the little Lucy mermaid
in the picture was topless?

   "I can't draw that!" she exclaimed.  "She's half-naked and obviously
looks like me!"

   "Do you want to win?" I shot back.  "If you submit a naked
self-portrait, I guarantee every boy in your grade will vote for it.  Come
on, I dare you!"

   Her eyes fluttered as she absorbed my challenge, but absorb it, she did.
Her sole counterargument was to insist Mr.  Morrison would never allow
something like that.  I told her to let me figure that part out and to
start drawing.  I left her with orders to come up with five ideas and bring
them to me.

   I watched from the hall as she, battered but unbeaten, hesitantly picked
up her sketch pad and started drawing.  She made a cute scene with her brow
furrowed and her lips pursed.  She was free to make whatever she wanted as
long as it featured a naked girl in the picture.  A picture like that
really did have a very good chance of winning.  I just had to figure out a
way to get it past Mr.  Morrison.

   I sat down at the dining room table, ignoring the pile of bills and
notices, and brainstormed.  I remember snoozing through his art elective
class last year when I was a sixth grader.  Like most of the boys in the
class, art never did interest me much.  But we always did perk up whenever
he showed a classical painting with naked women in it.  I took it as an
encouraging sign that at least he had already set a precedence for nudity.

   Wracking my brain, I tried to recall what Mr.  Morrison had said about
nudity in art as well as his personality in general.  Figuring out what
argument would most resonate with him was my best chance at convincing him
to let Lucy's picture into the contest.  He was from a decidedly different
era and somewhat Bohemian in his attitude.  As a hippy, he distrusted
authority and grooved to the beat of his own drummer.  And he was
incredibly passionate about art and always went above and beyond to foster
that passion in any students who showed an interest and affinity.

   Slowly, a plan of attack formed in my mind.  I needed Lucy to convince
Mr.  Morrison that she was more than just a burgeoning talent.  She had to
be a tortured artist who was capable of producing a diamond in the rough.
Well, at least I knew she could produce plenty of diamonds, hehe!

   But it went beyond that.  She had to come across as someone whose vision
for the contest was being suppressed, by social constructs, by society, by
authorities.  The school administration with their draconian restrictions
were extinguishing her spark and she was coming to him...begging him to
fight for her!  Yes!

   Is it inappropriate for an underage girl to submit a nude self-portrait
for a school art contest?  That's irrelevant.  The real question is, is it
inappropriate to kill the muse of a young artist before she's even really
begun?  Yes!  Damn you, yes!

   I scrambled for a piece of paper to write down some things for Lucy to
say to Mr.  Morrison tomorrow; arguments to convince him to let her submit
her drawing.  She appeared in the doorway looking every bit like a tortured
artist.  She clothes were askew, like she couldn't be bothered to
straighten them.  Her hair was also disheveled, and she had black smudges
of graphite on her troubled face.

   She showed me her sketches which she had helpfully given titles.  They
were rough and would need more work before being submitted for judging but
were incredibly good.  Each page seemed to be better than the last.  More
interesting, more alive, just...more.  I was particularly partial to the
fourth one, entitled "The Gathering Storm" of a girl standing in a field of
tall grass, or maybe wheat; it's hard to tell from a pencil sketch.  She
was facing the wind and her hair was flying out behind her dramatically.

   It reminded me of the storm we had endured on our vacation.  I liked
that she had drawn from her own recent experience for inspiration.  You
could only see the girl from the waist up, but she was obviously naked.  I
could make that work, with some suggested alterations.  I was about settled
on picking that one.  That is, until I turned the page.  On the fifth page
was one last drawing entitled "My Nightmare".



   Dare Me - Chapter 12 - My Nightmare (Part 5)

   Her shoulders slumped when I looked up excitedly.  It was as if she
already knew I was going to pick that one.  Crestfallen, she sat down.

   "Not that one, Mikey.  Please, not that one." she begged, but only
halfheartedly.  She could tell from the gleam in my eye that the matter was
already settled.  But she had no idea how much worse things were about to
get.

   The picture was of a girl, obviously Lucy, at a school and giving a book
report or presentation in front of her class.  She was naked and completely
exposed except for a small rectangle over her stomach where she was holding
her note cards.  Even as a rough, black and white sketch, it detailed
enough to show the girl's private parts quite starkly.

   It was like one of those bad dreams you would have as a kid where you
showed up to school without your pants or even naked.  It was just so
perfect.  That story resonated with every single child in the world.  It
evoked an emotional response in the viewer.

   "This is the one," I declared, "and tomorrow I want you to show it to
Mr. Morrison." I handed here the arguments and suggestions I had written
down.  "Memorize these and use them to convince him to let you use it as
your submission for the contest.  Is there any way you can make the final
one in color?  Like with real paints and stuff?"

   "I don't have brushes or an easel.  Mr.  Morrison does in his class,
but-"

   "Perfect!" I cut her off.  I was really on a roll, "tell him this is
just the first draft and that you need to use his classroom on Saturday to
actually make the final painting.  Got it?"

   She nodded sullenly, then hurried off to get ready for bed before I
could think of anything else to pile on.

   The next day at school, I started to worry that she wasn't putting up
enough resistance.  If she wasn't feeling the pressure of my dare, it would
end in a dud.  I decided I would have to raise the stakes even more.

   When she got home, she told me about her meeting with Mr.  Morrison.  My
arguments had worked to perfection, and by the end he was ready to take on
the whole administration for the sake of her art.  That's when I dropped
the bomb.

   "You did good, Goosey," I said honestly.  She smiled sweetly at her big
brother's affirmation, but she flinched adorably when she heard my voice
shift into an ominous tone.

   "...but now, it's time for the next part of your dare.  Lucy Jenkins, I
dare you to be naked all day in Mr.  Morrison's classroom tomorrow while
you paint your naked self-portrait."

   She may have labeled it her nightmare.  But I suspected deep down there
was something intriguing about the prospect of being naked in school.  I
mean, everyone imagines it at some point in their life, right?  It's a good
thing her big brother was around to help her explore the full depths of her
interests and get her to actually try it out.

   I gave her a few more embarrassing particulars to flesh out the day's
task, and she did not fight me on it.  Instead, she turned her nervous
energy toward facing it head on.  And the next day, she dutifully got on
her bike without arguing determined to honor the dare and follow through.
Her will was so strong, and she never failed when given the chance to rise
to the occasion.  It was the uncertain curve balls that always threw her
for a loop.

   Mr.  Morrison's classroom was on the second floor facing the playground.
In the afternoon, it got pretty good natural light through the full-length
window.  I was counting on that for her dare.  It was the last Saturday of
the semester, so the building would be locked and deserted.  No faculty
would care to work on that Saturday.  But Mr.  Morrison said he would be
there to let her into the building and had promised to give her privacy
while she created her art.

   Remember what I said about older teens loitering around a playground?  I
didn't want to be branded a weirdo.  And I also didn't want to get
recognized as Lucy's big brother.  But I wasn't about to miss the show she
was about to put on for the playground.  So, even though it was going to be
a hot day, I put on a hoodie and baseball hat to stay incognito.

   The classroom was tucked at a weird angle and the only way to really see
in was to climb the hill on the far side of the playground.  When I
arrived, I knew exactly where to go on the hill because there was already a
group of neighborhood kids standing around peering across the expanse
toward the school.

   Lucy was still setting up her easel and other paint supplies in the
optimum position.  She intended to use Mr.  Morrison's free-standing
mirror. But she was also close enough to the window to take advantage of
the afternoon sun which would soon be streaming in through the window.

   Even clothed, the presence of a lone student inside the school attracted
attention.  Luckily, they were younger, mostly fifth graders, and no one
recognized me.  I was able to stay anonymous and listen to their chatter
throughout the presentation.

   "...It's Lucy Jenkins, I swear!  I would recognize those legs anywhere."

   "What is she doing in Mr.  Morrison's class?"

   "Wow, you are such a retard sometimes.  She's going to paint something,
of course.  He must have let her into the school."

   "Dude, she's so hot.  I should ask her out."

   "...like you would ever have a chance with her, idiot."

   "I wish we could get closer.  I can't see shit from here.  Hey, doesn't
your dad have some hunting binoculars?"

   "Hey, yeah!  I'll run home and get them!"

   "...Billy Benson swears he saw her sleepwalking naked once when they
were little!"

   "Yeah?  well, Billy Benson is full of shit."

   "I heard she sneaks up here at night and runs around the track naked."

   "Huh, maybe those kids from the History Club weren't lying.  Remember
what they said about Lucy giving a presentation dressed as a Roman slave
girl?  Hey look, she's taking her shoes and socks off."

   "Oh yeah.  I thought they were exaggerating...hey, didn't Josh and Adam
think they saw a naked girl a few months ago while riding their bikes to
school?  Maybe that was Lucy!"

   "Fat chance.  I'll believe it when I se-HOOOOOLEEEEEY SHIT.  SHE JUST
TOOK HER SHIRT OFF!  WE HAVE A BRA sighting!"

   "...now she's taking her shorts off too!  I can't believe Lucy Jenkins
is changing into painting clothes right in front of the window!  Doesn't
she know people can see in from here?"

   "...no, dude, look!  Holy Shit.  She just took her bra off.  I don't
think she's changing clothes.  I think she -(TM)s going to paint BUCK
NAKED!!!!!!"

   The group literally cheered when her cute panties hit floor.  If she
could hear the cheer from her second story class, she did a pretty good job
tuning it out.  In fact, she managed to completely ignore the window and
stay focused on her canvas.  The boys outside went wild as the girl of
their dreams stood completely naked in clear view of the playground and
went about her work.

   "...I heard she went on vacation to a nude beach and spent the whole
time tanning completely naked."

   "That's bullshit.  There's no way!"

   "You tell me.  Do you see any tan lines on her?"

   "Guys, look!  She just walked out of the classroom!  She's probably
going to the bathroom.  That means Lucy Jenkins, the hottest girl in school
is walking down the halls completely naked.  We've gotta get inside that
school!"

   "It's Saturday.  All the doors will be locked - but I'll go check them
just in case."

   "...hey guys, I got the binoculars.  What did I miss?"

   The boys eagerly lined up for a chance to look through the binoculars at
the smoking hot girl who was painting naked inside their school.  They came
to several consensus conclusions about her.  1.  She did, in fact, have no
tan lines anywhere on her body.  2.  She had the best butt of any girl in
the school.  3 Her boobs were the best in the school...except maybe a
similarly blessed girl named Grace.  But Lucy won the tie breaker because
no one had seen Grace naked (I had to laugh at that one).  4.  Her pussy
was completely bald.  A dispute broke out among them as to whether she was
bald because shaved down there or just hadn't grown any pubic hair yet.  I
knew the answer but bit my tongue and stayed out of it.

   The comments drifted more and more obscene as the boys took turns
bragging what they would do to her if they were allowed in that classroom.
It almost became a contest to see who could outdo the others.  I'm not
going to repeat the things they said, but let's just say it was bad enough
to make me consider speaking up in her defense and risk getting identified
as her brother.  Fortunately, another boy came to her rescue and disrupted
the contest.

   "Guys, you shouldn't be saying things like that about her behind her
back." he said with as much conviction as he could muster.

   "Shut up, Luke," replied one of the delinquents, "it's not like she's
your girlfriend.  You had all year to ask her out and you were too
chicken."

   The boy named Luke bristled at the insult.  In the sea of fifth graders,
he was one of the few who came from sixth grade.  Even puffed up, he didn't
even come up to my nose.  But that's understandable since he was a year
younger than me.  Still, it was impressive that he held his ground against
the threat of trouble from the younger boys.  Maybe the 'chicken'
accusation had been poorly played.

   "It doesn't matter if she's my girlfriend or not.  It's not right, so
knock it off!" he ordered.  He stood tall for a tense few seconds waiting
to see if anyone would make a move.  But nobody wanted to challenge him. 
They turned their attention back to watching the naked girl in the window
and kept their comments at a more age-appropriate level for the rest of the
day.

   Lucy worked on her self-portrait all afternoon.  She would stand in
front of the mirror studying her bare body, then turn to her easel and
paint.  A couple times, she left the room entirely, probably for a bathroom
break.  Everyone got excited when that happened.  Their poor underdeveloped
brains could barely process that there was a naked girl wandering through
the halls of their school.  She was so close, yet still unreachable.

   The kid who had gone to look for a way into the school returned
emptyhanded.  At evening, the room lost its sunlight and was thrown into
shadow.  I had instructed her to open the blinds wide first thing under the
guise of wanting natural light by which to paint her masterpiece.  But she
was under no such obligation after dark.

   Still, most kids stuck around even after darkness fell in the hopes she
would turn on the classroom lights to finish up.  They let out a collective
groan when the classroom did light up and they realized she had pulled the
blinds down first.  Their sexy peep show was over.  They lingered for a
while hoping to catch her leaving the school.  But having spent all day on
a hillside in the hot sun, they were lured home one-by-one by the prospect
of dinner and a glass of water.  I slipped away, happy to have remained
anonymous.

   It was well after dark when she finished her portrait.  She stored her
masterpiece in a cubby Mr.  Morrison had prepared for safe keeping, got
dressed, and walked home.  As I expected, she was buzzing with excitement
when she got home.  Sure, she had been naked in the presence of many
strangers before.  But it was different showing your naked body to people
you went to school with every day.  Even though they had only seen her from
a far distance, it must have been nerve wracking knowing all those familiar
faces were out there watching.

   When she got home, I asked her if she saw how many of her school mates
had gathered to watch her nude performance.  She said she managed to avoid
looking out the window all afternoon and keep focus on painting.  Only when
she went to close blinds at the end of the day did she dare to peer out
from the safety of her dark classroom and see the crowd of horny boys
gathered on the hilltop across the playground.

   Then I asked her about Luke.  She said she only knew him as a shy boy in
her class.  She thought he was cute but had never really interacted with
him much.  When I told her how he had defended her honor, she practically
melted.  I swear I saw her pupils dilate and literally morph into a heart
shape.  I said nothing more about it but noted her intense reaction, filing
it away for future use.

   I sensed she was more on edge when I saw her the next morning.  Honoring
the rules of the dare, she was not allowed to play with herself, even in
the privacy of her own bed at night.  I think that was contributing to her
nervous energy.  I was getting pretty good at judging her body's heat
levels and currently gauged it at an elevated but manageable level. 
Fortunately, being Sunday, she had no outside responsibilities and could
spend the day taking care of her garden and relaxing before what I was
planning as her spectacular grand finale - Lucy's official last day of
elementary school.



   Dare Me - Chapter 12 - My Nightmare (Part 6)

   She was a bundle of nerves that Monday morning before school.  On top of
the usual excitement every kid felt on the cusp of summer freedom, she had
another layer of excitement to deal with.  Today was the day her nude
self-portrait was to be revealed to the entire school.  As humiliating as
it was likely to be, I wasn't content to let that be her only source of
embarrassment.  Not by a long shot!

   She was dressed to the nines in a very stylish last day of school
outfit. Her pretty dress came modestly down to her knees but had an uneven
hemline which added an alluring flair.  She was wearing a pair of open-toed
sandals with small heels which I had never seen before.  I suspected she
must have borrowed them from a friend.  She had curled her hair overnight
and it framed her face beautifully in soft, playful tresses.  I even
detected a bit of eyeshadow and lipstick on her face even though it was
technically forbidden by mom.  It highlighted her already pretty face and
youthful glow.

   In short, she looked gorgeous.  She was growing up too fast.  Today was
supposed to be a celebration of her childhood, not a preview of her teenage
years.  I decided right then and there to make a few changes.  It serves
her right for not consulting me before picking out her clothes in the
middle of a dare.

   "You're not going to wear that to school," I said casually as we were
eating breakfast.

   At first, she interpreted it as a slight against her good taste.  She
screwed up her face and made a dismissive gesture with her hand as if to
let me know how little she thought of my fashion sense.  But I wasn't
interested in making sure her wardrobe matched or anything like that.  I
was speaking strictly about her dare.

   "No, I mean you're not wearing it today.  You're still doing a dare,
remember?  Take it off and give it to me." I repeated.  She opened her
mouth to protest but jumped to her feet dutifully when I added a more
forceful "Now!".

   A brief argument ensued which I won, of course.  I made her sit back
down in her underwear and shoes and finish her breakfast while I laid her
dress forgotten over the back of an empty chair as a reminder of my
authority.  She stirred her cereal but didn't take any bites.  She was
clearly anxious to learn her fate.  Unable to resist arguing, she started
to voice another petulant "Aww, Mikey-", but her protest caught in her
throat when she made eye contact with me.  She saw me frowning critically
with my arms crossed.  Realizing her mistake too late, she closed her mouth
with a gulp and tried to act like she hadn -(TM)t said anything.  But it
was too late.  Time to add to her punishment.

   "Give me your bra, too," I ordered, "unless you want to keep arguing and
go for more."

   With her lips pursed tightly, she shook her head and reached behind her
back.  Releasing the latches, she slid her bra off her chest and wistfully
handed it to me.  I draped it unceremoniously over the chair with her
dress. Now reduced to only her panties and shoes, she stared into her
cereal blushing furiously.  That was the kind of heat I was looking for.

   I left her to wonder on the brink of despair at the table and went
upstairs to her room with a certain outfit in mind.  She still had the
custom dress Mr.  Beski had made her even though she had outgrown it.  She
had worn it way back on her first day of sixth grade and I felt it fitting
that she wear it one last time; that is, if I could figure out a way to
squeeze her into it.

   Her face went white when I appeared in the doorway to the dining room
holding Mr.  Beski's dress.  She insisted it wouldn't fit anymore, but I
made her try it on anyway.  Kids usually did a lot of growing up during
their sixth-grade year of school.  Lucy was no exception.  If not for her
narrow hourglass figure and fit physique, the lower torso section never
would have fit her.  But, perhaps as a credit to Mr.  Beski's craftmanship,
she was able to wiggle it down over her body.

   Immediately, there were two glaring problems with the dress.  The first,
less urgent, one was the bodice.  Her chest had swelled considerably since
Mr.  Beski and his grandson originally made their measurements.  The small
pleats which were meant to preserve a girl's modesty were smoothed out
completely by Lucy's growing womanhood.  Without a bra or camisole to
provide that critical extra layer of fabric, her perky nipples poked
through the bulging bust.  She certainly noticed them when she looked down
at herself.  But, as embarrassing as her pokeys might be, she was clearly
more alarmed by the second problem.

   Simply put, the dress had grown way too short on her.  Or, rather, Lucy
had grown taller.  After snapping the halter strap around her neck, she
noticed the lower hem barely reached the top of her panties.  Rather than a
dress, it was better described as a blouse with a pleated hem at the waist.
She naturally started tugging and wrestling with it to force the hem to be
more modest.  Hilariously, when she did so, the snap holding her halter
gave way beneath the tension and the entire front of her dress flopped down
to her waist and baring her chest.

   Blushing and quickly reattaching her halter, she made another more
guarded attempt to lower the hem.  She got it to stretch enough so that at
least some of her panties were covered in front.  But her entire round
bottom was still hanging out the in back.  She couldn't pull it any further
for risk of her halter snapping open again.  With panic building, she
turned to me for salvation.

   "Mikeeeey," she whined - when did whining ever work out for her?  "I
can't go to school like this.  Everyone can see my panties!  Please.  I'll
get dress coded and suspended."

   I had to concede her point.  She looked obscene.  Last day or no, she
would certainly catch flak if she showed up to school flashing her bright
white panties to the world.  She may be done with that school after today,
but disciplinary records follow you on to Junior High and beyond.  I didn't
want that kind of trouble for her.

   But what were my options?  As a last resort, I could give up on Mr. 
Beski's dress and find something else for her to wear.  But that kind of
delay would risk her showing up late to school - not a good look for your
last day.  I hated to cede any ground during a dare, but I was about to
give in.  Improvising, I came up with the idea of letting her wear a pair
of leggings underneath her dress but with some additional tasks to complete
in trade.  Unfortunately, unable to keep her mouth shut for more than a few
seconds, she piped up and offered me a much better deal.

   "Can I at least change into a pair that looks more like bloomers? 
Please?  I'll make it up some other way.  Anything you want," she begged.

   When I didn't shoot her offer down immediately, her eyes sparked with a
glimmer of hope and she held her breath.  I smiled to myself.  In her
childish attempt at negotiating, she had managed to give up everything I
wanted and more.  My creative juices were flowing as I dreamt up ways she
could make it up to me.

   "Ok," I said, nodding," you have a deal." She took off like a rocket and
I had to yell after her, "I wouldn't pick out anything you are attached to!
And make it quick!"

   I had to hold my laughter when she returned wearing a different pair of
panties which featured large vertical two-tone orange stripes all around. I
guess she decided any color would be better than white.  But no one in
their right mind would mistake them for bloomers up close due to the way
they hugged her body so closely.  If anything, they were a little skimpier
than the ones she had been wearing before.  They turned her rounded bottom
into a sexy pumpkin and were even lower waisted than the white ones.  I had
to admit, though, that their color complimented her dark brown dress nicely
and might be mistaken as a matched set of bloomers on a much younger girl
from a long distance away.  It was probably the best she could come up with
in such a short amount of time.

   I was playing with house money at this point and decided to push all my
chips in.  If she was going to be immortalized in a painting as a naked
girl in school, I might as well give her the chance to live out the
experience.

   The last day of school was always very chaotic.  The lunchroom served a
buffet style smorgasbord of everything they had left in the freezer.  There
were no classes, only award assemblies for the various grades scheduled
throughout the day in the gym.  Yearbooks were also handed out in the
morning and the playground was kept open all day.  Kids, for the most part,
were dismissed to go where they wished, as long as they stayed at school
until the appointed bell.  Most would mingle in the cafeteria, the gym, or
the playground, signing each other's yearbooks and wishing each other a
happy summer break.

   Lucy would be expected to participate in some of those festivities.  But
I devised an extra mandatory assignment for her.  I had her standby while I
went to the junk drawer in the kitchen.  She looked puzzled and a little
scared when I returned with a magic marker.

   Her face gradually grew brighter red as I explained how she was going to
reward her knight in shining armor, Ser Luke of the Hillside.  He had been
so chivalrous the Saturday before in defending her honor in front of the
fifth-grade boys that I felt he deserved a fitting token of thanks. 
Instead of signing her yearbook like any commoner, Lucy would be required,
on three different occasions, to ask Luke to sign her body on three
different places.  To make the signing more intimate, each place was
required to be hidden from sight under her dress and each signature had to
be at least a foot away from the other two.  Finally, by lunch time, she
had to get alone with him, take off all her clothes, sign her own panties
"To Luke, Love Lucy", and give them to him to keep.

   At that, Lucy's eyes went wide then started fluttering and I knew I had
hit the jackpot.  Before she could formulate another protest or ask how she
was supposed to get through the rest of the day in an impossibly short
dress after gifting her panties away, I pushed the marker into her hand and
started herding her toward the front door.  I watched her walk away down
the sidewalk.  She stared at the marker like it had just signed her death
sentence.  Her pumpkin striped bottom jiggled adorably the whole way until
she was out of sight.  This was going to be fun!