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 ï>¿Dare Me by neverdoubted

   Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 5)

   I scanned the whole room, hoping I had missed something.  It was a
weekday and still early, so there wasn't a huge crowd waiting.  But the
clinic was starting to fall behind schedule and, as more patients were
forced to wait their turn, the numbers swelled.  At least two dozen people
were sitting in clusters around the long, depressing room.  Lucy was not
among them.

   I may have overreacted to her absence, but in my defense, I was in a
fragile state.  Putting the news of her condition out of my mind as best I
could, I gathered up her things and began to scour the halls in search of
my naked sister for a second time that day.  I checked the bathrooms
thinking she might have seen the crowd and chickened out.  But the
indicators outside both showed "vacant" and she wasn't hiding within.

   After searching every corridor in the clinic zone at least twice, I
began to widen my search to other parts of the facility.  The only possible
explanation I could think, unless she got abducted or something (God
forbid), was that after coming downstairs, she had gotten turned around
exiting the stairwell and went the wrong way.

   To test my theory, I returned to the stairwell and purposely headed in
the wrong direction.  The hall eventually intersected a larger corridor.  I
made a right-hand turn and started walking.  This corridor made several
questionable zigs and zags and had a distressingly high number of
offshoots. But by following the color of the carpet, I was able to stay on
what appeared to be the recommended path.

   I kept walking, unable to imagine Lucy would have come down this far. 
Surely, she would have sensed something wasn't right.  But then again, she
was pretty bad with directions and under a lot of stress.  In her naked
state, she was probably too distracted by the surprised reaction of every
person she encountered along the way to wonder why it was taking so long to
reach her desired destination.

   The further I went, the more convinced I became that something bad had
happened.  Also concerning, I began to gradually notice a change in signage
as I walked.  The posters informing you about the dangers of smoking were
replaced by warnings about the consequences of drunk driving and
encouragements to always wear your seatbelt.

   Sensing I had wandered too far into the DMV side of the complex, I
planned to turn back at the end of the hall.  But around that last corner,
a sign hanging from the ceiling made my blood run cold.  It read "DMV
Waiting Room" and had a big arrow pointing at a heavy door.  I couldn't
help but wonder.  Was Lucy really stupid and/or disoriented enough to
confuse the two completely unrelated waiting rooms?

   I rushed up to the metal door and pressed the horizontal bar in the
middle.  A latch clicked and I was able to swing it open and step through.
As the door swung shut behind me, I surveyed the new room.

   Compared to the relatively small clinic waiting room, the DMV was
positively cavernous.  There had to be at least a hundred people filling
rows and rows of seats along the back and nearly that many more standing in
a long line that snaked toward the far wall of clerks.  Workers who
crisscrossed the room kept their head down so they wouldn -(TM)t have to
entertain questions from the depressed visitors who were clutching precious
stacks of paperwork and pleading for an estimate on how much longer they
would have to wait.

   The whole place was soul-sucking.  I knew because I had been in this
room about a month before.  I had waited in those exact chairs for what
seemed like hours for my number to be called and had stood endlessly until
I made it to the front of that exact line so I could get my hardship
license.  But today, I was here on a different mission.

   I saw Lucy right away.  It wasn't hard with her pale, naked body,
sun-bleached blonde hair, and white bandage shining like a sexy beacon  -"
the only interesting thing to look at in an otherwise gloomy room.  She was
sitting in a chair, blushing profusely, staring unblinking into the folds
of an open magazine, and making a noble effort to pretend like she wasn't
flashing her entire naked body to the rest of the room.

   On a bad day, she is objectively a strikingly beautiful young lady.  She
has been turning heads since she was a little girl.  Receiving a lot of
attention everywhere she went was nothing new to my sister.  But that's
nothing compared to the stares she was receiving by having strolled naked
into the middle of the DMV!  Everyone was staring at the unusual sight of
the mental patient with a knockout body reading a magazine without a stitch
of clothing on as if it were an everyday occurrence.  It sure beats staring
at the balding head of the person in front of you in line.

   Over the next couple minutes, I pieced together what had transpired.  As
I had guessed, she had taken a wrong turn at the stairwell and wandered the
halls until she found this door.  Mistakenly assuming it would take her to
the clinic waiting room and her clothes, she eagerly dashed through, only
to find herself the main attraction for a crowd of lucky onlookers.

   At that point, her choices were limited.  The one-way door behind her
had already latched closed and the other exit across the room would have
taken her outside and even further from her clothes.  Left with no better
option, she grabbed a magazine and sat down as if it had been her intention
all along to do some casual, naked reading in front of two hundred bored
citizens.  But really, she was praying constantly that I would quickly
locate her and come to her rescue.

   As soon as she saw me holding her dress, she saw her prayer had been
answered and cried out in relief.  I was nearly as relieved to see her as
she was me.  Well, maybe not quite since I was holding all her clothes and
she was still completely naked.  Jumping to her feet, she lunged at her
dress and scrambled into it, not even bothering to waste time on her
underwear.  So much for pretending it didn -(TM)t bother her, I guess.

   Since we couldn't return the way we came, we crossed the room and went
through the door leading to the main DMV lobby.  It didn't matter since
everything was connected to the same parking lot anyway.  We reached the
lobby and were almost out when an unhappy man in a brown uniform blocked
our path.  He was a security guard and had every intention of detaining us
for disturbing the peace.

   "I don't know what kind of prank you two think you're pulling," he said
with a gruff voice, "but the cops have been called and are already on their
way."

   He was past his prime and looked like someone who drinks too much beer,
but he was stout.  I doubted we could overpower him and get through that
door.  Lucy looked on the verge of a breakdown.  She had been through a lot
by that point.  A trip to the city jail to answer a bunch of questions
about why she had taken off all her clothes and wandered around some
government building would have probably broken her.  Seen as her
accomplice, I was probably in just as much danger.  Fortunately, I still
had my wits about me and tried to mount a defense of her behavior.

   "It's all a misunderstanding," I insisted, motioning to her head bandage
for sympathy, "we were here at the clinic and...and, look!" I shoved the
signed paperwork which I hoped would be enough to corroborate my story into
his hands.  The guard read Lucy's release form with a skeptical eye.  I
could tell that note alone wasn't going to be enough to convince him. 
Pulling out all the stops, I grabbed the note from Dr.  Alabar from my
pocket and quickly added it to bolster my case.  Even though I didn't have
a clue what it said, a little extra legitimacy couldn't hurt.

   The grumpy guard had to put on his glasses before he could read the
scrawled writing.  When he had finished, he looked up at Lucy with a
surprised expression then read the note all over again.  Finally, with a
contemplative "hmph", he returned our belongings and waved us through
without another word.

   Neither one of us said anything on our walk back to the car.  I was
stunned.  I think we both were, but for different reasons.  All I could
imagine, as we drove home in silence, was that something in Dr.  Alabar's
letter had convinced the man to let us go.

   When we got home, I dropped her off, but didn't feel like staying.  I
needed some alone time to process everything Dr.  Alabar had told me about
Lucy -(TM)s alleged condition.  But I also wanted to know more about that
letter.  I had been wrong to be so dismissive of its value.  I vowed to sit
down and take the time to interpret his handwriting.  I had to know what
the good doctor had said.



   Dare Me - Chapter 15 - Doctor's Orders (Part 6)

   I drove in circles for a while.  Driving for pleasure was technically
against the terms of the hardship license, but mindless driving is great
for clearing your head.  It was worth the risk that day.  My sister had
just been diagnosed with an incurable illness - the same one that likely
killed our dad.  A million thoughts were hitting me at once.

   I kept replaying the meeting with Dr.  Alabar, trying to pick out the
important parts.  Lucy was sick.  But I had to remind myself that he had
insisted she wasn't seriously ill.  Her condition could be managed - with
my help.  That is, if I could even believe a word he said.

   I ended up at the library, a good, quiet place where I could think
without interruption.  I was always good at researching things and needed
to get organized.  So, upon entering, I made sure no librarian was nearby
and swiped a gently used manila folder as well as some blank papers from
the copier behind the book checkout counter.  I was going to make my own
file on Lucy Marie Jenkins.

   First things first, I took a closer look at that letter.  It seemed to
be the key.  I found a quiet table way back among the less frequented
sections where I wouldn't be disturbed and slowly began to transcribe Dr.
Alabar's physician -(TM)s scratch into actual words.  I wasn't the best
cursive reader to begin with, so it took a while.  But here's what the
letter said:



   "To whom it may concern,

   Lucy Jenkins is a patient under my care.  She has been diagnosed with a
chronic medical condition which she is currently able manage with
prescribed treatments.  Lucy is in otherwise excellent health and her
condition does not prevent any level of strenuous physical activity. 
However, due to the unique nature of her condition, her symptoms, when
manifesting, may impede her ability to wear clothes.

   Please excuse her from regular uniform and attire regulations during
those times.  Her condition should not be considered dangerous or harmful
to herself or others.  Her symptoms do not require intervention to treat
and will pass in time.  Pursuant to the Americans with Disabilities Act of
1990, discrimination against her in this matter is prohibited.

   Respectfully, Dr.  Diederick Alabar M.D., MRCP"



   Welp, that was one mystery solved.  I might not have been otherwise
convinced by the authoritative claims contained in that letter.  But I had
witnessed firsthand how it stopped the DMV guard in his tracks.  I couldn't
argue with results like that.

   Still, I was left with more questions than answers.  Could I trust Dr.
Alabar's expertise, or would another doctor tell me something else?  Going
to some private practice for a second opinion would have cost money - money
we didn't have.  Fortunately, if it was knowledge I was looking for, I was
in the right place.  So, I turned to the library itself for guidance.

   By then, I knew my way around our city library.  This was before the
Internet put everything at your fingertips and it took a special skill set
to navigate the forest of dead trees which were soaked with inky wisdom. 
Treating the letter with a newfound respect, I smoothed out the wrinkles it
had begun to suffer while in my pocket and used a paperclip to secure it
unfolded inside the manila folder.  Then I headed to the Medical Reference
section to look for clues.

   My attempts at direct information on Persistive Waxing Concupiscence
Syndrome were a dead end.  I couldn't find any evidence that the stupid
thing even existed!  Waxy carbuncles was about as close as I got, and
that's not anywhere near the thing Lucy supposedly had.  I had a little
more success looking up the definition of each word separately.  After
carefully writing all four words and their full definitions on the same
page, I felt like I could start to make sense of Dr.  Alabar's diagnosis,
even if I wasn't yet sure I could trust him.  He had seemed competent and
sincere.  But that did not automatically make him a reliable source.

   The stakes were too high to blindly follow his orders.  But I couldn't
deny how uncannily accurate he had been grasping the nature of Lucy's
relationship to dares as well as guessing at my likely involvement in them.
He had diagnosed her with little more than a thin medical history and a few
minutes in her presence.  And he had barely interacted with me before
declaring that I didn't have the same illness, even though it was
supposedly hereditary!  How could he possibly know for sure?  So many
questions - not enough information.

   Returning to the reference books, I researched other hereditary
illnesses in general.  I don't mean to sound selfish, but I was relieved to
learn how common it was for one child to inherit a condition while their
sibling was completely unaffected.  The reason for my concern was something
Dr.  Alabar had mentioned which had been bothering me ever since.  It was
about how WC affects masturbation.

   According to the good doctor, Lucy's condition prevented her from
masturbating.  That's not quite accurate.  Her condition prevented the
normal flow of hormones that allow a person to climax when they masturbate.
If I understood him correctly, she could still play with herself at night
or in private.  But the act would only cause those hormones to build up in
her body with no release.  No orgasm.

   That's where my own issues happened to coincide.  Oh, God, I can't
believe I'm revisiting such an embarrassing moment in my past and sharing
my private struggles with you!  But I suppose you should know, for Lucy's
sake.

   As you know, I had, only a few weeks earlier, made the fateful mistake
of letting Lucy give me a dare.  She had kind of caught me in a
compromising situation and I wasn't thinking clearly.  Ever since that
dare, I had started to notice some personal issues of a...sexual nature.

   I'm not going into detail again about everything that happened to me
that day.  Let's just say, it was an incredible, unbelievably arousing
experience which ended with my own body betraying me in the most
embarrassing way possible.  The dare officially ended a few days later,
after I had repaid my debt for transgressions accrued.  But that was not
the end for me.  I'm ashamed to admit it but, in the weeks afterward, I had
begun to struggle with masturbation - particularly, with orgasms.

   It started a couple days after my dare when I was in the produce section
of the supermarket.  A nice-looking woman, probably in her thirties, with a
decently large chest walked up and started to peruse the lettuce.  I had
just stopped to sort my coupons and wasn't even shopping for lettuce.  We
had plenty of that home-grown.

   Anyway, glancing down, I noticed the woman's nipples had started to
stiffen under her top from the cold air drifting off the refrigerated
display.  Suddenly, a particular scene from my dare popped into my head. 
If you've been following along, you can probably guess which one.  My penis
grew fully erect in an instant and I had to steady myself to keep from
passing out from the rapid loss of blood pressure.

   I covered the gigantic bulge in my shorts and waddled away before she
could notice it.  It's not like I had never gotten an erection looking at a
pretty girl or lady before.  I was a healthy teenage boy.  Things like that
happened all the time.

   The real problem began when I got home.  My most obvious way of keeping
my erections under control was regular masturbation sessions.  Turning to
that tried-and-true solution, I took a shower and began to play with
myself. However, just as I was getting going down there, another image
popped into my head.  This time, I was staring deep into the eyes of the
most honest, trusting girl you could ever meet and losing control of my
body - defiling her in the most shameful way possible.

   In reaction to those intrusive, humiliating images, I felt my
consciousness automatically retreating into the safe cocoon of my deeper
mind.  That Zenlike state made a great insulator and stopped the images
cold.  Unfortunately, turning to the exact thing my brain had developed to
help me avoid having an orgasm, obviously makes it very difficult to reach
an orgasm!

   My shower masturbation session ended in failure and started a dreadful
pattern every time I tried after that.  And with no relief, my erections
became even more frequent and more of a distraction to daily life.  It was
mildly concerning.  But my real concern was how I was going to manage once
school started.  Imagine going to school surrounded by cute girls with a
near perpetual, raging hard-on.

   I was almost to the point of turning to chemical solutions.  In fact, I
had already formed a plan for my next jack attempt.  My intention, assuming
Lucy made her team, was to swipe some of her special lotion while she was
away at cheer camp for the weekend and see if that couldn't help me get
over the hump, so to speak.

   I specifically wanted to wait until she was out of the house before
making another masturbation attempt with Rivera Dave's lotion in hand. 
Ever since she caught me trying to use it last time, she kept a close eye
on the jar.  I also didn't want to do anything that might end up with me
getting roped into doing another dare.  Just the thought of it made me
shiver.

   In short, it's like my arousal system had gone haywire.  But having just
learned about Lucy's condition, I couldn't help but wonder if my own
masturbatory difficulties weren't the first sign of PWCS beginning to
manifest in me!  Dr.  Alabar had sounded confident when he told me I didn't
have it.  But could he have been mistaken?  What if I was just a late
bloomer and was destined to suffer the same fate as my sister?!

   Before I got too carried away by fear and despair, I returned my focus
to the task at hand.  I ordered myself to stop wasting energy worrying
about my personal tribulations.  I was here to help my sister.  To do that,
I had to decide if I was going to trust Dr.  Alabar.  How could I know for
sure?

   I went back to the beginning to test his theory about how Lucy's
condition came to be linked to dares in the first place.  Best I could
recall, it all started with that slightly creepy babysitter.

   What was his name?  Oh yeah!  I got out a clean sheet of paper and, at
the very top, wrote, "Kevin- Pajama Hide and Seek, Age 9".

   It hadn't even been a dare, but by my reckoning, that was the first
naked activity, or challenge, Lucy ever performed.  And, in support of the
doctor's theory, she had critically still been a few years away from
puberty when it happened.

   I went on to record every daring escapade I could remember along with
the time and her age.  The more I mapped out the ebbing and flowing of a
recognizable pattern over the months and years, the more I believed it. 
How could I come to any other conclusion?  My sister might really have
PWCS.

   I was willing to entertain that diagnosis as a possibility.  She really
might be incapable of achieving an orgasm on her own without a dare to
help. What a wild thought!  But if it were true, it is very likely we had
both spent the same sleepless nights recently, struggling with a similar
problem.

   Our plights may not have been identical, I admit, but I could at least
sympathize.  Fruitlessly pleasuring yourself in the privacy of your own bed
only to have to get up the next morning painfully aroused yet totally
unfulfilled.  It sucked!  No wonder she kept coming back for more dares! 
How could I blame her if that happened to her on a regular basis?  Dares
might have been the only way she could get any sexual relief whenever her
symptoms - her urge - came on.  If I were in her desperate little shoes, I
would probably be compelled to say those two little words every time, too,
no matter how humiliating the previous dare had turned out!

   A heavy weight settled over me as I considered the magnitude of
accepting this reality.  If everything the doctor had told me was true, I
was the only thing standing between Lucy and some kind of toxic chemical
imbalance overload.

   As she came into her teen years, it would become more and more difficult
to avoid major consequences.  At some point, the wrong person would
inevitably catch her in the act and she, I, or both of us, would get in big
trouble.  I was kinda surprised it hadn't happened already.

   I would have to depend on that letter.  Everything I made her do could
be considered part of her treatment plan for a serious medical condition.
And Dr.  Alabar had essentially granted me formal permission, indemnity
even, to continue her dares without fear of reprisal.

   That was the best I could hope for at the moment.  I wasn't ready to
accept the prognosis that she had no other way to manage it.  I would
continue searching for a cure or alternate forms of treatment.  Or maybe
she would grow out of it like he wondered she might.  Until then, the only
thing I could do was keep giving her dares every time she came to me.

   As I stood up and gathered my things, I thought about his final warning
about undertreating her.  Her dares had never felt so significant before.
It had all been a game to me - a very entertaining and sexy diversion from
life's boredom.  But now, doing it wrong could be catastrophic and could
even cost me my sister.

   I suddenly felt very tired.  I didn't have the mental stamina to wrestle
with that responsibility.  So, I vowed to put everything aside for the
evening and face it all again tomorrow...after a good night's sleep.