I Dare You 19

Author's note: As with all of my stories, this one is a slow-burner and leaves something to the imagination. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Disclaimer: Although not stated explicitly, all characters are over 18 years old.

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"I dare you." I stared at the words again and they seemed to take on a new meaning, the letters morphing of their own accord into different shapes and sizes and colors. This couldn't be real.

I glanced up at the locker room full of players shuffling to get their gear on, talking, laughing, ribbing, and looked for any sign that one of them was more interested in me and my flashy red paper, but no one seemed to care. Weird. My eyes drifted again to the text, and for the twentieth or thirtieth time, I read the words.

"You work so hard at every practice. I admire and respect that about you.

The showers are very calm after everyone is gone and you deserve a little treat. Stay later tonight, cutie, and

enjOy

yourself. I dare you ;)"

The cursive writing was impeccable, smooth in its flow. A dark blue fountain pen must have been used and the expensive-feeling red paper had a faint smell of something. Vanilla, I suddenly realized. Maybe the desired effect was seductive and bold, but I found it a little endearing. The "cutie" sort of negated everything daring about it.

But it was the way the word "

enjOy

" was written that kept me mesmerized. It was clearly italicized, with a capital O in the middle. The connotation was hard to miss. This... person, whoever they were, was asking me to enjoy myself in the showers after everyone was gone. Here, at the club. I snickered to myself thinking that I had a perfectly nice and private apartment I could do that in, at no one else's command, so why would I risk it here? But there was something about that "I dare you" and the winking face that followed it that made my mouth dry and my insides growl. I brushed the thought aside. No, I wouldn't. Would I?

The locker room was calming down. I looked up and saw only three players remained. I recognized Oksana, because oh well, who wouldn't recognize Oksana, but the other two were still among the mishmash of faces, names, and jersey numbers that I hadn't memorized yet. Number 7 and Number 12. However, none of the three was paying me attention so I started wondering if it was a coincidence that they were still here or if one of them was my... what do you call a person who secretly dares you to do something risky? Naughty instigator, perhaps?

I carefully placed the red paper in the side pocket of my gym bag and finished getting dressed. Socks, shoes, hair band and tie, everything was automatic. When you've played football - I refused to call it soccer like everyone did - for as long as you've been able to walk and been in teams since you were allowed to join one, the practice and match preparations became second-nature. There was a point where I thought I'd be doing this on a professional level, but a knee injury in the middle of my high school senior year plus a letter of acceptance to law school meant that my dreams of being the next Maldini or Cannavaro, female edition, were thwarted. Now I had to console myself by playing for a local team in a local league and feel like my past talent had been squandered. But at least I was back doing what I loved and it didn't conflict with my day job.

With one last glance at my gym bag and the mysterious letter within, I closed my locker and shook my head. Maybe someone on the team was trying to get into my head. I did grab a starting position in less than a month when many had been with the team for a few years, so maybe the other defenders weren't happy about it. No one had shown any bitterness though; quite the contrary, they were very helpful and welcoming. Plus there was that "cutie." It definitely wasn't a bitter one.

Practice was tough. Usually, when my feet hit the green grass, I found a way to get into my warrior mode. Block out the external stimuli, forget everything outside the field, and just give it my full concentration and effort. But today was different. My mind kept wandering back to that red paper, to that faint smell of vanilla, and to that daring message. Who could have slipped it in my locker?

With each practice drill, each movement, each run, I found myself looking at my teammates more and more, scrutinizing their behavior. Was it Bree, the goalie? We had gotten along rather well on the field and, by virtue of our positions, she had a nice view of my backside most times. Maybe she liked it a little more than she let on? Or was it Kiara, the other central defender? We had easily found a harmony together, moving in tandem to cover the penalty area, not stepping on the other's toes, and having each other's back. When you're a central defender, chemistry with your teammate can make or break your play, and Kiara and I had a lot of effortless chemistry and understanding. It was as if we'd been playing together forever, and maybe she did want us to play other games too. Or could it be Brooke, the team captain, miss congeniality without even trying off the field, and our own version of Iniesta on the field? She had been welcoming from the day I joined the team and always tried to get me involved with the group banter and off-field activities. During practice and matches, she had eyes everywhere, so maybe she had been eying me out without me even noticing. Or was it Oksana? The tall blonde goddess with Russian descent with whom I butted every time she stormed our defense during practice? We did have a bit of a quirky rivalry going on and maybe that lead to some attraction on her part. It was easy to imagine her daring people to do things and them bending over backwards to obey any order coming from her perfectly kissable lips.

Wait... Where did that thought come from? I slapped myself mentally while tackling number 14 and grabbing the ball before she could pass it to Oksana. Dribble and pass to midfield... Brooke. She was everywhere indeed. Did she smile at me? I thought she smiled.

What was happening? I shook my head for what felt like the hundredth time and tried to concentrate and get back to my position. But my eyes landed on Number 7 who was stretching and getting ready to join the practice match. Her lunges were deep and showed off a perfect bottom.

"JESS!!!" Kiara's voice shook me out of my ass-gazing moment and I barely noticed Oksana speeding past me and straight to the goal. Kiara quickly caught up with her and tried to slow her down while I ran toward them and snapped the ball between Oksana's legs from behind, flipped around, and cleared it with a powerful kick. This should not happen again, I chastised myself, while Kiara was rightfully raining expletives on me and Oksana applauded my swift comeback and teased Kiara for not reacting fast enough.

I got my mind back in the game for the rest of practice, but I couldn't ignore the fact that I was on high-alert the entire time, watching every player, their eyes, their movements, their bodies. I had been playing football for as long as I remembered and I'd never looked at another girl's body beyond just acknowledging her fitness level. But now, other things were popping up as if for the first time. Curves, toned bodies, tensing muscles, sexy calves... The world "bootie" flashed in my head and I couldn't stop repeating it. This was a buffet of delicious booties, if there ever was one.

But I wasn't a lesbian. I hadn't been attracted to girls, at least I hadn't ever thought I was. This was an all-new territory to me. Could I be reconsidering my sexuality now, at the not-so-tender age of 27? "No," the smart part of my brain answered. "You're just affected by that silly red letter, it's making you think things. And that big O in

enjOy

, it's been a few days." The drive home was going to be agonizing. "But there's the shower here," the naughty part of my brain retorted. "The very calm shower, after everyone is gone, the players, the coach, the assi..."

Oh crap! It could also be coach Terry, couldn't it? Or her assistant Alex? Or anyone of the staff at the club? They all had access to the lockers. I turned to the bench and saw Terry and Alex gesticulating and talking. They were in their mid-thirties, and quite attractive. It wouldn't be implausible to imagine one of them having a crush on a player. I was doomed. There was no way I could guess where that letter came from.

As the practice match ended and we finished some more drills and stretching exercises, Brooke brought us all together for a huddle and encouraging words. I was instantly aware of the amount of sweaty female flesh touching me and the close proximity of heaving chests around me. The person who dared me could have been among them, bumping against me now, and getting a thrill out of knowing what I didn't. This had to end, I was going crazy.

With the training over, I knew all the players would go to the lockers to shower and there would be a huge amount of skin on display. Only a few of the girls were comfortable being fully nude in front of the others, but there were a lot that paraded in their underwear between the lockers and showers. I didn't need to see that today and get more confused, so I offered to stow away the practice equipment.

Alex, the assistant coach, stayed back to help me and we started gathering the various rings, hurdles, cones, poles, and balls, then took them to the storage locker. She didn't say a word through it all and I was grateful for the silent reprieve from the craziness of the locker room. I couldn't, however, stop myself from sneaking glances at Alex in her form fitting jeans and red polo shirt. She was cute in an understated way.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you start losing your mind. How could this one paper with barely three sentences confuse me and influence me so much? I had to get a grip. I wasn't attracted to girls, this was just a silly moment.

"Jess," I shook myself and saw Alex very close to me, touching my arm. I smiled to try to hide the trepidation in my whole body. She had kind eyes. "You've been quite absentminded today, anything wrong?"

"Oh, no, uhm, maybe, yes." I stuttered. "A case at work, it's got my attention," I lied.

"Oh, good. Well, not good-good, but good in the sense that it's probably nothing life-threatening, I suppose." I nodded. "You're an excellent defender, Jess, and both Terry and I saw that in you from your first tryout. But a defender can't be thinking about other things when on the field. It's deadly and we'd have to bench you. So I hope it's a one-time thing. Leave work outside the field."

I apologized and assured her it wouldn't happen again. Perhaps I was getting good at this evasion thing as the entire time she was speaking, half of my mind was concentrated on the fact that she was still touching my arm and that the three buttons on her polo shirt were undone and offered a nice preview of her creamy white body.

She smiled, seemingly content with my answer and walked away. I headed toward the locker room, hoping everyone was already in the showers by now. That was the case. If I were honest with myself, I would have admitted that I was a little disappointed I didn't get to see some skin. I grabbed my gym bag and went into one of the empty showers.

The club had been sponsored by a wealthy businessman who grew up in the community and built like a professional stadium. It was one of the largest I'd played at and they had taken into account not only having over twenty showers, but also including a small changing room inside each one and a door, so you had as much privacy as you wanted.

The sound of the water coming from all the stalls was overpowering, though there was still the occasional shout or small discussion between two players. One by one, though, I heard the showers turn off and the doors open. I didn't count, but as I was shampooing my hair, I had a feeling only a few were left.

I panicked. Whether subconsciously or not, I had put myself in the situation the letter wanted me to be in. I was suddenly attentive to every sound around me. I didn't recognize the voices but one to my right was asking if someone could drop her off and another one, also to my right, agreed, and I thought there was one other occupied shower to my left. When the two on my right went away, I turned off my shower and listened. Nothing. I turned it back on and rinsed my hair. Just to be sure, I switched the shower off again, and perked my ears. Nothing. I turned it back on and moved on to wash my body.

I was now painfully aware of the predicament I was in. The coast was clear. I was alone and I could do whatever I wanted. Not that anything would have stopped me before, but well, psychologically, it was easier knowing I didn't have an audience to hide from. Was I seriously considering it now? This couldn't be. I needed to get a grip and just get myself home. The letter couldn't win. Even if whoever was behind it didn't know that I followed the instructions,

I

would know. And I wasn't weak and easily influenceable. No, I was my own master. I could choose not to do it.

My strong resolve lasted the three seconds it took my hand to travel down my body. By the time my soapy finger hit my outer lips, I knew it was a lost battle. I wasn't just wet, I was soaking. A shudder coursed through me and I closed my eyes and held onto the wall with my left hand. The little voice telling me I should stop was soon drowned out by the thumping of blood in my head, and the remainder of my resistance was washed out with the water running down my body into the drain.

With a heavy sigh, I felt my finger dip between my folds and knowingly reach my hard nub. There was no time to play or tease, I was aching for a release so I rubbed with frenzy, pictures of my teammates swirling in my head in a jumble of soft skin and rounded butts and plush tits. Within less than a minute, my building orgasm came crashing and I barely managed to turn and lay my back on the wall as I whimpered, swallowing the cry in my throat.

The letter had won and I didn't care. The naughty instigator had driven me to the brink and I had jumped with both feet, one finger, and one very drenched pussy. I heaved slowly, my finger still exploring, not totally content with the speed of this resolution. Soon enough, with my back now supported against the wall, I was on my way to a second, only slightly less frenetic, orgasm. As I was about to hit my peak, I pictured the woman behind that letter opening the door to my shower stall and walking in on me, and I crashed and tumbled with another barely contained whimper.

A few minutes later, as I breathed normally again and felt some strength come back to my legs, I dragged myself back under the running water and finished cleaning up. I should have felt shame for being so easily influenced, but I didn't. I was owning my pleasure.

-----

"Oh my, last Tuesday must have been intense! I wish I were in there with you.

You're so hot and the gym room might get a little stuffy today. How about you

unbrace

yourself before you walk in, cutie? I dare you ;)"

The same red paper had been slipped inside my locker. The same flawless handwriting with the same "cutie," and the same innuendo with the word "

unbrace

" italicized.

I glanced up at the locker room still full of players getting ready for today's gym session and again; no one seemed to care about me and my special letter. I inhaled deeply and shook myself.

She knew what I'd done last time. Wasn't everyone gone by the time I went on my little shower joyride? Was she still there? Did she hear me above the sound of the water? No, there was no way. She probably just calculated that I'd been the last one in, and thus out, since I took care of the equipment. She was just assuming I obeyed her instructions. So the only way she'd know that for sure would be if I followed today's dare. I had the upper hand now.

I smiled and stowed the paper away in my gym bag, all the while wondering if winning a naughty dare required doing it or not doing it. In my case, the lines blurred so much I couldn't tell. Oh shit, the voice of reason sounded in my head again. I was trying to rationalize doing what she asked. No way. This wasn't happening again.

I headed to the changing room to get dressed and physically slapped myself the moment the door closed behind me. "No, Jess, no, you wouldn't go train without a bra on. First, because it's uncomfortable. Second, because you're not a creep. And third, because you're not giving her that satisfaction," the logical part of my brain shouted.

Alright, I agreed internally, and started taking off my work clothes. I got my gym gear on, with the bra, and was about to open the door when I suddenly stopped, took off my t-shirt and bra, stuffed the latter in my gym bag, and put the former back on. By itself. With a smirk on my face, I headed back to the locker room and threw my bag in my assigned locker.

Only a few players remained, all shuffling to get ready, and I wondered if she was among them. Would she notice my erect nipples? Would she get a kick out of it? I practically pranced around, emboldened by my take-charge attitude, and shouted at the remaining girls to get their asses up to the gym.

"That's some serious enthusiasm, you heard the newbie, girls!" Number 20 replied and dashed after me, smacked me on my behind, and slowed down to let me catch up. After a double take on my chest, she whistled and nudged me. "Whoa, you're stacked!" I feigned incomprehension and she laughed heartily. "Those are some damn fine titties, you should let them go free more often."

"I forgot my sports bra at home," I shrugged. That was the most logical excuse.

"Then you should forget your sports bra at home more often." She winked and laughed again. I joined her. Her cheerfulness was contagious and I thought for a moment that if she was my naughty instigator, I wouldn't mind her doing unspeakable things to me, as long as she brought that perky attitude along.

Walking into the gym, I was hit by a waft of cold air from the AC and the smell of musky sweat that had accumulated over years of intense training. I was also hit by the realization of what I'd just done. Two hours with glistening flesh around me while my nipples brushed freely against my shirt sounded just as good as prospective torture.

And torture they were. I caught some sideway glances the first few minutes as every team member seemed to notice my clothing situation, but nothing out of the ordinary. I kept a tally in my head of every person and their reaction, trying to determine which one was the most telling. None jumped at me. There were those who did a double take, those who required a triple one, those who looked once and lingered a little bit to take it all in, and those who looked once and then tried to not look again for a while until their eyes inevitably landed back on my chest for one more check. Whoever my naughty instigator was, she was good at not making herself very obvious.

After some warm-up cardio on the elliptical, where my upper arms brushed way too often against my shirt and my chest bounced more freely than I'd ever felt, I moved to the weight lifting area where most of the players were. Alex was guiding Bree and Number 15, our two goalkeepers, but coach Terry was supervising everyone else. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed my wardrobe situation and glared at me. I felt myself both shrink from embarrassment and, oddly, tingle from excitement.

"50 weighted bench crunches, Jess!" She shouted and moved closely toward an empty inclined bench. What was it about a coach that made you feel like a shy little girl again, even though you were an adult capable of making criminals shudder in court? I rushed to grab a weighted plate and came back to the bench. In my head, I was rehearsing the exercise and calculating how uncomfortable and indiscreet it was going to be. The answer: a lot. I chastised myself several times and promised not to fall for such silly shenanigans again. Who in their right mind would train without a bra when they have D-sized breasts to account for?