The cafe was full as I arrived. The threat of rain hung over the city, and the murkiness of the cloud-laden sky signaled a wet weekend may well be ahead. Despite all that, the promise of rain had not deterred a small army of officer and retail workers from retreating to the fleetingly-brief sanctuary known as Friday lunch.

I hoped Rachel was already here, otherwise we'd be in for the game of "hunt for a table" across the next six cafes, with no guarantee of emerging victorious.

As I stood in the door to the cafe, a woman at a near-by table gave me a sharp look. Without saying a word, she gave me the hurry-up to get inside and close the door. It was cold outside and the woman clearly didn't appreciate the draft that swept in with me. Nodding my head in slight acknowledgement, I stepped forward and closed the door behind me.

A waitress bustled over to me, menu in hand, with a slightly frazzled look on her face. I quickly held up a hand to delay her inevitable question, and cast my eyes around the packed room. Thankfully, Rachel was a hard woman to miss and my search was rewarded within the space of a few seconds.

Rachel had a tendency to stand out in a crowd. Not through the use of extravagant or revealing clothing, it had to be said. As I spotted her sitting at an otherwise empty table, I noted that she wore a simple business blouse, with a couple of buttons modestly undone at the top. A smart, stylish, full-length rain coat was draped over another chair to the side of where she sat.

Rachel was the kind of woman who'd look hot even in a rain coat, I thought idly to myself.

Still, all of that was hardly out of place or out of line with professional lady-like attire. As beautiful as she was, that wasn't what made Rachel such a find. It wasn't even her red hair that made Rachel so instantly recognisable, or the athletic physique that she'd maintained late into her thirties. No, there was something else that made Rachel stand out in the crowd. It was the way that she constantly seemed to have a faint, amused smile on her lips, and the way that risk and adventure seemed to dance in her eyes these days.

I pointed at Rachel and smiled at the waitress, who briefly acknowledged my gesture before heading off to her next task.

Walking through the crowd, the light drone of conversation drowned out my approach, so that I arrived at the table seemingly without Rachel having noticed.

"Hey," I said, by simple greeting, and collapsed into the chair opposite her.

She'd had her head buried in the menu as I'd walked over. Looking up, she seemed surprised to see me, and momentarily opened her mouth. I looked at her, and as the seconds passed and she didn't say anything. A lightly puzzled expression crept on to her face.

"Ahh. We were meeting for lunch?" I volunteered, as Rachel still seemed lost for words. Suddenly a light seemed to switch on in Rachel's eyes.

"Ohhh," she said, finally, "sorry, Peter! I almost didn't recognise you," she paused again, and this time the corners of her mouth clearly twitched in what looked like a suppressed laugh, "I guess I didn't recognise you, what with, you know, you actually having clothes on!"

Rachel lost the battle to suppress her laugh as she finished off her sentence, and the laughter almost drowned out the final few words. I rolled my eyes in silent protest at Rachel's obvious teasing, and she waved away my grumbles with a flick of her hand.

"Sorry," she continued, "I was sure I could get that out with a straight face," Rachel grinned and I just shook my head in mock sadness at her inability to properly deliver a decent teasing.

That only caused Rachel to laugh more though. She gave me a wink, whisked her phone out of her bag, and made a show of checking something on the screen. Holding it up in front of her, so she could see both me and the screen, she seemed to critically assess something, switching her eyes back between me and the screen several times.

I rolled my eyes again. Clearly she was looking at the 'evidence' of our walk yesterday morning. After a few moments of to'ing and fro'ing, Rachel seemed to visibly settle on a decision.

"Yes, now I've checked yesterday morning's photos again, I can definitely see a resemblance!"

I stuck my tongue out at her at that point, only causing her to laugh even more.

"Of course," she continued, once she'd re-gathered a measure of self-control, "a woman can never be too careful in making sure who she's talking to is really who they say they are."

Leaning in closer, and treating me to a gentle whiff of her perfume, Rachel whispered. "Perhaps you should take off that stuffy shirt, just so I can compare like with like."

Turning her phone around so that I could see what she'd been looking at, I was greeted with the sight of me - completely naked - standing by her car at the park, posing with my hands on my hips, and my chest and penis clearly on display.

"I was going to suggest," Rachel added, airily, "that you show me the full goods, but we should probably save something for the walk back to your office!" Rachel smirked at that, clearly very pleased with herself.

I coughed, gently pushed her phone away so that it lay - screen facing down - on the table, and delicately changed subjects.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, avoiding Rachel's stare, knowing without looking that her eyes were still filled with mirth at my 'indiscreet' behaviour yesterday, "I've got a major work presentation after this, and wanted to make sure my slides were done."

Rachel tut-tutted at that, waggling a finger in my face. "Now, now, never tell a woman that she's playing second fiddle to a powerpoint presentation. She might start to think she's losing her appeal."

Nonetheless, she put a hand up and attracted the attention of one of the waitresses. As the visibly harassed woman came over, Rachel whispered, "Well, since you're in such a desperate hurry, we should order now. Besides, we have much to discuss over lunch."

She winked at that. As I remembered the outcome of the last time she'd had 'much to discuss with me', I went slightly red in the face.

I quickly scanned the menu as Rachel made her order, and eventually ended up having the same thing she was having anyway. As the waitress took away the menus and fought her way over to the kitchen, Rachel leaned back and gave me her equivalent of an innocent look.

"So, what are you up to this weekend?" Rachel asked, in an off-hand, casual manner, sipping some water from her glass as she finished.

My eyes narrowed as my suspicions grew, "Nothing much. I've got the presentation this afternoon, after that, not much until Monday afternoon."

I sipped some of my own water.

"I guess I'll watch the Bears/Patriots game on Sunday," I added, after a few seconds' consideration.

Both Rachel and I were Bears fans. Recently, that had not been the most pleasant of experiences, although a couple of decent wins this season meant at least the Patriots match could be a close one.

"Good, good," Rachel replied, nodding, "I'll probably watch the match too," she paused then, slightly longer than was natural, "I'll be in Boston though. Got a work conference Monday through Wednesday, so I'm heading up on Sunday. Guess I'll be in enemy territory."

Rachel paused again, "You know what? You should come and join me," she added, almost as an after-thought.

I was half way through another sip of water as she said that, and had to manfully try and cover up the fact that I'd almost sprayed the water everywhere. Looking at her intently, I tried to hazard a guess at exactly what she was implying.

Seeing my look, Rachel grinned, and wagged another finger at me.

"Now, now," she said, "separate rooms I'm afraid," she stopped, almost as if re-considering that. With a light shrug of the shoulders, she continued, "well, for now at least."

She treated me to another trademark wink with that line, and her eyes sparkled as she saw me look flustered and awkward.

"I have an idea though." Rachel said, carefully.

I felt my blood pressure rise at that. Rachel's ideas now had a track record of ending in my nudity.

"Would I be right in thinking you'd be keen for a re-match after your," Rachel skipped a beat, and then leaned in slowly, emphasising each word while locking eye contact with me, "abject, total, humiliating, stark naked, widely circulated," Rachel cast around for more adjectives, and then simply closed with, "defeat?"

I coughed at that, and kept my eyes down, half convinced that some of the people in the cafe had possibly seen the photos that had been shared online. While Rachel had let me cover my face for the online photos, every hour that passed made me more and more convinced that I was still recognisable.

"Well," Rachel said, "I think you're in luck. Unlike yesterday," Rachel's evil grin grew even larger at that. The beautiful red-head was clearly having the time of her life, and she even toyed with a button on her blouse just to further get my attention.

"So, how about you come up with me, and we have a little game of our own while the Bears are playing the Patriots. I've been told there's a good sports bar where we can watch the match."

"Sure," I replied, trying to sound calm and confident, "maybe we can put a little something on the result of the match?"

Rachel nodded briefly in agreement. "You've read my mind, Pete." She held my gaze for a moment, and casually flicked open a button of her blouse, revealing the hint of a lacy white bra under the cream material of her work top. "In fact, why don't we make it that if the Bears win, you win, and if the Patriots win, then I win?"

I didn't want to go against my own team, and the match previews were already beginning to talk up the Bears chances. I was a Chicago tragic, and I knew in my heart I wouldn't be able to cheer for the Patriots.

"Okay," I said finally, "you're on."

After all, it could hardly goes worse than our first daring adventure. 

"Excellent," Rachel replied, very pleased with this turn of events, "we can discuss the specific rules and regulations of the re-match tomorrow, before we leave on Sunday."

Rachel moved some stuff around the table as the waitress returned with our lunches and wordlessly placed them in front of us. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, the waitress gave us both a smile and headed back to the next person in the long line of waiting customers.

Rachel smiled after her, waiting for the woman to be out of earshot. Once she was, my red-headed friend continued.

"Well, can I suggest you prepare for our rematch by purchasing a possible outfit that you might like to me wear at some point in the evening's festivities." Rachel took a bite out of her food, and looked at me intently. "Try to be imaginative, but don't spend too much money."

Rachel took another bite and swallowed her food before clarifying her seeming concern for my bank balance. "After all, you won't be winning, so there'll strictly speaking be no need for the outfit!"

She flashed me her dazzling smile at that point. "Of course, I'll be buying something for you too," she continued, leaning towards me again and permitting a second chance for me to be taken in by her perfume, "something that brings out your cheeks. You have nice cheeks."

I blushed at that, and was almost about to thank her for the compliment before she interrupted.

"Sorry, just to be clear, I hope you realised as I was talking about your ass cheeks."

I sighed deeply at that, with Rachel visibly congratulating herself at her own cleverness.

"Sure, sure," I replied, waving away Rachel's attempts to needle and tease me, "we'll see who's laughing after the game. You know what, I'm thinking the Patriot's season is about to come to a shuddering halt, and you know what's really, really strange?"

I paused as she threw her hands apart in mock incomprehension at what I could possibly mean.

"I'm not even the least bit worried about that," I said, slowly, and with emphasis.

Fixing her with what I hoped came across as a more confident look than I actually felt, I finished up with, "Strange, don't you think?"

Rachel laughed. Even I had to laugh at that, and we both grinned at each other as we made headway on our lunches.

As we worked our way through lunch, Rachel filled me in on the happenings of her day. For the time being at least, we put aside the matter of yesterday's walk, and Sunday's re-match, and we were just friends again. Perfectly normal, perfectly average friends, gossiping and chatting about the usual boring stuff.

I asked how Rachel's kids were doing at University, and Rachel asked me if I'd seen the season premiere of 'Flash'. She knew I was a bit of a comic book geek at heart, and actually even managed to resist making a pun about my own flashing yesterday.

With the final mouthfuls finished though, Rachel dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and then gave me a serious look.

"Now," she said, "are you in the mood for a teaser for Sunday's escapades?"

I had no idea what she was talking about, but was nonetheless intrigued. I shrugged my shoulders, and gave a gesture for her to continue.

Taking my cue, Rachel reached up one hand, and delicately took hold of another button on her blouse. As she did, her hand brushed the material, causing the blouse to open slightly and reveal even more of her white lacy bra. It was a simple seven button blouse, and she'd already had a perfectly modest two buttons undone when I'd joined her. With the removal of the third before the meals arrived, that only left her with four buttons left done up.

"I'll do a little dare with you," Rachel whispered, conspiratorially.

"If you go into the men's toilets and remove your underwear, bring it back, and hand it over to me," Rachel stopped talking for a moment, and played with the blouse button for a moment, almost but not quite undoing it, "then this tiny, flimsy, little button, might just slip through it's button hole."

Rachel put her other hand to her mouth in an apparent look of horror. "Revealing even more of my sexy, lacy, practically see-through," she was almost breathing her words at this point, the sexual tension rising with every syllable, "brassiere! Oh dear! The scandal!"

Rachel looked at me with seemingly pleading eyes.

"You won't do it, will you?" she asked, sweetness and naivety dripping from her tongue, "You won't go and give me your big, manly underpants, and make little old me expose and flash," she placed a hand across her forehead as if she was about to faint, "my brassiere!"

I had to stop myself from openly applauding the acting, and I tried to spend a few moments trying to figure out what her game was. How exactly could this end up in my embarrassment? Admittedly, it was hard to focus on that with Rachel amping up the melodramatic over-acting with every passing second. This couldn't backfire on me, could it? Cautiously, I stood up, and nodded my head at the men's toilets.

"I'll be right back," I said, meaningfully.

Rachel practically gasped at my 'brazenness', and I heard her whisper - albeit through stifled laughter - "How could he take such advantage of me?!" as I left.

Within only a couple of minutes, I had returned to the table. It had to be said, the act of walking through the cafe with my underpants stuffed in a trouser pocket made me feel a lot more exposed than it should have done. Still, having successfully completed my part of the bargain, I discreetly handed over the requested item, and raised an eyebrow in expectation.

Rachel's sighed dramatically, and then - with clearly fake resignation - fumbled at the fourth of her seven buttons. The button undid easily, and the material of her blouse parted some more. Now, it wasn't just the faint hint of white, lacy bra that I could see. It was both cups, in both of their C-cup splendour. I leaned back in satisfaction.

"You know, I've got a pair of socks you could have," I offered, "all it would take is for to undo that fifth button."

Rachel gasped again, and covered her mouth to stop a small shriek from emerging. Her eyes were full of adventure and mischief though, and she gave me a small wink, as the waitress returned to collect our plates. As the woman reached to take Rachel's, she caught a full look at Rachel's bra, and almost dropped the plates in surprise. Covering up her own embarrassment, the waitress mumbled something about paying at the counter, and hurried off.

Not for the first or last time today, Rachel laughed warmly at the reactions she was able to get from others.

"Okay hotshot," she said with a goofy smile, "how about you go pay for lunch. I need to go to the ladies. I'll walk you back to your office."

I smiled in return, and got up from the table. I realised that there was a slight bulge noticeable in my trousers. Rachel's antics were definitely warming me up. Focusing on the task at hand, I placed two hands loosely in front of me, and headed over to the front counter. It wasn't the smoothest of cover-ups, but everyone else was thankfully too preoccupied with their own business to notice me.

There was a small queue to pay, and I idly wondered what I'd get as way of a costume for Rachel. The woman would look good in practically anything. She'd definitely look good in practically nothing as well. Okay, that didn't help control the bulge in my trousers at all.

Bringing my attention back to more immediate matters, I quickly settled the bill, and waited just inside the door for Rachel to show up. She did, after a few minutes, now safely wrapped up in her rain coat, her bag perched on one shoulder, ready to brave the weather outside.

It had managed to get even more windy and sullen while we'd been inside, but at least the rain wasn't pelting down just yet.

We walked back to my office, which by happy coincidence was only a few blocks over from Rachel's own work.

On the way back, Rachel asked what my presentation was about. She even managed to feign some modest interest while I rattled off something about a major project that we'd finally won a bid on, and that I now needed to present to the marketing team. After about five minutes of listening politely to me talk about the detailed intricacies of my job, Rachel's attention finally broke and she patted me on the shoulder.

"Well," she said, "good luck with... whatever the hell that was all about."

I gave a short half-laugh, "Well perhaps you should come up and sit in on the presentation," I said, "I'm sure no-one would notice a plain, unassuming woman such as yourself, sitting in on one of my awesome presentations."

That earned me a playful smack on the bottom, and a firm 'now don't be cheeky' look from Rachel.

As we reached my office tower, Rachel squinted up at the tower block.

"Have I ever even been to your offices?" she asked.

I had to admit she hadn't.

"Well then," she said, simply, "lead the way. I'll at least come up the lift with you."

My office was on the tenth floor, and the trip up in the lift gave us the opportunity to arrange a time to talk on Saturday about the rules for Sunday.

As I stepped out of the lift. Rachel stayed behind, and gave me a short wave. "Well, talk to you tomorrow then, and good luck for that presentation."

I smiled back. I'd thought ahead and brought the USB key with a copy of my presentation to lunch. All I had to do was head into the presentation room, and wow my audience.
As I turned to head off, Rachel called after me one last time. I turned around. The lift doors were still open, and Rachel was in the back of the lift car, positioned so that only I could see her.

Suddenly, with one slow yet sultry movement, she opened her rain coat with two hands. My mouth dropped open, as the coat pulled apart. My heart began to pound, and my eyes felt like they were about to fall out. Standing in front of me, rain coat now opened wide, a half-naked Rachel did a sexy little shimmy.

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 breathe, 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. However, I reckon you've got the balls to pull off such a," Rachel raised an eyebrow and thrust out her chest for extra effect, "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 even half-considered 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. 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-the-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'd 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 eke 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.

My mouth felt like paste as the kicker made his way on to the field. Time seemed to freeze as the center took hold of the ball, and made the fateful call. In the bar, we were all on our feet, as dead silence held sway over us.

The ball was snapped back, the kicker moved in, and for a moment, two possible universes opened up in front of me. I saw the ball sail of the kicker's boot, straight and true. Nobody breathed in the sports bar as the ball arced up and over the field, and headed towards the posts. I felt a cheer rushing up from inside of me, as I looked wildly at Rachel and realised I'd get to see her dancing topless tonight.

Then, turning back to the TV, I watched as the ball gracefully, smoothly, inevitably, began to gently, gently swing to the left. The cheer died before it got a chance to leave my open mouth, and I heard the crowd around me erupt. The Bears had missed. The field goal had missed.

Rachel gave me a very, very naughty look. I stood there, in a bar of cheering Patriots fans, dressed only in a sexy Wonder Woman outfit, all dignity and hope ripped from my grasp. The Bears had lost. I had lost.

The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes, was the sight of Rachel doing a sexy shimmy in her chair, and pointing directly at my crotch.

Like my current outfit, her gesture left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

*******

[To be continued in Rachel's Dare - Part 4.]