The Perfect Cheerleader free porn video

[Having enjoyed Fictionmania for many years, I wanted to submit something of my own. I'm not a product of the US education system and have never been a cheerleader, so I can only hope I haven't got things too confused or mixed up. The story is told from the point of view of the main character.] He couldn't believe it was happening for real. All along he had thought and hoped that his mother was joking, that it was all a kind of game, a way of helping her relive her glory days, but here he was in his sparkling white soffee shorts, sky blue tee and white nikes, in the car getting ready to go to pre-season cheer tryouts. Not only was he sitting in the car in a daze, wearing his familiar but crazy outfit, but once again his mom had insisted that he sit in the back. It didn't make sense. He had always sat alongside her in the front ever since he was 10 years old and she had told him he was a big boy now. That was more than a year ago, so why was she making him sit in the back again like some little kid? He couldn't figure it out, but his mom had been acting really strange all summer. He loved his mom. She hadn't abandoned him like his dad had, and she was so wonderful and attentive and pretty. All his friends thought she was the prettiest mom of anyone in the whole school. After all, she had been head cheerleader in high school and in college and she had won lots of beauty pageants when she was little. But ever since school closed for the summer break over a month ago, she had started to act weird. Maybe it was cos she was now 40 and she kept mumbling to herself that she was old. She didn't even have a birthday party because she didn't want people to know her age or to have to admit it to herself. And that made him feel sad because he wanted his mom to be happy and to smile her lovely big smile. And that's the reason he was stuck in the back of the car now dressed like this. He remembered the day well, how it all began. It was the Monday after school closed for the summer and he had spent the day playing little league football with his friends. He was really good at it, too. All his friends thought so, and so did the coach. He had come home happy and excited and hungry. His mom had prepared some chicken and salad for him, which he ate with a big glass of milk. He had hoped for fries but she had told him some days before that fries give you break-outs and she really didn't want him eating fries or other fatty foods any more. He needed to take care of his skin, she said, because he needed always to look his best. He hoped she wasn't being serious because how are you expected to survive if you can't have fries or pizza or burgers or candy, but so far she hadn't relented. Then, after he had eaten, she called him into the living room where the big TV was. He presumed she wanted him to watch some TV with her, like they often did, but instead he saw that spread out on the coffee table were some old photo albums that were stored in the display cabinet in the living room but that he had never seriously looked at before. Now the three of them were lying open on the table. "Come here, Jess," she said, patting the spot next to her on the couch. "I want to show you something." That was something else she had started doing lately - referring to him as Jess, rather than as Jesse, which was his birth name and which she had always called him until recently. (He knew the story of how he had got his name; how her best friend in college who had been killed in a skiing accident had been called Jessie, and how she had named him in her memory). Jesse was a cool name, he thought, but he didn't like when she called him Jess. It sounded a bit too girly to his ears. He sat on the couch beside her, nestling as close to her as he could. He admired how she always dressed well, even when she was in the house, and how, even without makeup, she always looked beautiful. "I thought it would be fun to look at some old photos of when I was your age, Jess. I don't think I showed them to you before," she said. And then she began to take him through the albums. He saw lots of photographs of when she competed in beauty pageants as a pre-teen and teen and, as they looked at each set of photos, she would tell him about that particular pageant and the dress she was wearing and how well she had done in it. He saw photographs of her Sweet 16 party. There must have been twenty photos of her in her stunning red dress, long and full like a prom dress, and her big smile that was wider than the Colorado River. And there was one whole album of her as a cheerleader, from when she started out in Middle School right up to her college years. Lots of different uniforms and hairstyles, but always the same big smile and athletic figure and fantastic legs. His mom sure did look beautiful. He knew his mom loved cheerleading because she had often mentioned it in the past but, as she told him story after story about her cheer exploits and the competitions her team entered and the competitions they had won, he began to realize just how good she was at it, and how much it meant to her, and he sensed that she really, really missed those days. "You know what would be fun?" she said, suddenly, excitedly, as if an idea had just popped into her head. "What if I did some of my old cheer routines and you joined in with me. Come on, it will be a laugh." Then, she saw the puzzlement and hesitation in his eyes. "No one need ever know about it," she assured him, "and I'll even dig out my old college uniform to wear, too." "Gee, I don't know, mom, " he replied, quietly. "You know I can't do that dance stuff and, I mean, cheerleading is a girl thing." "That's not true," she answered. "Lots of guys cheer; in fact, all the top guys in high school and college cheer." Jesse shook his head. "Maybe, like, in California or places like that, but not here. No guys cheer in my school. They'd be history if they did." His mom looked at him a little more steely-eyed now. "Be that as it may," she said, matter of factly. "All I want you to do is indulge me. If you don't like it, we'll stop. I promise." He knew he couldn't say no to his mom and that there would be no point in doing so anyway. From past experience, he knew that once she had her mind made up, that was that. No tantrums or tears were going to change it. And so that evening she took him through a few basic moves, right there in the living room, dressed as they were. He had to admit, it wasn't so bad. He even laughed a few times as he struggled to keep up with his mom, who clearly hadn't lost any of her technique or flexibility after all those years. And his mom smiled and laughed a lot, too. And that made him happy. If doing some stupid cheer stuff with his mom made her smile more, and she had smiled very little since his dad left, well, maybe it was worth doing it after all. The next morning he was taken aback to see his mom arrive in the kitchen in her old college uniform just as he finished breakfast. It was already 10.30 and he was planning to go play ball with his friends who would be calling for him any time now. "Right, Jess," she said, ruffling his blond hair as she walked up behind him. "You ready for some fun?" He noticed that her hair was in a high ponytail with a bow that matched her blue and white uniform with its stiff, pleated little skirt, and that she somehow seemed younger, bouncier, almost like she was twenty years younger. "But, mom, I'm going out. Brian and Brandon will be here any minute. We're going to the park. Remember, I told you yesterday." Her face lost a little of its brightness and immediately he felt bad. He always hated to disappoint her. "Well, you're just going to have to tell them that something has come up, because I was really looking forward to doing some practice with you this morning. Wouldn't you like that too, Jess? Remember the fun we had last night." And he knew he would have to find some excuse to turn Brian and Brandon away because he wouldn't be playing ball with them this morning. Once they had cleaned up after breakfast, and he had dutifully phoned his disappointed friends to tell them he wasn't feeling very well and would have to cancel out on their plans, his mom suggested that they go down to the basement where there was more space. "But first you need to wear something more appropriate," she told him. This was news to him, and suddenly he sensed that things were beginning to get out of hand. "Won't my tee and jeans do? I mean, I play ball in these all the time." "Don't be silly," she tut-tutted. "Now go upstairs and change like a good boy." On his bed he found a pair of white shorts and a sky blue teeshirt with cap sleeves and a scoop neck. He picked up the shirt and examined it. It looked suspiciously girly but he couldn't find any label or marking on it to confirm his suspicions. The shorts were different too, unlike any he had worn before. They were really short with v-notch legs and no zipper, and they felt soft to touch. These definitely were girl's shorts. Beside them was a pair of white nike cheer shoes he had never seen before and white ankle socks with blue trim on top that matched the shirt. Has mom gone crazy, he wondered. No way could she expect him to wear any of this stuff. He ran down the stairs to tell her as much. His mom wasn't impressed when she saw him. "Jess, why aren't you dressed?" she demanded. "Where are your practice clothes?" "Come on, mom," he pleaded. "Those are girl's clothes. I know they are. You can't expect me to wear girl's clothes." He was on the verge of tears now - of bewilderment, confusion and shock. It was as much as he could do to not let them flow. But his mother didn't budge, and her increasingly stern, almost steely, expression frightened him. "They are proper cheer clothes," she said, icily. "You are practising cheerleading with me, and you will wear the appropriate clothes. Now put them on this instant, if you don't want to find yourself over my knee." "Please, mom," he pleaded one last time, his bottom lip quivering. "Can't I just practice in what I'm wearing?" She moved so fast he hadn't time to react. Taking him roughly by the hand, she dragged him like an errant little child out of the basement and up the stairs and into his room. She gave him a loud smack on the backside as she pushed him towards the bed. "Strip off and put on your cheer clothes - now, this instant," she shouted, her arms folded tightly across her chest. He hadn't seen her this angry since the time his dad left, and it scared him. Without any more hesitation, he started to disrobe, as, tapping her foot, she stood there and watched. Standing now, in just his briefs, he thought he would cry as his mom picked up the top and roughly pulled it over his head, and then ordered him to step into the shorts. The shorts did feel soft and they were so high on his legs they barely covered his briefs. He sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled off his socks and replaced them with the little white ones with the blue trim and then laced up his new nikes. They fitted him just perfectly. "Now, stand up till I look at you," she commanded. He stood but hung his head, too embarassed to look at her. He felt like a dork or a sissy in these stupid clothes. "That's much better," he heard her say. "You look like a proper little cheerleader. Now let's have some fun." She led him out of his room and down the stairs all the way to the basement. He couldn't help but notice her long legs in her short cheer skirt, how it made them look extra good. His mom pressed a button on the old music system that they kept down there and a lively dance beat, a mix of different tunes, began to play. She put him standing beside her in front of the long mirror she had erected by the back wall and instructed him to watch and copy her every move. Slowly, tentatively, he tried to follow her leg and upper body movements, but it wasn't easy. She moved with practiced confidence, even if she hadn't cheered in a very long time. She kept encouraging him, telling him how wonderful he was, praising him whenever he did something right. And then she began to chant cheer slogans, ones from long, long ago. And it suddenly seemed to him as if she had been transported back to her glory days when she was cheer captain and she ruled the school and all the boys liked her and the world was her oyster. And he noticed also how big and fixed her smile had become and how brightly her eyes shone so that she looked radiant. And as he tried to match her moves, and as the upbeat music filled his senses and raised him up, his clothes didn't feel as strange as before and he even felt a little giddy and began to laugh, and he was happy that his mom was happy. After about what seemed like an hour, but was probably only thirty minutes, his mom turned the music off. Straightening up, she smiled at her very flustered and flush-faced son. "That's enough for today, Jess. We can practice some more tomorrow." Relieved, he bolted upstairs to his room and tore off his cheer clothes, throwing them on the chair by his closet. He couldn't wait to put on his regular jeans and teeshirt and shoes again. The next day was the same, and the day after that, and they fell into a routine. Jess would put on his cheer clothes first thing in the morning or right after breakfast, and he and his mom, in her old cheer uniform, would have their workout. For the first few days they went through the same routine over and over and over again, until, at last, he knew all the moves and all the words. Heck, he could do them in his sleep. His mom was very proud of him and kept telling him how natural he was and what a great cheerleader he would make. It both pleased and embarrassed him. After that, they moved on to a new, slighty more complicated, routine. Every day his mother wore her old cheer uniform and every day during practice he wore his cheer clothes, except that now he has several sets to choose from. His mom had bought him two more pairs of soffee shorts, in brighter pastel colors this time, and several equally bright and equally feminine tops to go with them. He wore whatever she laid out without complaint. He knew there was no point in complaining. And after a while, he didn't even bother to comment on the clothes or their color. It was just a uniform after all, and it was just a bit of fun between the two of them, and it was just for the summer. The same routine carried into the second week and by now he was starting to get bored of it. It was tedious and tiring and repetitive, and his mom was getting more and more demanding, scolding him if he didn't imitate her moves precisely or if he let his posture slip, or if he failed to smile the fixed smile she insisted upon. He also wanted to spend more time with his friends. He did manage to meet up with them most afternoons but it wasn't the same. Very often they would have finished their game by then and weren't interested in another one, and they were annoyed with him also for not playing with them in the mornings like they had planned. All they did in the afternoons was hang out a little or wander round the park or watch TV. This got boring after a while and before long his friends barely called or texted him any more. It was on the Monday of the third week that things really started to get out of hand. When Jesse went back to his room after his shower, he found his cheer clothes lying on the bed as usual, but immediately sensed there was something different about them. He picked up the blue and white shirt. It looked like his other ones except it seemed shorter, more like a tank top than a tee. He was horrified when he picked up the shorts. They weren't shorts at all. They were a skirt... an A-line, low-rise, blue colored, little cheer skirt with a zipper closure in the back. He threw it on the bed like it carried an infection, and, wearing nothing but the towel round his waist, ran downstairs to find his mom. "It's a skirt," he shouted when he found her in the kitchen, in her uniform as she always was every morning now. "You put out a cheer skirt on my bed." His mom calmly continued setting the table for breakfast. "Yeah, it's just like mine except it doesn't have pleats." "But I can't wear it," he stammered. "I don't want to wear it; I won't wear it. I'm not going to wear a girl's skirt." In his upset and anger, the tears began to flow and he was ready for his mom to get mad at him or maybe even to shake him really hard. Instead, she just smiled softly and pulled him close so that his head hugged her chest. "It's alright, hunny. I know you're upset," she said, running her fingers tenderly through his hair, "but I just thought it would be fun for us to dress the same when we are practising, like we're members of the same team." Then, holding him out in front of her, she smiled down at him. "Don't you think that would be fun?" He didn't know how to reply. He knew that boys didn't wear skirts and that her logic was flawed and that she was acting crazy, and yet he didn't want to let her down. It was like he wasn't able to let her down. And so he half shrugged his shoulders and said nothing and allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him back upstairs to his room. "Now let's get you dressed," she exclaimed, excitedly. She removed his towel so that he now stood naked before her. Then she picked up what looked like a pair of really short shorts. For a split second, he thought she had changed her mind and that she was going let him wear these shorts instead. "Now, Jess, do you know what these are?" she asked, as she held them up in front of him. He shook his head. "These are spankies. They are special undies that cheerleaders wear under their skirts. They are bigger than regular panties so that they cover up more. Look, I'm wearing them, too." And putting his spankies on the bed, she raised her skirt a few inches so that he could see what was under it. "Now, let's put them on." She got on her knees and held the spankies out in front of him, and slowly, timidly, he stepped into them. His mom pulled them up his almost hairless legs and fixed them in position. "Don't they feel nice?" she asked. She then picked up the shirt. "Raise your arms, Jess. That's a good boy." He raised them up and she slipped the tank top over his head. It was shorter than his other tops and it felt more starchy, too. And then came the skirt. He swallowed hard as he stepped into it and allowed her to zip it up in the back and fix it into place. It was so short and it felt so different from his regular shorts and even from his soffee shorts. It felt light, too, as if he was wearing almost nothing. What he noticed, also, was that there was a little gap between his tank top and his skirt that displayed about an inch of his tummy. He couldn't help it, he felt overwhelmed, and he started to cry. Still on her knees in front of him, his mom hugged him and help him close. "You're so brave, hunny," she whispered, "and I'm so proud of you. You're so adorable I could just eat you up." And she started to tickle him, and he had no choice but to begin laughing through his tears. "Just your socks and your shoes now, Jess, and we're all ready," she said. "Sit on the bed and I'll help you put them on." As he sat on the bed, he noticed how his skirt rode up, exposing most of his thighs. He had seen that happen to girls a few times before, and it amused him. Now it was happening to him. His mom finished trying his laces and then helped him to his feet. Quickly, he tugged on the skirt, but it didn't fall back down very far. It was so short and it felt so light. He hoped it was all a bad dream, but he knew it wasn't. Two minutes later, he was standing beside his mom in the basement ready to begin their practice session. He studied himself in the mirror. From his neck down, he looked like a girl. His mom was right; wearing the skirt made it seem more like the two of them were on the same team. Doing his cheer moves felt so different that morning. His skirt kept riding up whenever he raised his legs and he could feel the cool air around his groin. It made him feel exposed. But his mother smiled even more that day than in the two weeks before that and she kept encouraging him and telling him how wonderful he was and how great he looked. It was a tremendous relief when practice ended and he was able to get out of the skirt. He didn't want to remain in girl's clothing a second longer than absolutely necessary. And so a new routine began. Every morning now he wore his skirt rather than the shorts, and though it still felt weird and wrong, he didn't complain about it. He didn't even complain when one morning he found a new skirt on his bed. It was the same as his first one except the color was white. And all the while he noticed how his mother's attitude to him was changing. Whenever he seemed enthusiastic about their cheer regime and asked questions, she showered him with love and compliments. Whenever he complained or didn't make a good enough effort, she scolded him and even slapped him sometimes. He noticed too that she began to fuss much more about his appearance. One day when he was taking off his skirt after practice, she came into his room and insisted that he wear his soffee shorts for the rest of the day. "They look nicer on you than your jeans," she told him. "But I won't be able to go outside then," he protested. "Of course, you can," she replied. "Anyway they're more suitable for this weather cos they are so light." And so it was that every day after practice he would replace his skirt with a pair of soffee shorts and a matching tee that his mom also laid out. He hated wearing them all the time because it meant he couldn't go outside. He could never let any of his friends see him wearing such sissy stuff. His mother was quietly pleased about that, too, because she wanted to keep him around the house and didn't want him associating with his old school friends. There was no doubt Jesse's cheer skills were improving. Now he knew four different short routines and the chants that went with them and sometimes he even found himself doing one on his own in his room or in the back garden. And the cheer music kept playing over and over in his head as if the button had got stuck on replay. "Do you know what, Jess?" his mom said one day as they finished a routine. "You're a natural. I bet you're better than any of the cheerleaders in school." The remark pleased him a little, though at the same time he knew it shouldn't. But never, never, in his wildest dreams did he think his mother would put her observation to the test and actually sign him up for tryouts. And yet here he was in the back seat of car being driven to the school gym where the tryouts were being held. A single tear trickled down his face as he recalled the events of the morning thus far. His mom had come into his room just as he was getting ready to shower and told him that this was a big day and that she would need to help him get ready. When he asked what she meant by big day, she told him not to worry about it, that she would explain everything later but that he needed to look his best. She had a little pink razor and a can with her. "Stand still for a moment," she instructed him. "I just want to get the fuzz off your legs." He pulled away from her, stricken. "What for, mom?" he implored. "I don't want to shave my legs. I like having fuzz." "Fuzz doesn't look good with the clothes you are wearing now, sweetie, and anyway, no one will even notice cos you don't have much fuzz to begin with. Now stand still or I will have to spank you." He stood still, except for the sobbing that quietly consumed him, as his mother washed and soaped his legs and ran her razor over them. It didn't take long. There was very little to remove. Then she sponged him clean and ran her hands over his smooth legs. "Yes, much, much better," she pronounced, satisfied. "Don't they feel just lovely now?" She told him to get in the shower and that she would be waiting in his room when he got back to help him get ready. "I'll rub some nice lotion into your legs so that they won't itch and that'll make them all smooth and shiny," she told the dazed and confused boy. He stood in the shower for what must have been a full ten minutes. He didn't know what was going to happen today but he didn't like it; he didn't like the sound of it at all. Why did his mom shave his legs? No boy shaves his legs unless maybe he's a swimmer. What was his mom up to? Was she trying to make him into a sissy? He sobbed softly as he shampooed his hair and rinsed it off, then stepped outside to face the music. "There you are, hunny," his mom said, as he entered his bedroom. "Let me dry you off." And removing the towel he was wrapped in, she proceeded to pat him dry. Then she grabbed a tube of lotion she had placed by his bed and squeezed a white creamy blob into her hand. Rubbing the cream vigorously between her two palms, she squatted easily before him and began to massage it into his legs. "This will stop your legs getting itchy after you shave," she told him, "plus it will make them look really good." He didn't want his legs to look really good. He just wanted things to go back to normal, like they were before school broke up and all this cheer nonsense started. "Now, let's get you dressed." "What for?" he asked, his eyes following her as she put the lotion back on the night stand by his bed and reached for a pile of clothes that was lying on it. He was afraid of what the answer might be. "What did you mean when you said about a big day?" "Cheer tryouts," she answered, matter-of-factly. "There are cheer tryouts in school today and this is your chance to show just how good you are." He stared at her, horrified. "No way, mom," he said, his voice rising. "No way am I going to try out for cheer. It's for girls." "It's not, hunny," she answered, resolutely. "Tryouts are open to everyone, girls and boys. Anyone can tryout." "NOO," he shouted. "They don't. I'm not trying out for cheer and you can't make me. No fucking way." He had never cursed in front of his mom before and her reaction was swift and it caught him off guard. Grabbing him roughly by the arm, she spun him around and smacked his bare backside three times. Three hard smacks that seemed like they echoed through the room. The shock of it left him breathless for several seconds, then he started to cry and blubber and rub his butt. She glared at him, her eyes cold. "Don't you ever use foul language again, little boy, or you will be so, so sorry. Understand?" He nodded, sobbing. "I'm so disappointed in you, Jess. Did you pick up that language from those boys you've been hanging out with?" He didn't answer. "Well, I think it's best that you keep away from boys like that. They are clearly a bad influence and not proper company for someone like you." He wanted to tell her that they were not a bad influence, that they were his friends and he wanted to hang out with them, but he just hung his head and said nothing, while the tears fell and his butt still stung. He didn't want to make her mad again. He put up no resistance as she picked up a little pair of light blue briefs and held them out for him to step into. They were new and made of cotton and looked very similar to panty briefs that girls wore, but he said nothing as she pulled them up his legs and fixed them into place. Then she reached for the shirt. It was the same sky blue color as his briefs, and he knew that this also was new. He raised his arms so she could pull it over his head and into place. Next came the shorts, new as well, and in a brilliant white. They seemed even shorter than his regular soffee shorts. She gestured to him to sit on his bed while she put on his white ankle socks and cheer shoes. Finally, she produced another garment, one that he hadn't seen before. It was a white zip up jacket with a pointed collar and long sleeves. It looked like a track jacket, except as she held it in front of him and turned it all around for his inspection, he saw that it clearly wasn't the regular track jacket that football guys or athletes wore because written on the back in large blue print was the word 'cheer.' "Put this on, hunny," she instructed him. "See, it complements the rest of your clothes and it'll keep you warm when you go outside and while you're waiting to try out." She held it out for him and he slipped his arms through the openings. Then she zipped it up. Again, it was a perfect fit. The jackets had pockets, he noticed, and the color matched his shorts exactly. He was in brilliant white from from head to toe. "Now, you're all ready," she said, smiling, satisfied. "Just some breakfast and off we go." He was too numb to say or do anything other than follow her down to the kitchen. Breakfast didn't take long - he just had some milk and cereal - and then it was time for the dreaded journey. As they went into the front hallway to leave the house, his mom picked up a large blue sports bag that had the word 'cheer' written on the side in big, bold, white print and underneath it in smaller white print the word 'leader.' "This is your cheer bag," she explained. "Every cheerleader has a cheer bag to carry the stuff they need, like their warm up clothes and shoes and ties." He wondered why he needed a cheer bag and why they would need to bring it to tryouts, but he knew it was pointless saying anything, so he remained mute. His next big worry was going outside. Other than spending some time in the back garden, which was secluded, he had never ventured out in his cheer clothes. He couldn't let his friends or people from school see him dressed like that. It would be just too humiliating. He decided to wait until his mom unlocked the car and then to make a quick dash to it, hopefully before anyone recognized him. He held back just inside the door while his mother walked ahead. Reaching the car, she stopped and looked back at him. "What are you doing standing there? Pull the door after you and get a move on." He swallowed hard and stuck his neck out a little to peer up and down the street. There was nobody around that he could see and so, taking a deep breath, he pulled the door behind him and ran down the steps to the car as fast as his legs would take him. He went to open the front door, but his mom stopped him. "No, Jess, sit in the back. You know, I told you, you'll be safer in the back." He thought that was bull because he had been sitting in the front for years before she started this nonsense but he just wanted to get out of public view before anyone saw him and so he climbed in the back without complaint. He mom placed his cheer bag on the seat beside him and then got behind the wheel. As she started the engine, she smiled at him through the rear view mirror. "Isn't this exciting, Jess?" she gushed. "I remember the first time I went to tryouts, I was so excited and so nervous at the same time. I know you'll do just great." He didn't reply but slunk low in the seat to avoid being seen. As he lowered his eyes, his gaze fell on his smooth, almost shiny legs, which seemed extra long in the little cheer shorts, and he was afraid he would start to cry again. His mom started saying other stuff about cheer but he wasn't really listening. He couldn't believe he was in this predicament. It was a total nightmare. What would happen if any of his friends saw him at tryouts? At least, his friends wouldn't be there. They wouldn't be seen dead at a thing like that. But what if he was selected for the team and actually became a cheerleader? Then everyone in school would know and his life would be over. Finished. Forever. RIP. Then he had an idea - maybe there was a way out of this, after all. If he screwed up his routine, really screwed it up, then he wouldn't be selected for the team, and his mother would have to drop this whole crazy idea and life would go back to normal. His friends wouldn't ever even know. Yes, he resolved, that's what he would do. That would be the solution to his dilemma. He smiled quietly to himself. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel, after all. And then his mother spoke and it was as if she was able to read his mind. "You know, Jess, I expect you to put in one hundred per cent effort today. I know how good you are at your routines. If you do less than your best, I will be so annoyed you will end up doing ballet with the beginners' girls' class. Do I make myself clear?" She was looking at him through the driver's mirror again. As he nodded and whispered, "Yes, mom," a little cold shiver ran through him. How could she have guessed what he was thinking? And then, all too soon, just as the clock struck ten, they were turning into the school parking lot. Jesse was disappointed to see it was about a third full. Clearly, a lot of people had turned up for tryouts. Clearly, a lot of people were going to see him there. This was definitely going to be a long and difficult morning. His mom pulled into a vacant spot and turned off the engine. "Grab your bag, Jess, and come along," she said. "We need to get you registered." He sat frozen in his seat. "Do I have to go in right now? Can't I just wait here until it is, like, my turn?" he pleaded, desperately. "Don't be silly, Jess. Of course, you have to go inside. Now, come on, we need to get going." Reluctantly, his heart beginning to beat faster, he unfastened his belt, opened the door, and grabbing the handles of the awful cheer bag, dragged it after him out of the car. Once he stepped out into the sunshine, his mom locked the car and began to stride purposefully towards the school entrance. He had to run after her to keep up. Several people were milling around the hallway as they entered. He kept his head down, too embarrassed to look around, but out of the corner of his eye he could see girls of various ages and older women, too, presumably their moms or sisters. They all appeared to heading in the same direction - towards the school gym. And that's where he found himself a few moments later. The room was a hive of activity, with lots of noise and some girls getting in last minute practice, and others in little groups talking, and older women - moms - talking, and others standing by the table at the top where he guessed the head cheerleaders must be sitting. That was the direction in which his mom purposefully strode. He felt his face burn as he followed close behind. A queue of about six people were standing at the table waiting to register and his mom took her place behind them. He stood right behind her, as close to her as possible, trying to look as small and inconspicuous as he could. He placed the bag by his feet and shyly looked around the room. It was all girls and older women - there wasn't a single guy that he could see. And he recognized many of the girls. Some were in his grade and a couple of others were his neighbors. And then the terrible truth finally hit him. It didn't matter if his male friends saw him going to tryouts or not because soon the girls will identify him anyway and then the entire school will know that Jesse Skelton had tried out for cheer. It didn't matter now whether he made the team or he didn't, or how well or how poorly he performed - all was utterly, totally, completely lost. Then, all too soon, they were top of the queue. He listened with trepidation as his mom introduced herself to the three teenage girls behind the table. Then she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out in front of her. "And this is my son, Jess Skelton. Jess is going into Seventh grade and he is really excited about trying out for the team today. Aren't you, hunny?" He smiled weakly, mortified, as the girls behind the desk studied him with a mix of curiously and amusement. "Umn," the one in the middle said, "we don't have boys try out for cheer. I mean, like, we've never had." "Maybe so, but there's nothing in the rules that says they can't," his mom replied, firmly. "I've checked them." The girl in the middle picked up a tattered book that was sitting on the table by her elbow and began to flick through it, her colleagues on eaither side leaning in around her so that they could look, too. She found whatever she was looking for and showed it to her friends. "There is nothing that explicitly says it's girls only," she said. "The book just refers to candidates, so I guess, yeah, he can try out. But it will have to be on the same basis as everyone else. No special favors or concessions just cos he's a boy." "I understand that and we wouldn't have it any other way. Would we, Jess?" she said, looking from the girls back down at him. He flushed even more and nodded. And why did she have to keep calling him Jess in front of people like that, he wondered, seething inside. His situation was bad enough without that added embarrassment. She was making his name sound all girly. He knew that if she didn't stop it, soon everyone in school would be calling him that name, too. "That's fine then," the girl said again, writing his name into the ledger in front of her. "Jess can take his place over there on the benches with the other... with the girls and we look forward to seeing him try out." She tried to stifle a grin as she looked at the red-faced boy in his immaculate cheer gear with cheer bag by his feet that he wouldn't even need today. We are going to have some fun watching this mommy's boy strut his stuff, she thought. As he picked up his bag and turned to follow his mom to the benches at the back of the gym, he thought he heard a little gasp from some of the girls and their companions who had been queuing behind. He didn't look at them but kept his eyes on the floor as he followed his mom. She found some space on the bleachers-like benches and motioned to him to sit beside her. Even still, he was reluctant to raise his head. He couldn't face people seeing him. He imagined that they were already all pointing at him and whispering and talking about him. And probably laughing at him, too. His mom nudged him on the shoulder. "Lift your head, Jess. Don't be looking down like that. Come on, smile," she ordered him. Reluctantly, he raised his head. He figured maybe there were, like, ten people now sitting on the benches around them, and lots of others scattered about the hall. He didn't know how many there were in total, but it looked like sixty or even a hundred. And he couldn't see a single boy. Well, there were one or two little boys who had come along with their older sisters or moms, but they were just kids and they wouldn't be trying out. There wasn't a single older boy that he could see in the entire room. He wasn't sure either how many had turned up for tryouts. Some of the girls in the room, he thought, were already members of the cheer team; at least, he had seen them in cheer uniforms before, though most were dressed in regular clothes today. He presumed they were there to help out or just to see what the standard was like. Others were wearing cheer clothes in a variety of colors, and what was especialy humiliating was that most of them were dressed the same as him, in little cheer shorts and tops. A few wore track bottoms, but most were showing a lot of leg, just like he was. He noticed also that almost all of them were wearing high ponytails with bows in their hair and some make up. At least, that was one torture his mother hadn't inflicted upon him. And then, to his horror, he saw two girls pointing in his direction and begin to walk towards him. He knew them - Megan Sanders and Ashley de Klerk. They were in his class in school, and they were two of the girliest girls you could ever hope to avoid. "F@&k," he moaned inwardly, "I don't wanna talk to them." But he knew he wouldn't have a choice, because already they had made their way across the hall and were now standing right in front of him. "Oh my god, Jesse, is that you? You're actually trying out for cheer?" exclaimed Ashley, breathlessly. She was always the more vocal and excitable of the two. "Oh my god, you're even wearing real cheer clothes," she continued to gush, not allowing him the chance to make a reply, which he didn't want to do anyway. "This is, like, sooo awesome. Me and Megan are trying out, too." And she gestured to indicate the clothes they were wearing, which were almost exactly identical to his own. He smiled at them weakly, as he felt his face grow an even deeper red. "Hey, wouldn't it be, like, just so awesome," she continued, switching her excited gaze from him to Megan, "if all three of us made the team? It would be such amazing fun." He couldn't think of anything less fun in the whole world. It was then that his mother intervened. "That sounds like it would be wonderful, girls," she said, smiling broadly at them. Then, she switched her gaze back to Jesse. "Jess, are you not going to introduce me to your friends?" He tried to speak, but barely registered a whisper. "This is Ashley and this is Megan," he finally mumbled, indicating who was who by the direction of his eyes. "Very pleased to meet you, girls," his mom answered. "I'm Jess' mom and it's lovely to meet some of his friends who are also trying out for cheer. I'm sure that you'll both be just as good as Jess is." "Has Jesse been practising a lot, then, Mrs Skelton?" asked Megan, finally finding her voice. She couldn't take her eyes off the boy sitting in front of her, especially how smooth his legs looked in his shorts. He definitely must have shaved them, she thought. "Oh yes," answered his mom. "Jess has been practising for at least an hour every day since school broke up for the summer. He's determined to make the team, aren't you, hunny?" she said, looking at him proudly. But he didn't reply, he just hung he head a little more. Revealing the information about his practice sessions was just way too embarrassing. "Well, we gotta go and get ready," Ashley said. "We can't wait to see you try out, Jesse. We really hope you make it." And the two girls turned and walked away, and he thought he could hear them giggle as they went. And he know with cold certainly that before very long everyone in the hall would know that he was there and that he would be trying out. And it seemed that no sooner had he articulated the thought than he could see people from every corner of the room begin to look in his direction, and smile and wave, and talk behind their hands, and even laugh a little. And he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. The area around the top table had begun to clear by now, and then the PA crackled into life. A voice from the top table spoke. The girl in the middle was holding the microphone, the one who had taken his details earlier. "If we could have silence, please," the girl said, in a clear, commanding voice. The hall quietened down almost completely. "Good morning," she said again. "And you're all very welcome to tryouts for the 14-15 season here at Madison Heights SChool. My name is Crystal Meehan. I cheer for East High but I am also coach of our cheer team here at Madison Heights, which is the feeder team for East Middle and High. I am joined at the table by our assistant coaches, Tiffany Gerrard, on my right, and Cindy Stapleton, on my left. We will be judging tryouts today. "We are delighted that there has been such a big turn out this morning. Seventeen girls... I mean people... will be trying out for eight vacant spots. As you may know, our team is made up of a maximum of twelve members, but I have to tell you also that we won't automatically fill all those spots. We maintain high standards here at Madison Heights and we won't select people just so as to make up numbers. Only those judged good enough by us can hope to make the team. If that means we end up with just eight or ten on the team for this season, so be it. We would rather have a smaller team of good cheerleaders than a larger team that contains some weaker members. So I strongly suggest that you all do your very best today, which I'm sure you will. "We will call you in the order in which you have registered and each of you will be expected to complete a full ninety second dance programme to the music that has been selected." The girl then went through the names of all seventeen candidates and the running order in which they would try out, and Jesse learned that he was thirteenth on the list. He felt so embarrassed hearing his name called out over the PA along with those of sixteen girls. And he thought he could feel more eyes fall on him. The first to try out was Ashley de Klerk, the girly girl who had spoken to him earlier. She took her position in the centre of the hall facing the top table and hung her head a little, in readiness. The room hushed and then the music started. Immediately, Jesse recognized the tune. It was a Flo-Rida music mix, and he had been practising to it for the last two weeks. How did his mom know what music to have him practice to, he wondered. Ashley was really good and he studied her routine carefully. It was almost exactly the same as his. When she finished, she gave a little bow, and then skipped away to join her mom, as the crowd clapped its approval. Jesse began to feel his stomach tighten. Megan was up next. She and Ashley had clearly been the first to arrive this morning. She performed with confidence and style and was just as good as Ashley. Jesse, despite himself, was impressed. His mom turned to him. "You better go and warm up now, Jess. You won't feel until it's your turn." He looked at her. "What do you mean warm up?" "You need to go through your stretches and your routine in order to be ready when your name is called. See where the girls are warming up," she said, pointing towards a small group of girls who were exercising at the back of the hall. "Now stand up till I take off your jacket." He stood up, nonplussed, and she unzipped his jacket and helped him out of it. Standing now in just his little top and shorts he felt even more naked and exposed than before. "Go on now and practice your routine," she instructed him. "I'll be able to keep an eye on you from here." She gave his bottom a little pat and send him gently away. Self- consciously, he made his way down to where the others were loosening up. Some of the girls smiled at him and said hi, but a couple sneered or just plain ignored him. He did some stretches and then went through his workout. As he did, he watched the girls trying out. Some were good, one was really good, several were awful. One girl ran away crying after she messed up half way through her routine. He almost felt sorry for her. As girl after girl completed her program, he knew that his turn was drawing ever closer. And then he saw his mom beckoning at him to come to her. With growing trepidation, his stomach tightening, he made his way back up to the benches. She fussed with his top and shorts, then took a brush from his cheer bag and ran it several times through his hair, which hadn't been cut all summer and which now hung a little past his ears. "There, you look lovely," she declared. "I know you're going to do just great. I'm counting on you. Now go out there and bring the house down." He felt himself tense up and begin to panic. He was afraid he might cry. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to try out. He didn't want all these people seeing him in his smooth legs dressed like this. He didn't want to be a laughing stock with his life over. He just wanted to go home. His bottom lip trembled, his eyes swelled up. He looked plaintatively, desperately, at his mom. She saw his fear. But her look was resolute. He knew there was no way out; there would be no escape. Slowly, as if walking to his execution, he made his way down to take up his position. He kept his eyes on the floor, he dared not look around. As his name was called out over the PA, and he walked to the designated spot in the center of the hall, he could feel every eye in the place zone in on him, the boy who was trying out for cheer. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, his mouth was dry, his legs began to shake. And then the music started up, the music with which he was so familiar, the music that had been part of his life all summer, and it was as if a switch tripped in his brain and he took on a new persona and he began to move and dance with ease and grace. He slipped into his regular rhythm and, before he knew it, the ninety seconds of torture were over, and as he stopped and stood still, he heard what sounded like a crescendo of whooping and cheering and applause. He looked around and everywhere people were clapping and smiling at him. He gave the judges the little bow his saw the other contestants make and, red-faced and relieved, ran across the open space and up into the benches to where his mom stood. She embraced him and hugged him tight. "You were marvellous, hunny," she whispered in his ear. "You couldn't have done any better. I'm so proud of you." And even though a big part of him felt that that wasn't a very good thing to be told, another part of him, the competitive part, was happy that he had done so well. "Now put on your jacket, Jess," his mom instructed him, holding it out for him to slip his arms into. She zipped it up and he sat beside her while the four remaining candidates went though their routines. Next thing he knew, Ashley and Megan were standing there before him, their faces all alight. "Oh my god, Jesse," squealed Ashley, "you were, like, soo awesome. I mean like really awesome. You're definitely gonna make the team." Megan nodded vigorously beside her. He smiled weakly at them. "Thanks," he said, softly. "You two were really good, too." "Seriously, you think so?" squealed Ashley, clapping her hands in excitement. "You think we'll make it?" "Yeah, for sure," he replied. "You two were the best." "You were both fantastic," his mom chimed in, smiling at the girls. "I know all three of you are going to make the team." "Oh, thank you, Mrs Skelton," Ashley gushed. "It would be, like, so awesome if the three of us did." Jesse desperately hoped that wouldn't be the case, but he had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was a very real danger that what the girls and his mom hoped for would indeed come true. After the last of the candidates had tried out, Crystal took the microphone again. "That completes tryouts for this season," she said. "I would like to thank every girl...umm... candidate who tried out today. I think you'll agree that the standard was exceptionally high, and we judges are going to have some really tough decisions to make. The three of us are going to meet now and we will contact each of you this afternoon or tonight to let you know how you did. Once again, a really big thank you to all our prospective Spartan cheerleaders." As she finished, applause rang out throughout the hall, and the noise level shot up as people began to gather their stuff and move towards the exits. As Jesse and his mom did the same, several girls came up to tell him how well he had done, and some moms congratulated him too, and told his mom how brave and how awesome her son was. Jesse was mightly relieved when they finally made it to the parking lot. He just wanted to get home, to escape from all the madness. His mom was positively beaming, delighted with the way everything had gone. She always looked so pretty when she smiled. "Do you know what would be a great idea?" she said, as they settled in the car, he in the back as usual. "A trip to McDonalds. And you can even have fries, and all the works. I think you deserve it." Desperate as he was to feast on fries again, he didn't want to go to McDonalds or anywhere else, for that matter. He just wanted to go home. But he knew that they would end up in McDonalds no matter what he said because his mom always got her way. The journey took barely five minutes and as they entered the restaurant he found himself tugging self-consciously at his little shorts in a futile attempt to stretch them out and make them longer. He really didn't want the people there to see him like this. Even worse, his mom held him tightly by the hand, making him feel even smaller. Several eyes looked him up and down as they stood waiting to be served. He knew by their puzzled expressions that they were trying to figure out quite who or what he was. "Cheering today were you, hun?" the high schooler behind the register asked him, after his mom placed their order. "Yes," his mom answered for him. "We are just on our way home from tryouts." "And how did you do, sweetie pie?" the girl asked, as she began to set out their order on the counter. "I bet you rocked it." "He sure did," his mom replied, proudly. "He's definitely made the team." "Wow, that's great. And you look so cute, too. Who will you be cheering for?" "Madison Heights," he mumbled, barely lifting his eyes. "Oh my god, I go to East High," the girl exclaimed, excitedly. "I'm actually on the team there. So you must know Crystal and Cindy and Tiffany then. I cheer with them." "Yeah, they were the judges today," his mom said. "They seem really nice." "Hey, hunny, what's your name, cos I'd love to talk to you more but I gotta work now?" the girl asked, leaning across the counter to lightly stroke his chin. "I'm Sarah, by the way and I think you're super cute." She pointed to her name tag. "His name is Jess," his mom answered on his behalf, "and he'd just love if you helped him with cheer. Wouldn't you, Jess?" He nodded, silently. "Well, here is our number," his mom said, handing Sarah her card. "It was lovely meeting you. Make sure you call us now." "I sure will," the girl called after them, as his mom took the tray and led him to a table close by. He would have preferred a more inconspicious spot. He could see the girl continue to look and smile in his direction every chance she got, clearly intrigued by him. She was really sexy, with gorgeous blonde hair. It wouldn't be too bad practising with her, he thought, savoring his fries. He might even enjoy it. She smiled at him again as they stood up to leave. "See you soon, Jess. You have a good time, hear." He smiled at her, weakly. Great, she thinks my name is Jess, too, he lamented. Soon everyone will be calling me that stupid name. When they got home, he couldn't wait to get out of his cheer gear but what his mom instructed him to wear wasn't much of an improvement. He ended up in lime green soffee shorts and a white shirt with matching lime green cap sleeves. He felt like an even bigger dork than before, if that were possible. He had barely finished changing when his cell rang. He picked it up, and saw that it was his friend Brian. He didn't want to talk to Brian right now. "Hello," he answered, tentatively. "Hey, Jesse," Brian almost shouted at him, sounding even louder than usual. "What were you doing at cheer tryouts? Cassie told me you tried out. She said you were good, too." Cassie was Brian's sister and was already a member of the cheer team. She obviously had seen him at tryouts earlier. Jesse didn't answer but could feel his face begin to burn. "What's going on?" Brian continued. "She said you even wore all the cheer shit and stuff, same as the girls." Jesse hesitated, trying to find his voice, trying to think of something, anything, plausible to explain what had happened. He knew there was no way out of admitting the shameful truth. He sighed. "Um, yeah. Mom made me do it but it was, like, just for fun." He didn't sound convincing. "Yeah, right," Brian shot back. "Cassie said you were better than all the girls. You couldn't be that good if it was just for fun. I bet that's what you were doing every morning when you couldn't hang out with us." Brian paused but Jesse didn't reply. "Hell, Jesse," Brian continued, "only girls cheer, you know that. Have you turned into a freaking fag?" The accusation wounded Jesse to the core and he just wanted to shut off his cell. "I'm no damn fag," he shot back, angrily. "Well, there's nothing else you can be, Jesse,' Brian responded, coldly. "If you go cheering with girls, you're either a fag or a sissy or maybe you are a girl pretending to be a boy." Brian was being cruel now, and deliberately so. He was angry that his best friend had embarrassed him like that by going to tryouts in front of so many girls. Hell, people might begin to wonder if he was gay, too. "Anyway, Jesse, I gotta go," he said. "Have fun with the other girls." Jesse threw his phone on the bed, the tears flowing freely now. This day really, really sucked. Hopefully, he would fail tryouts; hopefully, he wouldn't actually make the team after all. Hopefully, Brian would then believe him when he said that it was all just a bit of fun. About two hours later, after he had composed himself and was playing video games to try to forget his troubles, his mom came rushing into his room, house phone in hand. "It's Crystal," she exclaimed, flush with excitement. "She wants to speak to you." He didn't want to speak to Crystal, unless it was to have her tell him he didn't make it. Reluctantly, he took the handset from his almost hyperventilating mom. "Hello," he said, hesitantly. "Is this Jess?" came the familiar voice from tryouts. "Yes," he answered, timidly. "Congratulations, Jess. I'm delighted to inform you that you have made it onto the team for the 14-15 season. Well done. You are now officially a Spartan." He didn't know what to say. He could see his mom looking at him frantically, bursting with nervous tension. "Um, thanks," he mumbled. "You are welcome, Jess," Crystal said. "You were awesome. The best tryout of the day. Now let me have a word with your mom." He handed the set to his mom, who almost snapped it from him in her eagerness. He didn't really hear what they spoke about. His head was spinning; his mind was a daze. He was now actually officially a cheerleader for his school. What was he going to do? How was he going to live it down? What was he going to say to Brian and his other friends? He wanted to die. His mom finished talking to Crystal and then enveloped him in an enormous embrace. "I'm so proud of you, Jess," she gushed. "I just knew you'd make it. It's wonderful that you are continuing the Skelton family tradition like your mom and aunts and grandma. I could just hug you to death." That might be a solution to his problems, Jesse thought, if she did hug him to death, because at the moment he couldn't see any other way out. "Crystal says that you will have your first meeting as a team in the school hall at ten tomorrow. She says not to worry about anything, that they will fill you in tomorrow on all you need to know. Oh, isn't this so exciting?" she gushed, hugging him even tighter. "I wish I was your age again." Then his own cell started to ring; the familiar Spiderman ringtone he loved so much, but which after the Brian conversation, he didn't love quite so much any more. He hoped it wasn't another of his friends. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. Instead, it was the now all too familiar overly excitable voice of Ashley de Klerk. He didn't remember ever giving her his cell number. "Hey, Jess, did you make it? Did you make the team?" she squealed, words tumbling over each other. "Yeah," he answered, staccato-voiced. "Oh my god, that's awesome. Me and Megan did, too. Isn't that just, like, so amazing? I can't believe we all made it. Oh my god!" Oh my god, he thought to himself, too. Is this what I'm going to have to put up with from now on? "See you at the meeting tomorrow," she squealed again, and hung up before he had a chance to say anything else, even if he had felt so inclined. He had difficulty sleeping that night. His dreams were filled with images of girls squealing and clapping and dancing. He kept hearing Ashley's voice and then the calmer, more authoratative, voice of Crystal. He pictured himself surrounded by girls, all of them dressed the same, and he looking and acting just like the rest of them. And then he would hear Brian's voice shouting at him, and all his old buddies laughing at him, sneering at him, calling him names, telling him what a pretty little cheerleader he was. It felt like he had scarcely got any sleep when he was awakened by the sound of his bedroom curtains being drawn and his mom calling to him. "Up, up, Jess," she said, clapping her hards busily. "You've got another exciting day ahead of you." No, no, I've got a horrible day ahead of me, he thought. She pulled down his duvet. "Go and shower, Jess," she commanded. "And make sure your legs are nice and smooth. Here, let me feel them." She ran her hand swiftly up and down his legs as he lay there and pronounced herself satisfied that they were still perfectly smooth. "You don't need to shave them then," she said. "Well, I guess it has only been a day. But make sure to wash yourself really good, and then I'll help you get ready." She was waiting for him when he returned. He saw the clothes lying on his bed and, for one brief frightening second, he thought he saw a skirt on top of them. It was a new pair of soffee shorts that matched the color of one of the skirts he had been practising in. A few minutes later he was dressed: white cap-sleeved top, sky blue soffee shorts, white ankle socks and nikes. The clothes no longer felt weird on him, but he still didn't like anyone seeing him in them. "We are going to have to do something with your hair," his mom said, as she brushed it out, "but it'll just have to do for now." He knew he needed a hair cut. He hoped that was what she was referring to. After breakfast, she told him to put on his cheer jacket. Then, she handed him the large cheer bag and drove him to the school. She remained behind the wheel after they pulled into the parking lot. "You listen to Crystal and the other girls today, hunny," she said, looking back at him. "I've got some errands to run, and I'll be back to pick you up at eleven. Crystal told me that you should be finished by then. Now, run along." Reluctantly, he climbed out of the car, dragging the pointless cheer bag behind him. He felt himself tense up again. It was going to be even worse facing all these girls on his own. The car pulled away and he made his way slowly to the school entrance. Thankfully, it was much quieter today. There were only a few people around. As he entered the building, he thought he saw a couple of boys farther down the hallway. Then it dawned on him. Football practice was starting up today, too. Oh shit, he'd forgotten all about that. He couldn't have any of those boys - his friends - see him like this. He had to avoid them. Quickly, he scampered in towards the hall. Far easier to face the girls - his new cheer companions - than to encounter one of his football buddies. Crystal was standing at the doorway as he reached the hall. She gave him a big smile. "Hiya, Jess," she said, "just go inside and sit with the other... sit with the girls. I'll be along in a minute." A circle of chairs had been set out at the top of the hall, and most of them were occupied. Ashley waved excitedly at him as he approached. "Hey, Jess, sit here," she commanded. "I kept a seat for you." The other girls studied him closely as he took his seat, and smiled and said hi. He felt his face burn up again. He felt so out of place with all these girls, even if he was dressed the same as them. He knew some of them, Ashley and Megan, of course, and also Cassie, who was the sister of his friend, Brian, and Britney, who was a neighbor. He also knew Crystal's companions, Cindy and Tiffany, who were the