Becoming a Cheerleader Slut

I attend a Halloween party dressed in a slutty cheerleader costume. Then it turns out I’ll get to be one in real life!

I’m outside raking leaves with my ten-year-old son Sam when Amanda calls. Once I go inside and check the messages on my cell phone, her voicemail sounds cool and nonchalant, just like she always does.

“Hey Monica, it’s Amanda. I know, long time no talk. But I got invited to the Morgansboro Ball and at first I didn’t think I could make it back to Morgansboro since I’m up here and I have tons of work and all.

“But now I’m thinking of going and I was sent two tickets so I was wondering if you’d want to come with? It’s a little over a month away. So hit me up soon, girl.”

“Eeeeeek!” I squeal, jumping up and down and doing a little dance on the linoleum floor of my kitchen.

“Um, Mom?” says Sam, who had followed me inside and was grabbing an orange soda out of the fridge. “Can you stop freaking out? You look like such a dork.”

I know, I think. I know I’m such a dork — always have been, always will be, and I have no idea how luck came to have it that I would meet Amanda Wilkens in middle school and we’d stay friends in high school, despite the fact that she was Miss Popular and I was Miss Nerdy.

I haven’t seen her in quite awhile, but we’re still best friends. Or at least she’s still my best friend, since there are slim pickings here in Morgansboro.

After high school, I stupidly hooked up with Sam’s dad which resulted in — well, Sam. It’s not that I regret having Sam — in fact, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me — but I regret being with his douchebag of a father (not that I tell Sam that, of course) and I regret not doing much with my life.

Meanwhile Amanda went to Boston University and then law school and now she’s a big shot lawyer at some firm in Boston and never has time to come back to Morgansboro because she has to bill a ton of hours at her job.

Sure, she says she’s just an associate and that she’s always afraid her job will be axed due to the firm’s budget cuts, but I think she freaks out unnecessarily.

And even if she were to be fired from the firm tomorrow, at least she has a law degree and a good job, something that I never managed to accomplish. I’m a “chef” — more like a cook — at the local nursing home and I’m also on the Parent Teacher Association at Sam’s school.

Those are my great claims to fame, compared to Amanda’s framed degrees and Court admittances and other certifications.

Every year on Halloween, Mr. Morgan throws an elaborate party called the Morgansboro Ball, at his huge mansion up on Stately Avenue. Mr. Morgan is heir to the family that founded Morgansboro way back when. But it’s rare that he invites any other Morgansboroians to his party.

Sure, the mayor and the few doctors and lawyers in town might be invited, but not regular folks like me. Still, I’ve heard rumors of what goes on there. It’s a really sexy costume party and it gets really kinky.

“What are you so excited about, anyway?” asks Sam with a scowl that has become his trademarked way of looking at me, his Dear Old Dorky Mom.

“I just got invited to the party of the year — heck, of the decade, in this town,” I tell him, sashaying around the kitchen as if I’m already on the dance floor.

“Must be a boring old lady tea party,” he responds, likely responding to the book club I was temporarily a member of, which met at the trendy new “teahouse” in town, until it closed down due to lack of profits — there’s nobody trendy in Morgansboro — and started being hosted at Cheryl Pine’s house.

Cheryl Pine is an uppity bitch who never liked me, because she was in a clique that hated Amanda’s clique, and vice versa, and I was kind of sort of thrown into the middle of everything just by virtue of being Amanda’s friend.

But anyway I stopped being included in the book club emails or invited to the book club meetings, which was fine with me because I found their classic selections to be just plain boring.

I’m more of a Fifty Shades of Gray kind of girl, and no one hosts book clubs that read that.

I look at Sam, with his dirty jeans I’ll have to wash for the third time this week, and his dirty face that needs a bath he’ll surely resist taking, and I’m so glad to be invited to the Morgansboro Ball.

It sounds like a chance to whisk myself off to a fantasy world, just like when I read the kinds of books I like to read. I decide that later, once I get Sam off to bed, I’ll grab a glass of wine and take a bath in anticipation of the big event.

I also decide to start a workout regime, and I’m glad I’ve been seriously attempting the South Beach diet for once.

I need to look hot in my costume. It will be my one escape from Morgansboro, even if it’s still right in Morgansboro.

A month and a half later, I’m walking up to the most exclusive party of my life, in my carefully-chosen blue and white starred cheerleader outfit.

“How lame,” says Amanda, when she sees that there’s a line out front of the Morgansboro mansion.

I’m sure she’s used to seeing lines at clubs in Boston, but she likely gets granted VIP access or something. I think it makes sense that there would be a line for a party in such a small town like Morgansboro, so it doesn’t really bother me.

“I didn’t know it would be like a club!” I exclaim, unable to contain my excitement around my best friend of many years. “I mean, this is Morgansboro, not New York City.”

“Try telling that to Mr. Morgan.”

Amanda rolls her eyes. I want to say that I’m well aware she lives in Boston, but I don’t know who has a bigger head on their shoulders — Amanda or Mr. Morgan.

I figure the joke won’t come off well, so I keep it to myself.

Instead I say, “Geez, Amanda. I know you’re always super cynical about everything,” and I playfully nudge her shoulder with my elbow. “But this is a big deal. You’re home from Boston, we’re together again, and we’ve been invited to the super-exclusive Morgansboro Ball!”

Amanda doesn’t say anything for a second, but instead she looks me up and down.

“I have to hand it to you, Mon,” she finally says, and nods at my outfit as if she’s giving it her personal stamp of approval. “You look great in that costume.”

“Thanks! I’ve been doing a core abs workout ever since you invited me to this party!”

And I have.

I decide to enjoy myself whether Amanda approves or not. Her ego seems to have grown even larger since she moved away to a big city, but she’s still my best friend from forever ago, and she’s still from the same small town I’m from, whether she likes to acknowledge it — to herself or anyone else — or not.

And I’m grateful that she invited me tonight when she easily could have invited her boyfriend, Chad.

“Where’s Chad?” I ask, now that I’ve reminded myself of his existence.

He’s in finance, or something, and makes even more than Amanda does as a lawyer. She sure landed herself a successful guy, although she doesn’t always seem to admire him.

“Oh, he’s working.”

She shrugs and scans the crowd to see if she knows anyone. I do the same, until both my eyes and my heart stop dead as they rest on a tall, muscular guy in line in front of us.

He very wisely chose a lumberjack costume, and his muscles are on full display.

“Is that Scott Attleman?” I whisper, barely able to contain my fear and excitement.

“Probably.” Amanda shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but it’s a huge deal.

Scott and I had dated very briefly in high school, but that brief time holds all my best romantic memories by far. I’ve always thought he only dated me because I was Amanda’s best friend and he secretly liked her, but she was dating someone else.

But still, he and I had had so much fun, going to the movies and the park together. And the sex was super hot — I still remember the pulse of his hard cock inside me as he whispered “Monica, oh Monica” in my ear.

After high school, though, he moved away for college and became a professional football star. He’s Morgansboro’s claim to fame, and dating him was my own personal claim to fame.

I went on to take a few measly classes at the local branch of the state school and to date Sam’s loser father and to have Sam.

I never moved away from Morgansboro or finished college, and those first years after high school were especially lonely, without either Amanda — who had moved away for college as well — or Scott.

I did manage to make a life for Sam and me, working at the nursing home all these years, and they offer me pretty good benefits even though the pay is pretty low.

I wouldn’t give up Sam for the world but sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like had Scott and I gotten more serious and actually stayed together.

Or at least if I had gone to college and gotten a job that would allow me to save enough money to send Sam to college in a few years. All those are opportunities lost in the past, though, just like I always assumed Scott and I were.

But now, here Scott is, in front of me once again. I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. It all seems too good to be true. Not that he’ll even notice me or remember me, but maybe we could strike up a conversation or something.

“I heard that Old Man Morgan will probably try to hit on us,” Amanda says.

“Really?! Gross,” I respond, absent-mindedly.

I’m trying to pay attention to her but I can’t stop looking at Scott. He slides his hand nonchalantly across the ass of the girl in front of him and my heart sinks.

He has a girlfriend, I think.

I try hard not to show that it bothers me, knowing that Amanda will just tell me to woman up. To make matters worse, the girl is dressed in a cheerleader uniform, just like me.

Apparently I can’t even manage to be original.

“Yeah, he makes sure to invite young, sexy ladies such as ourselves to these parties, and thinks that gives him license to become all lecherous.”

“Ugh,” I say, about Mr. Morgan, but I become more hopeful about the Scott situation when I see that the cheerleader costume-clad girl who was in front of him run back to someone further in line and seem to forget all about Scott.

Maybe he was just flirting with her, or maybe they’re old friends or something.

Before I know it, Amanda and I are being ushered through the door and given a pink bracelet which signals “VIP.” I know it must be because of Amanda’s connections, but I’m excited to be one of the important people.

Once we enter the Morgan Mansion, I shiver as I see the scary decorations and costumes. There are mummies, ghouls and vampires that actually look real. I’m careful to keep an eye on Scott without making it too obvious, and I see him walk upstairs, to a loft full of sexy people in even sexier costumes.

“I guess it’s a good thing we were told to go upstairs,” I say to Amanda, nodding to the second floor loft.

“Nice!” She gives me a look that says she’s proud of me for being more socially aware then she is, for once. But it was only because my eyes were on Scott, while Amanda’s were still checking out the creepy scenery. “Let’s get up there where we belong,” she says.

We walk upstairs past men clad in tuxedos, dressed like vampires with fake blood on their necks, and one of them hands me a pink martini.

“I wouldn’t go up there if I were you,” he whispers into my ear, but I just laugh, because I know it’s part of the set and is meant to scare guests.

Once we’re upstairs, I see Scott and another guy I don’t know, leaning against the wall. Something comes over me and I down my drink for liquid courage, and then grab Amanda’s hand and pull her onto the dance floor.

This isn’t like me at all.

I’m normally a shy wallflower. Amanda always takes the lead, not me. But I keep thinking that I only have this one night to be in the same place as Scott is. One night to perhaps be with Amanda and Scott like it used to be, back in high school. And I guess I want to catch his eye and see if he recognizes me and still remembers me.

It would be heart-breaking to find out that he doesn’t, but at least I’d know and maybe I could finally move on from him. I haven’t been on a date in ages, and I’m always horny as hell but there’s no one in this small town to fuck without everyone else finding out. Maybe I haven’t been able to really get out there and into the game because I’ve been stuck on Scott. Either way, tonight could make it or break it.

I’ve always been able to dance pretty well when I have some liquor in me, and I’m having fun with my old bestie on the dance floor. I sneak a glance at Scott, and sure enough, he’s looking in our direction. I

can’t tell whether he’s looking at Amanda — although his friend clearly is, with his mouth practically hanging open — or at me though. My confidence suddenly deflates, and I don’t want to get my hopes crushed if it turns out that Scott is interested in Amanda and not me.

But before I know it, Amanda says, “Hey Monica, let’s go see if Scott and his mega-handsome buddy want to come dance with us.”

“No, I can’t!” I suddenly feel so stupid, and wish I had never even come to this party. “He broke up with me. Plus, what about Chad?”

Amanda’s boyfriend is back in Boston, and likely wouldn’t be happy with Amanda dancing with random strangers.

“Oh, Chad, Schmad,” she says, with an annoyed tone that surprises me, considering how she had called me when she first started dating Chad and bragged about how hot he is and how much money he makes and how perfect they are together. But I guess we haven’t really gotten to talk much in a while, and maybe now Chad is old news to Amanda. She never does stay with one guy for long. “Stop being such a killjoy,” she says — which stings, but I’m used to her hurtful remarks — and then she brazenly waves Scott and his friend over to where we are on the dance floor. Great. My stomach sinks and ties into knots at the same time, as the two guys walk over to us.

“Amanda!” I protest, suddenly feeling fat and ugly. I run my hand down the very short skirt of my cheerleader uniform, hoping that no cellulite is showing.

“Some party, huh?” Scott’s friend asks, and Scott looks at me and winks. “Monica! It’s been awhile.”

He sounds genuinely happy to see me, and I almost faint in disbelief.

“Yes… it has,” I stammer.

“I thought that was you,” he says, looking me up and down, as if he actually likes what he sees.

I’m sure he can see me blushing from head to toe, especially because of how close he seems to be inspecting me.

“But I just didn’t think that anyone I dated in high school could still be so hot all these years later.”

“Really?” It’s a stupid thing to say, but I don’t know how to accept anyone’s compliments with grace, let alone his. I always feel dumb when someone says something nice about me, as if I’m giving myself a big head just by listening to them.

“Even hotter, actually.” He gives my butt a swift pat, and I have to refrain myself from jumping in surprise. I can’t believe he would just do that. Maybe he didn’t know the other cheerleader very well either. Maybe he’s just a horndog big shot former football player. My excitement starts to fade, but soon he’s looking at me with his dimpled grin and I just want to melt all over again. Horndog or not, he too looks just as good if not better as when we dated in high school, even though I’m too shy to tell him that I think that.

I can’t decide whether to love him or hate him, and the cocktail I downed is wearing off. I motion at Amanda to please bring me another drink — pleading please with my eyes, because I know she hates having to serve anyone, and that she’s chatting away with Scott’s friend, who had introduced himself as Mark while I was staring like a puppy log at Scott — but just this once I need a favor. True to style, though, she looks away as if she doesn’t understand the universal hand-to-mouth signal for “drink, please.” Typical Amanda.

“So what have you been up to for all of this time?” Scott asks, and I don’t really feel like answering that, so I just punt.

“Well that’s a question that could have a lot of different answers! What about you?”

That was the right thing to do, because he seems to be anxious to talk about himself. He starts telling me about playing ball in college and then in the NFL, and I’m glad to see Amanda and Mark walk off towards the bar. Amanda looks back at me and nods to let me know she’s got my drink covered, as if she’s generous, when in fact I know that Mark asked if she wanted a drink. About time, I want to say, but don’t.

“So what city is that team based out of?” I ask Scott, and then immediately regret it, because I’ve just revealed the fact that I know nothing about football, and never really cared to learn. I think that was something that drove us apart when we were dating: I tried to understand how the game was played and to be interested in it for his sake, but it felt forced and fake, because I’ve never been much of a sports person.

But Scott doesn’t seem to care, and he launches back into his tales of his glory days. I just look into his blue eyes and think yeah, yeah, yeah, just keep looking at me, pretty boy.

Suddenly, I sense something tall and dark approach me and I turn around to see one of the vampires from the stairwell standing to my left.

“Miss Monica Pierson?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“The host of the party requests your presence.”

I start to ask questions, but he seems to be pulling me away from Scott and the rest of the party-goers, whether I want to follow him or not.

“Scott…” I try to let him know that I’ll be right back — I hope — but it seems that he’s lost in a trance, still talking to me about football.

I start to feel like I’m in some kind of trance myself, or maybe it’s a bad dream. Either way, I seem incapable of being able to do anything but follow this vampire man through a maze of hallways and rooms, until I’m deposited in front of Mr. Morgan, the owner of the Morgan Mansion and the host of this Morgansboro Ball.

“Monica, my dear,” says Mr. Morgan, who is sitting on a vanity in front of a spooky, antique- looking mirror.

When I approach, he gives me a hug like we’re old friends — although I’ve never met him in my life — and the vampire man disappears.

“Hello, Mr. Morgan.” I nod my head respectfully at him, feeling as though I’m supposed to pay my dues for being a guest at his party. “You have a very nice house.”

I blush. What a stupid thing to say. I never know what to say when I’m nervous, so I often blurt out something dumb.

“Don’t be shy, Monica dearest,” says Mr. Morgan, “and don’t look at the ground.”

I look up at him, embarrassed, and he says, “Look at the mirror. Just look at your sexy self.”

I stare into the mirror and see my sexy cheerleader costume and my toned abs, that I’d spent weeks working on.

“That’s the real Monica,” says Mr. Morgan. “You just needed an excuse to let her come out and play.”

I squint at myself in the mirror, and think about how my costume is so different than the actual person that I usually am. A cheerleader is outgoing and popular, and I’m a shy wallflower.

But it does feel good to dress up like someone different. I guess that’s why everyone loves costume parties. Even though Mr. Morgan is giving me creepy old-guy advice, he does have a point.

“You need to explore that side of yourself more often,” say Mr. Morgan, and stands up behind me.

Oh my God, I think. Amanda warned me that Mr. Morgan hits on girls like us who come to his party. But I didn’t realize it was going to be this up close and personal…

But before I have time to think about it any further, it feels as if Mr. Morgan shoves me through the mirror, although that has to be impossible…

Thank you for reading! This is the first part of my erotic serial here on Medium called Gangbanged by the Football Team. To continue on to the next installment, click here for Part 2: Forced to Perform a Public Sex Show as a Slutty Cheerleader at Half Time. Or if you’ve missed any of the installments, here’s a list:

Part 1: Becoming a Cheerleader Slut

Part 2: Forced to Perform a Public Sex Show as a Slutty Cheerleader at Half Time

Part 3: Gangbanged by the Football Team in Public

Part 4: I Eat Pussy for My First Time as a Football Team Full of Men Fuck Me

Part 5: What I Learned from Being Gangbanged by an Entire Football Team

You can also see this article that contains a summary of the story, a list of kinks and content warnings, and links to all the parts in the story.

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