But I'm a Boy, Not a Cheerleader!

(ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS FANTASY ARE 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER)

Being the basketball team's towel boy is a thankless gig.

For one thing, I get pelted with sweaty towels, stinky jockstraps, and the various radioactive accoutrements that follow an intense game of basketball. What's more, I stick out like a sore thumb at team events; I sit alone at every practice, yearbook photo, banquet dinner--and if I were invited to their parties, I'd be alone there, too.

Darius doesn't help matters. He's the star player, a hulking mass of muscle and hair. He's had it out for me since day one, calling me the team "bitch," despite Coach Brown's warnings to cease. But the Coach doesn't care for me either, so he looks the other way; the Coach is probably the biggest, scariest man I've ever seen in real life, like Idris Elba on steroids. Together, Darius and the Coach are the bane of my existence. They make sure I'm never so much as welcome at their parties. I hear they get pretty crazy.

I could not look more like an outsider among them. Just over five-foot-five, pasty white, and baby-faced, I could not have been more of a late bloomer. When would I get all that body hair and muscle I was promised by puberty? Even just a few more inches of height would help me contrast less with them: all over six feet tall, hairy and toned, most of them ranging in skin tone from dark complexioned to black as night. Not that I see the world through that lens, it's just hard not to fixate on the differences while I watch them sweat through their intense workout.

Our team is one of the best in the state. Our program is one of the most well-funded high school sports teams in the region, and it shows. Even our cheerleaders are in a league of their own. Champions in their own right, bringing home trophy after trophy from national cheerleading comps, they are without a doubt the coolest girls in school. Even the football team's cheerleaders don't hold a candle.

Which brings me to Rachel. A red-haired goddess in her tight little uniform. She used to be my friend in middle school, but ever since she developed and joined the cheerleading squad, she's given me the cold shoulder. It probably doesn't help that I stare at her bouncing form every game. She'd never speak to me.

Until the day she finally did, of course.

It was a Thursday afternoon just before the tournament weekend. It was a big to-do all over the school, with posters and pep rally-type nonsense. Spirits were high; if we won, it would break some sort of famous streak against our rival school. I don't pay much attention to that stuff, but I liked how nice the Coach was being to me this week. He even let me shower first before practice was over.

Even without working out, I got pretty sweaty at these workouts. Plus, the showers are super nice.

While the boys' sneakers made their usual cacophony, I slunk into the shower and began to strip. Once nude, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'd put on a little weight this year, but it seemed to gather in my thighs. My smooth, white legs had been so scrawny last summer, but now they were borderline plump. Curiously, I twisted around and checked out my rear...dang. Had my butt always been so round? A cute mole adorned one cheek, like a beauty mark on a model. I watched myself step away and was shocked to see my ass jiggle and sway. I thought of all the times I'd stared at Rachel's posterior, and my cheeks grew red.

SQUEAK. I heard the telltale sound of a sneaker in the doorway. I turned just in time to see the door close. Damn it. Had someone seen me preening in the mirror? Blushing all over, I stepped into the shower. If that was someone on the team, they'll think I'm some kind of weird little freak. If it was Darius, he'll pummel me for sure. The thought of his massive, black frame standing over me with malice made me shudder again, and I focused on showering.

I should've gone faster. After a few minutes, the team entered the locker room area just behind the dividing wall of the shower, loudly whooping and encouraging one another on their gameplay. Darius led them in like a ringleader. They hadn't seen me yet, so I quickly started to wash the soap off in the hopes of avoiding an emasculating confrontation.

I grabbed a towel and covered myself, still wet, and rushed for the other door. I almost ran right into Coach Brown. Face to face with his broad chest, he looked down at me with something like pity.

"Grab a bench in the locker room, we're gonna chat about the tournament," he muttered, not quite making eye contact.

Blushing, I followed him past the dividing wall into the locker room, where the team was mostly naked. I realized that it was the first time I'd been so naked near them. Clutching my towel so tightly my knuckles turned white, I avoided their eyes and hid in a corner. Stare at the floor, just stare at the floor.

"We're a team here," Coach began, "which means that building comradery is going to be what separates us from them."

I didn't listen very closely to Coach's speech. My eyes glazed over and I tried to stare into space. Suddenly, a foreign object entered my field of view--a dick. A huge one.

Like I said, I've seen some dicks in my duties as towel boy, but I never looked very closely. But this one was about a foot from my face, swinging like a pendulum. Thick, veiny, and deeply black. To be clear, I wasn't staring at it in a gay way, just kind of mentally comparing to my own member, which was much thinner and shorter. I felt mine shrivel with shame. This kind of thing is why Rachel doesn't talk to me. She can tell I'm a shrimp.

I snap out of my self-pitying reverie and realize who I'm looking at. I look up to see the massive form of Darius, giving me a weird look.

"Darius," Coach snaps. "Do I have your attention?"

"I'm looking for a towel," Darius responds.

"Then find one and listen up."

In a comedic flourish, Darius yanks my towel from my hand and leaves me naked and shivering. The team bursts into raucous laughter as I cover my tiny member much too slowly. It's the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. They laugh for what feels like forever, and I hear Darius saying things like "tiny," and "shrimp," and "weewee" in between chortles. I've never blushed so much.

I look to Coach Brown for guidance, and even he is chuckling a bit in spite of himself. Blushing, ears ringing, I snatch my clothes off the ground and rush into the bathroom nearby, slamming the door behind me.

I spent the next thirty minutes sulking. What a bunch of assholes. I'm less of a man than them, just because my body is different?

After a while, I step cautiously into the hallway, feeling blessed to be fully clothed again. As I try to sneak to an exit, a tap on the shoulder makes me jump out of my skin.

It's Rachel, in her cheerleading uniform. She's sweaty, so it must have been just after practice.

"Hey Jamie," she greets me, "are the guys feeling ready for the tournament?"

I had forgotten about the tournament. "I think so," I say. "But I probably won't go. I think I'm quitting the team, actually. Not feeling the team spirit."

Rachel scrunches her face in concern. "Noooo, don't say that! We need you. Everybody is part of the team, right?"

"Not me. Those guys hate me. They exclude me, and pick on me..." I realize that I'm starting to sound pathetic. "But it's chill, you know? I'll go out for football or something."

Rachel barely stifles a laugh. "That might not be your calling. With your body type, I mean." Dang.

"But," she offers, "maybe you'd make a good cheerleader. I bet you're small enough to get tossed."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I try not to stare at how her uniform hugs her form. As cheerleading uniforms go, it leaves little to the imagination.

"Will I see you at the party tonight?" She seems to be sorry for insulting me.

"Uh no, I don't get invited to that kind of stuff. The guys and I don't get along."

"Aww, well you can hang with the cheerleaders instead. We're all meeting up at my place beforehand to pre-game and get ready. It'll be fun!"

I can't imagine being around that many beautiful girls. "Uh, I probably should just go home."

"Come on, I never see you these days!"

She wants to see me. She misses me, maybe. This could be my chance to rekindle whatever we used to have.

She twirls a red curl. God, she's beautiful.

"Sure," I say. "What time?"

----

I park my bike at Rachel's later, having showered and moisturized and shaved my face. I tried my best to look presentable, but I still had a boyish quality. Maybe I shouldn't have shaved (not that there was much there to shave).

Rachel greets me at the door so excitedly that I blush for the third time that day. She leads me to her room, where the rest of the squad touch up their makeup and hair. A couple of them politely acknowledg me, but they seem focused on their task.

"Why is everyone in uniform?" I ask.

"You really haven't been to any of these parties, huh?" Rachel teases. "It's tradition, the boys will be in uniform, too. Do you have, like, a towel boy uniform?"

One of the other girls cackles at this suggestion.

"No, I usually just wear sweats."

"You can borrow Kelsey's uniform," jabs Erin, one of the beautiful women now torturing me. Kelsey, I've heard, is a new girl joining the squad next semester.

I take the abuse while Rachel pours me a drink. After a couple vodka crans, everyone loosens up and stops treating me like an interloper. The girls seem happy to do shots with a new person, and Rachel keeps smiling at the good time I seem to be having. I rarely drink, so I'm more than a little tipsy by the end of the hour.

I try to keep up with their gossip and such, but the liquor has slowed my brain down. Plus, I have no clue who they're gossiping about. The conversation eventually turns to the tournament, and everyone gets very serious.

"I'm not superstitious, but I've been like, walking around cracks on the sidewalk and shit this week," Erin admits. "It's probably the gazebo effect, but we gotta take the traditions seriously."

The other girls nod with understanding.

"Like the Goodnight Kiss," Rachel mumbles. Those who hear it cackle with appreciation.

"What's the Goodnight Kiss?" I ask. Everyone cackles again.

"It's an old, old, old tradition that we don't do anymore," Erin answers. "Back in the day, when the cheerleaders were all dating the basketball team, they'd all sneak away from the party in pairs and...you know. Satisfy them. It settles their hormones or something, and it helps them win the game. Maybe that's why they started losing."

Wow. I find myself getting goosebumps at the naughty thought of this room full of sexy young women sneaking away to get the players off.

"Why'd it stop?" I ask drunkenly. The girls all give each other looks.

"We have an hour til the boys get here," Rachel says, checking her watch. "Does anybody wanna smoke?"

I tense up, having never smoked weed before. But when all the girls raise their hands, I join them, much to Rachel's excitement.

----

Things get blurry once they start passing the stuff around. I hold my own with a few tentative puffs, but once my head starts swimming, I feel the mistake. Everyone giggling and sharing secrets relaxes me, and soon I feel like one of the girls.

Eventually, in a haze, Rachel turns to me. "I heard what happened after practice today." My eyes grow wide. "It's okay. Size isn't everything." Is she hitting on me? Or something else?

"You have a zit. Did you know?" Erin chimes into our conversation. How much did she hear? Do they all know about my exposure this afternoon?

"Come here." Erin leads me to her vanity, where she dabs a little makeup on the alleged spot on my cheek. "You gotta blend it," offers another girl. Soon they all crowd around to help cover my cheek, my cheekbone, and then eventually my face in makeup.

"Okay, that's enough," I insist. Rachel shows me a mirror, and I gasp. My boyish features have been smoothed into girlish ones. I start laughing, and the girls join me. Forgetting all about the party headed our way in a few minutes, I giggle as they doll me up, the weed and liquor distracting me from the emasculation. Plus, how nice to have friends.

"You have such nice, thick hair," Erin compliments. She starts to play with it, adding product and styling it. My hair has been longer than normal lately, a consequence of being too lazy to get a haircut, but Erin magicks my mop into a cute bob. Okay, NOW I should stop them and go home.

Mascara joins the party, and I almost stop them. But it looks good, so I let it be. Then something to my eyebrows, and then highlights and lowlights and all sorts of smelly products I've never heard of. Finally, Rachel withdraws a bright red lipstick and we all stop and stare at it.

"That's absolutely the color," Erin remarks in awe. The girls look to me for approval. I should stop them. I should clean my face and leave. Instead, I nod, and Rachel coats my lips in the sultry red color herself. Satisfied with her work, she plants a tiny kiss on my lips. My heart races, and my hand spasms and spills a jar full of stinky cosmetic stuff all over me.

"Noooo, that shit is expensive," Erin cries. My shirt and pants are ruined, and God almighty it smells strong. "It's toxic, babe, take that stuff off."

Erin helps me out of my shirt and pants. There doesn't seem to be any on my skin, so we all laugh.

Just then, the doorbell rings. Oh shit, the boys are here.

"Here," Rachel grabs my hand, "I got you." She leads me into her dark bathroom and hands me a pile of clothes. She closes the door quickly and goes to greet her guests. In the darkness, I feel the pile she's handed me. It's Kelsey's uniform. Surely she didn't mean to give me this?

I search the bathroom for more options, but there don't seem to be any other clothes or even towels. Where's the towel boy when you need him?

I approach the full-sized mirror and hold the uniform against me. I'm pretty small, and so is Kelsey. I can't wear this. I can't. Out of the skirt falls a pair of pink panties. What are those doing in there? Did Rachel give me these?

I look at my face in the mirror. Is it the weed and booze, or am I unrecognizable? Outside, the party gets started, the boys already hooting and hollering with intoxicated enthusiasm.

I feel the uniform against my skin, and my little member responds. I take my boxers off. What am I doing?

I step into the pink panties and slip them up my smooth, white legs. I get them over my thick thighs and feel them slide into my round bottom. They cover my little penis well, and it reacts to the smooth fabric with delight.

I pull Kelsey's uniform on and look into the mirror. Goodness, who is that? A sultry little minx stares back at me, her thick legs leading to a cute skirt and thin waist, her red lips hanging apart with curiosity and lust. Big brown eyes blink from behind long eyelashes. I am sexy right now.

Can I really do this? I should probably just take the opportunity to leave. I poke my head out the door and find Rachel's room abandoned. Out her door, I can see the dark party raging in the living room down the hall. I need to get through there to reach the door.

Gathering my will, I tiptoe into the hallway. The breeze of wearing a short skirt feels completely alien. Thankfully, it's so dark in the house that someone will probably just think I'm one of the girls.

As I make it to the living room, I see that more than just the basketball team have arrived. Football players and their own cheerleaders are here to celebrate the tournament, along with a bunch of other folks I don't know. Everyone is way taller than me, so they won't notice if I slip out.

Everyone is packed in Rachel's big house like sardines as I get closer to the door. I find my butt brushing against a lot of legs.

As I pass the couch, someone shouts "CARDS!" and I'm lost in the stampede as everyone rushes to see some game finally start. I'm pushed into a sitting position on Rachel's huge couch; it's so uncomfortable! I wiggle my butt around for a better position, to no avail. I look around and see that the basketball team sits side by side on various seats, each of them with a cheerleader in their lap. Realizing too late what's happened, I look down to see that I, too, am on someone's lap.

I sneak a peak behind me and feel my heart hit my stomach.

It's Darius. Of course it is.

I look away before he gets a good look at my face.

"You good, Kelsey?" he breathes in my ear. I shudder. Kelsey's name is on the back of the uniform, so he seems to think that's who I am. I nod.

With everyone's eyes on the game, I can't sneak away without making a scene. I try to make eye contact with one of the girls for help, but they're all wasted and trying to play whatever this game is. I become extremely aware of my short skirt riding up my thick thighs. Darius's basketball shorts are the only barrier between his legs and mine.

I see the game starting; the cheerleaders are passing a playing card to their player via mouth, their breath keeping the card from falling. I swallow hard as I realize what's about to happen.

Darius taps my shoulder and hands me a joint. "Welcome to the team, baby girl." I feel his free hand reach around to my thigh and jump, my skirt riding up even more. I press my legs together as hard as I can to keep anyone from seeing my panties, or worse, what hides beneath them.

I need to relax. I'll get through this. I take a much-too-big hit of the joint to calm my nerves, and I cough. Embarrassing. Darius pats my thick, smooth thigh with his massive black hand as if to say "there, there." If there were any hair on my body, it would stand straight up. If he finds out who I really am, he will hurt me. Badly.

My head spins from the weed. Finally, the card comes our way. I look beside me and see Erin, sitting pretty in the lap of a player named Tony. Erin, with the card flat on her mouth turns around in her seat and presses her face to Tony's. They'd be kissing if not for the card. Tony holds Erin by the waist and leg to keep her from falling. His hand rubs her leg suggestively.

Tony turns to me with the playing card. Up close, I see that it's a Queen of Spades.

I reach out to grab it, but Darius swats my hand gently. "No hands," he warns.

I lean forward and Tony grabs the back of my head. He presses his face to mine and winks at me as I breath in to accept the card. That wasn't so bad.

I turn to Darius and realize the hard part is far from over. His hand slips further up my creamy thigh and he grips me. I have never been touched like this. He is completely in control of me. His other hand slips around my waist as he draws me to him. My bully, my tormentor, the one who has made me feel like less of a man. He presses our faces together with more gentleness than I've ever seen him exhibit. I close my eyes and pass the card to him. Still facing him, I watch as he passes the card to the cheerleader next to us and feel a pang of...jealousy?

I take another hit of weed as the room's focus moves to the next few players. Darius turns back to be and I turn away too quickly, rubbing my smooth, pantied bottom against his shorts. The legs of his shorts move with me and I'm sitting on his bare thighs. I break into another coughing fit and Darius chuckles.

"Here," Darius whispers in my ear, taking the joint. He takes a big hit and then, with a hand on my chin, compels my red lips apart. He exhales into my mouth, inches from my face in the darkness, and I inhale. I don't cough this time.

"Good girl," Darius says as the room spins.

I feel so high. Everything touching my skin feels deeply sensual, including and especially Darius's legs and the huge hand that still rests on my thigh, now gripping a handful of meat. I wiggle my butt around without thinking, just enjoying the feeling of being so gone. When I realize what I've done, I stop, but the damage is done.