The Away Game

All persons involved in sexual activities are 18 years and older.

Special thanks to roftlheory for volunteering to edit this for me and providing amazing feedback.

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I hated being a cheerleader. I hated the tiny skirt that barely covered my ass, let alone the rest of my toned legs. I hated the skin tight sweater that always felt like it was cutting off circulation to some part of my body, usually my breasts. I especially hated the men in the crowds that would only look at us when we did high kicks or jumps, like they were reliving some high school memory of a cheerleader that had ignored them.

So why did I spend hours in this skimpy uniform, clapping to the marching band, and freezing during my senior year? Because my dad was the head coach of the high school varsity football team and it was the only way my mother would allow me to go to every game with him.

In her mind, it wasn't proper for an 18 year old girl to want to watch football. She wouldn't accept that my friends and I actually enjoyed going to the games, to hang out in the cool weather, and watch the chaos on the field. It was thrilling to me, but to keep her calm, I joined the cheerleading squad instead and had an excuse to go to every game. I suffered in the uniform, but I enjoyed the action.

I especially loved the away games. We would get to skip the last few hours of school, load into the bus they chartered, and spend hours driving to the other schools in our division. It was so much fun to sit with the girls, getting picked on by the boys until my father or an assistant coach would force them to settle down and focus on the game. Then I got to watch the game, without the pressure of performing for the home crowd. I could actually enjoy it, instead of trying to boost team spirit.

Tonight's game was the homecoming game against the Vikings, a three hour drive. We were all going to spend the night in a hotel before we went back home on Saturday. I had been looking forward to it all season. My dad and I had to share a room, but I knew he would let me stay out later than usual, especially if we won. He understood celebrating, or even commiserating a loss.

The long ride to the game was typical. High school boys trying to flirt shamelessly with high school girls who seemed not interested. We all were, but we couldn't be obvious about that. The game was great. It was close, a 17 to 14 victory that we only managed because our field goal kicker got lucky. The way back to the hotel, that was chaos. Boys hyped up on the adrenaline of the win, smiling girls, all headed to a hotel with minimal adult supervision. I could almost taste the hormones in the air.

It felt like we took the excitement from the game and tried to bottle it into the bus. We were loud, rowdy, and other than the occasional eye roll from the bus driver, no one seemed to care.

When we arrived at the hotel, we all filed off the bus, moving to the side to unload our bags while my dad went into the lobby to check us in. We stood around waiting, more flirting, more awkward hormonal teasing. A couple of guys began throwing the football back and forth while we waited.

When my dad came back to us, he grabbed his roster and started calling out names, each person or set moving forward to grab a key card from the collection and moving off to their assigned room. I'm not sure how my dad managed to stay calm.

About half way through the list, I heard a shout, louder than most of the noise around me and turned just in time to see Greg Micheals reach out and try to deflect the football that was screaming toward me. He managed, but the open red Gatorade he had been drinking flew from his hands, turned twice in the air, and landed perfectly upside down on my bag. The drink that had come free while the bottle cartwheeled seemed to cover me completely.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry." His eyes moved over the red spots that were slowly fading to pink as the liquid absorbed into my white uniform. I lifted a hand, whipping away the sweet mess from my face as I narrowed my green eyes to glared at him. I was about to scream at him when my dad appeared beside me, shaking his head and handing me the key card to our room.

"You better go try to get those stains out before they set." He said as he lifted my bag from beside me and shook it once to get the extra Gatorade off of it. "Greg, here." He handed him a different key card, clearly seeing from the red heat along my neck that he needed to get Greg away from me before I said something.

I turned, heading into the door of the hotel, feeling the stickiness of drying sports drink on my skin and wondering how the hell I was going to even begin to get the stains out. I was fuming all the way to the room, opening the door with a harder than necessary shove and tossing my bag on the floor as I made my way in.

The room was clean and plain, in that "cheap enough for a high school football team" way. There would be no room service or late night swimming here. They didn't have a kitchen or pool. It was fine. We were teenagers. We didn't really need more than ourselves to be entertained.

The bathroom was little more than a shower and toilet behind a door, with a sink and mirror on the other side, not separated from the room. It would have to do. I grabbed one of the plain white washcloths on the sink and wet it for a few moments before bringing it to my face and trying to get the Gatorade off my cheek. It barely worked. I wet the rag again and tried blotting one of the spots on my sweater, noticing it did nothing but widen the pink area. I sighed, tossing the rag down and resigning to get out of the uniform.

I moved back to my bag, also stained in red, and lifted it to the generic dresser in the room. I couldn't help but wonder who would stay in a room like this long enough that they unpacked into the furniture here. I unzipped and discovered that the Gatorade had soaked through the thin nylon of my bag and made everything inside a sticky, pink mess. I sighed, moving the entire bag to the sink.

I slowly began unpacking the bag, throwing things directly into the sink that would need to be soaked or at least rinsed. When I was done, the only things that had escaped needing to be cleaned were my jeans for tomorrow and the oversized t-shirt I planned on sleeping in tonight. I also had intentions of wearing a pair of shorts, but they were in the pile that needed to be cleaned.

I lifted the hem of the sweater from my waist and struggled to get the skin tight material, now with the added joy of being wet, off of me. When my head finally popped out, I sighed, looking up into the mirror to see my dark brown ponytail had stayed in place, with just a few stray curls escaping. I began the process of cleaning the things in the sink, rinsing, scrubbing, occasionally using the generic hand soap on the side of the sink for extra oomph.

It must have taken the better part of an hour before I had everything rinsed out and mostly salvaged, the skirt taking the longest because the material it was made out of was absorbent. I was standing at the sink, trying to twist the final moisture from the skirt when I heard the door shift, a hushed beep from the lock sounding before it swung open to my dad walking in.

I left out a quick cry of surprise as his eyes snapped to look up at me, the door closing behind him. I felt my entire body blush from his entry. I was standing in front of the mirror in a white sports bra, with a few dots of pink highlighting where my sweater had previously been, and a pair of white cotton panties. Most of my clothes were strung around the small bathroom, over the towel rack, on the toilet, and once I was done showering, I would use the shower curtain rod.

I moved, reaching for a towel as my dad tried to apologize. "I...sorry. I thought you would be done already." His eyes left mine, scanning the room as I fumbled with the towel, trying to cover myself.

"It took a while." I said as I felt the starchy material of the towel around my back. The ends barely met at my center. I looked at the t-shirt and jeans that were all I could wear. I was still sticky, still half miserable as I looked up, feeling my dad's green eyes on me. They matched mine so perfectly in color and shape that there was no doubt I got the genetics from him. "I guess I'll shower." I said before reaching forward and grabbing the shirt from it's resting place and moving to the tiny room that made up the rest of the bathroom.

I let the towel drop from around me and let the t-shirt fall to the floor with it. I turned the shower on, hoping the water would heat up a bit before stripping the last remnants of my clothes and stepping into the spray. I released the pony tail that had been holding my long, brown hair in place. It became almost black in the water, but it would dry to the normal glossy shine that fell halfway down my back.

I was never one for lingering in the shower, but I stayed in longer than necessary, making sure my hair and body were free from the Gatorade, scrubbing any hints of pink from my pale skin. I would have to kick Greg the next time I saw him! I stepped out of the shower, wringing my hair out before drying myself. I pulled on the t-shirt to my still damp skin, sighing as I looked down to the panties and bra that would need to be rinsed out too.

As I emerged from the bathroom, I saw that my dad had set himself up on the bed, the small television in the room on and broadcasting the local news. I felt his eyes on me as I turned to the sink to rinse out the final items in my hand. I sighed, realizing that I wouldn't be joining my friends tonight. My clothes were spread around the hotel room, perched on anything that would give them air to dry.

When my final clothes were clean, I turned to my father, watching as he swallowed hard and his eyes darted to the television. That was when the reality of the situation weighed in on me. "Um, dad?" I asked, looking around the room.

"Yeah." He replied, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"There's only one bed." It was the typical queen-size hotel bed. A floral duvet covering it, with pillows peeking over the top. Both looked like they would be scratchy.

It apparently had not occurred to my father. He moved, putting his legs to the side of the bed and standing up. He turned, as if more room would magically appear. "Well shit." He whispered, looking down to the bed as if debating. His eyes rose to mine, his voice a little quite. "We took all the rooms the hotel had. We're going to have to share."

I swallowed, looking to him as I felt suddenly exposed in my flimsy t-shirt. It felt like it was shorter than I remembered, felt like it was clinging to me as I shifted a little on my feet. I was all too aware that the panties I had worn and those that I was supposed to wear tomorrow were drying on the towel rack.

"It will be like when you were little." My dad said as he fell back down to sit on the bed. "Like when we went camping or when you would crawl into bed with mom and I when you were scared."

I moved to the other side of the bed, nodding as my mouth went dry. "Yeah. Okay." I said, turning a bit to watch the TV with him.

He moved, shifting to lie on the bed again, his legs stretching out, still in the gray dress pants and team polo shirt he had worn to coach the game in. I moved the duvet aside, the spongy hotel blanket and starched sheet with it. I crawled into what would be my side of the bed and threw the covers over my legs. I leaned back against the wall behind us, propped up like my dad to watch the news.

There was an overview of our game, the winning kick and some small commentary before the anchorman went on to national sports. My dad handed me the remote and sighed. "I'm going to grab a shower."

I nodded, reaching for the remote and flipping through the stations as he grabbed his overnight bag and went into the small shower room. It wasn't long before I heard the water start to run and found an old rerun of Friends to watch.

Before the show was over, my dad emerged from the bathroom, toweling his military cut dirty blonde hair as he walked into the room. I had gotten the genetics for my brown hair from my mother. He stood in front of the mirror, reaching for his toothbrush as I noticed he was just wearing a pair of boxers. I knew that was what he slept in at home, having seen him from time to time as he went from the bedroom to the bathroom, but it felt different somehow.

I looked away, trying not to realize that my dad was in really good shape for a man his age. I had no idea what shape a man his age should be in, but my dad was fit, strong, but not overly defined like the men in movies. He was active as a coach, training with his team and never asking them to do more than he would. It was one of the reasons he was so well liked by all the players.

He walked in front of the TV, moving back to his side of the bed and moving to get under the covers. I tried again to focus on the show and failed as I felt the slight rush of humid air as he moved the blanket and sheet over him. He sat back with me, settling in to watch the show with me.

The phone on the nightstand beside him rang. He answered. "Hello?" A slight pause as the person on the other side spoke. He made a half eye roll as he moved to hand me the receiver. "Kim." He said as he struggled in vain to pull the phone over to me. It was apparently secured to the table beside him and the cord would not allow the receiver to stretch beyond him.

I moved closer to him, trying to pull the cord more, but having to lean over his bare chest and stomach to listen on the phone. "Hello?" I asked the captain of my cheerleading squad.

Kim practically bubbled into the phone. "We're all meeting in Kevin's room to watch TV. Want to join us?" She asked. I had a difficult time controlling my own eyes from rolling. I knew her idea of watching TV would turn into a game of Truth or Dare in less than an hour. "Um, no. I'm getting ready for bed. My clothes were drenched in Gatorade and are all wet."

I felt my dad's hand softly brush against the back of my thigh, pulling my t-shirt down as it did. A shiver raced over me, my breath catching in my throat as I paused in the conversation. Kim rattled on about how much fun it would be and how much I would be missing out on. When I knew for certain I could speak I numbly whispered. "Yeah, maybe next time."

She tried harder, telling me about all the boys that would be there, hoping one would catch my attention, but the only person who had my attention now was my dad. I felt his stomach moving beneath me, his breathing labored. I worried I was hurting him as I quickly said my goodbye to Kim and handed him the phone to hang up.

"Sorry about that." I said as I moved back to my side of the bed, adjusting the covers over me as he leaned over to hang up the phone, then slid one hand beneath the sheets to adjust the covers over him as well.

"No problem." He said as he shifted a bit on the bed and stayed watching the show. I still felt the impression of his fingers against the back of my thigh. I hadn't realized my t-shirt had risen up so high. I guess it wasn't surprising, but the way it made me feel was... I wasn't familiar with it. I didn't know why I was reacting the way I had, but a deep part of me liked it. I knew I shouldn't, knew my dad was just making sure I was covered up, but the way his fingers slid over me, the way it caused a tingle to shoot through me, made me want to feel it again.

I heard the familiar theme song of the show begin to play as it ended. I moved, handing my dad the remote and slid to lower myself into the bed. I turned on my side, facing him as I moved the pillow beneath my head and curled in. It took everything I had not to stare at his chest, watching the way it rose and fell.

"Want me to turn the TV off?" He asked, looking over to me.

My eyes rose to meet his, my lower lip curling between my teeth before I let it slowly drag out. "No, I think I can sleep through it."

There was a slightly pained look on his face before he nodded and turned back to the TV, almost rigidly. I heard the theme song begin again, a new episode starting as I watched my father lying almost perfectly still beside me. It was warm beneath the covers, my legs moving just slightly against each other as I felt warmth in my core. I didn't know why, I didn't understand what was happening to me.

I let out a soft sigh before closing my eyes and listening to the show play in the background. It wasn't too loud to sleep through, but I wasn't tired. I just wasn't sure how to act anymore. It was silly. It was dad beside me, not some boy I liked. Yet, my body reacted the same. I was tense, but felt warm. I hoped I could fall asleep soon so I didn't have to think about it.

I felt my dad's fingers brush over my cheek, tucking a stray strand of my brown hair off my face. I sighed again, but didn't open my eyes. He could have done it for a dozen reasons. I had to get a grip on my imagination. Soft fingers along my cheek, tracing the curve back almost to my ear, then down to my jaw, moving forward. It sent a shiver along my spine. Why had he done that?

I tried to lie still, but felt my thighs press together, felt the center of me warm more. My breath was slightly ragged as my dad's fingers slowly traced down my neck. It tickled, but it also felt really good, deeper inside of me. I tried not to laugh, tried to remain as still as I could so he would keep going.

He did, one of his fingers finding the collar of my t-shirt and tracing along my neck just below it. I felt a soft moan in the back of my throat. I loved the sensation, the tenderness of his touch, the way it made me feel. I exhaled deeply as his finger moved back the other direction over the same sensitive skin.

The phone rang again and we both jumped, my eyes flashing open, him moving to reach for the phone before the harsh metallic ring could sound again. His voice was deeper, almost gravely when he answered it this time. "Hello."

He listened, my heart was thundering in my ears. I strained to hear who was on the other end of the call, but couldn't. "Yeah, here she is."

My dad looked over to me, motioning with the phone that we knew wouldn't move much further. I bit my lower lip, shifting to lie right next to him before I moved to lean over him. I wondered if I should reach back and pull my t-shirt down, but instead made myself stretch more, hoping to lift it higher in hopes he would pull it down again.

"Hey." A boy's voice on the other end of the phone.

"Hey." I said in reply.

"I..." Greg paused and I could almost hear the way his face scrunched when he thought. "I wanted to say sorry." I felt my dad's fingers on the back of my thigh again, but this time, moving along it instead of pulling at the shirt. I had to fight not to moan, it felt amazing.

"For what?" I asked, my voice a little breathless. Fingers moved, first down, almost to my knees, then back up to the edge of my t-shirt. I felt heat surge through me as I tried to focus on the cold phone pressed to my ear.

"For spilling my Gatorade on you. I...I didn't mean to." Greg fumbled for words as I fought to keep my eyes open. My dad's fingers roamed back down my thighs, teasing a small circle above the knee, then moving more toward the inside of my thigh. I felt the shiver reach every limb.

"It's okay, Greg." I said, wanting off this call and to be able to focus on the sensations racing through me.

"I...I'll pay for anything that got ruined." Greg mumbled. I almost lost the phone when my dad's fingers slid between my thighs and moved down them so he was touching both of them at the same time.

"Greg, it's fine. I got it all out." I said, my words hurried and snippy. I hadn't meant them to be, but there was something I wanted so much more than an apology from him. My dad's fingers moved back up, my back arched just slightly at the sensation and I missed what Greg had said next. My eyes closed, my legs were trembling, my mind fogged.