So many options. For people that dressed alike, trained alike, and moved alike; they somehow still managed to offer a startling variety.
Jon considered a redhead. Fiery, seductive, with an ass that wouldn’t quit. Freckly though, and pale. He’d used to like that, he recalled. He still did he supposed. But it just wasn’t right for a cheerleader. He could hear his mentor in his head already. ’The tan is part of the uniform!’ she’d huff, exasperated.
No, moving on.
The possibly Latina brunette’s tan was fantastic, a deep burnished bronzey-brown that made the stadium lights do marvelous things to her generous, child bearing hips as they caressed her gyrating form. Yet her hips… what was it about her hips?
Her timing was off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. He was certain he wouldn’t have caught it before, but each twerk was just ever so slightly later than those of her team mates, each sashay just a little less impactful.
There were blondes. A lot of blondes. At least half the team were blondes. But that was ok, hair was also part of the uniform. Besides, he liked blondes. Brittney-Lynne was a blonde. One of them topped with wavy honey locks had gigantic breasts straining against her blue crop top. She was easily the bustiest one on the field. Tall and tan, her breasts stood out despite her comparatively imposing height. But she too wasn’t quite matching the tempo of the dance number. It wasn’t her fault. Jon even felt bad for her. It was those breasts. They were just too big not to get in the way.
Jon moved on. His eyes strayed to another blonde that was in the midst of a flawless series of hip rolls that turned everything below her abdomen into a languid wave of undulating femininity. A deep, vibrant tan made a wonderful contrast with her bright eyes and even brighter platinum hair. She was less busty than the other blonde. In fact her breasts were rather small. Her hips were narrower than the brunette’s as well. And her butt certainly wasn't as cute as the redhead's. But those thighs...thick, sleek, serpentine-sinuous where they rolled with each playful little kick.
And somehow, he just knew. Just like Brittney-Lynne had said he would. She was a little thing next to her teammates, (Jon guessed she couldn’t be more than 5’2”) yet somehow that made her stand out all the more. She just had such a...spark.
Yes, that was the word.
Karyn used to have that spark, he reflected. At least until recently. It was part of what had always attracted him to her. But it had been more of a smoldering, sullen thing. Quick with a burn, but on some level smothered and unhappy. It was impossible to imagine this girl as unhappy. This girl’s spark was more like Britney-Lynne’s. Sharp and shining and radiant. No sullen smolder. With her pearlescent 200 megawatt smile and lustrous, almost white-blonde hair, this girl shone. Smiles were a moral imperative for a cheerleader, even if they didn’t feel like smiling. Though Britney-Lynne had taught him that if you smiled the right way- the secret cheerleader way - you couldn’t help but be happy. Jon got that now, and clearly, so did the cheerleader.
And she knew how to dance. God could she dance! Her rhythm was flawless. Her flexibility almost beyond belief. All suffused with the grace of a ballerina but without the boring choreagraphy.
Sure, she may not have been a tit queen like Sarah McMillan had been. Yes the tantalizingly long, thick, straight platinum hair was clearly bleached. It was far too fierce a mane for her to have been born anything but a brunette, as the barest hint of black roots betrayed. But she was beautiful, and she knew it. Inside and out. Because for a cheerleader, there as no difference. They wore their passions on their sleeves. Shouted their feelings to the world so loud that a whole stadium could hear. Jon could only imagine what she was like to be with. Never a dull moment, but never the tiniest bit of strain or stress. Never bringing anyone down. No matter what was going on, nobody could be with this girl and not smile and laugh, and look at her with approval. She wouldn’t let you. He imagined her voice. She was a chatterbox, he just knew. Voice high and clear, babbling about anything and everything, beaming that super-nova smile all the while. A spark plug. A fire cracker in a pint sized box. That would be fun, he thought. To be a perky little firecracker.
Just y’know, not for him. He was a guy. He wouldn’t really want to be her. Not anymore than he wanted to be a cheerleader, really. But he would certainly at least like to be with her. Briefly, he imagined those tight muscular thighs clenched about his waist, the little spark plug bouncing up and down on top of him. It was carnal, primal, but also somehow pure and wholesome. She was just sharing her light with him, those sleek shapely thighs flexing as they wrapped around his-
Oh.
Jon blushed, glancing guiltily around the room. This wasn’t the time or place to be having thoughts like that. He was standing at full mast, though oddly you could barely see it even with through the form fitting pants Brittney-Lynne had talked him into. Wait...how long had it been since he’d gotten a boner? Shouldn’t those be his constant adolescent companion, his eternal morning wake up call? They had been before. He was sure. And shouldn’t it bother him, that he hadn’t noticed enough to even say when they’d stopped?
Jon turned off the TV. His homework was done. He’d go to the career center tomorrow and present his findings. There was no need to worry about this kind of thing. He shot himself a luminous smile in his bathroom mirror and blew himself a little kiss before hopping off to bed.
He needed his beauty sleep.
