A Cheerleader in the Hood

CHAPTER 3 - I make my stage debut

I was, at least to some extent, relieved when a large man came up to me, smiled and said, "Hello girl, we bin' expectin' you, I'm Leroy. Come with me and we'll get yo' ready."

I tried to smile back, but inside I was nervously wondering what Chloe had in store for me, and what role this man was going to play in it.

He led me towards a door next to the small stage. Behind was a small room with a mirror and a dressing table.

"This here's where yo' get prepared," he said, "But look like yo' all set to go."

"I suppose I'm 'tonight's entertainment'?," I asked, trying hard to keep any trace of bitterness out of my voice.

"You sure are," he replied, "Along with the basketball o' course. That's what yo' gon' wear is it?"

"Well, I guess so," I said with a note of sarcasm. It wasn't as if they'd given me any choice.

"Well," he said, "It's up to you, but yo' gon' cause quite a stir in that li'l number."

I nodded, impatient to get the whole thing over with. Yes, my outfit was skimpy, but there was, I thought, no need for him to make reference to it and add to my discomfort.

"When does it all get going?"

He looked briefly at the television.

"In a few minutes," he said, "At half time. Yo' not from roun' here are you?"

"No," I said, "I'm from England."

He looked at me doubtfully

"Yo' got a pretty accent," he said, "But yo' soun' kinda nervous."

He was definitely right about that.

"I haven't really done anything like this before," I said, "I'm not really sure what it will involve."

He nodded sympathetically, "First-timer huh? Yeah, can be nerve-racking first time 'round I guess. Tell yo' what, how 'bout a little drink to settle yo' nerves?"

I looked at him gratefully. I was jolly thirsty. "Oh, yes," I said, "I'd absolutely love a cola."

He laughed. "You wan' somethin' stronger than that, girlie."

He opened a draw in the dressing table and pulled out a half-full bottle and a rather grimy glass. He poured out a measure and handed it to me.

"Here you go, girlie, we keep this here specially for backstage nerves. Gulp it down in one, and you'll feel a whole lot better."

I looked at it curiously.

"Is it sake?" I asked.

"Hell, no," he answered, "Moonshine. We make it ourselves. Drink it up in one, girl, and you'll feel fine and dandy in no time at all."

"That's a nice name," I said, nervously holding the glass. I don't generally drink alcohol, but my nerves certainly needed a bit of steadying both after what I had been through, and for what presumably lay in store.

I closed my eyes and poured it down my throat.

I began to splutter. It felt like my throat was on fire.

I couldn't speak and looked up at him in horror. He laughed.

"Don't worry, white girl, it'll soon get yo' goin' a bit. Reckon yo' gon' need it too, dressed like that in front o' this audience.

I smiled nervously, still unable to speak. I already felt a little dizzy.

Another man came in. He looked so much like the other he must have been his brother, and might well have been his twin, however he was somewhat larger in both height and girth.

"This here's my brother Eli," said Leroy, "He helps out sometimes, don't you Eli?"

Eli nodded. He seemed a man of few words.

"I'm Cherri," I said as pleasantly as possible..

"E-li," he said, slowly. As he looked me up and down I felt my flesh crawl. I'd say he was undressing me with his eyes, but given my outfit, there wasn't really that much to undress. He was bigger than Leroy, bigger even than Coach Lafitte, although tending much more towards fat.

"Well, Cherri, look like yo' ready to go on straight away, huh? What music yo' want me to play?" asked Leroy.

I shrugged, "I don't really mind. Choose something you like."

He looked surprised, "Yo' sure?" he said, "The girls normally pick."

I suppose it was a nice gesture but I didn't really want to spend lots of time coming up with music. It was a squad dare, not my wedding.

"I just want to get it all over with quickly," I said.

"Alright," he said,grinning now, "Well, I'll put on somethin' appropriate for ya'"

"When do I get my stuff?" I asked.

He handed me an envelope.

"There yo' go, babydoll," he said, "Fifty bucks in there."

I felt mystified.

"You're giving me fifty dollars?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, quickly, "Plus you get to keep any money thrown on stage o' course. Yo' do a good job out there, babydoll, an you'll triple that, I guarantee."

"So what do I have to do for this fifty dollars?" I asked, curiously. The whole thing was getting bizarre. Was I going to be paid for doing the squad dare?

"What d'yo' have to do?" he asked a note of incredulity in his voice, and then chuckled, "Hell, babydoll, yo' have to take your goddamn clothes off. Ain't too complicated, is it?"

"You want me to strip?" I gasped, my eyes wide, "On stage? In front of people?"

"Sure we want yo' to strip," he said, "What the hell yo' think I'm givin' yo' fifty bucks for?"

I swallowed, trying to take this in.

"But I'm a cheerleader," I said.

He shrugged his shoulders again, "Don't matter to me what the fuck you are. Cheerleader, stripper, pretty much the same thing, ain't it?"

"Hasn't Chloe been in touch with you?" I asked, "Isn't this my squad dare?"

"Don't know what the fuck yo' talkin 'bout, sweetcheeks," he said.

I looked at the envelope trying to work out what was happening. If this wasn't my squad dare then what on earth was going on?

"This is the Sake Lounge?" I asked, a horrible suspicion dawning in my head.

"The Sake Lounge?" he looked at me incredulously, "What the fuck is the Sake Lounge? This the Snake Lounge."

I gasped. The big green thing outside on the sign that I had presumed to have been an eel had been a snake. That explained the fangs.

I was in the wrong place entirely. I silently cursed the cab driver who had brought me here.

He waved the envelope in front of me, "Now, quit messin' aroun', doll, we 'bout to start. Yo' want this money or not?"

I felt my breathing constricted as I tried to weigh up my options.

If I was in the wrong place, then it meant that I was going to have to get right across town, wearing the tiny outfit, without money, 'phone or even knowing where I was going. I thought of the scruffy tramp outside, and of who or what else might be lurking in those squalid alleys. I knew too that if I should find myself in any sort of trouble the police would in all likelihood discover that I was in the country without a valid visa, and that I would probably be deported.

If I took the envelope, on the other hand, I would have enough money for a cab and some left over. However, I certainly didn't want to take my clothes off in public.

"Do I definitely have to take all of my clothes off?"

Leroy looked at me, as if a little bit disappointed "Princess type, huh? Well, some girls just do topless," he said, "But you'll get a damn sight more tips if you go all the way."

I thought about this. I didn't really need the money from the tips, as the fifty dollars would surely more than suffice. Going topless in front of an audience would be terribly embarrassing, but, after all, I had gone topless on holiday in Europe last summer, and I could still recall the tingle of excitement that I had felt inside when the European men had ogled my bare breasts.

I knew that I had lovely breasts.

Perhaps it was the 'moonshine' inside me, or my residual feelings after sucking Coach Lafitte, but I felt a wave of excitement wash over me as I considered baring my breasts on stage in this seedy establishment. I found that I could hardly speak. I barely managed to croak out in a whisper "I..I'll do it."

Leroy smiled.

"Alright, sweetcheeks, I'll go an' introduce yo'. Eli, you go and collect some glasses or somethin'"

"Aw Leroy, can't I watch her?"

"No, yo' got work to do."

Eli went through the door leading to the bar, pouting like a small child, while Leroy opened another. I could hear raucous whoops as he emerged onto the stage.

My mind was racing. I considered that I could probably get away with a few basic cheer moves, repeated a few times, giving them a final thrill by removing my top a few seconds before the end of the song. My main worry was that I wasn't wearing any panties, and I knew that I would have to keep high kicks and similar manouevres to an absolute minimum.

I heard Leroy on stage,

"Ladies and gen'l'men, for your half-time entertainment, we have a real hot little number, just dyin' to come out here and show you what she's made of. Please give a Snake Lounge welcome to the lovely Cherri."

I heard a few bored sounding claps.

My stomach was churning in anticipation of what I was to do. To find myself having to dance in this scruffy backstreet bar was something that I could barely have imagined even an hour or two previously. Yet the intense feelings of arousal that I had experienced earlier, whilst sucking off Coach Lafitte, were now stronger than ever, as if the prospect of stripping in front of a rowdy crowd of black men had triggered something in some dark exhibitionist part of my brain.

I recalled Coach Lafitte's words about all cheerleaders being 'blonde bimbos'. I felt a wetness seeping into me.

I was finding it harder and harder to think straight.

I checked that my top and skirt were straight and then, feeling a little giddy, stepped through the door and onto the stage.

I was immediately dazzled by a strong spotlight shining right into my eyes. I couldn't see a thing and involuntarily raised a hand up to my face. Rather than cheering there was a strange silence, as if the audience were somehow stunned.

The music began. To my dismay I heard the opening bars of a song that I loathed, and hardly one that I would have chosen to have danced to, in the circumstances.

"I know I may be young, but I've got feelings too.

And I need to do what I feel like doing.

So let me go and just listen."

The so-called stage was nothing more that a six foot square platform raised about eighteen inches from the rest of the bar. On one side was the door that I had just come through, the second side was just bare wall, and on both other sides there were seats right next to the stage. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the spotlight I could see Leroy sitting right next to the stage and other men moving to these 'ringside seats', doubtless to obtain a better view of my performance.

I began to dance slowly at first, trying my best to be alluring and graceful, although i must admit that I had no real idea of what was expected of me.

"All you people look at me like I'm a little girl.

Well did you ever think it be okay for me to step into this world."

I like to dance of course, and as a cheerleader I was reasonably confident in what I was doing, even in the high heels. I tried to blot out of my mind the men sitting up close to the tiny stage, ogling and leering at my skimpily clad body, picked out by the spotlight. I tried to imagine myself cheerleading with the rest of the squad, or at a swish nightclub dancing with friends.

I began to hear boos coming from the audience.

Surely my dancing wasn't that bad? I tried to move a little faster, and sway my hips a little bit more. I thought about executing a pirouette but thought better of it as the tiny skirt would in all likelihood fly up as I twirled.

"Always saying little girl don't step into the club.

Well I'm just tryin' to find out why 'cos dancing's what I love."

Something fairly light hit me on my nose and then something on my bare midriff. I realised with surprise that some members of the audience were throwing beer mats at me!

"Racist bitch!"

"Wearin' that goddamn flag in here!"

"Fuck off, you dumb white whore!"

I really couldn't understand this reaction. With the spotlight shining on me as it did I couldn't see a great deal of my audience, but I could certainly sense that they were dissatisfied with some aspect of my performance. I tried to step up my dancing even further, wriggling and writhing my hips. putting my arms above my head.

"I know I may come off quiet, I may come off shy.

But I feel like talking, feel like dancing when I see this guy."

There were more boos. A cigarette butt bounced off my left thigh, luckily for me the unlit end

Alright I thought, I'll show you all what I can do. I hadn't been planning on the next step so early in my improvised routine, but it seemed that urgent action was called for. I undid the two buttons on my little red crop top, where the limbs of the blue diagonal cross with the white stars met, and then opened it, holding it for a little while teasingly in front of my body.

The booing diminished.

I cast it to one side and a small cheer went up, accompanied by whistles and whoops.

I realised that my nipples were bullet hard, protruding from my firm breasts as if begging to be fondled and sucked.

I heard lewd remarks over the sound of the music and the whiny voice of the singer. My breasts bounced freely now, jiggling up and down in front of this audience of leering, shouting black men I let my body sway to the suggestive beat of the pop song, my arms over my head.

"What's practical is logical. What the hell, who cares?

All I know is I'm so happy when you're dancing there."

"Bitch still got that fucking flag on her fucking skirt."

"Racist little whore!"

Once more I could sense that my audience was growing somewhat restless, although if they thought that I was going to take my skirt off, then they had another think coming. The chorus of the hideous song began, and I gyrated to it as best I could. I could feel wetness seeping onto my sex lips.

"I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it.

I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it."

I suddenly felt myself drenched and realised that someone had thrown beer at me.

I felt something like a few spots of rain and wondered what was happening. I found then to my considerable consternation that I was being spat at.

"You fucking white bitch."

"Booo!"

"Take that fucking racist skirt off!"

This was getting ridiculous. I decided that I had had enough, fifty pounds or no fifty pounds. I certainly wasn't going to stay up there and be spat at and have beer thrown on me.

I waved, as if to say goodbye and went to the door at the back of the stage. To my chagrin it wouldn't budge. It appeared to be firmly locked!

"Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me,

To another time and place.

Baby, don't you wanna, dance upon me, "

I was no longer in control of the situation. I was trapped on the little stage, with a baying horde of black men ogling and insulting me. I spluttered as the contents of an ashtray were thrown in the direction of my face, luckily mostly missing me.

"You ain't goin' nowhere, bitch."

"Take yo' fuckin' skirt off before we do it for ya'!"

I needed to think carefully. There seemed now to be no sign of Leroy.

"You little white racist whore!"

I knew that I had to do something and my options seemed somewhat constrained. Reluctantly, I reached for the buttons on the waistband of my skirt.

I undid them and the garment dropped away.

At least the spitting and throwing of beer stopped as the men took me in. I dare say that they had expected me to be wearing something underneath. The thought that I was nude on stage, apart from my heels, hit me with a shock. I had gone far further with my disrobing than I had initially intended.

To add to my growing trepidation, I felt a new bolt of desperate arousal course through me. It felt as if my whole body was on fire with excitement.

"I really wanna dance, tonight with you.

I really wanna do what you want me to."

The men's attitude seemed to have changed now that I no longer had any clothes on. It certainly wasn't so hostile, but there was a different edge to it.

"Get on the goddamn pole you filthy little white cunt!"

"Show us how a white slave dances!"

There was laughter.

With a trembling hand, I reached out and took hold of the pole. Not sure of the technique, I began to swing tentatively around it.

There were a few cheers, and I moved closer to the pole, pressing it between my bare breasts. The abrupt contact of the metal with my pliant flesh made me shudder and I was unable to suppress an involuntary moan of desire. Almost automatically, I pressed myself to the pole lower down, my legs astride it, and as it came into contact with my damp lovebud, I felt a vivid, unprecedented, sensation of pure lust course through my nude body. My knees suddenly felt weak, my body wobbled, and I had to practically hold myself up against the pole.

"Oh God! Oh God!" I moaned softly, and tried to pull myself away from the pole, frightened. Dancing naked in front of all these shouting black men shouldn't be affecting me like this. It should be disgusting me, shouldn't it? Yet, I could not deny the lightning bolts of arousal that seemed to shoot through me, nor the wetness seeping out between my sex lips as I pressed against the pole, displaying my hot, nude, white, cheerleader's body to these leering black men.

"The fuckin' pole's wet!"

"Fuck me, the bitch is gaggin' for it!"

The chorus of the song came round again.

"I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it.

I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it."

I closed my eyes and pressed myself hard against the pole, eager now to feel the sensation of the smooth metal against my swollen love bud. I was moving my hips up and down against the metal, my movements now on a flimsy border between dancing and pure self-pleasure. I spread my legs wider, bending my knees, arching my back. I was no longer in control of my movements.

I could hear the audience cheering raucously now, their hostility replaced by lewd laughter as they watched me grind my lower body against the pole.

I found myself on my knees, at the bottom of the pole, and then on my back, legs wide, knees bent, pressing myself against it for all I was worth. The men cheered more loudly, sensing that all pretense of dancing had now vanished, and that they were simply watching a wanton, lascivious girl, out of control, pleasuring herself against a metal pole, dripping with her own sex juices, for their viewing pleasure and amusement.

My body arched up as I began to move my sex up and down the pole more urgently, close to utter rapture as my clitoris rubbed against the smooth metal, my love hole absolutely leaking with my arousal. Oh God! I knew that I was about to come, but I was so far gone, I could do absolutely nothing to stop myself.

The chorus repeated again.

"I'm a slave for you. I cannot hold it; I cannot control it.

I'm a slave for you. I won't deny it; I'm not trying to hide it."

As the raucous music came to a climax, so did I, my nude body writhing on the stage, against the pole. I could heard my shrill, primitive cries of pleasure mingling with the cheering and whooping of the audience. I sensed them pressing closer, some of them even on the stage now to get a closer look at what was happening. I felt someone touch my thigh, the feeling sending me higher still.

My spasmodic climax seemed to go on for ever, but as the music stopped I felt my passion ebb, my body lying on the floor, my breasts heaving. I sought to regain my breath after the exertions of my dance and inadvertent orgasm. The sensations of ineffable pleasure began to be replaced by those of utter shame and mortification as the realisation of what I had done began to hit home.

The cabbie catching me pleasuring myself in the changing rooms had been bad enough, but now I had brought myself to a shuddering climax on stage in front of a whole audience!