"Cheerleader Sister Fister"
by J.D. Savanyu
A simmering Thursday afternoon in crazy rich Greenwich. Hot sunshine blazes down on the school football field, with fancy cars cruising nearby on Putnam Avenue. I'm kneeling down on the midfield grass with fifteen other dance team girls, watching sixteen cheerleaders practice a halftime routine with "Bon Bon" blaring through the sound system. That Fcukers song is a piece of shit, but these teen babes are super-hot. Wiggling like a bunch of junior Dallas Cowgirls on the Connecticut Gold Coast. I especially like my twin sister Jane, a blonde bombshell who has the NFL written all over her. Jealousy is written all over my pale freckled face.
Two busty brunette cheerleaders toss my equally busty non-identical twin high in the air, grinning from ear to ear. I toss my red pigtails with an annoyed grunt. Jane has gotten everything handed to her on a silver platter, from our rich hedge fund parents and everyone at this conceited school. Teachers always give her passing grades, no matter how crappy her chemistry papers are, or how plagiarized her book reports are, because she's so damn pretty. They want her to become a famous "role model" just like the footballers; donating some major league money to the school so they can buy textbooks that were written after Trump trumped Hillary. Dozens of jocks literally trip over each other in the hallways, competing for a chance to invade her cute red skirt. Jane has lost count of how many boyfriends she's had, while I have to scrounge for leftover scraps like a high school jackal.
She cartwheels down the line of scrimmage, then she prances back to a big painted cardinal at center field (a lazy ripoff of the Arizona Cardinals logo) and ascends to the peak of a human pyramid. We're both eighteen now, striving toward different kinds of stardom. I want to make it big on Broadway, after starring in a few school plays. Most recently, I played Little Orphan Annie, everyone's favorite underdog redhead. I'm a cute ginger tomboy who loves to sing and dance... but just like Rodney Dangerfield, I get no fucking respect.
The cheerleaders finish with an acrobatic flourish, and scamper toward the sidelines. Now it's the dance team's time to shine. I hit the turf with all the other flat-chested divas, striking a provocative pose as the opening bars of "Million Dollar Baby" bleed through the speakers. Strutting and gyrating seductively to Tommy Richman's funky beats. This is a public school in a deep blue state, so we can do anything short of crotch-grabbing and blatant twerking.
I keep my green eyes trained on Jane, and she gazes right back at me with her sky blues, clutching those puffy red pom-poms below her big perky... pom-poms. I keep having dirty fantasies about my twin sister. Kissing her, stroking her... doing
everything
to her. Oddly enough, I never have sexual thoughts about any other girls. No lesbian leanings outside of those particular incestuous impulses. Does that make me crazy? I don't know, but I definitely like it... and I'm trying like hell not to act on it.
We dance energetically for five minutes, with Million Dollar Baby morphing into "Britpop" by A.G. Cook. Euro bubble gum tech-pop at its finest, begging to be put in a commercial for Mini Coopers. Our choreography is a hodge-podge from several viral music videos in the post-COVID era. I started freshman year in lockdown N-95 mask mode, and now I'm going out with a bang.
We work up a nice sweat in our tight red and black outfits with GHS over our tits. The music stops, and the cheerleaders cheer giddily. Jane beats her pom-poms in my direction, grinning slyly. All the other girls head toward the locker room in the empty school building, but I stay behind as usual with my twin sister, doing extra push-ups on the field, running up and down the bleachers, and jogging laps around the track. We're absolutely dedicated, staying in tip-top shape with our eyes on the prize. Our work ethic will really take us places.
"Jimmy Powell asked me to the senior prom today," Jane said eagerly while jogging along. "Of course I said yes!"
"What a surprise," I utter sarcastically. "The head cheerleader and a blue-chip quarterback, promenading together in a stupid archaic tradition. A relic from the 'good ol' days' when women were treated like chattel, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it."
"Jealous much?" she giggles.
"Hell yeah. You're the queen of Greenwich High, while I can't even snag a lowly duke."
"So what? Every guy looks the same when you fuck 'em with the lights off."
"Yeah, you're right. I'll hit the bright lights of Broadway, and marry a legitimate stage actor who won't abandon me for some airhead bimbo with double D's."
"Broadway actors are just as sleazy as TV and movie stars, you stuck-up drama queen."
"Whatever, blondie," I chortle toward her pretty smirking face. "I'll race you down to the waterfall. Loser has to kiss ass, literally."
We sprint across the football field and down a gravel path along a babbling brook. Huffing, puffing, and sweating profusely in the glorious sun. My compact streamlined body pulls farther and farther ahead of her top-heavy coke bottle bod. I win the race by fifty feet, catching my breath against a chain-link fence that overlooks a small gurgling waterfall.
"Winner-winner, chicken dinner!" I cheer mockingly. "You're buying, sis."
"Fine, whatever. Rotisserie baked, not fried. I didn't get this sexy by sucking off Colonel Sanders."
"Me neither."
I sigh pleasantly and tease her sweaty shiny blonde bangs, gazing deep in her oceanic eyes framed by long dark killer lashes. I'm seized by a strong irrational urge to kiss her in this romantic natural setting, with birds chirping and white noise flowing. She gazes back at me with a spaced-out expression, suggesting the same repressed Sapphic temptation. But then she laughs dismissively, rolling her eyes toward the school.
"Come on, let's hit the showers," Jane grunts. "I'm sweatier than shit!"
We giggle across a parking lot and into an eerily silent Greenwich High hallway at 4:30 PM, two hours after the final bell. A big poster outside the girl's locker room proclaims: "A Friend a Day Keeps Bullies Away!" (A naive post-modern proverb that fails miserably IRL.)
Jane hustles ahead of me, stripping nude by the time she gets to the communal shower chamber. The other cheerleaders and dancers have already showered, changed into their street clothes and hit the road, but the walls and floor are still wet from their refreshing soapy finish. My sister's bare hooters with pointy pink nipples are a work of art, and her unshaved pussy is pure gold.
"Nothing you haven't seen a hundred times before," Jane giggles. "Stop being a creepazoid and get naked."
"Easy for
you
to say," I giggle back, reeling with a strong tingle of arousal. I peel off my tight red-and-black dance team outfit, followed by a black a-cup sports bra and matching S-size panties. Sighing pleasantly with goose bumps rising all over our bodies in the air conditioned room.
"You're cute, Maura," she beams. Her gaze drifts past my tiny breasts and abs of steel to my sizzling fire crotch. "Most guys are turned off by short-stack tomboys with high IQ's, but screw them."
"Good advice, Janie," I snicker while turning a faucet. A blast of cool water feels so good, pouring all over my chiseled frame. "I
will
screw 'em."
We lather up two washcloths and scrub the turf grime off our pale white flesh. We're both raving aquaphiles, spending most of our free time down at the Greenwich Point beach, wading in the cool crisp water of the Long Island Sound. I can't take my eyes off Jane's pretty face, and everything else that's perfect about her.
"Naughty girl," she chuckles, pointing at my clearly aroused vagina. "Getting horny while staring at your twin sister."
"
Everyone
gets horny staring at you."
"Damn right. I know you want me, girl," she murmurs back. My jaw drops open.
"Well... I... "
"Just admit it. You've been jerking off every night while picturing me. I can hear you on the other side of my bedroom wall, moaning out my name when you cum."
My freckled face flushes with embarrassment, but my pussy flares up with intense desire. Does she seriously want to commit incest with her twin sister? A flood of repressed fantasies race forth from the back of my mind, and a whole different person takes control of me. The take-charge woman I
want
to be.
"Yeah, so? Wanna make something out of it?" I grunt with my usual tomboy attitude.
"Maybe I
do
. We won't get many more chances before we graduate from this crazy rich kid school."
