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.
