“Cellar Door”

R.M. Sanders

Summary: (WIP, mxm) There are two kinds of male cheerleaders: the ones that do it to look up the girls’ skirts, and the ones that do it to wear the skirts. Unfortunately for me, I’m the latter.

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Chapter One: Reverse Rainbow

“Hey, Mr. Watts.”

“Hello, Ms. Davidson,” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she pulled me close to her. It was how we greeted each other every day on our way to first period. “Is there practice today?”

She scrunched her blonde eyebrows together, “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Renee all weekend.”

“Damn,” I muttered, adjusting my backpack. Renee Wright was the captain of our school cheerleading squad, and a true hardass. But she got our (non-hard) asses in shape last year and we won National’s. “That means that she’s either a really lazy skank, or she’s planning on something that will work us so hard our ancestors will feel it.”

Elsie laughed, her tiny, perfect teeth shining in the sunshine. “Knowing Renee, our ancestors’ ancestors will feel it.”

I let out a chuckle, too, as we approached our first period, Biology. The class sucked (I only signed up because I thought we were going to dissect shit and we never did), but the teacher was pretty awesome. He would just sit behind his desk, take roll, tell us to do some pages in our textbook, then fall asleep (like most of the class). Elsie and I, however, would discuss what happened over our weekend (when we weren’t with each other), run over new cheer ideas, or talk about how cute the football team was.

I hated it… but I was the cliché gay guy. I liked to cheer because the outfits were flirty (I looked good in blue). I liked to wear eyeliner because it made my ice-coloured eyes stand out even more. I liked to be limber because it helped in bed. Not that I was a tramp or anything… far from it.

I was practically the only virgin on the cheerleading squad.

Call me crazy, but I thought that my first time should be special. Ugh, now I really do sound cliché.

“Earth to Darren,” Elsie giggled, waving her hand in front of my face. She was a virgin, too. We used to stay up at night and fantasize about how our first time would be. She pictured a tall, dark, and handsome beau that would sweep her off of her feet, take her to a hotel in Paris, and make sweet, passionate love to her.

I would never tell her this, but I pictured the same thing… only Paris was Berlin, and the sweet, passionate love was a bit more… leathery.

“Sorry, Elsie,” I gave her a shameful smile, readjusting my butt in the seat. I never could stay comfortable for too long in those horrible plastic seats.

“Thinking of Dwight?”

I shot a look to her. Who the fuck was Dwight? And what the fuck kind of name was that, anyway? Seriously, it made me think of the guy who was a general, Dwight Eisenhower. Or whatever he was. I didn’t really pay attention to world events.

Elsie sighed dramatically. “You haven’t seen Dwight yet?”

Obviously.

“He’s the new kid. He transferred from some school in Texas and he’s every girl’s wet dream,” Elsie giggled. But I was taken aback. Normally, my girl wouldn’t talk like that. She skirted around words like “hell” and “damn,” and here she was, using “wet dream” like it was the word “candy.”

“How so?” I asked, intrigued. Any boy that made Elsie swear was fine by me.

“Well,” her voice dropped down so low that I had to lean in to hear her, “you remember us talking about our first times?”

I nodded to show that she could go on. The suspense was killing me.

“He’s the one.”

My mouth dropped open.

“You really are a tramp, Elsie Davidson! A tramp! But, do tell.”

“Well, I don’t know that much about him, but Esmeralda says that he’s talking about trying out for the team!” Elsie grinned, showing off her impeccably impeccable white teeth.

Again, I couldn’t believe it. “The cheerleading team?”

Elsie nodded her blonde head, taking out her nail file to shorten her fake nails. I never really got that, though. Wasn’t that the purpose of fake nails: to not have to do maintenance on them? A giant WTF in that general direction, please.

It was like my dream come true, though. A hot (well, I could only go on what Elsie and Es said, but I trusted both of them), tan Southern boy trying out for the cheerleading team (bingbingbing goes the gaydar!). I was practically drooling in my seat!

And I thanked whatever God existed that the bell to end first block rang just then. It meant I was one less period away from seeing Mr. Texas.

Elsie could hardly contain her excitement.

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By the end of the day, Elsie and I were just bursting with anxiousness. Even though I just knew that Renee would tear us new assholes, I was ecstatic to see this hot, Texan beauty. We met up with Esmeralda after fourth block, and she was just jabbering away about Mr. Tan. Esmeralda herself was a bit of an exotic beauty. Where Elsie was the typical California-clone, blonde hair, fake-tan skin (even though I kept her informed when she started looking like an Oompa Loompa), Es had heavily-lidded eyes with real-tan skin.

“I heard that he can speak Spanish,” Esmeralda flipped her long (try butt-length) hair over her bared shoulders. It was a wonder that none of my friends got dress-coded. Really. “Isn’t that just the sexiest thing in a man?”

“Oh, yeah,” Elsie skipped ahead of us and walked backwards as she finished agreeing with Es, “when a guy can tell me he loves me in thirteen different languages, I’m his.”

“You do realize that he can google the languages…”

“Shut up Darren, it’s the thought that counts. Right, Es?”

Esmeralda laughed, “Of course. I mean, who really gives a shit as long as he’s good in bed. And buys you roses.”

“Puh-lease,” I said, catching Es’ attention. She was really cliché about courting, but something about a dozen red roses just really bothered me. “I’d much rather have red tulips.”

“Psht,” Elsie snorted in laughter. “Those’re passionate flowers. Not romantic ones.”

“Like Es said, who cares as long as he’s good in bed.”

Elsie blushed beet red, and shut up. We had reached the football field anyway. Besides, if we were even thirty seconds late, Renee would get pissed and throw this huge bitch fit and we’d never get anything done because she would be fucking yelling at all of us. And it just wasn’t worth it.

Heh, and I know I make Renee sound like a total cunt. But she’s really not. I swear. She’s actually really, really sweet when you catch her doing something that’s not focused on cheerleading. Like shopping. Renee loves to go shopping, but not for clothes (she gets really depressed when she shops for clothes). She loves to shop for books, believe it or not. Books and shoes. No, I’m serious.

“Where the fuck have you guys been?!”

But right now, we’re not shopping for books or shoes.

“Fourth block,” Es shot a playful glare to Renee. Needless to say, Renee didn’t appreciate the sardonic joking.

“Shut the fuck up and get to work. All of you.”

Renee stomped off to go take out her anger on the poor other (gay) guys on the squad. Like they didn’t get enough heat from the asswipes and dickweeds during normal school hours. Poor babies.

“Holy shit!”

Elsie and I turned to see what Esmeralda was “holy shit”-ing about.

And both of our jaws dropped.

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AN: I started two stories around the same time, "Cellar Door" and "Mad World." (Cookies to you who gets where the two titles came from.) I got the first couple of pages done for each of them and decided that I liked "Cellar Door" a whole hell of a lot more. I'm eventually going to post both of them. But for right now, enjoy my beautiful cheerleaders (and wonderful Texans, hah... call it a present! xoxo).

Now that I've graduated, I'll be able to work on the story ideas I've been baking since the beginning of the school year. :D