Return of the Sister: Part 15

Getting Bobby into a cheerleader’s uniform had long been nothing but a pipe dream for Kimberly. She’d entertained it as a long term goal, maybe in the scenario where “Barbie” followed Josh off to university and was suddenly free from the scrutiny of people who remembered him as Bobby. But even if Josh convinced his new girlfriend to try out for the squad, Kimberly knew that going from zero cheerleading or gymnastics experience to making a university team was extremely unlikely -- no matter how athletic Bobby had once been.

She hadn’t even broached the idea of getting him to join the Jefferson High cheer team. Beverly had done it for her one lunch hour, and the plastic fork Bobby was holding at the time had immediately snapped in two. Considering how much of his strength the hormones had sapped away, Kimberly figured the notion of becoming a cheerleader had triggered the kind of emergency adrenaline most people only experienced in life-or-death situations.

And now here he was, waving a pair of pom-poms and shaking his booty in front of practically everybody he knew. She had to hand it to Serena -- her ex’s sister was not playing around.

“Give me a T! Give me an O! You already know! Give me an M! Give me a C! That’s how it’s gotta be!”

Kimberly shouted the cheers on autopilot as she waved her pom-poms. She admired the added cheek of Serena making her join in. Beverly and Ally had messaged her about being extras in the shoot an hour earlier, while Bobby was busy sliding seductively down a locker, and Kimberly had made the executive decision not to forewarn her ex -- there was too big a chance he would cut and run. Judging by Bobby’s initial reaction to the outfit, she’d made the right call.

“Give me an A, T, S! We’re better than the rest!”

Kimberly couldn’t help but feel slight embarrassment at being made to dance for her opponent, but she was a cheerleader, and besides, she was just one of the pack. Bobby, on the other hand, was the star of the show. Jan had made that excruciatingly clear via megaphone, and he had already reduced Ally to tears for getting too close to his model in one shot.

Bobby was placed front and center, facing the bleachers with the other cheerleaders flanked behind him, and if there was any remaining doubt as to who the center of attention was supposed to be, the outfit he was wearing eliminated it. Serena could have easily had him in a spare uniform, making him just another cheerleader. Instead, she’d gotten a hold of an outfit that had Jefferson High colors -- crimson and white -- but looked more appropriate for bedroom role play than an actual basketball game.

Kimberly honestly couldn’t help but admire her ex’s body as he wiggled and cavorted: the choker-style top was basically a glorified push-up bra, cradling his cleavage together and leaving everything below the ribcage exposed -- tiny waist, flat tummy, tons of smooth, tanned skin -- until reaching the pleated white micro miniskirt, which sat low enough on his hips to make it clear he waxed down south, and was flimsy enough to flip up every time he kicked or spun around, giving a flash of his bright red panties.

His gorgeous face and sexy body were now just about the only things he had going for him, because he was an absolutely terrible cheerleader. It was clear he had no idea what to do. Bobby had heard the cheers plenty of times, but aside from the occasional leer during halftime, his focus had always been on the game.

Now he was awkwardly hopping up and down in front of the crowd, waving the pom-poms over his head with a panic-stricken white smile framed between his bright red lips. The wedge sneakers were back, which couldn’t make things any easier, and his head was adorned with a floppy red bow that did absolutely nothing to keep his blonde hair from constantly tumbling into his face.

“Goooo… Tomcats!” he squeaked, glancing back over his shoulder and trying to copy the other cheerleaders as they struck their final pose.

“Oh, my God,” Beverly said in a stage whisper that made Bobby flinch. “The least she could do is actually learn the cheers? Is she trying to make us look bad?”

Apparently Jan wasn’t too pleased with the performance either. He grabbed the megaphone with a distinct look of disappointment on his face. “Barbie, honey, why do you keep looking back at your little friends?” he demanded, loud enough to make several people wince from the feedback. “This is your night! This is about you! This is about making your dreams come true, remember? Don’t look at them, look at the camera, and please, for the love of God, stop looking like a scared little virgin on prom night.”

Kimberly watched her ex’s face go just as red as his panties. Bobby was trembling with embarrassment, but he swallowed, nodded, and did his best to smile -- it came out as more of a grimace, for which she couldn’t blame him. Jan’s assistant ran up to fix his makeup, giving the cheerleaders a chance to put their pom-poms down.

“Of course it’s allll about Barbie,” Beverly said in a low voice, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, Kimberly, how do you put up with it? She brought us all here to be her little props, and we barely even get to be in the shot! I waxed for this!”

“Jan Van Antwerp is super hot, though, isn’t he?” Ally chimed in. “Oh my God, when he shouted at me I almost got a little wet?”

“There you go,” Kimberly said bracingly, ignoring the mental image. “Being in the background of a Jan Van Antwerp shoot is still a pretty big deal, right?”

Beverly shot a nasty look in Bobby’s direction. “She just wanted us here to show off,” she said. “That last cheer was too easy, girls. I think Barbie can handle something a little faster.”

#

Bobby had figured it out at last: at some point when Serena was making him march up and down the stairs in six-inch stilettos, he had obviously fallen, cracked his head open, and been hospitalized, meaning his current situation was some kind of horrible nightmare he couldn’t wake up from due to being in a coma. It was the only explanation that made sense, because there was no way he could actually be dancing around in front of half of Jefferson High in a sexed-up cheerleader’s uniform.

And yet, everything about it felt extremely freaking real. Everything from the waxy taste of his freshly-applied lipstick, to the ache in his calves as he hopped and kicked, to the cold air caressing his panty-clad bottom every time his skirt flipped up. Beverly was leading another cheer, but he couldn’t see what they were doing to try to copy them, because he was stuck out at the front, facing the bleacher full of his classmates, kids who’d once idolized him for his exploits on the basketball court and were now watching him make a total fool of himself.

Bobby knew the words to the cheers, but he had never watched the routines any longer than necessary to get an eyeful of cleavage or wiggling ass. With his face burning hotter than a frying pan, he did his best to go through the motions he remembered, desperately trying to keep time to the upbeat tempo as he punched his pom-poms into the air and bounced up and down.

When he tried to shake them -- the cheerleaders made it look so easy -- one flew right out of his grip. He had to scurry over to retrieve it, blushing furiously, and that was when the snickering started. People weren’t just staring at him, they were laughing at him.

As Bobby straightened up, he felt like he was going to be sick. In the minds of his peers, the classmates he used to practically rule over, he wasn’t anywhere close to a basketball star anymore. They saw him as the complete opposite: a pretty cheerleader, content to show off her body and entice her team to victory. And the worst part was, he wasn’t even good at it. He was just some vain silly bimbo who had begged the photographer to let his “friends” come watch him dance around for them.

He turned back to the camera with a tremulous smile and waved the pom-poms. Jan was not pleased. The photographer looked totally exasperated, and Bobby felt a wave of fear as he grabbed the megaphone again.

“Barbie, honey, how are you still not getting this?” he shouted. “Take five, adolescents.” He set the megaphone down and stalked over. Bobby found himself totally unable to meet the man’s gaze, instead staring down at the floor through his fluttering false eyelashes. He only looked up when Jan brusquely took him by the chin, forcing his head level.

“Barbie, you are not a cheerleader,” the photographer said firmly.

Bobby blinked. “I’m… I’m not?”

“Of course not,” Jan said disdainfully. “Cheerleading is for girls who are pretty, not for girls who are goddesses. You, honey, are a model. The cheerleaders are out there to be a backdrop, nothing else. They’re there to look cute if someone happens to pay attention to them. But you’re a model, and you make people pay attention. Understood?”

Bobby swallowed. Jan still had his chin cupped in his hand, massaging his cheek with one thumb. “Okay?” he squeaked.

“You have power over that crowd, my little Barbie doll,” Jan said. “They shouldn’t be laughing. They should be mad with lust or mad with jealousy. Those are the only two acceptable options. Now forget about doing the fucking cheers, and seduce me.”

The photographer gave him a smack on the ass that made Bobby jump, then walked back to his camera set-up, shouting for the cheerleaders to return to their places. The students in the crowd were still giggling to each other, amused at the spectacle of their former basketball captain dolled up in a sexy outfit trying to improvise a cheerleading routine on the spot.

Bobby caught sight of a girl near the front, a girl he vaguely remembered having the gall to ask him out last year even though she was a six on a good day. She was currently giggling herself sick, clutching onto her friend for support. Bobby decided, then and there, that he was going to make her and everybody else stop laughing. No matter what. He drew a deep breath, inadvertently pushing out his chest.

The music started up again, and this time he ignored the cheerleaders jumping around behind him, and instead, he started to vamp. With both pom-poms held up behind his head, he made his way towards the camera in a sinuous strut, crossing one foot over the other to push the wriggle of his hips to the limit.

Some of the laughter dissolved, mostly into catcalls, but now Bobby was determined. He used every move Serena had drilled into him during their humiliating “boot camp,” and he was doing it like his life depended on it: he put a hand on the small of his back and thrust out his bottom, then tossed both pom-poms aside and ran his manicured fingernails up his bare abdomen, shaking his hips in time to music.

The laughter had stopped. Bobby could see his classmates -- mostly the male ones -- suddenly leaning forward in their seats, eyes glued to his every motion. Flushing but dead set on his new goal, he leaned over to stroke his own thigh, stopping teasingly at the hem of his micro miniskirt, giving it a little tug. Someone in the crowd wolf-whistled, making his stomach churn. This was a thousand times worse than doing it in front of just his family: this was on camera, immortalized, and every single one of his peers was watching.

But as bad as it was, it was better than being laughed at. He strutted back and forth in front of the bleacher, posing with his lips pouted together, his eyes half-lidded in the “smolder” Serena had made him practice in the mirror. Jan was as excited as Bobby had ever seen him, circling with the camera as he shouted encouragement. Bobby looked at his big sister, who had put him in this humiliating scenario out of pure spite, then looked at Jan. He opened his lipsticked mouth, then, steeling himself, slowly ran his tongue around his bright red lips.

Jan’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. The camera clicked more furiously than ever, and a few poses later, the photographer held up his hand. “We got it!” he shouted. “Oh, my God, honey, you’re on fire! Last scene, last scene, come get some hair spray!”

Bobby finally let his shoulders slump. He looked up at the bleacher full of his classmates, and realized every single one of them was staring back. The guys either had glazed looks on their faces or were hungrily ogling him, while the girls looked almost as intent, either jealously evaluating his body or sizing him up as competition.

When Bobby glanced over his shoulder, he saw similar expressions on the faces of the cheerleaders, except for the few who were glaring cattily at him. Kimberly looked slightly stunned, but when she saw him she smiled and flashed him a thumbs up. Bobby grudgingly returned it, then ducked his head and followed Jan back to the makeup chair. His parents and Serena were all waiting there.

“Oh, sweetie, that was amazing,” his mom said, with a slightly anxious smile. “You looked so good out there.”

“Amazing,” his dad echoed, red in the face. “Very sexy, sweetie.”

Bobby flushed to what was probably a matching shade. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Um, are we almost done, Jan?” He glanced around for the photographer. “Jan?”

“Almost!” Jan sang, re-emerging from behind the changing curtain. “Wow, look at me. I should have been a jock!” He had abandoned his skin-tight pants and fashionably ripped sweater for a Jefferson High basketball jersey and shorts. He was in his thirties, but obviously still in terrific shape -- Bobby could see the well-cut muscle in his arms. But that didn’t explain why he was dressed up like a basketball player.

“Now we get to complete the narrative, little sis,” Serena said brightly. “You were out there cheering your team on, but specifically, your boyfriend.”

“That’s right,” Jan said. “Your boyfriend is the star player on the basketball team. He makes the most basket goals of anybody.” The photographer grinned, flicking at his jersey. “And of course, with his girlfriend cheering him on, he wins the game! Which brings us to our final moment.” He exchanged a proud look with Serena. “Everybody is swarming the court, excited beyond belief,” he said, framing the imaginary scene with his hands. “And nobody is more excited than Barbie, who runs right up to her big strong man and gives him the victory kiss he so clearly earned.”

Bobby felt all the color drain right out of his face. He swayed on his feet, stumbling slightly on the wedges. “But… I mean…” he trailed off, stammering. “I don’t think I’d like that?”

His mom spoke in a wavering voice. “Jan, I don’t remember you mentioning this earlier…”

Jan cut her off with a raised finger, then turned to Bobby. “Barbie, honey, relax,” he said. “I know you were a little shy with the male models this morning. That’s why I’m standing in. People almost expect it, now, these little cameos I do -- it breaks the fourth wall just a bit, it’s very cheeky.” He winked at Serena, who did not wink back. “So, let’s make it memorable, okay, honey?”

Bobby gulped. “Wait, aren’t you, um, gay?” he demanded, reaching desperately for an excuse.

Jan only chuckled. “Barbie, that’s just the fashion photographer vibe,” he said. “People expect it, they love it, so I do it. But don’t worry, honey, I won’t be giving you some weak little stage kiss. Watching you wiggle your ass out there definitely makes a man feel…” He smirked. “Straight.”

Bobby’s mouth fell open as he flashed back to all the times throughout the day Jan had grabbed his ass or adjusted his boobs. The photographer was straight, and that meant he’d been enjoying himself the whole time, and that meant this kiss…

Bobby gathered himself. He had spent the entire day doing things he’d never, in his worst nightmares, anticipated doing. He had preened and posed in front of his former teammates, been obliterated by freaking Kenny in one-on-one, acted like an airheaded bimbo for photos all over Jefferson High, and danced in front of his classmates dressed up as a slutty cheerleader. But this was too far.

“Forget it,” he said. “Fuck this. Fuck all of you.”

Bobby shoved past his stunned parents. He’d expected to see a look of triumph on his big sister’s face, but instead Serena looked almost relieved. He didn’t bother to wonder why. He grabbed his robe off the back of the makeup chair, pulled it around himself, and fled the gymnasium as fast as he could manage on his teetering wedges.