When Bob walked out of the conference room with Lori on his arm, the
others were left to sort things out by themselves.� Almost
immediately, Tiffany turned to Chuck.
"So ... you have a thing for cheerleaders."
He looked down.� "In the worst way," he said, almost sadly.� "It's actually caused problems in my relationships."
"You want to talk about that?" she asked.� She'd already looked
around the room and decided that, of all the men, she could handle Chuck the most easily.�� Roger was old enough that she just
wasn't interested.� Jeff was married, and unhappy, and she didn't
particularly want to listen to his tale of woe.� Woody was
interesting, but was obviously interested in Crystal, whether she knew
it or not.
"Uh ... I don't know," he said uncertainly.� "I'm not too
sure.� Like I said, it's messed up some of my relationships
before."
"Were any of them cheerleaders?" she asked, getting right to the point.
"No," he said.
"Well I am one, so I can punch all kinds of holes in your stereotypes
about what we are like ... were like ... "� She got a little
flustered by suggesting she was still a cheerleader.�� That
time in her life had been both wonderful, and agonizing at the same
time.� The agonizing part was so agonizing that she'd been happy
to leave her cheerleading days behind her.� Or she thought she
had.� Why she still ... felt ... like a cheerleader was confusing.
"OK," he said, as if he didn't mind at all having holes punched in his fantasies.
"Why don't we all just go sit in the hot tub again ... like last night," suggested Roberta, a little nervously.
"We're supposed to be in pairs," said Roger, assuming the dominant role
by virtue of his age.�� "We're supposed to ... uh ... talk
about things ... I guess.��� You talk differently in a
group than you do when you're alone with someone."
"True," said Tiffany.� She looked at Chuck.� "Let's go
talk."� She started toward the door, not looking back.� She
was already trying to take the lead in this ...
relationship.�� Chuck followed her, looking somehow happy.
Chuck was shy, off the field, and out of his element, which was the
testosterone-drenched life of young warriors.�� In that
element, he knew how to act, what to say, how to use all that
testosterone to make things happen.�� He did all right in the
class room, because he had a lesson plan to guide him, and talking to
kids was easy because they had so little life experience.�
Everything was new and interesting to them, if they weren't already
jaded.�� He did all right in the teacher's lounge, where the
chat was semi-formal and usually not very personal.� Even in the
group, the night before, he'd felt at ease, even though the
conversation DID get into more personal things.�� He'd had
nothing to lose then.� He was just with a bunch of co-workers,
where nobody should take anything that was said too seriously.�
That the women had taken offense at the men's comments had been
expected, but then ... who cared, really?�� At that time,
they were all only here for a seminar on teaching sex ed, and then
they'd all go back home.
It was when he was alone with a woman that he clammed up and felt
suddenly the same age as the football players he coached.��
The women he'd dated, thus far, hadn't been teachers.� He'd been
set up with them by teacher friends.� Most of them were in
business, struggling to climb this or that corporate ladder, and they
took life seriously.��� They'd been interested in him,
initially because of the genetic component.� He was fit, healthy
and in a good job.�� He'd been OK in bed, as far as those
women were concerned, until he got kinky.� Serious women aren't
interested in putting their hair in dog ears, or a pony tail, and
jumping around naked, yelling "Go Team!"
Chuck knew his cheerleader fantasy was a problem, but it was the only
fantasy he had.�� Had he been able to indulge that fantasy a
few times, he might have gone on to seek something deeper with those
women, and find that they were interesting in their own
right.�� He knew that.�� He wasn't stupid.� He
was just testosterone-filled, like his young warriors.�� He
couldn't get past that chemical barrier.
The other thing was that now, it wasn't just a sex ed seminar any
more.�� He wasn't quite sure WHAT it was, but it seemed a lot
more serious.�� He was teamed up with this gorgeous former
cheerleader, and, if nothing else, his masculine pride was on the
line.� �
That made him nervous.
He decided to proceed very carefully.� He would master the
testosterone.� All they were going to do was talk, but he needed
the practice, and he wanted to talk with this woman more than he'd
wanted to talk to a woman in a long time. �
He knew it was the cheerleader thing, but this time, he was going to beat it.
Tiffany kept walking, as if she had a destination in mind.� She
did.� It was the bar, which was sparsely populated that early in
the afternoon.� She chose a booth, so she could sit across the
table from Chuck. �
Tiffany had seen the way Chuck looked at her, in her new bikini, as she
and Roberta had dragged Jeff to the hot tub, the night
before.�� All three men in the hot tub had, in their
minds,� stripped her bare of her new suit.�� She was
used to that, even if she thought that was shallow.�� Bob's
conversation about sex being quite naturally the first thing men
thought about had, in a strange way, opened her eyes.� She had
known that was the first thing men thought about, but now there was a
logical explanation for it.�� That made a difference,
somehow.�� Her change in attitude was bolstered by the fact
that she was quite aware that she checked out every man she met, making
that snap judgment that Bob had described so well.�� In fact,
she was aware she had just done that, choosing Chuck, over the others.
She was a little amazed at how quickly she had discounted Roger.�
He seemed very nice, what little she had seen of him.� But her
genetic mind had said he was too old.�� She found it
fascinating that she had just experienced what Bob was talking about,
and that this was only the first time she'd realized what she was doing.
All in all, Tiffany Jones, who had a scholarly mind, and appreciated
information that made sense, was willing to change her attitude, even
if only a little, based on that new information she had been
given.� While she had, in the past, automatically turned up her
nose at men who were obvious about ogling her, she now looked a little
deeper before making that snap judgment that classified them as
"jerks".� �
And, when it came to Chuck, he wasn't pushy, or crude, not counting his
assessment of her breasts at the bar beside the pool.�� Even
that had been more in the atmosphere of teasing her.�� Her
outrage had been manufactured, rather than seriously felt.��
And he'd even apologized.� That, in her book, made him a lot less
of a "jerk" than she might have otherwise labeled him. �
Besides ... he was cute.
She sat down and waited for him to take a seat across from her.�
By the time he'd done so, the waitress was at the table.� She
ordered a� screwdriver.
"Um ... beer," said Chuck, across from her.� He looked everywhere but at Tiffany.
"Well," said Tiffany, not saying anything else.
Chuck looked at her, couldn't help but drop his gaze to her breasts, and then looked away quickly.
"Stand up!" she said suddenly.�� He didn't ask
questions.� He just slid back out and stood up.� Her eyes
slithered down his body to fix on his groin.� He had the
overwhelming urge to cover his zipper with his hands, but just slid
back into the booth instead.
"Now you know what it feels like," she said calmly.
He was saved from having to say anything by the waitress, bringing them
their drinks.�� He took a gulp of his, while she sipped
daintily from the straw in hers.
"It looks different now than it did last night, in the hot tub," commented Tiffany, casually.
He examined the label on his bottle of beer.
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked. �
He squirmed in his seat, and finally took another gulp of beer.�
The bottle was half empty, now.� He was feeling more like twelve
or thirteen, rather than the seventeen he'd been feeling only a few
moments ago.
"Oh, come on," said Tiffany.� She took another dainty sip.�
"If you can talk about my breasts, surely I can talk about your penis."
He darted a look around, to see who else might have been able to hear her comment.
"You know," she said calmly, "we're never going to get anywhere if you don't start talking."
"I can't," he blurted.� "I mean ... Oh, I don't know!�� This probably wasn't a good idea!"
"What's not a good idea?" she asked.
"Us," he said, addressing his beer bottle.� "Here ... together."
"Why in the world not?" she asked.� "You like looking at my
breasts, and I like looking at your penis.� That's a start, at
least according to Bob."
Her did look up now, and his eyes locked on her face.�� He
was evaluating whether or not she was just playing with
him.�� He'd taken out a girl back in High School who had done
that ... teased him mercilessly, and on purpose, with no intent
whatsoever of helping him have a good time.�� He'd never
asked her out again, and she'd made fun of him to all her
friends.�� It had re-enforced his shyness.
But he didn't see the sneer he expected to see on Tiffany's face.�
He did see a twinkle in her eye, and the corners of her mouth might be
raised just a smidgen, but the look on her face was more of someone who
had told a joke, and expected him to laugh ... with her.
Tiffany was almost shocked at the intensity of the look on his face
when, at last, he looked at HER, and not just her breasts.� He was
acting so differently from the night before.�� Last night
he'd been easy and confident in his manner.�� She'd expected
him to spar with her ... to fight back ... perhaps opening the door for
serious conversation, once they worked through the preliminaries of the
game. �
Now, though, he was acting like a one of her male students, who, when
she had him stay after class to correct his behavior, had stammered and
stuttered, looking everywhere but at her.�� She'd finally
figured out that he had a crush on her, and that his behavior was an
attempt to get her attention.�� She'd simply told him what
she expected of him in the future, and sent him on his way.� It
had worked better than she had believed it would work.
Now, the look on Chuck's face was the same earnest, almost pleading look, and she realized suddenly he was shy.
"Um ..." she said.� "How about let's just start over.��
Why don't you tell me about this cheerleader who broke your heart?"
Chuck was dumbfounded.� She wasn't playing with him.� That
made him wonder what she HAD been doing.� But now she'd asked him
a question.�� He answered without really thinking about it.
"It's not that she broke my heart," he said.� "She just ignored me." �
He looked at his beer, and then back up.� She seemed to be waiting for more.
"My best friend asked her out and they started going steady, so I was
around her a lot.�� I didn't have a girlfriend, and I thought
she was the best looking woman on the planet.�� She'd kiss
Frank and rub on him.� Frank said they were doing it, and that I
was cramping his style.�� It kind of drove us apart."
"Everybody thinks cheerleaders have round heels, and will fall on their
backs for any guy they go out with," said Tiffany.�� She took
another sip.
"That's the funny part," said Chuck.� "I didn't believe
him.�� I couldn't believe she'd be like that.� I think I
put her on a pedestal.�� When they broke up, I thought about
asking her out, but then, by the time I got my courage up, she was
already going with another guy.�� She ended up
pregnant.�� That's what broke my heart."
"It broke your heart that she got pregnant ... or that it wasn't you who got her that way?" asked Tiffany.
Chuck looked horrified.�� "I'd have never wanted to do THAT
to her!�� I wanted her to fall in love with me, and marry me!"
"And you were how old?" asked Tiffany.
"Seventeen," said Chuck, looking at his bottle.� It was suddenly
missing about half the label, and the pieces were on the table at the
base of the bottle.� He realized he'd been picking at it while he
talked.� "I know it was stupid."�� He looked up "But it
was how I felt."
"You want to know a secret?" asked Tiffany.
He looked wary, but said "Sure."
"There are two kinds of girls who join the squad.�� There are
the girls who really want to cheer on the team.� Pep is as real to
them as food.� They're just normal, every-day girls, who want to
be part of the team."
"That's what I was sure she was all about," said Chuck, nodding.
"Then there are the girls who do it for popularity purposes," said
Tiffany.� "They aren't there for the team.� They could care
less about the team.� They're the ones with round heels, looking
to land the most popular guy, so they'll be tied to him.��
They'll do anything to be more popular."�� She sipped.�
"They give us a bad name."
"Don't tell me she was like that," moaned Chuck.
"I have no idea," said Tiffany.�� "The thing that complicates
things is that the peppy girls are normal girls, who have normal
urges.� I thought about having sex a dozen times while I was a
cheerleader, but I didn't.�� I'm sure, though, that the right
guy could have gotten in my panties.� I just never ran into him
until I was in college."
"So ... where is he now?" asked Chuck.
"Still in college, going with some other girl," she said.��
"He wanted to stay there for his Masters, and I wanted to start
teaching.�� We grew apart."
"That's too bad," said Chuck.
"Not really," said Tiffany.
He leaned forward.� "Yes it is!�� If he was so special
that he ... well, you know ... then it should have lasted!"
"If you're trying to tell me I chose the wrong guy to give my virginity
to, I'm way ahead of you," said Tiffany, her voice disgruntled.
"No, that's not what I meant," said Chuck.� "I meant that people
just don't seem to be willing to weather the tough spots these
days.�� At the first bump in the road, they bail out."
"I tried to keep it going for most of a year," said Tiffany, defending herself.
"I'm not talking about you," he said agitatedly.� "I'm just
talking about ... people in general.�� Look at this
group.� We're all intelligent people.� We care about the
world, or we wouldn't be teaching.� Yet, not one of us is in a
successful long term relationship.� Don't you think that says
something about the world?"
Tiffany blinked.�� He'd gone from boasting womanizer, to shy
boy, to serious thinker, all in the space of a day.�� There
was obviously a lot more to him than she'd imagined.
"You said this ... cheerleader thing had caused problems," she said.� "What did you mean?"
He flashed back to shy boy, and she marveled at how he could wear his
heart on his sleeve one minute, and be overwhelmed with insecurity the
next.�� She waited, remaining silent, to make him go on.
"I ... I guess I can't get her out of my mind or something," he
said.� "When it comes to a certain point in all my relationships I
sort of want the girl I'm with to ... act like ... a cheerleader, I
guess."
"You want to role play?" asked Tiffany, surprised.�� That
part of Bob's seminar had made a lot of sense to her too.��
She knew couples that played little games with each other, and they
seemed quite happy.� She had thought them a little odd, before
now, but that was changing too, in her mind.
"So you want to put some variety in things," she said delicately, "before they get boring."
"That's a nice way to put it," he acknowledged.� "But they never see it that way."
"And then you met me, and thought maybe I might react differently than those women?"� Tiffany's face was unreadable.
Chuck flushed, but held up his hand.� "No, that's not what I thought."
"Yes it is, Chuck," said Tiffany.�� "Didn't Bob say we were
supposed to be honest?� Aren't we supposed to communicate freely?"
"Well sure," he said.� "But not about THAT!"
"Why not?" she asked.
"I don't want you to storm off in anger just like those others," he explained.
"But you're not being honest with me, Chuck," she said patiently.� "That means a lot more to me than some silly fantasy."
"See?" he moaned.� "Even you think it's a silly fantasy!"
She leaned back.� "OK, maybe that was a bad choice of words.�
You're not the first man to fantasize about me as a cheerleader.�
I know about that, even if I'm not sure I understand it.��
How would you feel if some woman came up to you and rubbed up against
you and said this?"� She made her voice very high and very
young.� "Oh, Chucky, I've always had this dream about being fucked
half to death by a big, strong football coach!"
The change in her behavior was so sudden and so strange that it made Chuck laugh.
"First off, that's never happened, and probably never will."� He
smiled. "But if it did, I'd probably say something like 'I'm your man,
baby!', and think I was the luckiest guy in the world."
"No you wouldn't," said Tiffany, her voice back to normal.� "You'd
blush and stammer and probably try to go hide somewhere."
His smile was wry, now.� "Yeah, you're probably right."� Then
he went on.� "But that's different, anyway.� I'm a man, and
men don't get propositioned like that.� Women do, and I'm sure
they look at it from a different point of view."
"Not as different as you might think," said Tiffany.� "We want a
man to want us for who we are, not what costume we happen to be
wearing.�� I'm proud of my breasts, but I don't want a man to
think that breasts is all that I am.�� You're probably proud
of your penis too, but I'm sure you don't want that to be the only
thing a woman pays attention to."
She waited for him to confirm her comment.
He didn't.
"It's still not the same thing.�� Women get hit on all the
time, but it's not that way for men.�� And men would just
naturally react differently.� We're made to want sex, and, sad to
say, just about wherever we can get it."
"I'll show you my breasts, if you'll show me your penis," said Tiffany suddenly.
Chuck assumed she was messing with him.� "That's crazy.� You don't mean that."
"If men are so genetically horny they'll take anything they can get,"
said Tiffany, "then it doesn't matter if it's crazy.� Come on,
stud ... show me your dick.� You know you want to."
"No I don't," he said, getting nervous again.
"But don't you want to see these?" she asked sweetly, cupping her breasts.� She lifted each one and bounced it.
"Knock it off, Tiffany," he moaned.� "That's not who you
are.�� I may have just met you, but I know that's not who you
are."
Tiffany started unbuttoning her blouse.
"You don't know me at all.� Come on ... admit it ... you want to
see them."�� She continued unbuttoning her blouse and started
letting it spread apart.� She was wearing a tan colored bra, that
showed a lot of very impressive cleavage.
Chuck looked around.� "Stop it!" he hissed.� "You're embarrassing us both!"
Her hands paused, but didn't pull her blouse together.
"You just proved my point," she said.� "Sex is NOT all you care
about.� You WON'T take anything you can get.�� You DO
care what a woman is like."
"Will you please do up your blouse," he moaned.� His eyes darted
to her chest, and then around to see who might be able to see what she
was doing. �
"If you promise me to show me your dick ... later ... I'll button my blouse."
"Tiffaneeeeee," moaned Chuck.
She undid the next to last button.
"OK, OK!" he yelped.�� "Whatever you say!� Just button your blouse!"
She did, efficiently and quickly.� Then she smiled at him.
"Look at what just happened.� I hit on you, and you reacted just
like most women would.� You were uncomfortable, and you agreed to
something you wouldn't normally agree to, just to get out of the
situation."
He blinked.� She was right.�� He HAD just promised to
show her his penis, just to get her to behave.� Was that what men
did to women?
"You're not going to hold me to that promise ... are you?" he asked softly.
"Maybe," she said, smiling brilliantly.�� "You're a much
better class of man than you think you are.� I'll admit I'm
attracted to you, since we're being honest here.� We ARE being
honest from now on ... right?"
"I guess so," he groaned.� "I thought I was being honest in the
first place.�� How am I supposed to know what's honest and
what's not?"
"Just say what's on your mind." she said, taking another sip of her screwdriver.
"What's on your mind right now?" he asked, turning the tables.
