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I love football!
Yes, really, I’m a true American girl, so football is as much a part of daily life as the air we breathe, like shopping on the weekend. And of course, cheerleading.
My dad was a cornerback for the California Stormriders until a hard knock knocked him out of the pro game. Since then, he’s been the team’s coach, and they’ve come a long way.
My two older brothers also play football with great enthusiasm. They’ll definitely be signed by one of the big teams soon, because for them, the California Stormriders are a stepping stone to the top.
My mom was a cheerleader until she was pregnant with my oldest brother, Ken. That’s how she met my dad. She was on the opposing team: the Atlantic Bay Tritons. The two teams had a friendly match on Black Friday, East Coast versus West Coast. She was a sweet twenty-one, he was a hot twenty-four. Sparks flew. She stayed on the West Coast and became a cheerleader for the California Stormriders. Then we got married, our first child arrived, followed shortly by our second, and then me. The little princess everyone instantly fell in love with.
I’ve been a cheerleader since I started school. At first, we little ones were little more than cute mascots waving pom-poms around. But that wasn’t so bad; it was fun, and we got plenty of applause for our pretty costumes.
But as I got older—it’s called puberty or the rebellious teenage phase—I noticed that the boys were eyeing the cheerleaders who were already developing larger breasts. Honestly, how crude can boys be? Of course, I helped myself and stuffed something into my bra so I could also show off a larger bust. Now the boys were staring at me, which made me feel proud and also quite happy.
That lasted exactly ten minutes, until we performed our first jumps—and my fabric inserts decided they needed to shift around. Damn, that was so embarrassing! You can’t imagine, really. I had these oversized pom-poms in my hands, one „breast“ at the base of my neck, the other practically sticking out of my neckline. If only I’d used flesh-colored scarves! But no, I’d hastily stuffed in white ones that stood out starkly against my tanned skin. It provoked derisive laughter!
During a short break, I ripped the scarves out and threw them aside. But of course, it was far too late. Lewd shouts and loud whistles had accompanied our team’s performance, and the girls were furious with me. I was banned from the next three games. But the jeers still haunted me afterward. Since then, I’ve never stuffed anything fake under my clothes again!
By the time I was fifteen, my terrible reputation was finally over. That was probably because my bust had now grown naturally and pleasantly large. Completely without any scarves or silicone inserts. Luckily, my knees weren’t huge, so they didn’t get in the way of my jumps. I’d become quite the looker. The boys were more mature, too. And more attractive. Everything just clicked. That’s why I had a wonderful prom; prom night was amazing! Even though I wasn’t the most popular cheerleader and didn’t get the quarterback, like in so many romantic high school dramas, I was perfectly happy with the tackle. As long as someone from the football team invited me to prom, my dad was happy.
The fact that there wasn’t even a shy kiss on the lips, but only a tentative one on the cheek, was all thanks to my dad and my two older brothers. At sixteen and eighteen, they acted like my protectors. I was so overprotected that it almost started to annoy me. Hey, I was young and full of energy; I didn’t want to be constantly accompanied by grim-faced chaperones!
But thankfully, everyone grows up eventually, and so did I. As soon as I reached the Californian age of eighteen, nothing could hold me back! Now I finally wanted to experience everything I’d only ever read about or heard about in secret. I wanted to try wicked, depraved, super-dirty things that were totally unacceptable for an overprotected daughter from a good family!
Do you know that smell of testosterone that accompanies a group of young men after a sweaty game? Normal people would drop dead from it because the smell is so overpowering. But as a cheerleader, you grow up with these smells; your nose becomes attuned to the different nuances. And at some point, you know which guys are worth a snack. This was my chance to test my nose. Was it true that the most sensual testosterone scent also meant the hottest guy in bed? Although, of course, I didn’t take the „in bed“ part literally. After all, I didn’t have the money to stay in a motel. At my house, though, nothing was possible. I didn’t know a single guy who would have dared to cross the threshold of Dad’s house—at least not to visit me.
After one of those exciting games where the sweat just soaked into our sports clothes, I sneaked into the men’s locker room and peeked into the washroom. I almost had a heart attack when I saw three of the cheerleaders stark naked on their knees, with thick cocks disappearing into their mouths! It was unbelievable! I wanted to experience something naughty, and my teammates had already beaten me to it. I stared wide-eyed, making a mental note of exactly what they were doing before sneaking back into the women’s locker room.
My heart was racing. I was unsure if I wanted to do this. In their mouths? There wasn’t even room for a banana in there, where were they even putting their cocks? And what was my pussy for if those guys were going at it with my mouth? Twice more I slipped into the men’s locker room and enjoyed watching. It totally turned me on to hear the guys moan and pant while the cheerleaders made gurgling noises. I got wetter and hornier and could hardly stop myself from slipping my hand into my panties.
At some point, the lust was so intense that I couldn’t hold back anymore. My whole body vibrated with desire. There was a stalactite cave between my legs. I was done watching; I wanted to try it myself. Without being asked, I took off my clothes and left them on a bench in the locker room before entering the shower area.
„Ola, a new one?“ one of the linebackers called out, and off we went. Before I knew it, I was kneeling under one of the showers, sucking like a pro. Next to me were the other girls, who were also having cock after cock shoved down their throats. After that, things really got going. All four of us were viciously fucked. My virgin blood was washed away by the shower stream, as was the cum that the guys sprayed all over our breasts while roaring with lust. So, my first time was anything but romantic, anything but gentle, and definitely not with a guy I was in love with. But it was so hot! With that much testosterone, everything just shuts down. Honestly, the smell of male sweat mixed with musky shower gel is unbeatable; once you’ve inhaled it, you’re hooked!
Although every game is still an absolute highlight for me, and I’m also fully committed to cheerleading, my pussy looks forward to the shower after the game. The clandestine rendezvous in the men’s restroom is the perfect opportunity for boundless fun. No one talks about it because, officially, it’s frowned upon for the cheerleaders to be sleeping with the team. But no one will ever stop us, because a satisfied man is a better conversationalist. And we all know that after every game, the reporters are lurking with questions. So we’re making a heroic effort that really deserves to be rewarded!
I’m a cheerleader through and through, with all my heart and soul. But I see every day with my mother that pregnancies can end a career. Not that I’m thinking about having children of my own just yet! Still, I should think a little bit about the future. Besides, I’m young and want more out of life than just the same guys and the same games. Sure, we have away games too, where fresh guys join us, and we cheerleaders get to know them in the showers after the game. But they’re still American college types whose souls are completely devoted to football.
That’s why I jumped at the chance when our school offered an exchange year with Germany. Germany! Isn’t that the country where they not only have those fun lederhosen and dirndls, but also tons of football fans? Of course, I wanted to go there! I took my work much more seriously to improve my grades and applied for the exchange year. My dad thought it was a fantastic idea and paid for tutors for all the subjects I wasn’t doing so well in. Unfortunately, for the exchange year, it wasn’t a parent’s fame that mattered, only your own academic performance. After all, we Americans don’t want to look like we have gaps in our education in front of the Germans!
The classes paid off, and I was finally able to proudly announce that I was on the shortlist. There would be a few more interviews, but with Dad’s superb arguments, they would definitely go in my favor. As they say, money makes the world go round? Our college could certainly use a little financial boost. And that’s what my dad promised if I made the final list.
Mom was happy for me, but she also complained because she wouldn’t see me for a year. Dad waved it off and explained that they would visit us regularly. He wasn’t going to leave his little one alone among the barbaric Germans for a whole year.
Hmm, yeah, that’s my dad for you. He thinks everyone who isn’t American is from the jungle. Or, more broadly speaking, those who aren’t from the American continent, because he thinks Canadians and South Americans are perfectly fine, as long as he doesn’t have to cheer them on. He only ever cheers for his own team, of course, no matter how well they play. But Germany is so far away from America, no highly educated people can live there. My dad says they only do exchange programs so they can learn something from other countries.
I don’t care. I’m going to another continent for a year, to a foreign country where a completely different language is spoken and written. I don’t even know if they understand English at all. Luckily, there are translators. So, anything I didn’t pick up and retain in German class, I’ll just have translated with an app. It’ll probably all go wrong. A year abroad in France would be much worse. They drink red wine all the time, eat nothing but baguettes and croissants, have five courses at lunch, and speak in such a stilted, nasal way. Besides, French women are ridiculously chic, always fashion-conscious, and almost skinny. No, I’d feel terrible there.
But Spain isn’t much better; I just can’t get excited about bullfights at all. And then there’s that fiery flamenco dancing! They party all night and sleep through the entire midday hours. I don’t really understand how they make money. Maybe from the tourists who lie around on the warm sandy beaches and let themselves be waited on hand and foot? The only thing that might interest me is paella, a pan of rice, vegetables, and fish. You can get it everywhere, and it’s apparently some kind of national dish, like sauerkraut and bratwurst for Germany.
What would have interested me a little more than Germany would have been Italy. If what they say about Italians is true, they’re absolutely amazing in bed. They’re so passionate they can go several times in a row! Since Italian women are only interested in fashion, the men must be starved when it comes to sexual pleasure. No wonder, who wants to go to bed with a fashion doll? A sporty, attractive girl like me is a much better choice. Unfortunately, our college didn’t offer an exchange year with Italy; it was only Germany.
But if the football players in Germany are as tough as the Americans, every football game—and the shower afterward—will be an absolute delight. I won’t even need to speak or understand a word of German. Sex is a universal language. Everyone understands that!
