Mom Forced Me Into Pom-Poms - Part 1

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real-life individuals or events is purely coincidental. All characters, events, and situations depicted are entirely fictional.

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The same routine carried into the second week and by now he was starting to get bored of it. It was tedious and tiring and repetitive, and his mom was getting more and more demanding, scolding him if he didn't imitate her moves precisely if he let his posture slip, or if he failed to smile the fixed smile she insisted upon.  

He also wanted to spend more time with his friends. He did manage to meet up with them most afternoons but it wasn't the same. 

Very often they would have finished their game by then and weren't interested in another one, and they were annoyed with him also for not playing with them in the mornings like they had planned. All they did in the afternoons was hang out a little wander around the park or watch TV. 

This got boring after a while and before long his friends barely called or texted him anymore.    

It was on the Monday of the third week that things really started to get out of hand. When Jesse went back to his room after his shower, he found his cheer clothes lying on the bed as usual, but immediately sensed there was something different about them. He picked up the blue and white shirt. It looked like his other ones except it seemed shorter, more like a tank top than a tee. 

He was horrified when he picked up the shorts. They weren't shorts at all. 

They were a skirt... an A-line, low-rise, blue-colored, little cheer skirt with a zipper closure in the back. 

He threw it on the bed like it carried an infection, and, wearing nothing but the towel around his waist, ran downstairs to find his mom.  "It's a skirt," he shouted when he found her in the kitchen, in her uniform as she always was every morning now. 

"You put out a cheer skirt on my bed."  His mom calmly continued setting the table for breakfast.  

"Yeah, it's just like mine except it doesn't have pleats."  

"But I can't wear it," he stammered. "I don't want to wear it; I won't wear it. I'm not going to wear a girl's skirt." 

 In his upset and anger, the tears began to flow and he was ready for his mom to get mad at him or maybe even to shake him really hard. Instead, she just smiled softly and pulled him close so that his head hugged her chest. 

 "It's alright, hunny. I know you're upset," she said, running her fingers tenderly through his hair, "but I just thought it would be fun for us to dress the same when we are practicing like we're members of the same team."  

Then, holding him out in front of her, she smiled down at him.  

"Don't you think that would be fun?"  

He didn't know how to reply. He knew that boys didn't wear skirts that her logic was flawed and that she was acting crazy, and yet he didn't want to let her down. 

It was like he wasn't able to let her down. And so he half shrugged his shoulders and said nothing and allowed her to take him by the hand and lead him back upstairs to his room.  

"Now let's get you dressed," she exclaimed, excitedly.  

She removed his towel so that he now stood naked before her. Then she picked up what looked like a pair of really short shorts. For a split second, he thought she had changed her mind and that she was going to let him wear these shorts instead.  

"Now, Jess, do you know what these are?" she asked, as she held them up in front of him.  He shook his head.  

"These are spankies. They are special undies that cheerleaders wear under their skirts. They are bigger than regular panties so that they cover up more. Look, I'm wearing them, too."  

And putting his spankies on the bed, she raised her skirt a few inches so that he could see what was under it.  

"Now, let's put them on."  She got on her knees and held the spankies out in front of him, and slowly, timidly, he stepped into them. His mom pulled them up his almost hairless legs and fixed them in position.  

"Don't they feel nice?" she asked.  She then picked up the shirt.  "Raise your arms, Jess. That's a good boy."  

He raised them up and she slipped the tank top over his head. It was shorter than his other tops and it felt more starchy, too.  And then came the skirt. 

He swallowed hard as he stepped into it and allowed her to zip it up in the back and fix it into place. It was so short and it felt so different from his regular shorts and even from his coffee shorts. 

It felt light, too, as if he was wearing almost nothing. What he noticed was that there was a little gap between his tank top and his skirt, which displayed about an inch of his tummy.  

He couldn't help it, he felt overwhelmed, and he started to cry. Still on her knees in front of him, his mom hugged him and helped him close.  

"You're so brave, hunny," she whispered, "and I'm so proud of you. You're so adorable I could just eat you up."  

And she started to tickle him, and he had no choice but to begin laughing through his tears.  "Just your socks and your shoes now, Jess, and we're all ready," she said. "Sit on the bed and I'll help you put them on."  

As he sat on the bed, he noticed how his skirt rode up, exposing most of his thighs. He had seen that happen to girls a few times before, and it amused him. 

Now it was happening to him.  His mom finished tying his laces and then helped him to his feet. Quickly, he tugged on the skirt, but it didn't fall back down very far. It was so short and it felt so light. He hoped it was all a bad dream, but he knew it wasn't.  

Two minutes later, he was standing beside his mom in the basement ready to begin their practice session. He studied himself in the mirror. From his neck down, he looked like a girl. His mom was right; wearing the skirt made it seem more like the two of them were on the same team.    

Doing his cheer moves felt so different that morning. 

His skirt kept riding up whenever he raised his legs and he could feel the cool air around his groin. It made him feel exposed.  

But his mother smiled even more that day than in the two weeks before that and she kept encouraging him and telling him how wonderful he was and how great he looked.  It was a tremendous relief when practice ended and he was able to get out of the skirt. 

He didn't want to remain in girl's clothing a second longer than absolutely necessary.  And so a new routine began. 

Every morning now he wore his skirt rather than the shorts, and though it still felt weird and wrong, he didn't complain about it. 

He didn't even complain when one morning he found a new skirt on his bed. It was the same as his first one except the color was white.  

And all the while he noticed how his mother's attitude to him was changing. Whenever he seemed enthusiastic about their cheer regime and asked questions, she showered him with love and compliments. 

Whenever he complained or didn't make a good enough effort, she scolded him and even slapped him sometimes.  He noticed too that she began to fuss much more about his appearance. One day when he was taking off his skirt after practice, she came into his room and insisted that he wear his soffee shorts for the rest of the day.  

"They look nicer on you than your jeans," she told him.  "But I won't be able to go outside then," he protested.  

"Of course, you can," she replied. "Anyway, they're more suitable for this weather cos they are so light."    

And so it was that every day after practice he would replace his skirt with a pair of coffee shorts and a matching tee that his mom also laid out. 

He hated wearing them all the time because it meant he couldn't go outside. 

He could never let any of his friends see him wearing such sissy stuff.  His mother was quietly pleased about that, too, because she wanted to keep him around the house and didn't want him associating with his old school friends.  

There was no doubt Jesse's cheer skills were improving. Now he knew four different short routines and the chants that went with them and sometimes he even found himself doing one on his own in his room or in the back garden. And the cheer music kept playing over and over in his head as if the button had got stuck on replay.  

"Do you know what, Jess?" his mom said one day as they finished a routine. "You're a natural. I bet you're better than any of the cheerleaders in school."  

The remark pleased him a little, though, at the same time, he knew it shouldn't. 

But never, never, in his wildest dreams did he think his mother would put her observation to the test and actually sign him up for tryouts. 

And yet here he was in the back seat of a car being driven to the school gym where the tryouts were being held.  

A single tear trickled down his face as he recalled the events of the morning thus far. His mom had come into his room just as he was getting ready to shower and told him that this was a big day and that she would need to help him get ready.

 When he asked what she meant by the big day, she told him not to worry about it, that she would explain everything later but that he needed to look his best. 

She had a little pink razor and a can with her.  "Stand still for a moment," she instructed him. "I just want to get the fuzz off your legs." 

 He pulled away from her, stricken.  "What for, mom?" he implored. "I don't want to shave my legs. I like having fuzz."  

"Fuzz doesn't look good with the clothes you are wearing now, sweetie, and anyway, no one will even notice cos you don't have much fuzz to begin with. Now stand still or I will have to spank you."  

He stood still, except for the sobbing that quietly consumed him, as his mother washed and soaped his legs and ran her razor over them. It didn't take long. There was very little to remove. Then she sponged him clean and ran her hands over his smooth legs.  

"Yes, much, much better," she pronounced, satisfied. 

"Don't they feel just lovely now?"  

She told him to get in the shower and that she would be waiting in his room when he got back to help him get ready.  

"I'll rub some nice lotion into your legs so that they won't itch and that'll make them all smooth and shiny," she told the dazed and confused boy.  He stood in the shower for what must have been a full ten minutes. 

He didn't know what was going to happen today but he didn't like it; he didn't like the sound of it at all. Why did his mom shave his legs? No boy shaves his legs unless maybe he's a swimmer. What was his mom up to? Was she trying to make him into a sissy? 

He sobbed softly as he shampooed his hair and rinsed it off, then stepped outside to face the music.  

"There you are, hunny," his mom said, as he entered his bedroom. 

"Let me dry you off."  Removing the towel he was wrapped in, she proceeded to pat him dry. Then she grabbed a tube of lotion she had placed by his bed and squeezed a white creamy blob into her hand. 

Rubbing the cream vigorously between her two palms, she squatted easily before him and began to massage it into his legs.  

"This will stop your legs getting itchy after you shave," she told him, "plus it will make them look really good."  He didn't want his legs to look really good. 

He just wanted things to go back to normal, like they were before school broke up and all this cheer nonsense started.  "Now, let's get you dressed."  

"What for?" he asked, his eyes following her as she put the lotion back on the nightstand by his bed and reached for a pile of clothes that was lying on it. He was afraid of what the answer might be.  

"What did you mean when you said about a big day?"  

"Cheer tryouts," she answered, matter-of-factly. "There are cheer tryouts in school today and this is your chance to show just how good you are."  He stared at her, horrified.  

"No way, Mom," he said, his voice rising. "No way am I going to try out for cheer. It's for girls."  

"It's not, hunny," she answered, resolutely. "Tryouts are open to everyone, girls and boys. Anyone can try out."  

"NO," he shouted. "They don't. I'm not trying out for cheer and you can't make me.

No fucking way."  He had never cursed in front of his mom before and her reaction was swift and it caught him off guard. 

Grabbing him roughly by the arm, she spun him around and smacked his bare backside three times. Three hard smacks that seemed like they echoed through the room. The shock of it left him breathless for several seconds, then he started to cry and blubber and rub his butt. She glared at him, her eyes cold.  

"Don't you ever use foul language again, little boy, or you will be so, so sorry. Understand?"  He nodded, sobbing.  "I'm so disappointed in you, Jess. Did you pick up that language from those boys you've been hanging out with?"  He didn't answer.  

"Well, I think it's best that you keep away from boys like that. They are clearly a bad influence and not proper company for someone like you."  

He wanted to tell her that they were not a bad influence, that they were his friends and he wanted to hang out with them, but he just hung his head and said nothing, while the tears fell and his butt still stung. He didn't want to make her mad again.  He put up no resistance as she picked up a little pair of light blue briefs and held them out for him to step into. 

They were new and made of cotton and looked very similar to panty briefs that girls wore, but he said nothing as she pulled them up his legs and fixed them into place.  Then she reached for the shirt. It was the same sky blue color as his briefs, and he knew that this also was new. He raised his arms so she could pull it over his head and into place. 

Next came the shorts, new as well, and in a brilliant white. They seemed even shorter than his regular coffee shorts. She gestured to him to sit on his bed while she put on his white ankle socks and cheer shoes.  Finally, she produced another garment, one that he hadn't seen before. It was a white zip-up jacket with a pointed collar and long sleeves. 

It looked like a track jacket, except as she held it in front of him and turned it all around for his inspection, he saw that it clearly wasn't the regular track jacket that football guys or athletes wore because written on the back in the large blueprint was the word 'cheer.'  

"Put this on, hunny," she instructed him. 

"See, it complements the rest of your clothes and it'll keep you warm when you go outside and while you're waiting to try out."  

She held it out for him and he slipped his arms through the openings. Then she zipped it up. Again, it was a perfect fit. The jackets had pockets, he noticed, and the color matched his shorts exactly. He was in brilliant white from head to toe.  

"Now, you're all ready," she said, smiling, satisfied. "Just some breakfast and off we go."  He was too numb to say or do anything other than follow her down to the kitchen. Breakfast didn't take long he just had some milk and cereal and then it was time for the dreaded journey.  

As they went into the front hallway to leave the house, his mom picked up a large blue sports bag that had the word 'cheer' written on the side in big, bold, white print, and underneath it in smaller white print the word 'leader.'  

"This is your cheer bag," she explained. "Every cheerleader has a cheer bag to carry the stuff they need, like their warm-up clothes and shoes and ties."  He wondered why he needed a cheer bag and why they would need to bring it to tryouts, but he knew it was pointless saying anything, so he remained mute.  His next big worry was going outside. 

Other than spending some time in the back garden, which was secluded, he had never ventured out in his cheer clothes. 

He couldn't let his friends or people from school see him dressed like that. It would be just too humiliating. He decided to wait until his mom unlocked the car and then made a quick dash to it, hopefully before anyone recognized him.  

He held back just inside the door while his mother walked ahead. Reaching the car, she stopped and looked back at him.  "What are you doing standing there? Pull the door after you and get a move on."  

He swallowed hard and stuck his neck out a little to peer up and down the street. There was nobody around that he could see and so, taking a deep breath, he pulled the door behind him and ran down the steps to the car as fast as his legs would take him. He went to open the front door, but his mom stopped him.  

"No, Jess, sit in the back. You know, I told you, you'll be safer in the back."  

He thought that was bull because he had been sitting in the front for years before she started this nonsense but he just wanted to get out of public view before anyone saw him so he climbed in the back without complaint.  

His mom placed his cheer bag on the seat beside him and then got behind the wheel. As she started the engine, she smiled at him through the rearview mirror.  "Isn't this exciting, Jess?" she gushed. 

"I remember the first time I went to tryouts, I was so excited and so nervous at the same time. 

I know you'll do just great."  He didn't reply but slunk low in the seat to avoid being seen. As he lowered his eyes, his gaze fell on his smooth, almost shiny legs, which seemed extra long in the little cheer shorts, and he was afraid he would start to cry again.  His mom started saying other stuff about cheer but he wasn't really listening. He couldn't believe he was in this predicament. 

It was a total nightmare. 

What would happen if any of his friends saw him at tryouts? At least, his friends wouldn't be there. They wouldn't be seen dead at a thing like that. But what if he was selected for the team and actually became a cheerleader? Then everyone in school would know and his life would be over. Finished. Forever. RIP.  

Then he had an idea that maybe there was a way out of this, after all. If he screwed up his routine, really screwed it up, then he wouldn't be selected for the team, and his mother would have to drop this whole crazy idea and life would go back to normal. His friends wouldn't ever even know. 

Yes, he resolved, that's what he would do. That would be the solution to his dilemma. He smiled quietly to himself. Maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel, after all.