(You call the next time you’re in town.)
Holy shit! Oh my God, you make love like no other, baby. Can you see my legs shaking in these thigh-high pleather boots? My legs don’t shake like that for no one else. Swear. To. God. You’re different. You’re special. Do you think I’m special?
(You nod.)
Tell me there’s no other, baby.
(You tell her there’s no other.)
You want more of this?
(You nod.)
Well, you just gonna have to wait. I don’t give it out like Halloween candy. I’m a lady, you know. I’ll see you soon, baby.
(Two months later)
Baby, I got something to tell you. I’m pregnant. And I’m having the baby. Don’t try and talk me out of it. Go ahead and try and talk me out of it. Go on. Try. HOW DARE YOU TRY TO TALK ME OUT OF HAVING THIS BABY? I thought you were special, and now you want to go runnin’ like a little punk bitch? Why don’t you stand up and be a man? No, no, no, see, a real man would be loving, and supportive, and would provide for his family. Oh, yes, I am family now. I’m as much family to you as your mama. Don’t you turn away from me! Don’t you walk out that door!
(You walk out the door.)
(Two months later)
I miss you, baby. Can’t we just be friends? No pressure. No sex getting in the way of things. I’d just like to see if we can have a good relationship. You know, for little baby (your name) Jr. Do you like that name? I named him after you. C’mon over, baby. Let’s see if we can work things out.
(You come over and have sex.)
What’chu mean, you have to go? No, no, no, we are here now. We are in this. You are in this. Don’t you walk out that door, you gutless motherfucker!
(throws lamp)
(Four months later)
What’chu mean, YOU GOT ANOTHER GIRL PREGNANT?! Well, who the fuck is she? Did she name her child after you like I did? She did? Well then, you got yourself one big confusing-ass problem then, don’t you? I’m not changing the name. And we’re getting married. Oh, yes we are. Or would you like me to go on Oprah and tell the whole world you ain’t nothing but a fuckin’ dog?
(You get married.)
Baby, I’m so happy. We’re gonna have a great life together. I’m gonna be a great wife. I’ll stay home, take care of the kids. We’ll get old and sit on the porch together, laughin’ at our grandkids. It’s gonna be so magic. Baby, I love you. Do you love me?
Do you?
No?
GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE.
Now, for the rest of you, your cheerleading squad may have some sort of empowering, euphemistic nickname to disguise its true purpose: the Knicks City Dancers, the Laker Girls, the Jacksonville 65 Percent Meth-Free Jazz Hands Ensemble, etc. Don’t be fooled. If it’s female, and it’s allowed to roam temporarily on your field of play, then by God it’s a cheerleader. They are meant to be ogled creepily. So feel free to ogle away. Be sure to stare one or two seconds longer than is normally appropriate (appropriate ogling time being 1.8 seconds). They’re used to it.
In recent years, many teams have increased the sex appeal of their cheerleading squads in order to sell calendars, swimsuit videos, and videos about the making of the first swimsuit video. Of course, the cheerleaders receive no royalties from the sale of these products. But they do help serve an important altruistic purpose: to create a team-branded mental archive of fresh masturbation material for fans of all ages.
Cheerleaders are an interesting breed. Yes, they’re way hot, especially when encased in a two-inch layer of high-gloss enamel foundation / body glitter. But they also make fabulous drug mules. And, above all, they love themselves some pro athlete manmeat. You, my friend, have something every cheerleader wants: a one-way ticket out of earning minimum wage, living in a group house, and being trapped in a career of semisexual indentured servitude. Being a cheerleader means having to train twelve hours a day to perform three forty-five-second dance routines that no one will pay attention to, then spending the entire off-season shuttling between any number of hotel sales manager conferences and Bar Mitzvahs. So it’s understandable that they might want to latch on to you and hold on with the grip of a thousand starving condors.