Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 24
Just before the bell was to ring she gave us a brief assignment; Miss Morgan explained, "We are all a minority in some way. Some of you come from a minority racial background, some of you have unique family situations, and some of you may be insecure about something." She paused before finishing, "So your assignment, due tomorrow, is to write a poem, in the style of Langston Hughes, In other words simplistic in word usage, but deep in message, about being a minority. Get personal, get passionate, dig deep to find how you are a minority in this class, this school, this city, this country or this world."
Someone asked how long and she said, "This is poetry, the length is irrelevant, write until the message shines through. You are dismissed. She sat on top of her desk and watched as we got ready to leave. She then said, "Jenny, can you please stay for a minute?"
"Sure, Miss Morgan," I responded, both eager to hear what she had to say and scared of what she may discover.
As the class dispersed, she said, "I would like you to write about this whole PomPom situation."
"Excuse me?" I asked confused.
"Well, you are a minority of one. I don't think any grade 12 has ever been a PomPon before, have they?"
"I don't think so," I responded.
"Well then, it is done," she said and stood up and went to her desk.
"Thanks Miss Morgan," I said politely and began to leave. As I was at the door I looked back, and she was still watching me. So unlike me, I gave her a wink and a smile; she instantly put her head down, but I was now pretty convinced Miss Morgan was a lesbian or at least girl curious.
After I left, I was instantly confronted by Karen who said, "Miss Morgan was so into you."
I blushed and said, "She did seem to be checking me out."
"Checking you out? She wanted to have you for supper, Karen announced.
"Well that may be extreme," I said.
"We may just have to have you seduce her, Karen concluded as we headed for the gym. Others quickly joined us, so the conversation would have to wait. The next two hours were insane. I had never put a second of thought into what cheerleaders do. I had never considered them athletes or skilled, but after watching one practice, my whole respect for them changed.
My whole body ached fifteen minutes in and that was just from the stretching. Miss Hopkins, the cheerleading coach, was a slave driver and a complete bitch. She was a perfectly fit, black woman, in her early thirties I would guess, who was pretty much Sue from Glee if you have ever watched it. She yelled, she criticized, and she humiliated all of us. Sweat poured off my whole body by the time the workout was done. The last hour was cheer after cheer and dance move after dance move. I learned I had no memory for the cheers, but I actually caught on to the dances pretty quickly. When practice ended, I was pleasantly surprised to get what I assume passes as a compliment in Miss Hopkins world as she said, "Jenny, you don't suck as much as I assumed you would."
"Um thanks," I responded, but she had already begun walking away. I showered and changed and was then asked by Sabrina to give her a neck massage, which she criticized the whole time. I was not massaging hard enough and then I was massaging too hard. I could never get it just right for her. She finally got up and said to me in a condescending tone, "You will never be a real cheerleader. She then walked away.
On the drive home Karen said, "Sabrina will come around. She is not one to accept change or any threat to her perceived power. And she sees you as a threat."
"Why?" asked, stunned.
"Don't you see? You are a diamond in the rough."
"What?"
"You are smart, cute, sexy, sweet, and I have taken a liking to you," she said, her right hand dropping to my leg. "In other words, she feels like you may replace her. She then paused as she moved her hand up my leg and under my skirt. "And she should be worried, because she is right: I hate that bitch."
I gave a soft moan as her finger touched my pussy over my underwear as she drove. As she reached my house she said, "Sol think we are going to test a theory tomorrow."
"What theory?" I asked.
"That Miss Morgan is a dyke," she blurted out, her finger tracing my pussy lips through my underwear.
"How so?" I moaned.
"Wear a pair of heels and throughout class tomorrow, dangle your shoe. Let it fall to the floor. I will watch to see her reactions," she said as she formulated the plan, her finger still teasing my now extremely damp pussy.
I finally said, "Please stop or will cum."
"So?" she teased.
"Mistress Megan said we can't."
"She would never know," she whispered her finger putting pressure on my clit.
"But I could never lie to her," I whimpered.
"Suit yourself," Karen said and withdrew her hand from under my skirt. I was disappointed and relieved as I got ready to leave. "What are you going to write your poern about?"
"Miss Morgan asked me to write it about how I became a PomPom girl," I said.
"Fuck off," Karen said shocked.
"Seriously, but I have no idea what to write."
"This is perfect," Karen sald enthusiastically,
"How so?" I asked.
"You will write a poem in which you come out to her," Karen said confidently.
"What?" I said horrified.
"If she is a dyke, this will be a perfect play."
"For what?" I asked freaking out inside.
"For you to fuck her," Karen said casually.
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