Stay with the cheerleaders!

What's that? You want to hear more about the Naked Cheerleader Walk of Shame?

Well, you're in luck. Although the girls aren't. Every muscle in Anne-Marie's body was straining to make a run for it. Every instinct was telling her to hide, to escape, to cover up. But no matter how **** she was, she just couldn't **** herself to move any faster than a very slow walk. And her traitorous arms simply refused to hide her delicious feminine charms, her secret places, her sensitive private girly bits that nobody was allowed to see but her.

Of course, the other girls were in the same predicament. All dozen or so of them. Now, I don't have time here to give you a full and detailed look at every last one of them. But, rest assured, the townsfolk of Pinkwhistle got that look. Not a single detail was spared. Every perfectly formed breast, every buttock toned from long weeks of training, every pretty little cheerleader vagina, was made the subject of an intimate inspection by hundreds of leering eyes. The shape, size and colour of each girl's intimate regions would now and forever be a matter of public record, subject of late-night taproom debates as the young men of Pinkwhistle sought to recreate that perfect moment. And they were photographed, of course, from top to toe.

You may wonder why nobody took pity on the poor nude girls, and sought to shelter them. Well, Anne-Marie Patchett was famous across town as the homecoming queen, and she hadn't exactly been slow to take advantage of it. More than one girl had suffered her sly digs and barbs about their outfits, more than one boy had suffered brutal rejection at her hands. Everyone knew the cheerleaders, and everyone claimed to like them, but secretly almost everyone wondered if they weren't getting a little too big for their britches. Well, here they were without their britches. And maybe there was a little Halloween magic at work that night, making the goods townsfolk of Pinkwhistle a little more wicked than they should have been.

It wasn't so far from the Wax Museum to the carnival gates, but the path wound through the very densest parts of the carnival. And so the squirming cheerleaders, wriggling in discomfort, burning with frustration, were **** to slow-march past crowds of astonished fairgoers. What was worse? The delight of the boys at seeing their greatest fantasy fulfilled, or the disdain of the girls at seeing their secret enemies brought low? Anne-Marie couldn't decide.

"Oh my god," she heard someone say. "I thought Hank had to be making it up. But he was right. The cheerleaders are NAKED."

As luck would have it, the carnival gates were precisely an hour away. And there was Mr. Trapp, waiting by the back door of a trailer, waving them in towards shelter. "Come on, girls," he shouted, as the hypnosis wore off and the girls immediately collapsed shrieking into nude little balls for the second time that day. "Hide in here!"