The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 16: The Play's the Thing – Reclaiming the Art of Keeping a Secret
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessWith a heavy heart, Kyle made his way to the shul downtown. It wasn't his usual Saturday ritual – he tended to go on Shabbat eve – but he needed some guidance. Not that he really imagined the big guy upstairs was ready to solve his niggling problems like some helpdesk worker, but he found the peace and quiet helpful.
It was all his mother's fault. Well, okay, that was completely unfair, but she had exacerbated it with just two sentences on the drive back from Denver last night after Kyle had insisted for the third time that Wendy was a friend and she was going out with Stan:
"Well, you want to be careful, Kyle. That girl's extremely fond of you, any fool can see that."
Kyle clearly wasn't any fool, because he hadn't seen that at all. Now his mother had pointed it out… he'd tried to reason it all away, but the more he thought about the way she touched him, the way she smiled at him – the way she'd let him feed her ice-cream last night in a way he felt utterly guilty for – it kind of made sense.
He could maybe have lived with that if he didn't feel the same way.
Kyle pushed open the shul doors and tried to pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen for Wendy. He couldn't. He recognised logically there must have been a single defining moment where his ‘I like Wendy as a friend' status morphed into ‘I'd like Wendy to sit on my face', but it eluded him. It just seemed to have grown organically, much like a huge, pulsing zit – for it too was useless and painful. He'd never act on his feelings because of Stan, who loved Wendy with all of his heart and a few other organs, too. There was just no way he'd even think about doing anything with his useless yearning because of Stan. Hell, he even felt guilty fantasising about her whilst masturbating.
That, of course, led him to be deeply confused over Wendy. If his mother was right, then was Wendy as conflicted as him? Why was she still with Stan if she didn't love him anymore? Maybe she did love him and Kyle was just some sexy curio – it wouldn't be the first time that had happened to him. Should he tell Stan? Should he just leave it alone? Jesus Christ, he sucked as a friend on every level.
At that moment, he heard the doors swing open and a familiar voice hum the title song of ‘Jesus Christ Superstar'.
"Jesus Christ, circumcised; a dick from his hip reaching to the skies—" Jesus stared at Kyle like a boy who'd been caught with porn by his mother.
"Hey, Jesus," Kyle said as casually as he could.
Jesus seemed to take the opportunity to try and make Kyle forget what he might have just heard. "You're sitting here way before the Shabbat service? You must be troubled, my child. Perhaps I can help?" he offered.
Kyle shook his head. "No thanks, Jesus – you're kind of not my prophet, remember?"
"I know, but I have been Jewish for around two thousand years longer than you. Maybe I can offer a different perspective. Anyway, how many times has my dad actually answered you when you talk to him?"
Kyle thought about pointing out that his faith meant he thought all of Jesus' talk about his dad was bullshitting, and that he never expected God to actually answer, just to give him space to think about things. Instead he shrugged.
"Okay; I think I'm in love with my best friend's girlfriend."
"And?"
"And… Well, I don't know. I think she might like me."
"So, what's the problem?"
Kyle stared at Jesus in dismay. "The problem is that it's immoral, cruel and definitely breaks a good number of commandments – remember how we've got, like over six hundred of them?"
Jesus patted Kyle on the back. "So, we can be forgiven for forgetting a couple now and then."
Kyle raised his palms in the air. "Hold up. Are you actually suggesting I should pursue my best friend's girl?"
"No!" Jesus put his feet up on the seat in front of him and criss-crossed his fingers behind his head. "I'm saying that if she likes you and you like her…"
"Dude! He's my best friend! I'm not going to betray him."
"Fine; if you don't want to be balls-deep in pussy—"
Kyle glared at him. "Aren't you supposed to offer moral guidance?"
Jesus shrugged. "Kid, you're seventeen, right?"
"Sixteen."
"Exactly. You really ought to be thinking about getting married. Now isn't the time to get picky about whether she's pretty enough, or smart enough, or if she's dating your best friend."
"I'm sixteen!"
"So, you've only got a few years left."
"Great; this is what your two thousand years of experience can offer? An outdated opinion on the institution of marriage?" Kyle grumbled, sinking into the seat.
"I don't know why you're even here," Jesus said. "You've made your mind up that you want to deny your feelings for the sake of your friend. What more is there to discuss?"
"How I keep doing it," Kyle replied glumly, glancing cross at the ner tamid.
Stan knocked nervously on Wendy's door. He should have been elated really – Wendy had phoned him last night and suggested a picnic up at Everglade Peak, which meant she was going to make him lunch and that they'd probably get to make out a whole lot in one of the many secluded dells. The trouble was that he was terrified about Wendy's interview and he felt truly awful about it. The bottom, selfish line was that Stan kind of hoped it hadn't gone that well. He'd follow Wendy anywhere, but following her to an Ivy League school just wasn't feasible for him – even if they took bribes, Stan's college fund would barely cover their tuition fees, and he wasn't convinced they'd accept sexual favours as an alternative to an amazing GPA.
"Hey, Stan!" Wendy greeted him so enthusiastically that Stan thought he might topple over backwards as she launched herself at him.
"Hey, babe. How did it go?" he asked, hugging her back.
"I'm not sure," she confessed, holding his hands. "I'm trying to forget about it until I hear one way or the other."
Before Stan had a chance to offer any words of comfort, Wendy ducked inside and returned with a laden picnic hamper.
"Check it out; I've made sandwiches – pastrami and mayo for you because I know how much you love it, roast pepper and goats' cheese for me – and there's also fruit and chips, and I even made cupcakes!"
"Wow, you've really gone to a lot of trouble; that sounds great," Stan enthused, a little surprised by her sheer dedication to this date.
They walked to the mid-point of the peak, carrying their picnic basket between them. They had their own little spot; a secluded area to the west behind the community tree-planting project and the Sneezing Panda memorial. Nobody ever went to the pretty little spot under the shade of a pine tree which looked like all the others, except that Stan was carved his and Wendy's names into the bark with a pen-knife and framed them with a single heart.
Wendy laid down a waterproof sheet, then the picnic blanket – although it was unusually warm, the ground was still cold and wet. She knelt on one side of the blanket and patted the space beside her. Stan sat down where instructed and pulled out the soda and plastic tumblers which had been the only offering Wendy would allow him to bring.
"Did you like it? Yale, I mean?" Stan ventured after half a pastrami and mayo sandwich, unable to stand the suspense any longer. Maybe she hated it? Maybe she was all set to go to Berkley, or some other place he could drive to, if not get into.
The way her eyes shone told him that was not the case. "Oh, it was amazing, Stan! Their ecology department was so extensive, and the people knew so much, and…"
Stam smiled encouragingly, but he felt his heart sink a little. He personally had no doubt that Wendy would have aced the interview, even if that selfish part of him didn't want her to. Still, there must be decent colleges in driving distance from Yale that he could apply to.
After he'd finished a couple of sandwiches and washed them down with soda – Wendy would never kiss a meaty mouth on principle – he felt her hand rest against his on the blanket.
"Do you know where you're applying to yet?" she asked in a sweetly soft voice.
Stan shrugged. "I've been looking at a few placed. Really, though, I'd just like to go somewhere near you," he admitted.
Wendy stared at the plaid blanket all of a sudden, before looking at him with tears in her eyes. She didn't say a word, and instead kissed him softly on the lips, over and over. Stan closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the sensation of her pliant lips, her hands in his hair, on his chest, sliding down to his crotch and unzipping his fly.
Wait. What the fuck?
Stan opened his eyes to see if what he imagined was really happening. Yup, Wendy had her cool little hands all over his junk – she was currently unbuttoning his boxers and exposing him to the afternoon air.
"Wendy?" he queried, gulping away a dry throat.
"I love you, Stan," she said, before dipping her head down and putting her lips around his cock.
Jesus fucking Christ! Stan would have had to pinch himself to check he wasn't dreaming were it not for the fact that, as it turned out, getting your dick sucked was pretty unmistakeable. Wendy had tried to get the whole thing in, and when she coughed, it tickled the head to the point that he was worried he'd spurt right down her throat. She clearly gave up on that and just sucked what he could fit in. Tentatively, she wrapped a hand around the base and slid it up and down in a way that suggested she wasn't sure what to do with it. Stan wondered if it would be rude to offer her an encouraging pep talk applauding her efforts, but it didn't matter, for all that came out of his mouth were garbled moans of, "Fuck," "Baby," and "Ah!" It wasn't just the warm, wet vacuum around his dick, it was the little things such as the way her long hair brushed against his balls with every movement, the way her hand shook a little as she slowly pumped it up and down his shaft, the way she concentrated – eyes half-closed and her lashes fluttering slightly – that made him feel she cared so much about what she was doing for him.
Not that Stan figured he'd be able to let her keep going for long – a few encouraging strokes at the nape of her neck and a strangled plea to heaven later and he came before he could even warn her. She looked startled for a moment, then slowly slid her lips from his dick with a soft sucking sound before staring as though uncertain what to do. As hot as that blow job had been, and as grateful and thrilled as he was, Stan had to struggle not to laugh at her expression.
Eventually, she leant over and spat out his spunk in the grass near the tree.
"Don't laugh," Wendy ordered. "I've never done that before!" She looked so self-conscious, it knocked the amusement right out of Stan. He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, to express his love, devotion and overall gratitude… and eww, she tasted kind of gross. Wow, Stan really felt bad that he'd shot his load in there – it can't have been much fun for her. He was impressed she didn't gag or anything; she took it like a pro.
"That was totally amazing," he whispered into her ear as he held her tightly and kissed his way along her jaw. She leant her head against his shoulder, but said nothing. Instead, he stroked her hair tenderly with his hand.
"You know, babe, I'd totally eat you out if you wanted," he said, letting his fingers trail over her thigh to illustrate his point.
"Yeah, I don't think… Maybe another time…" Her voice wavered in a way that made Stan's heart plummet.
"Wendy? Are you crying?" he ventured warily.
"I'm fine," she insisted, but Stan saw her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just… It was a bit scary."
Stan held her even more tightly in his arms. "Oh, babe. You never have to do anything for me, okay? If you're not comfortable, we stop. It doesn't matter how far we've gone, okay? You matter way more to me than a blow job." He paused momentarily. "I love you, babe," he added, before he kissed the top of her head again.
He felt Wendy squeeze his hand.
"I know, Stan," she said, and he thought her voice sounded oddly melancholic.
Kyle was running through his lines again – he pretty much knew them off by heart now, but it didn't hurt to keep on top of it – when his mother burst in without knocking.
"Ma!" he yelled. "Don't just barge in uninvited!"
"For Abraham's sake, Kyle – it's one time!" she yelled back.
"I could have been masturbating into my Tefillin over shark porn for all you—"
"Kyle! Have you seen Ike?" His mother was clearly thoroughly exasperated and he could tell his jokes were making things worse.
"No, I haven't," he replied. "Isn't he with Dad?"
His mother shook her head. "I already asked him; he thought he was with you." Her voice had that familiar edge of sheer panic to it, and Kyle knew he had to do something before she veered towards a nervous breakdown.
"He can't have gone far. Do you want me to check his after-school clubs?" Kyle offered.
"Thank you, Bubbeleh. I'll check his friends' parents," his mother replied before dashing off to grab the phone.
Before Kyle went to put his sneakers on and make the drive to Ike's school, he took a quick look in Ike's room just in case the little sod was messing about. He passed the airing cupboard and noticed Wendy's clothes were still there – damn, he wished she'd pick them up; every time he walked past he got a faint scent of her and it was beginning to drive him mad. He was going to have to just dump them round hers one day.
Peering around the doorway and entering Ike's freakishly tidy room, Kyle could see that Ike clearly wasn't there, but just as he realised Wendy's underwear was missing from the airing cupboard and that was fucking strange, he saw a sealed envelope on Ike's pillow addressed to ‘Kyle, Sheila and Gerald'. That was even fucking weirder than the missing underwear conundrum.
He turned the envelope over in his hand and ripped it open. Pulling out the letter within, he read Ike's short, yet worryingly to the point, note in his neat script.
‘Dear Kyle, Sheila and Gerald. I know. I've known for a while. I don't know where I fit in anymore. I was made to feel like I don't belong in elementary school, I don't belong in my hockey team, I'm not nerdy enough for BC and now I'm not even a Broflovski. Do I fit in anywhere? I feel like a lost jigsaw piece of Niagara Falls that everyone keeps trying to shove in a puzzle of the Statue of Liberty. I need to find my Niagara Falls jigsaw. Don't worry about me. Thanks for everything, Ike.'
Kyle hastily checked Ike's closet – very little was missing, but it was enough. Most importantly, his Ben 10 back pack was gone.
Fuck.
"Mom!" Kyle ran down the stairs three at a time and nearly fell flat on his face.
"Kyle?"
He silently handed her Ike's letter and had to watch her turn three shades paler.
"Gerald!" Her voice was quiet and brittle; for a moment Kyle thought she might faint.
"What is it, honey?" His father ambled in from the kitchen, dishcloth in hand. When his mother silently handed him the letter, Kyle could see his heart break as he read it.
"Kyle, did you talk to Ike about him being… being adopted?" he asked.
"Of course not! If he'd asked me anything, I'd have told you!" Kyle snapped, before grabbing his jacket and shoving on his sneakers.
"I'll see if I can find him; he can't have gone far," he announced, picking up his car keys. Somebody had to do something and clearly his parents were in too much shock to deal with it effectively.
"Kyle?" he had never heard his mother sound so helpless.
"Dad, phone the train and greyhound stations, see if they can stop him getting on – they'll at least know if he bought a ticket. Phone the airport, too."
"The airport? Kyle, he's eleven; how could he get on an airplane by himself?"
"Mom, it's Ike," Kyle replied simply. "I'll check the stations, his hang outs… anywhere I can think of."
His mother nodded silently. Leaving his father to comfort her, Kyle left the house and clambered into his car.
God damn it – why didn't Ike say anything? How long had he even known? Jesus fucking Christ, even if he felt cut off from everyone else, he could have talked to him… who wasn't adopted and thus part of the family he didn't feel he belonged to. Fuck! Someone must have told him; if he'd been researching on his computer, Kyle would have known – he always had to clear porn off it at Ike's embarrassed request, so he would have seen any genealogical records. If Kyle ever found out who told him without letting him know, he'd fucking kill them. Slowly. Meat hooks would probably be involved.
He tried the ice-hockey rink first; it was closest and Coach Thompson was always there on evenings – he knew all the kids and could probably ring around for him.
Kyle found him sorting through pucks in the gym cupboard.
"I'm sorry, Kyle. I haven't seen him," he said, "Come to think of it, he has been really quiet this week. It's not like him; he's usually smacking the kids about with—"
"And it didn't cross your mind to let any of us know?" Kyle retorted icily. God damn it, how long had poor Ike been nursing all of this?
After giving Coach Thompson terse instructions to try the rest of the team and to phone him the second he got any information, Kyle barrelled into his car, desperate to continue his search.
Normally, Cartman was rather adverse to any form of physical exercise, but he found he tended to think more clearly on a walk. This evening, he had a lot to think about, such as the play – which was rapidly approaching its debut, to his SATs – which he realised he really was going to have to do something about, as bullshit as he found the whole affair… Well, to be honest, he had a lot to think about, but every time he tried, his mind took a wander down to Kyle Street and stayed there. Fucking Kyle.
Although, maybe he could get Kyle to tutor him…? No, bad idea. He'd never fucking concentrate on anything except Kyle's big Bambi eyes, and this as exactly the problem. If he was going to give a fuck about anything, it ought to be his cock, or his ass, or something like that. Not his fucking eyes, that was just gay.
Jesus, he had it bad. Right, that did it; time to forget about the obnoxiously beautiful Jew asshole and concentrate on that tricky shift between Lucy being turned and Mina being rushed down the aisle by Jonathan.
Just as he'd considered the merits of showing the two scenes side by side on stage to highlight the contrast between both Lucy and Mina's sexual awakening – it was the sort of shit Kyle would approve of – he heard sniffling. He looked down at the sidewalk and nearly tripped over a familiar dark-haired little Canadian brat. Ike was crying into his sleeve like some Emo douche.
"What's up with your face?" Cartman demanded. Ike barely looked up.
"Oh, it's you," he mumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"What's up?" Cartman asked again, trying very hard not to give the little snot the verbal smackdown, because he knew it would piss Kyle off.
"Everything I've ever known was a lie!" he yelled, tears streaming down his face.
"Chill, you little pecker; don't go slitting your wrists over it." For some reason, Cartman found himself sitting next to Ike on the sidewalk.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Ike lamented. "Was it some kind of joke? Why did I have to find out from you?"
"Find out from me?"
"Yeah, about being adopted."
Whoops. Cartman hoped to God Ike hadn't mentioned this to Kyle. He had to do some swift damage control.
"Maybe they just don't' care? I mean, Kyle totally sees you as his little brother," Cartman offered.
Ike simply sniffled. "Nah uh."
"Sure he does. You know, years ago, when you were probably still crapping in your diapers, the Canadian government took you and gave you back to your birth parents."
"Really?"
"It was awful." Cartman felt himself tear up at the memory. "The whole town gave their Christmas money to your family to help them fight to get you back. We had no presents. I was nine, Ike, and Christmas got cancelled." He grabbed Ike's arm and twisted it hard.
"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Ike grumbled, rubbing his arm.
"Nine year old me made a promise I'd do that once you were older," Cartman replied, suddenly surprised that he hadn't done it sooner. "Anyway, my point is, your douchebag of a brother dragged us all away across the ass-end of Canada to make the government give you back."
Ike stopped sniffing and looked up at Cartman. "He… He what?"
"I know; we missed Christmas. I know it means fuck all to you Jew assholes, but it was fucking weak. Whatever, he's got to love you to go to all that trouble."
Ike appeared rather thoughtful. "Yeah. You wouldn't do that, would you?"
"Fuck no. I'd have left you there – I don't know why he had to fucking drag us into it," Cartman pointed out crossly.
Ike seemed to brighten a little at this. "Yeah. Thanks, Eric. I think… I think I need to get my head around all of this," he said as he got up from the sidewalk and wiped his eyes.
"Yeah, whatever Just keep this between us; there's no need for your dickwad of a brother to find out," Cartman urged, grabbing Ike's shoulder. The last thing he needed was for Kyle to find out before he was ready; what if he just freaked out and ran into Stan's handsome, devious arms? No, Cartman wanted the time to be right. It needed to be when Kyle understood what Stan was putting him through and would let Cartman show him how good a real man could feel. He'd literally kiss his ass; he'd lie him face down and naked on his bed like a masseur, then spread apart his ass cheeks and kiss him right on the anus before licking him slowly up and down, murmuring how Stan would never do this, Stan would never devote his tongue to him like this, Stan would never take the time to make him so deliciously drenched with his spit before grabbing his cock and shoving it right up his –
"Okay. I'm going to go now." Ike sounded quite perturbed as he pulled away from Cartman's grip, then stepped away and ran off into the night. Cartman glanced down at his tented pants and sighed. God damn it, did Ike seriously think…? That was all he needed. Fucking Kyle fucking Broflovski.
Wendy was crossing the street to Bebe's with her overnight bag on her shoulder, when she had to leap out of the way of an oncoming – and speeding – car.
"Hey, watch it!" she yelled after the offending vehicle, only for the car to stop and reverse up to her. She instantly regretted her outburst; her handful of Judo lessons probably wouldn't help against some burly, angry man ready to rip her a new one for daring to cross his path.
To her relief – sort of – the tall rangy figure that stepped out of the car was Kyle.
"Fuck! Sorry, Wendy." He looked deeply agitated, and against all of her better judgement, she went up to him and placed her hand on the small of his back.
"What's the matter, Kyle?" she asked.
Kyle ran a hand through his unruly curls. "Ike's run away. Some asshole told him he was adopted and he just went." He looked near tears. "He left a note about how he needed to find himself – we'd fucking help him find himself!" Apparently needing something to take his frustration out on, he kicked his rear tyre.
"Kyle, come on. It'll be okay – have you tried the Greyhound station?"
"I've tried the Greyhound station, the train station, his school his hockey coach, his friends, two of his bullies, the airport, all the gaming haunts—"
"You went to Denver?" South Park didn't have any gaming haunts, to Wendy's knowledge.
"Yeah, nothing." He slumped on the hood of his car. "I'm out of ideas, Wendy."
Wendy knew what she should do; she should tell Kyle how awful that was, tell him she was sure Stan would be around to help him and gone on her merry way to Bebe's house. Instead, she squeezed his hand and said, "I can help you look," and clambered into the passenger seat of his car, because she was that much of a moron and couldn't resist his sad eyes.
Wendy hadn't been in Kyle's car before, and it seemed really, really small – which made no sense as he was pretty much driving a boat with wheels. Everywhere with Kyle felt too close.
"What sort of things does Ike like to do? I mean besides play video games?" Wendy asked.
"Gah – he likes dinosaurs?" Kyle offered anxiously. "Umm… rockets? Books?"
Wendy watched Kyle as he stared at the road as though it was an opponent to be fought. She'd never seen him this freaked out before; he needed a hug. Not from her; she shouldn't offer Kyle a hug, as much as she wanted to… she didn't! She didn't want to!
Suddenly, Wendy felt Kyle's cool hand press down on hers.
"Sorry, Wendy. I really appreciate you being here, but for the love of Abraham, quit tapping out ‘Careless Whisper' on my dashboard," he insisted, his long, thin fingers sliding between hers.
"Might he try and hideout in the library?" she suggested in an attempt to distract herself from the awful, wonderful, feeling his touch elicited inside her. "I know it's closed, but maybe he snuck in? It wouldn't be too hard to—"
Without any warning, Kyle took her hand and brought it to his lips.
"You're a fucking genius, Wendy," he said excitedly, before suddenly dropping her hand and speeding off down the road. She could still feel a tingle from where he had kissed her.
The library looked completely closed and deserted as Kyle slowed to a crawl and did a circuit of the town square. He soon pulled over.
"I'm going to check it out on foot. Coming?"
"Sure," Wendy replied fairly certain he could have asked her to accompany him to the ninth circle of hell and she'd have accepted. This worried her greatly.
Their little late-night stroll around the library building soon took them to a window that looked wide enough for a small eleven year old to crawl through. Kyle yanked it open further.
"You go first; that way I can catch you if you fall," he said, before grabbing her under her butt and shoving her upwards. Damn, he had strong hands… Wendy shook all thoughts of Kyle's hands, their properties and their proximity to her sensitive areas and instead crawled through the open window and into the library. Jesus, what was she thinking? Breaking into a dark local library at eight o'clock in the evening was an utterly ridiculous thing to be doing, especially for someone that wasn't her sibling.
She almost jumped out of her skin as she felt Kyle's unmistakeable hands on her waist.
"Oi, shift your ass!" Kyle hissed, shoving her aside as he scrambled ungainly through the window and half-rolled, half-clambered to his feet.
"Can you see anything?" he asked.
"Well, no; it's pitch black in here," she whispered back, holding her breath as she felt Kyle's warm body brush against her own. She heard a click, and saw his face illuminated eerily by flashlight.
"Were you planning on doing some breaking and entering this evening, or do you always carry one of those?" she asked sarcastically.
She heard the rustle of fabric as Kyle shrugged. "I was a Jewish Scout. Always prepared."
"I thought Jewish Scouts was all about religious learning?" Wendy asked, but Kyle didn't elaborate further. Instead, he shone the flashlight above their heads and hammily remarked, "Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania." He strode off before Wendy could respond with the appropriate Shakespeare quotation.
There was something really rather creepy about their tiny town library in the dark; Wendy found herself reaching for Kyle's hand irrespective of her feelings and found herself grateful when he squeezed it comfortingly. The rays of light from his flashlight licked up at the signs above each room; Sci-Fi and Fantasy, Fiction A-Z, Geography. It wasn't a total shock to find Ike sitting in the Local History section in front of the single shelf of genealogy information, but she squeezed Kyle's arm in a comforting motion all the same.
"Hey, buddy," Kyle said gently, aiming his flashlight just above Ike's head.
To Kyle's apparent bewilderment, Ike simply looked up at him, walked over and quietly took his hand. Wendy couldn't help but tidy his books away – that was at least something useful she could do.
She felt Kyle's arms around her almost immediately. "Thanks, Wendy," he whispered against her ear, before suddenly letting her go, and leaving her oddly cold.
Ike was worryingly silent as Kyle drove Wendy back to Bebe's. All throughout the journey, Kyle had been desperately thinking about what to say and how he could reassure his little brother, but he had drawn a blank. Usually he was so good with words.
He reached Bebe's house and Wendy jumped out of the back seat, and then stood by his open window with her bag slung over her shoulder.
"I'm glad you found him, Kyle," she said in a kind voice, before reaching through and touching his shoulder gently.
"Thanks, Wendy," Kyle replied as he watched her leave, grateful for her brainwave… and her company, which he felt agonisingly guilty over. He knew what he should have done when Wendy offered her assistance – he should have politely declined, said he would call Stan and left her to her evening with Bebe. He was a fucking moron sometimes.
"I don't want to go home," Ike suddenly announced from the front passenger seat. "Not just yet."
"Okay," Kyle replied softly, as though speaking to a dangerous psychopath who could snap and take out a street of shoppers if he said the wrong thing. "Where do you want to go?"
"Just around."
Kyle shrugged and took the car on a slow-ish crawl around town. He said nothing, and instead waited for Ike to speak. Sadly, he realised very quickly that Ike wasn't going to crack before he did.
"I'd have told you if you'd asked, dude," he said quietly. "But whatever, you're my little brother."
"I know," Ike replied in a relatively cheerful voice, which floored Kyle.
"You do?"
"Sure," he said and flashed a genuine smile – Kyle could spot a fake Ike smile at ten paces. Then, to Kyle's amazement, he grabbed him around the waist and hugged him tightly. Kyle had to pull over to hug him back, and to avoid crashing into the nearby parked cars.
"Our folks were fucking terrified, by the way," Kyle pointed out as Ike slowly let him go.
"Sorry." Ike looked a little frightened. "Is Mom going to kill me?"
"I think you'll get away with losing a limb," Kyle replied with a wry smile.
They drove along the main street for a few minutes before Ike completely changed the subject. "She likes you."
"Huh?"
"That Wendy girl. She likes you." Ike clarified his point by making exaggerated kissing noises.
"She does not," Kyle retorted, though he felt his cheeks start to glow. "She's Stan's girlfriend and has been for years."
Ike shrugged. "Whatever. She likes you." He giggled. "She wants to marry you and have your babies," he insisted in a weird singsong voice.
"Shut up, idiot!" Kyle shoved Ike on the arm to further elucidate his point. Ike merely responded by making further kissing sounds, punctuated only with, "Oh, Kyle! You're so handsome!" every so often.
"Quit it, asshole!" Kyle said with a smile as he grabbed at Ike's t-shirt, only to reveal a distinctive shiny black strap across his arm.
"Dude, is that Wendy's underwear?" Kyle asked, doing his best to keep his voice neutral and calm. He supposed it at least explained the mystery of Wendy's missing lingerie, although the prospect of some pantie-sniffing pervert raiding their house at the dead of night didn't seem quite so horrific.
Ike looked as though he'd been caught with the worst porno since ‘Animal Farm'.
"I like that they're silky," he stammered, before falling silent for a brief moment. "You promise not to tell anyone?"
"Dude, trust me. I don't want to have to explain this to anyone," Kyle insisted. "Your secret's safe with me."
By the time Wendy arrived at Bebe's, she was astounded that she hadn't just simply burst into tears. Everything was so confusing – she didn't even realise it was possible to feel so much all at once.
Bebe took one look at her and ushered her upstairs to her room.
"What happened, Wendy? You look awful!"
"Oh, Thanks," Wendy quipped, but her heart wasn't in it. Instead she sank onto Bebe's bed, feeling utterly defeated.
"Talk to me," Bebe urged, lying beside her.
Wendy didn't even know where to start. Stan, Kyle, Kyle, Stan… it was just all consuming. Wendy was relieved she had completed her SATs already, because she was genuinely beginning to doubt her ability to study for them adequately. She loved Stan, she knew this. They'd been dating for years, they'd got to third base together – kind of… but she just seemed to click with Kyle intellectually. He'd gone from being Stan's annoying best friend who was always in the background to being her friend too, but what scared her the most was the single dark secret she scarcely dared to admit even to herself – while she felt a little anxious when Stan's hands stared to roam towards places they probably shouldn't, she couldn't imagine wanting to stop Kyle's. That thought alone made her feel exquisitely guilty, tortured and excited all at once.
"Erm, Wendy?" Bebe ventured uncertainly after Wendy had babbled this out with red hot cheeks and an uneasy sloshing feeling in her stomach.
"Yes?"
"Let's… Let's just suppose I was wrong when I said this three and three-quarter itch thing would just blow over," she offered awkwardly. "For argument's sake."
"Okay," Wendy replied nervously, feeling her whole body tense at the prospect of what was to come.
Bebe started to fiddle with one of her many satin cushions, not quite meeting Wendy's desperate stare.
"So what? You think I should just kiss Kyle and get it out of my system?" Wendy suggested hopefully. All she wanted was to get over these weird feelings for Kyle and get things back to normal with Stan.
"No!" Bebe was surprisingly insistent.
"Oh, I get it. You're jealous," Wendy teased. "You' hate it if I ever made out with Kyle because you once—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Wendy, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why can't you see what's going on?" Bebe snapped, stunning Wendy into silence.
"Bebe?" Wendy ventured after a long, awkward pause.
Bebe sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "It isn't complicated, Wendy," she said, finally looking right at her. "You're in love with Kyle. That's all there is to it. You don't love Stan anymore, you love Kyle."
Wendy felt as though all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room and she'd been given a tank of nitrous oxide in return. She giggled nervously. "What?"
Bebe sighed – not impatiently, but with pity. "Every time we talk about anything these days – literally anything – you bring Kyle into the conversation. Your eyes light up whenever he says hello to you. I've watched you in rehearsals and, frankly, I'm surprised Stan hasn't said anything to you, because it's really, really obvious that you want to be locking lips with Kyle." She sat back with an expression of grim satisfaction on her face, as though she was almost pleased that Wendy was suddenly left drowning.
"N… No, that's not true," Wendy protested. "I gave Stan a… a blow job just last week!"
Bebe stared at her. "Seriously?"
"Yes! He… you know, and everything!" Wendy felt herself blush furiously at the memory.
"Did you swallow?" Bebe challenged.
"Not exactly… No, I didn't," she admitted, "but it tasted pretty disgusting—"
"You'd have swallowed if it was Kyle," Bebe shot back and Wendy felt her face burn.
"That's lies and slander, Bebe Stevens!" she retorted crossly. Bebe merely raised her palms in surrender.
"I just meant his jizz tastes alright – seriously, it's way better than Clyde's." Her eyes suddenly narrowed sharply. "Did you think about Kyle to get through it?" she asked.
"Of course not! How… How awful!" Wendy stammered, as a little niggle in the back of her mind made her wonder. Bebe sat back and folded her arms, but said nothing more; Wendy felt the silence was more incriminating that anything else she could have said.
"Look, I love Stan, okay!"
"I'm not saying… You two have been together for a long time and I'm sure you still care for him deeply, but answer me this: when you imagine what it would be like to make love to them – and I know you have imagined it – who's the one you'd have to struggle to stop yourself from giving up your V plates to? Who's the one who just destroys your self-control?"
Wendy tried desperately hard to push away thoughts of Kyle's cold hands and warm body, skin on skin contact of long fingers and soft red lips, red curls brushing against pale thighs and a quiver of ecstasy as she surrendered to his firm guidance.
"I love Stan, okay!" Wendy yelled. "And to prove it, I'll give him my V plates! My parents are out of town the night before the play – I'll do it then!"
Bebe looked horrified. "Jesus, Wendy – listen to yourself! You're going to screw Stan to prove a point to me? Not only is that a shitty reason to have sex with anyone, but it's totally against everything you've ever said about the matter since we were thirteen. Just… Just get over yourself and admit you're head over heels for Kyle. If not to me, then please just admit it to yourself!"
Wendy felt as though she had just been slapped. "I… I love Stan, okay?" she insisted. "Now, let's just change the subject."
Bebe sighed. "Alright, Wendy," she agreed, "but on your head be it."
When Stan read the note Wendy had hastily stuffed into his hand during Geography – one of their few lessons together – he wasn't sure which head would explode first. The note simply said:
‘Parents out tonight. Come over at 7:30. I'll cook, you can spend the night ;) – x'
What had got Stan all flustered wasn't the thought of Wendy's cooking, but the little winking face she had included. No supervision, winking face, the pretence of food, the stopping over… Stan knew what had to be on Wendy's mind, and it was the sole reason he was waiting at Kyle's locker for him to finish his AP Physics class. If there was any time he needed his best buddy, it was now.
He saw Kyle head towards him, deep in thought as usual.
"Dude!" he shouted the second Kyle was within shouting distance.
"Hmm?" Kyle looked at him, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Stan casually handed him a ziplock bag.
"There was another one. I sorted it for you," he said, gesturing towards the pair of used panties within. Kyle's tutees had got increasing desperate of late; Kyle was wearily bagging the evidence as it showed up draped over his locker.
"Great," Kyle replied sadly, holding the bag between his thumb and forefinger as though it were toxic waste before dropping it into a generally unused section of his backpack.
Stan showed him the note as Kyle was twiddling the combination of his locker, and he saw Kyle freeze mid-way through.
"I know. Pretty sweet, huh? I'm so fucking nervous!"
Kyle still had his hand on the locker door, his combination unfinished. Stan laughed, Kyle was even more surprised than he was! He reached over to finish the combination for him and Kyle jumped as the locker opened.
"Dude?" Stan queried. He was expecting his best friend to be at least a little excited for him. Then Stan suddenly felt guilty – Kyle wasn't in any position to join him in losing his virginity anytime soon; maybe be felt like he was rubbing his face in it?
Suddenly Kyle looked up and grinned. "Wow. That's cool, man," he said, although to Stan his smile seemed a little forced.
"Yeah… Are you okay, dude?"
Kyle shook his head a little. "Yeah, of course."
Stan felt Kyle slap him hard on the back. "Congrats," he said before his expression suddenly turned serious. "You will use protection, right?"
"Of course! Dude, I've had a stash ready since, like, the second I turned sixteen and it's all still in date!" Stan felt butterflies flare up in his stomach just from the thought of finally being able to use his ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm' pack with Wendy.
Kyle switched his books with the speed of a bullet. "I've got to go, man, but we can catch up later, yeah?" he said before practically dashing off, leaving Stan staring at his rapidly shrinking back. What the hell was up with him?
Regardless of Kyle, Stan couldn't stop thinking about tonight. He looked at his watch and willed the numbers to change to 7:30 more quickly.
Kyle rushed to rehearsals and pretended to study his script so as to avoid seeing Stan and Wendy canoodling in the back. God damn it, he was being pathetic. He had no right to feel anything other than happiness and relief for Stan, but the thought of him with Wendy, undressing Wendy, inside Wendy, made him feel quite nauseated and had resulted in him re-reading one paragraph on ligands seven times in his Chemistry class. Even just watching Stan glance excitedly at his watch made Kyle want to stab things.
He tried to pull himself together during the dress rehearsal – no matter how hot Wendy looked in the weirdly cute period piece Bebe had rustled up for her, it wasn't his place to care. Nevertheless, he did allow a little of his frustration to seep out during the scene where Dracula turns Mina, and to his shame he grabbed Wendy more roughly than usual and definitely bit her neck harder than he would have ordinarily done. When she looked up at him, all pink cheeked and shocked, he felt a stab of guilt. God dam it, he wasn't even any good at being spurned.
"Sup, Jew?" Cartman sat beside him, and Kyle braced himself for some sort of personal attack – even though Cartman had been suspiciously polite to him of late, he was waiting for the change.
"Shouldn't you be directing?"
"It's the dress rehearsal, asshole. You lot someone managed to do as you were told and make this work, so my work here is minimal. Thanks," Cartman added in a grudging tone as he glanced up at him. Kyle made a great show of clutching his heart.
"I'm truly touched by your outpouring of gratitude," he said in his most sarcastic tone. Cartman glared at him momentarily, then looked at the floor.
"Whatever, Jew. I mean it, you've been… you know." He stared at his hands as though he was awaiting an extra finger to appear. "You doing anything tonight? I mean after the rehearsal?"
"Kenny's taking his sister ice-skating, and Stan's—" Kyle tried not to think about Stan slowly uncovering Wendy's doubtlessly beautiful naked form and tasting the salt of her skin— "Stan's busy as well."
Cartman shrugged. "Seeing the hippie bitch, is he?"
"Yeah," Kyle replied, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "And don't call her that."
"Let's go out," Cartman announced suddenly, clasping his hands together as though it were a done deal. "My treat."
This made Kyle sit up and feel instantly wary.
"What? You're tighter than a wrestler's pants; what's the big deal?"
"I said you'd been a help, and I know your Jew blood won't allow you to turn down a free lunch, so let's do it. Denny's and a movie tonight, what do you say? You're fucking driving, anyway; don't expect me to sub the gas." Cartman insisted without meeting his eyes. Kyle was almost certain there was a mother of an ulterior motive to this grand plan – it was Cartman, after all – but it still seemed a better idea than hanging around at home thinking about all the many and varied ways Wendy's cherry was getting popped.
"Fine. Cool," Kyle replied. "But not Denny's – I keep Kosher now that I'm a man. Not that I'd expect you to—"
"Denny's had a new menu – they'd got a Jew-friendly section," Cartman replied before Kyle could finish. Kyle nearly fell off his seat – since when was Cartman remotely considerate? Especially to him?
"Where the hell is her house?" Shelley demanded as she drove Stan to Wendy's.
"Near Kyle's," he replied crossly. "You didn't have to do this, you know. I could have walked."
"Dad would have got all pissy if I let his favourite son walk to a girl's house," she said with a smirk. Stan figured that he and Shelley got on better now they were both older, but he often wondered if it was just because she was at college and he didn't see her that often.
This drive to Wendy's house just caused the butterflies in Stan's stomach to multiply rapidly. What if he didn't measure up? He'd tried to compare himself to other guys in the locker room, but you couldn't really tell when they were soft and Kyle had refused to show him his when it was hard – Stan had blurted out the request last year and Kyle had told him in no uncertain terms that although their friendship had few limits, this was one of them.
What if he didn't know what he was doing? Well, he didn't know what he was doing. He'd never done this before, but then neither had Wendy. What was she expecting? Did she assume he'd just somehow know? Would he even be able to last long enough to make a good impression? He'd never seen Wendy naked before and a small part of him was terrified that the sight would be more than enough to make him pop.
"So, you do this often? Sneak off to your little girlfriend's house when her parents are out and screw her?" Shelley asked casually.
"What? No!" Stan felt himself grow very red-faced.
"Thought not." Shelley smirked again. "Nobody who's actually done it before uses ‘Trojan Her Pleasure More-Gasm'," she teased. Stan clutched his bag to his chest.
"Did you go through my stuff?" he demanded.
"Whatever, Stan. Relax," Shelley soothed. "It's your first time; you're going to suck big time, but if it's her first time as well, she's not going to know." She patted him on the shoulder and Stan figured that in a really odd way, she was probably trying to be helpful.
"Yeah. Thanks, Shelley," Stan grumbled. "Don't you have anything better to do tonight rather than hassle me?"
"Ooh, well excuse me for doing my little brother a favour," she mocked. "Well, maybe when I'm done, I'll see how your friend Kyle is."
Stan didn't like the smile that crossed Shelley's face. "What?"
"Is it just me, or did he get kind of hot since I last saw him?" she mused. "Has he got a girlfriend? Or would he appreciate someone to practice on?"
"Urgh – shut up, Shelley!" Stan groaned, covering his ears.
By the time they arrived at Wendy's house, Stan wished he could wash his brain out with bleach – he could have happily gone through his entire life never hearing what his sister thought of his best friend's ass.
Once he heard Shelley drive away, he knocked on Wendy's door and watched it creak open.
"Hi, Stan," Wendy said in a very timid voice, opening the door fully and allowing him in.
"I'm just going to freshen up," she announced almost immediately, her hand trembling in his. "Help yourself to drinks. I'll start cooking in a bit." She leant against the wall. "I thought I'd make spaghetti Bolognese, along with some bread – not garlic, obviously…" She laughed nervously, and Stan pulled her into a deep embrace.
"That sounds perfect," he assured her, a little relieved she seemed as nervous as he felt.
As Wendy dashed upstairs, Stan poked around in the kitchen for the perfect drink - nothing too gassy like soda, but nothing that could make his breath seem rancid like milk always seemed to. He eventually plumped for orange juice, and poured Wendy a glass as well to ensure they had compatible breath.
He made to sit on the Testaburgers' comfortable couch, but he barely made it to twenty seconds before his leg started to bounce in a nervous tic he thought he'd grown out of years ago. He got up and began to pace, feeling increasingly anxious the longer Wendy took. What was she doing up there? Stan began to wonder if she had a team of stylists up there sorting her out – he couldn't measure up to that; he'd only had chance to wash his balls in the sink at school before meeting her.
By the time Stan was at breaking point, Wendy shyly emerged in some dark blue dress that appeared to be held up solely by the bow tied at her neck. God damn, he wanted nothing more than to untie it. Maybe he could make an argument to forget about dinner and just head on upstairs?
"Oh my God, did you see the bit where the back of his head just randomly exploded? So fucking funny!" Kyle was in exuberant spirits as he drove Cartman home, and Cartman felt his enthusiasm rub off on him.
"That was so killer," he agreed. "What about the chick, when she ran after the killer, only he turned out to be carrying her boyfriend's severed head?"
Kyle laughed. "I know, right?"
Cartman had to admit, he had outdone himself this evening.
Somehow, they'd managed to get a small booth together at Denny's for dinner, and Kyle had been impressed by the menu.
"Wow, they actually have a Kosher section. Who knew?"
"I told you," Cartman pointed out. "You should trust me more often, Kyle."
"Yeah, right," Kyle had replied, but the smirk he had aimed at Cartman went straight to his dick, via his fast-beating heart.
"You're not seriously calling the play ‘Eric Cartman's Dracula', are you?" Kyle had asked suspiciously, and Cartman figured it was the perfect opportunity to show Kyle just what he was willing to give up to have him.
"What do you think we should call it, Kyle?" he has asked sweetly. "The posters and programmes are being printed in the morning."
He was rewarded with Kyle's curious glance; fuck, that boy had beautiful eyes.
"Well, I don't know… what's wrong with just ‘Dracula'?"
"We're redefining a classic, Kyle. Just calling it ‘Dracula' doesn't convey that."
To Cartman's amazement, Kyle seemed to seriously consider this.
"Good point, Cartman," he said thoughtfully.
They had eventually decided on ‘Dracula Unbound' and with a chink of their soda glasses over a dipping platter, it was a done deal; Cartman felt it was a shame they couldn't have had any candlelight.
They went to see ‘Killer Instinct III – The Murder Mansion' on the grounds that it was the only thing on and that it would be hilariously bad. Cartman was secretly very pleased; scary films gave your date every opportunity to grab you and bury their face in your chest, after all.
Alas, Kyle wasn't the burying his face kind of guy, despite Cartman giving him ample opportunity. Instead he had just sat, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, and watched intently, giving Cartman the chance to study him closely. His angular physique was poised, his expression stoic. When Kyle burst into laughter, his entire body reacted and became animated. Cartman had never noticed how pleasing Kyle's laugh was when he truly let go.
So now, in the passenger seat of Kyle's car, sniggering away over every stupidly hilarious moment of ‘Killer Instinct III – The Murder Mansion', Cartman felt strangely warm and happy. Things were going incredibly well – he wasn't sure he'd ever seen Kyle laugh so much and he was acutely aware that Stan's name hadn't cropped up once in their conversations.
They arrived at Cartman's house all too soon. Cartman watched as Kyle pulled over but kept the engine running.
"Thanks, man," he said with a shiny smile. "I had a great time tonight."
"Me too, Kyle. Me too," Cartman agreed, slowly unbuckling his seatbelt and wanting to stretch out the evening as long as possible. "We should do it again sometime, huh?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we should," Kyle agreed, and Cartman had to use all of his self-control not to jump him there and then. Give him time, just a little more time, and he would melt into his arms.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Cartman said casually as he opened the car door and clambered out. Always leave them wanting more.
"Sure thing; opening night and all," Kyle said happily, waving as Cartman turned around and walked to his front door, willing himself with every step to play it cool and not turn around.
He was still convinced he didn't hear Kyle drive off until he reached his doorstep. Cartman put his key in the lock with a real sense of satisfaction. They had a wrap party after their one and only performance of ‘Dracula Unbound' tomorrow night; right now, he was quite happy that silly bitch Bebe has insisted on black tie. The formal attire and the heady atmosphere of post-stage giddiness would provide the perfect surroundings to tell Kyle how he felt. That was the time Kyle would fall for him, he was certain.
Wendy locked the bathroom door and began to pace frantically. She was ready for this, she was ready for this, she was ready for this. Stan was waiting in her parents' bedroom for her and she was totally excited and not at all scared.
She sat on the side of the bath and tried to compose herself. She loved Stan and she wanted this. They'd had a lovely meal together – where Stan had made it abundantly clear that he was eager for dessert, and he didn't mean the chocolate torte Wendy had left on the kitchen table to defrost.
She splashed her face with cold water, patted it dry with a towel and unlocked the door, ready to endure… no, not endure! She wanted this; she wanted her and Stan to finally consummate their relationship.
Her heart melted a little at the sight of Stan perched on the end of her parents' bed, nervously examining a condom packet. He caught her eye and stuffed it awkwardly in his back pocket as he stood up.
"Hey, Wendy. You ready? I mean… Hey." Stan's blushing and obvious nervousness made Wendy feel a little better.
"Hey yourself," she replied, walking up to him and letting him slide his arms around her waist. He kissed her lips gently, languidly parting them and allowing his tongue to explore.
Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck and let his fingers explore familiar territory. It was almost comforting to feel Stan's hands dancing over her bare skin, although she was surprised when his hands crept down to her panties.
"Wendy," he murmured as he kissed her neck while delicately probing at her underwear. "You're so wet."
Wendy giggled nervously. She knew exactly why she was… well, how she was, and it had everything to do with Kyle's rather rough handling of her during the dress rehearsal where Dracula turned Mina.
Stan gently walked her to the bed and as she lay down, she silently berated herself. What the hell kind of new-wave feminist is turned on by being roughly manhandled? She couldn't bring herself to speak to Kyle all evening – outside of the lines they spoke to one another – out of sheer embarrassment.
She looked up from the bed and saw Stan take off his shirt as he knelt between her legs, his expression one of intense concentration.
"You sure about this, Wendy?" he asked huskily as he steadied his hands on her knees.
"I'm sure," Wendy replied, sitting up and attempting to unbutton his fly. Through nervous giggles and a team effort, they managed to get Stan's pants off, although Stan topped into Wendy when he tried to kick them away.
"Sorry, Wendy," he said between blushes and gentle laughter. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied, hugging his practically naked form close. He felt comforting and familiar; the warm weight settled against Wendy's chest felt nice and kind of safe. The way Kyle handled her today was pure danger.
With a loving smile, Stan tucked his fingers under her neck and untied her dress.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered as he tenderly peeled off her dress. Wendy couldn't help but giggle; she felt a bundle of nerves as her skin was exposed.
Stan gazed at her hungrily, and his hands trailed down to her underpants. Wendy wound her fingers into Stan's hair almost as though she was bracing herself. He was so handsome and kind; how could she want anyone other than him? As she thought this, the sudden, sharp memory of Kyle's hands pulling her flush to his angular form assaulted her; his breath, his bite, the dark tone of his voice commanding her to him…
Suddenly, Stan had squirmed out of her grip and was staring at her, aghast.
"…The fuck?" he stammered out, wide-eyed and horrified.
"Stan? What's the matter?" Wendy asked, growing cold from both his stare and his missing body heat.
"You just called me Kyle!" His voice had a tremor of fear to it. "Why would you do that?"
"I… I… Did I?" Wendy didn't recall saying anything of the sort, although she could feel her cheeks burn hotly.
"Yes, you did." Stan sounded pissed off now. "You grabbed my head and when I got your panties down over your butt, you said, ‘Oh, Kyle!' Don't try and deny it!" He sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head in his hands. Wendy hastily pulled on her panties and scrambled across the bed until she was kneeling next to him.
"Stan?" She reached over to touch his arm, but he pulled away sharply.
"Where did that even come from?"
"I… I don't know—"
"I mean, it's hardly some kind of nervous tic you've been hiding for years… do you think about Kyle when we're together? Is that it?"
"No!"
"Then why, Wendy?"
"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know why I said… I didn't mean to!"
"I should fucking hope not!" Stan shouted back, before his shoulders hunched up again.
"Stan, please; it was just nonsense," Wendy pleaded. "Let's just get back to what we were doing and forget about it."
"Wendy, I can't just forget about it!" Stan replied, standing up. "We were… We were, you know, and you called out for Kyle! We were about to screw and you were thinking about my best friend!"
He started hastily gathering up his clothes.
"Stan, wait!" Wendy begged as he pulled on his jeans. "Just… Just hold on!" She got up and attempted to hug him. "It didn't mean anything! I love you, Stan, and I'm right here," she added shyly, gesturing towards her near naked frame.
Stan simply hung his head. "I'm sorry, Wendy. I can't just forget about it," he said, pulling away from her and buttoning up his shirt. "Would you? I mean, honestly, if I'd called out Bebe's name when we were both naked and ready to go, would you be able to just carry on like nothing had happened?"
Wendy said nothing as she folded her arms over her chest. He was right, of course.
He finally looked up at her, and she could see he had tears in his eyes.
"Stan," she whispered futilely as he left the bedroom, his footsteps echoing on the stairs before she heard the front door slam shut.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Wendy simply curled up on the bed and sobbed herself to sleep.