The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 3: Summer Awakening — A Rush of Blood to the Little Head
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessKyle sat perched on the edge of the bottom bunk of the cell, digging his fingers into the fabric of his trousers. That fat... Cartman was snoring. God, the noise went right through him. In, out, in, out; like a fucking saw cutting through firewood.
He stopped. He didn't want to think about firewood. He didn't want to think about anything.
Stan was lying down, eyes open but looking anywhere except at him. Kyle sighed and got up. He was royally pissed off with Stan for being such an ass about this... but at the same time, he couldn't blame him. He deserved it. He was the worst kind of friend, let alone best friend. There was no doubt in his mind he was going to have his Super Best Friend membership revoked.
He unbuttoned his blood and vomit encrusted shirt and gingerly peeled it off. That was one problem solved; he no longer smelled like closing time at the local bar. Then he stood up and walked over to Cartman with the sole intention of solving problem number two. He had a choice of kicking him in the balls or pinching his nose to force his breathing pattern to change. Normally the first option would have won out; a complete no-brainer. Today? He didn't feel like being any crueller than he already had.
Cartman snorted and writhed in an apparent attempt to gulp air into his lungs.
"Stop trying to murder Cartman," Stan said languidly. Kyle felt his muscles tense, as though awaiting a fight. Or, to be more accurate, another fight.
"I'm just trying to stop him from snoring," he replied. Stan scoffed.
"Oh, and shoving your fingers up his nose will—"
Cartman shifted in his seat and stopped snoring. Kyle looked at a surly Stan, satisfied. He grabbed the metal ladder welded to the bunk beds and climbed up to the top in two steps. In a mess of long limbs, he managed to sit on the bed with his legs dangling over the side and his hair touching the ceiling.
"You always have to be right about fucking everything, don't you?" Stan sneered.
"It's a gift," Kyle shot back, grabbing the bed rail as Stan kicked the bottom of the bed and made it shake.
Stan broke the resulting interminable silence with a resigned, "How did you do it?"
"How did I do what?" Kyle asked, fairly sure he knew what Stan meant but wanting to prolong the conversation; it passed the time, of a fashion.
"Was it flowers? Jewellery? Chocolates? Did you read her poetry? Oh, you probably wrote your own..."
"Stan, if you think any of that would sway her, you have a really low opinion of her," Kyle said, far more calmly than he felt. A click of a tongue in irritation was all Kyle needed to hear to know he had truly infuriated Stan.
"All that time together — AP classes, rehearsals; you had plenty of opportunities to worm your way into her—"
"Hey; I didn't do anything!" Kyle protested angrily; he felt the blood pump thick and hot through his veins.
Stan sighed. "That's exactly my point."
"What?"
"Don't act like you don't get it. You're supposed to be smart. Smartest guy in class, right? Or is that the school by now?" He laughed bitterly. "Still, I guess you don't have to worry about following me to college anymore. You two can head off into the sunset and get fucking married after graduation; that way you might get a room together at college, huh?"
"Stan, there's no sunset and no heading off towards it, okay?" Kyle said quietly.
He heard Stan chuckle. "So, even after all of this, she doesn't actually want you."
Kyle said nothing; it was the safest response. As much as Stan's little digs stung, Kyle knew he had the pneumatic drill that could plough open his ribcage. Truth hurts, and all that.
"I figured I'd apply to UDub," Stan said firmly. "I think you should go elsewhere."
Kyle thought back to the kitchen table at home, the letter lying there that had his mom in tears for a whole evening.
Maybe Stan had a point.
"Dude! Weak!" Stan practically pouted at Kyle. "I thought we were going to spend the summer hanging out!"
"So did I," Kyle replied miserably. "Believe me, I don't want to spend three months with my stupid cousin." He shoved his backpack to one side with the edge of his foot, just as his mother walked past with two suitcases and Ike shuffling his feet behind. He saw her pop open the trunk of their car.
Cartman sighed wearily. "God damn it, Kyle. We're practically sophomores now. You don't have to take this crap from your fat bitch of a mom..."
"Don't call my mom a bitch, you fat fuck!" Kyle snapped hotly, drawing himself up to his full height. Not for the first time, he found himself surprised that he towered over Cartman. Seven months of being woken up by aching shins had meant something after all; the downside was that all his clothes were too small.
"Cheer the fuck up, Kyle," Kenny said languidly, taking a furtive drag from a cigarette he had no doubt bummed off one of the juniors. "You're going to New York! I'd take three months with a lame cousin for three months in the Big Apple."
"That's because your family's poor, Kenny. You'd take three months of Kyle's cousin's jizz in your mouth for three bucks."
"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle felt genuinely furious on Kenny's behalf.
Stan suddenly appeared a little anxious. "Kyle, you're going to be in the New York area for three months. Won't you... you know?"
Kyle understood. "Apparently New York, New York is safe," he replied. He took one look at Stan's puzzled expression and added, "Yeah, I don't get it either. It's only, like, ten miles from Newark."
"Kyle!" his mother yelled. "Hurry up!"
Stan patted him on the shoulder. "Well, keep in touch, dude."
"I will," Kyle replied, returning the gesture just as his mother rushed up to him.
"Kyle, Bubbeleh, come on! We're going to miss the flight. Put your bag in the car and..." She stopped and sniffed the air before turning to Kenny.
"Are you smoking?" she demanded. Kenny froze and hastily flicked the cigarette out of his hand.
"N... No, Mrs Broflovski," he insisted timidly. "I... My parents smoke in the house. Maybe that's what you can smell?"
He smiled angelically at her; Kyle knew it wouldn't fool his mother for a second.
"Every cigarette takes five years off your life, Kenny." She shook her head and walked back to the car.
"Sorry about that," Kyle said, feeling deeply embarrassed. Kenny shrugged.
"It's nice somebody's mom cares enough to stop me," he replied nonchalantly. Kyle suddenly felt very small.
"I'd better go," he said. "See you in three months, I guess."
Stan reached forward and gave him a hug. "Yeah, yeah. Have fun, man."
Cartman folded his arms. "You'd better not expect me to hug you, you stinking Jew."
Kyle would have retorted, but Kenny quickly interposed himself between them and stuck out his hand.
"Be safe, man. New York's crawling with hot chicks," he said with a wink as Kyle gripped his hand in a firm shake, before hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder and walking towards the car. He glanced over his shoulder at Stan's disappointed face, and then threw his bag into the trunk of the car. He waved at his friends — and Cartman — and clambered into the back of the car with Ike.
"Mom," Ike whined as their mother got into the driver's seat. "Why do we have to spend the summer with Aunt Sarah?"
"Because, Bubbeleh, she's just come out of hospital and needs me to help with the family."
"Yeah," Ike said slowly, as though talking to someone mentally deficient, "but why do we have to go?" He gestured towards himself and Kyle as their mother drove out of town.
"Because, Ike, that's why. You'll love New York," his mother enthused.
Ike harrumphed. "I'd probably love heroin, it doesn't mean I should do it for three months."
Kyle stared at his little brother for a moment. "Mom, was I this much of an asshole when I was nine?"
"No, Kyle — you were worse," his mother replied sweetly. "And watch your language!"
Ike laughed. Kyle jabbed him under the ribs with a well-placed finger and his laughter turned into hysterical giggles. Ike was so amusingly ticklish.
"Knock it off!" he yelled.
"Kyle, stop teasing your brother," their mother snapped.
"It won't be so bad," Kyle offered.
"Liar."
"We've just got to make the best of it," he whispered. "They've got museums and stuff there. We can go and look at dinosaurs."
Ike seemed to cheer at this. "Really?"
"Sure."
"Kyle, I'm going to be spending a lot of time with your aunt," his mother pointed out. The disappointment on Ike's face was palpable.
"I'll take you," Kyle promised and this seemed to do the trick.
"Yay! Dinosaurs!"
"Kyle!" His mother sounded horrified. "New York is a dangerous city!"
"Mom..." Kyle couldn't bring himself to explain. How his mother had managed to forget about what he went through in South Park every fucking week was beyond him.
"Trust me, I can handle New York," Kyle reasoned as they passed a sign to the airport.
As Ike sang a loud, improvised song about dinosaurs — which utilised the words 'Minotaurs' and 'Underscores' more than Kyle had ever know before — he began to wonder if just leaving him to be a snippy little asshole would have been more peaceful.
"Wow, a whole three months without the Jew." Cartman stretched and grinned in satisfaction. Stan wanted to punch him in the face.
Kenny shrugged. "I guess this means we can go out and hook up with chicks? No offense, but Kyle kind of harshed our buzz." He slapped Cartman and Stan on the back.
Stan rolled his eyes. "Dude, why would I want to go and hook up?"
"Fine, fine. You hang around with your hippie girlfriend crocheting or whatever; Kenny and I will climb aboard the Poontang Express!" Cartman even made an exaggerated train horn noise.
"Great," Kenny replied with far less enthusiasm.
In some ways, Stan would kind of like to be out there, hanging at the diner or the mall in Denver hollering at hot chicks. In other ways, well — why have a hamburger when you can have steak? Wendy had to be the finest prime cut he could ever imagine and... and he really detested himself for comparing his girlfriend to meat products.
"We should totally go to Denver," Cartman announced. "The girls there are, like, smoking hot."
"Or to Middle Park. The girls there are totally slutty!" Kenny added, sniggering.
"Dude!"
"I meant it as a compliment, Stan," Kenny replied earnestly. Cartman scoffed.
"Stan, seriously, you're so pussy whipped. Wendy's got you kissing her ass and she ain't even here!"
"At least I have a girlfriend," Stan retorted, and it seemed to shut Cartman up. For thirty seconds, at least.
"Did you say that to your Jew boyfriend? No wonder he fled to New York..."
"Cartman!"
The subject of Kyle and his sexuality had cropped up a number of times in the past year; mainly as a result of Cartman's endless mocking, but even Kenny had taken Stan aside and asked, "Is he? I mean, dude, it's cool with me. I just wondered.... Well, he'd tell you, wouldn't he?"
Stan had replied with a casual, "Dude, he's not said anything to me," but he did wonder. Kyle showed absolutely no interest in the opposite sex — even Butters had more of a roving eye. He'd tried to coax it out of him by commenting appreciatively on various ladies; ladies in the street, ladies on the screen, ladies in class — both teachers and pupils. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Stan hadn't quite built up the courage to flat out ask Kyle, and was currently delicately approaching ways of commenting appreciatively on men and seeing if he blushed. So far Kyle hadn't even noticed his attempts.
"Guys, I've got it!" Cartman yelled, interrupting Stan's train of thought. "Road trip."
"Road trip? Cartman, none of us have a car!"
Cartman shrugged. "Fine, whatever — Greyhound trip, then. I dunno. Go to the sluttiest parts of Colorado and get, like, totally laid."
"What about Kyle?" Stan asked.
"Jesus Christ, will you stop mooning over your boyfriend for one second and listen? Road trip. Colorado's finest. Sluts."
"I'm in," Kenny said eagerly.
"I guess Wendy might like a trip together," Stan mused. Cartman closed his eyes and sighed in irritation.
"Stan, you're really not getting the purpose of a boys' trip around the state, are you?"
"Sure he is," Kenny replied. "We're trying to bang chicks; he's trying to bang Wendy." He put his hand on Stan's shoulder. "You whisk her away on a romantic trip amongst the stars, ply her with a little wine to get her in the mood..." He winked suggestively.
Cartman scoffed. "Just spike her drink and get her panties down while she's out. Less hassle."
Stan felt himself grow almost purple with rage. "Cartman, don't you dare even joke—"
"In fairness, the only difference between my plan and Cartman's is budget," Kenny mused.
Stan sighed. Sometimes he really hated his friends.
Kyle lugged his bag, Ike's bag and... well, all of the bags up to the red brick town house with its wrought iron railings. He tried to ignore the sweat trickling down his back as his mother rang the doorbell and wiped her brow. The sun was beating down almost oppressively; Ike was effectively wilting against their mother's leg.
"Mom, Ike's fainting," Kyle pointed out. "I'd pick him up, but I think the extra weight might send me sinking into the earth."
His mother glared at him. "Don't start, Kyle."
She picked Ike up with a grunt of effort. "Bubbeleh, you're getting too big for this," she mumbled into his neck.
"I'm not starting anything," Kyle replied. "We can swap if you like." He held out a bag to show he was serious. His mother rolled her eyes; Kyle always had to bite down a smirk whenever she did anything she would reprimand him for.
The door opened and Kyle had to look down rather a long way before he could see his cousin's gel-soaked hair plastered to his skull.
"Hi Aunt Sheila," he said, all lisp and spittle. Even Kyle wasn't that bad, and he had enough metalwork in his mouth to build a model airplane with.
"Oh, Kyle; haven't you grown?" His mother grabbed Kyle and planted a huge kiss on each cheek, knocking his thick angular framed glasses as she did so. Kyle watched him grimace as she did so, but he gingerly hugged her back.
"Please, come in," he said almost mechanically as Kyle's mother barged in and set Ike down.
"Where's your mother, dear?"
"She's upstairs, convalescing," Kyle replied. "The doctors have given her antibiotics and told her to rest, but she has a really scratchy cough. Do you think it might be serious? Dr Compton says it's normal but you can never trust doctors — one minute it's normal, the next your insurance premiums are hiked; it's daylight robbery, it really is."
Kyle shook his head. His cousin Kyle was all neuroses, all stereotype and apparently fifteen going on seventy-seven.
As his mother made her way upstairs, Ike clung to Kyle shyly. Kyle and Kyle eyed each other warily. They didn't exactly hate each other, but they barely got along. Kyle Broflovski saw Kyle Schwartz as an embarrassingly stereotypical Jew; Kyle Schwartz saw Kyle Broflovski as an embarrassingly stereotypical redneck. It occurred to Kyle that both of them were probably incorrect in their assumptions, but neither of them had shifted from this stance in seven years.
"So, how are you, Kyle? Was the journey okay?" his cousin asked with the kind of bright smile on his face that Kyle instantly recognised as false.
"Fine, fine. Yourself?"
"Well, obviously Mom hasn't been well, which is a strain. You worry that the doctors are taking advantage of her health insurance. Did I mention what it's done to her premiums? Oy Vey..."
Kyle groaned internally as Kyle droned on. He felt Ike tug his arm.
"Can we go home yet?" he asked plaintively.
"Umm, can I put these bags somewhere?"
Kyle watched as his cousin glanced at him and all the luggage he was carrying,
"Oh, of course. You'll be sharing with me; Ike and Aunt Sheila are in the spare room."
Kyle heard Ike grumble behind him.
After putting Ike and his mother's bags in the spare room, he followed Kyle into his room. His cousin was still in full flow.
"... and colleges are so expensive! I mean, you get what you pay for, I suppose. Not that you have to worry about that, I imagine... I mean, it doesn't automatically follow that you'll be having a shotgun wedding when you're sixteen..."
Kyle ignored the blatant insult. Whether Kyle was having a little dig at his expense or he was genuinely oblivious was of no concern to Kyle — he knew from his mother's cheerfully smug relaying of every phone call she had with his aunt that he was wiping the floor with his cousin, academically speaking. Not that Kyle let it go to his head; when your little brother is classed as a genius, it knocks your gifted status into quite the proverbial cocked hat.
What was of concern to him, however, was Kyle's bedroom. For one, he had a bunk bed, and Kyle knew he'd have to take the top one.
"The altitude affects my asthma," Kyle offered up without Kyle even having to ask. At least on the bottom bunk, Kyle could let his long, gangly limbs hang over the edge of the bed without running the risk of falling six feet to the floor.
The biggest reason for Kyle's discomfort was the posters of girls. Girls leaning against each other smoking, girls draped over cars like pliable ornaments, girls cuddling on beds pretending to kiss; even neurotic, whiney Kyle drooled over girls.
Kyle had already confused his friends with this; he had no interest in running around hooking up — or trying to. He had no interest in celebrity girls with their tits barely covered by lacy lingerie. Stan had been making gentle, but pointed, comments that appeared to be building up to the sixty-nine thousand dollar "Are you gay?" question. Kyle had been unable to tell him the truth.
He wasn't particularly attracted to anyone.
Sure, he had appreciated the girls staring down at him — or up at him in the past few months — on an aesthetic level. He recognised that Stan's girlfriend Wendy was very pretty and he understood why the boys couldn't take their eyes off Bebe whenever she ran to reach class on time; although in Kyle's opinion they seemed to miss her pretty, old-soul eyes in favour of more obvious attributes. Yes, he asked Bebe to their school dance in seventh grade and yes, she had turned Kyle down while her friends clutched their sides in mirth, but she had done so very graciously and Kyle had always remembered that. Nevertheless, Kyle had never felt that raging, desperate longing Stan spoke of experiencing when he was alone with Wendy; or the palpable excitement Butters exuded whenever he saw a Beyoncé video on MTV. Nothing.
Kenny had given him a few dirty magazines after he'd been caught thumbing through them and deftly avoiding the pages that were stuck together. They'd certain helped speed things up in the bathroom, but Kyle's fantasies were always somewhat faceless. He was fifteen now and showed no signs of changing. He was starting to wonder if he was a bit of a freak.
His cousin hovered around him, and was suddenly anxious when Ike was on the bottom bunk bed.
"Umm, that's my bed," he commented. "I can't have other people sitting on it; I get allergies."
Ike rolled his eyes and climbed off.
"You can sit on the top bunk, Ike," Kyle offered. Ike eagerly climbed up the ladder and started playing astronauts. Meanwhile, Kyle folded his arms and looked Kyle up and down with mild disdain.
"You actually go out in those schmattas?"
Kyle looked down at his baggy jeans and baggier t-shirt; chosen to hide as much of his matchstick frame as possible. "What of it?"
Kyle shook his head. "Your pants are half way up your ankles. Do I need to continue?"
Kyle couldn't really argue with that. He swore blind he had grown a foot overnight, although in reality it was probably closer to four months. Even so, he felt like Ripley in 'Aliens' when she piloted that powered exoskeleton — everything felt like an unnatural extension of his body. He was amazed he could even get up the stairs without toppling over, let alone get on the basketball team.
"Mom says I have to take you out with me," Kyle said finally, and in a tone that suggested the idea was loathsome to him. "Don't you have anything less... less hick to wear?"
"Damn; guess I'll have to leave my wife beater and flannel shirt at the bottom of my bag." Kyle slapped his thigh in mock frustration.
"Yeah, you're such a comedian," Kyle snorted. "Just try not to embarrass me too much in front of Jenny, okay?"
Kyle tried to hide the jaw-slackened look of disbelief he could feel his face contorting into. Kyle had a girlfriend? Now he really did feel like a loser.
"I wanna see dinosaurs!" Ike chimed in.
Kyle looked at Kyle, his eyebrows quirked. "Dinosaurs?"
"I promised Ike I'd take him to the Museum of Natural History," Kyle explained.
"Fine. We can go after," Kyle conceded and Kyle realised the only time he was expected to have alone would be in the bathroom.
He figured this summer could make an interesting physics experiment about time and relativity when bored out of your fucking mind.
"So, whaddya say? Road trip?" Stan was sitting on Wendy's bed, looking up at her with his best winsome expression as he sank slowly into the fluffy purple bedspread. Alas, Wendy didn't look all that impressed.
"With Kenny? And Cartman?" Her tone conveyed more disgust than Stan thought possible. Not that he was that surprised; he knew he'd have had more luck in persuading her if Kyle were coming along, too. Despite the fact they constantly argued — or 'debated' as they called it — she seemed to hold him in higher esteem than Kenny and Cartman combined.
Wendy frowned in thought and Stan found his attention drawn to a picture of the two of them in a purple glittery stand-up frame on her white dresser. He was the sole masculine presence in a sea of glitter body spray, jewellery and colourful barrettes.
"I thought we were going to spend some time together this summer, Stan?" she said sweetly.
"And we totally would! Just, Kenny and Cartman will be around for some of it," Stan replied, taking her hand. "It'll be sweet. We can go exploring the mountains, go to the museums in Denver—" Stan hated museums, but they made Wendy happy — "sit under the stars, skinny dip in the lakes." He raised his eyebrows in a way that he hoped came across as enigmatic and sexy.
Wendy smiled and pulled her hand away gently. "But we could do all of that together. Alone together," she clarified, sitting down next to him on the bed, her knees knocking against his. "If you want to go, that's fine," she said, running her fingers through his hair and making his skin tingle, "but do you have to go for the whole summer?"
"I... I guess not." Stan felt his mind fog utterly as Wendy's index finger lightly traced the shell of his ear.
"Well, that's something," Wendy whispered into his ear, causing shivers to run through every fibre of his being. They built to a delicious crescendo as she started to chase her whispers with delicate kisses.
"I... Um... I, uh..." Stan felt her cool little hand crawl up his thigh and tug at his belt loops.
"Kiss me, Stan," she urged. As Stan eagerly complied with her wishes, he knew he was going nowhere.
"God damn it!" Cartman glared at his phone. Fucking Stan and his fucking hippie slut girlfriend. She had clearly seduced him away from having any fun this summer, eschewing their manly pursuits for... for whatever boring shit chicks liked to do.
"Just us then?" Kenny remarked, one hand holding a pair of greying underpants, the other on his ratty backpack.
"Yeah; Stan's too busy being pussy whipped."
Kenny smirked. "Good luck to him, I say. But I don't think she'll put out. I'd imagine trying to get into Wendy's panties would be like trying to steal the crown jewels of Buckingham Palace," Kenny replied, his expression thoughtful.
The very idea made Cartman's heart soar. If he could get laid before Stan and Kyle — especially Kyle, but Cartman imagined that would be embarrassingly easy — it would be the best thing ever. He would dine on it for years.
He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. "Come on, you poor piece of trash. I'd better not have to sub you all trip like some Tom."
Kenny glowered at him, clearly pissed off that he didn't have Cartman's quick wit.
"Tom? What 1970's cop drama did you crawl out of?" he grumbled, fastening his backpack and heading out of the door.
"Aren't you going to tell your mom where you're going?" Cartman asked as they got outside.
Kenny shrugged. "I left her a note. That way she'll have something to remind her when she sobers up."
Cartman laughed. "God damn your family sucks, Kenny."
Kenny glared and punched him in the arm. Cartman hoped he wasn't going to be this whiney for the entire trip.
As they trudged along the road towards the Greyhound stop, something caught Kenny's eye. Cartman deduced this after Kenny walked into a lamp post, his gaze directed across the street. In between laughing so hard at Kenny his stomach hurt, Cartman glanced across and saw what had distracted Kenny. A hottie of a chick with cropped blonde hair, a slutty denim dress, fuck me boots and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth was sitting on the hood of a sweet looking red Cadillac and in Cartman's opinion, she was eminently fuckable. He had to admire Kenny's good taste.
-Friggingodess-
"Having fun there, boys?" she called from across the street, her cigarette now trapped between her fingers, smoke billowing from between her lips. Cartman felt deeply embarrassed and was about to lay the smackdown on that poor fuck, except Kenny grinned at the hottie and shouted back, "Not as much as you. Anyone tell you you're a road hazard in that dress?"
She grinned back — God damn Kenny was good.
"You're the first, Sugar. Where you headed?"
Kenny shrugged. "Wherever the open road takes us."
She got up from the car, stubbing that cigarette out under her heel. "Sounds fun. You boys want a ride?" She gestured towards her car.
Kenny looked at Cartman as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening. Cartman shrugged. If some crazy bitch wanted to drive them around, he was all for it. He couldn't help but think it was in part down to the natural sexiness he emanated.
"Fine, bitch, but we ain't paying your God damn gas," he said, slinging his backpack into her car. Kenny stared, aghast.
"Shut the fuck up; of course we will," he replied to the woman.
"With what, fucking food stamps?" Cartman shot back. Kenny sighed and looked the hot chick in the eyes.
"Thanks," he said, bringing her hand to his lips. God damn he was smooth. And a dick.
Kenny sat up in the front, and apparently no amount of kicking the back of his seat was going to change this anytime soon.
"So, where to, boys?" the woman asked, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding yet another lit cigarette as they sped along the main road out of South Park.
"Denver," Cartman said firmly. "We're looking for hot chicks." He'd decided, on closer inspection, this slut was way too fucking old. She had to be, like, thirty or something, and she looked kind of haggard. Probably some kind of junkie. Besides, her breasts were practically rigid, and bad boob jobs weren't really Cartman's bag. Still, a ride was a ride.
"I think we've already found one," Kenny said with a wink. Cartman rolled his eyes.
"Please; we can do better than this bitch."
Kenny reached over and punched Cartman on the arm. Fucking hard, too, the little dick.
"I'm sorry about my... about Eric," Kenny said to the woman. "He's got an incurable condition; douche-baggery."
Cartman saw the bitch's smile in the rear-view mirror.
"That's cool," she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "I've got an incurable condition, too."
"What's that; hotness?" Kenny offered with a smirk.
"Cancer," she replied, stepping on the gas.
Kyle grabbed Ike's hand as they crossed the busy street. Despite his cousin practically running ahead, Kyle didn't find it very difficult to keep up.
Suddenly, he whirled round and Kyle nearly smacked straight into him.
"Listen, Kyle," he said very seriously, adjusting his glasses. "Please don't screw this up for me. I'm this close—" he mimed a tiny gap between his thumb and forefinger — "to getting Jenny to go out with me. My friends and her friends are going to be here, so my friends are going to occupy her friends so that she's got no choice but to hang out with me. I bought her a Rolex for her birthday last week, and that ought to cinch the deal. Just go and bother someone else while I'm with her, okay?"
Kyle frowned at his cousin. "You bought her a Rolex?"
"I got a good deal down at Goldstein's Pawn Shop on 7th," he said, as though this made everything make sense.
"Isn't trying to buy her affection kind of shallow, not to mention insulting? Shouldn't she just like you for you?"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "You know nothing about women, do you?"
"This is so fucking lame," Ike mumbled. Kyle squeezed his hand in an attempt at comforting him.
His cousin stopped in front of an old looking wrought iron gate. Through the railings Kyle could see neat, landscaped grounds and a white Georgian style building. The sign on the gate read 'Nin Pho's School for Girls'.
"They don't finish for summer until next month," Kyle explained. "Some of the girls board. Jenny's a day student, which makes life easier."
"Uh huh," Kyle replied, not caring at all.
A group of three guys, all with slicked-down hair and shirts with tank tops, joined them. Kyle greeted them enthusiastically, and then gestured towards Kyle.
"Guys, this is my cousin Kyle. The one I've been telling you about," he said meaningfully. Kyle didn't have to guess too hard what he'd been telling them.
"Kyle, Ike; this is Matt, Nathan and Aaron," he finished. Kyle felt Ike cling to his hand as the boys casually inclined their heads in greeting. They stood that way for a while, until Kyle felt he ought to break the silence.
"So, you all go to the same school, right?"
The boys smirked at each other. Nathan, who was distinguishable only by his blonde hair and expression that seemed to suggest he was permanently smelling farts, looked up at Kyle.
"Yeah, because that's the only way you meet other kids around here," he said disdainfully.
"We go to the same Synagogue," Aaron offered more helpfully, adjusting his thick framed glasses. Kyle nodded in understanding.
"Cool."
"I'm bored," Ike announced.
Kyle looked down at him. "We'll be going soon," he assured him.
"So," Nathan drawled in a nasally fashion, "you're the one from South Park, right?
"Uh huh."
"How's it been staying in New York City? I mean, are you missing your pick-up truck and your gun?"
"Nathan, shut up," Kyle hissed frantically. Kyle raised his eyebrows archly.
"Dunno, are you missing your butt plug?" he shot back. The other boys sniggered, but his cousin appeared horrified. Nathan had a murderous expression, but Kyle barely had time to react to it as Matt spoke up for the first time.
"You've really got a gun?" he asked, awestruck.
"No, dude. My friend's parents have, though. And I've been hunting with my best friend's uncle before."
Kyle glanced around to see his cousin's mortified expression. As soon as he caught his eye, Kyle waved his finger across his neck frantically.
Nathan snorted. "What, you just find cute, cuddly animals and shoot their brains out?"
"No, assmaster; you find animals that are overpopulating the ecosystem, shoot them in the chest because there's less room for error, then you use their meat in stews. My best friend's uncle knows a guy who buys the pelts."
"You nerds talking about 'Guild Wars' or something?" a blonde girl with heavy lip-gloss asked wryly. She wore a distinct blue and white uniform with a thigh-length skirt and fitted blouse; her tie was tied so only the thinnest part showed. Her hand appeared to be surgically attached to her hip, which jutted out at what was probably meant to be a rakish angle.
"Kyle? How do you spell 'skank'?" Ike asked with an innocent expression on his face. Kyle hushed him with a finger to his lips.
"No, we're talking about Kyle's cousin shooting bear cubs in the face," Nathan replied. "He was about to tell us how his family drives home in his U-Haul and he chops firewood before dinner."
The other boys sniggered; Kyle could tell it was taking his cousin a Herculean effort not to join in. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"First of all, my Dad's a lawyer. He has a Lincoln. Second of all, of course we chop firewood. It's a tiny mountain town. We have two seasons — winter and July. We have power cuts, and it can take the technicians days to get out there. How else are we supposed to keep warm, burn fucking snow?"
Kyle was dimly aware of the girls giggling. The blonde was staring at him in a way Kyle could only describe as weird. His cousin rushed over.
"Kyle, this is Jenny. Jenny, this is Kyle," he explained, gently taking Jenny's arm. Jenny shook him off and stuck her hand out towards Kyle.
"Oh, so you're Kyle's cousin," she said, looking him up and down in an appraising fashion. "You're much taller than he suggested."
"Well, it's kind of a new thing," Kyle admitted, shaking her hand. Ike tugged at his pant leg.
"I'm still bored," he pointed out crossly. Kyle glanced at Jenny.
"Excuse me," he said, turning to Ike. "Alright, pain in the ass. Want to ride on my shoulders?"
"Yay!" Ike jumped up and down, but allowed Kyle to pick him up and sling him onto his shoulders. He felt Ike's little hands grip at his head, and the sudden weight of Ike's chin pushing his hair down. He was also dimly aware of the sound of girls cooing.
"Oh, these are my friends; Peri, Jocasta and Beth," she said airily, pointing to a skinny girl with sleek brown hair, a sour-faced girl with blonde ringlets and a tall, curvy girl with cropped red hair. Kyle noticed another girl standing behind them; he could only make out a halo of curly brown hair.
"Who's your other friend?" he asked. Jenny rolled her eyes.
"Oh yeah, that's Rebecca," she added as the most cursory of afterthoughts. "She's not exactly a friend, more of a hanger-on. We needed to make the numbers even; what can you do, huh?"
Kyle saw the girl shyly step out from their shadow as she stuffed a book entitled 'Grandmaster Chess Volume II' in her bag; his stomach leapt up and collided with his heart. She was beautiful. Truly, awe-inspiringly hot. The kind of girl that inspired poetry; he could have written several on the spot just about the way she bit her lip. She caught his eye through her thin-rimmed glasses and smiled. Even the way her braces glinted in the summer sun took his breath away.
Jenny clicked her fingers, stuck out her thumb and flicked it back; the girls scurried away. Kyle felt an ache of disappointment.
"We should get going," his cousin pointed out, sounding oddly cross. Kyle couldn't understand it; he'd been nice to his dumb not-girlfriend, what more did he want?
"So, Kyle," Jenny said matching his stride. "You like the City, huh?"
"This is my first day out here, actually," he replied. "We got in a few days ago and have been doing family stuff until today."
"Oh; cool." She smiled. "We'll show you around. If we don't show it you, it isn't worth knowing about." Her laugh was tinkling and saccharine. Kyle didn't get it; on one hand she was being a total bitch, but on the other hand she was being quite friendly to him. He'd never understand girls.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Rebecca and his cousin talking. Well, that just took the piss. Kyle specifically told him his one job today was to hang out with any girls who could take Jenny's attention away from him, and he fucking slopes off with Kyle's new fantasy woman. He glared at him, his cousin glared back.
"So, you really hunt and chop firewood? Or were you just taking the piss for the benefit of those nerds back there?" she asked.
"I've hunted a little bit, but I do chop firewood regularly," he replied. "Why, are they hobbies of yours?"
She laughed again. "They could be... So, what does a guy like you do for fun in a mountain town?"
Kyle shrugged. "I don't know. I'm on the basketball team; but I guess mostly we just get into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Chucking rocks at cars, shooting beer cans, running black-market tooth rackets, breaking into laboratories." Kyle rattled off a list of the most believable acts he had committed.
Jenny giggled again. "Wow, I don't think I've ever met a guy so... so butch before."
Kyle replayed her words in his head and detected no trace of irony. He took a moment to bask in them solely because he had never heard, nor did he ever expect to hear, the word 'butch' used to describe him ever again.
Ike tugged at his hair.
"Ouch; what is it, squirt?"
"Why does that girl have black hair on the top and blonde hair on the bottom?" he asked loudly. Jenny looked somewhat uncomfortable at this query.
"I dye my hair, sweetie. My roots are showing a bit. No biggie," she said quietly, which suggested to Kyle it was an enormous 'biggie'.
"Mom says that only prostitutes and girls who go on 'Jerry Springer' have their roots showing," Ike announced proudly.
"Mom says that little fifth graders should shut the fuck up about girls' hair," Kyle said cheerily.
"No, she doesn't!" Ike retorted sulkily.
"So; you had a growth spurt, huh?" Jenny was looking up at him quizzically.
Kyle didn't know what to say to this. Fortunately, Jenny clarified her position. "You mentioned being tall was kind of a new thing. Plus..." She bit her lip as though to suppress a giggle as she stared at his pant legs.
"Yeah, yeah — laugh it up," Kyle replied. "I've been meaning to go and get new clothes."
Kyle felt warm fingers trace a pattern on his forearm. "Well, you know what they say about clothes making the—"
Suddenly, footsteps raced behind him. His cousin swiftly placed himself between Kyle and Jenny.
"So, you two seem to be getting on well." He shot Kyle an angry glare.
"You know what we should do? We should totally take Kyle to Macys!" Jenny announced boldly. "We can get him a new wardrobe!"
"There's really no need," Kyle protested loudly.
"Yeah!" Ike agreed. Kyle couldn't be certain which one of them appeared more horrified at this prospect.
"Stanley! Wendy's at the door!" His mom's voice had a sort of sing-song quality to it which actually kind of grated at this time of a morning.
As Stan was halfway through brushing his teeth, he quickly spat out and yelled, "Coming!" and hastily carried on brushing while he wiggled into his jeans.
"Stanley, hurry up!" his mom called again.
"Alright, alright!" He dumped his toothbrush in the sink, sprayed himself liberally with Lynx, grabbed his t-shirt and dashed down the stairs; taking two steps at a time.
Wendy was leaning against the door frame, looking as cute as can be in a little purple sundress and matching flip-flops. She was chatting amiably to his mom, but flashed him a wide smile as soon as she caught his eye.
"Hey, babe," he said, pressing a chaste, mom-friendly kiss to her lips as he finished putting his arm through the sleeve of his t-shirt. He made a point to stretch and flex subtly in the hope that Wendy might notice his... well, it wasn't so much a six-pack as maybe a three-and-a-half-pack, but still.
Her gaze lingered around his belly-button area for a moment and roamed a little around the strip of hair there — ever since Stan got his happy trail he'd made a point of letting his jeans ride that little bit lower on his hips. She bit her lip, and the only thought left in his head was just how much he wanted to shove her up against the wall and—
"Stanley, have you got your swimming trunks, honey?" Wow. His mom was better than any cold shower. They should bring her into schools for sex ed lessons; nobody would be getting anybody pregnant ever again.
"Yes, Mom," Stan said, gritting his teeth. He knew she meant well, he knew she cared but Jesus tap-dancing Christ!
"What about your towel?"
Stan grabbed his bag from the balustrade. "Right here."
"Have you put sunscreen on?"
"Mom! I'm good!"
His mom merely looked at Wendy and smiled. "You'll look after him, won't you, dear?"
"Of course, Sharon," Wendy said, taking Stan's arm. It both thrilled and alarmed him that his mother and Wendy were on first name terms. Even Kyle still called her 'Mrs M', as though she were a matronly head of MI6.
Once they finally got out of the door, Stan grabbed Wendy around the waist and pulled her into a kiss. He pressed gentle, fluttering pecks against her lips until he felt her surrender; then he went in deep.
Wendy swiftly slapped his arm. "Stan, we're keeping Bebe and Clyde waiting."
"I'm sure they can entertain themselves," he reasoned, slipping his hand under the criss-cross straps of her dress and caressing the small of her back. She pulled away, smiling, and grabbed his hand.
"Come on!" she ordered in a faux-whine. Stan made a play of reluctance, even pouted, as he followed her to a Volkswagen Beetle that he recognised as belonging to Clyde's mom.
"Hey, Clyde. Bebe," he said as he opened the door for Wendy.
"Hey!"
Stan figured from their flushed cheeks that they had indeed been keeping themselves occupied in the front seats. He clambered into the back with Wendy and tossed his bag onto the parcel shelf.
"Can you see with that there?" he asked.
Clyde laughed. "Using the rear window's for pussies," he said, speeding off before Stan had managed to fully close the door.
"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Bebe squealed. Stan fought not to roll his eyes. A day at the water park would have been his idea of fun when he was nine. He glanced across at Wendy, who appeared equally excited.
"I got a new swimsuit," she said, and Bebe's expression took on an aura of almost orgasmic pleasure.
"Oh. My. God! Show me! Did you get it at Forever 21?"
Wendy nodded, apparently barely able to contain her excitement. Bebe craned her neck to stare at her.
"Is it the one with the silver trim and the sweetheart cutaway? Ooh, tell me it's not, you bitch!"
Stan was completely in love with Wendy; he figured this out last year when she was asleep on him in that commune in Reno. He'd kind of kept it to himself, but he knew it was the real deal; the kind of in love with her that meant just hanging out with her doing nothing made his heart soar. The kind of in love that meant he knew in great detail exactly how he wanted to lose his virginity to her, right down to the time, place and setting — on her sixteenth birthday, in a room at the Ritz-Carlton, where silk stockings and vanilla frosting would be heavily involved. The kind of in love that had him hazily picturing them getting married and having kids and arguing over their shattered dreams.
None of that made the conversation he was currently being forced to listen to any more bearable.
"Sup?" Clyde asked, tilting his head back with staggering nonchalance given he was about to break the sound barrier.
"Are you really looking forward to...?" He leant in close to Clyde and whispered conspiratorially. "This is going to suck, right?"
Clyde looked surprised. "No way! It'll rock!"
Stan must have looked as sceptical as he felt, for Clyde laughed and clapped him on the shoulder with a hand Stan was pretty sure should have been involved in controlling the vehicle.
"Dude, this is going to be killer. Trust me."
By the time they arrived at the water park, the queue had stretched around to the car park, and Stan had learnt possibly every nuance of Selma Blair's post-wrap party dress. Wendy's political leanings seemed to all but evaporate around Bebe.
He felt Wendy's hand rest lightly on his arm, followed by her head flopping against his.
"It's so hot," she moaned and even her voice appeared to have wilted.
"Almost there, babe," he said comfortingly. Bebe was sitting on Clyde's shoulders, her hot-pink string bikini top doing little to keep her enormous breasts secure. Clyde also had all the bags, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to mind the group of eleven year old boys who had started loitering around them, sniggering and glancing up at Bebe as though she were a sun god.
"Hey, scram!" Stan shoved the kids away. They merely sniggered some more and tried to inexpertly chat up an uninterested Wendy. Stan wished he had Kyle's way with young boys; he seemed to know how to make them fuck off with just a different inflection in his voice. He figured it must be a big brother thing.
Once they finally got into the water park and stuffed their bags into a single locker — only one dollar between them that way — Clyde took some loose change and said, "I'm going to get drinks; what do you want?"
A few requests later, he wandered off towards the drinks stand and Stan was left alone with Wendy and Bebe.
"We should get sun loungers," Bebe piped up. "I want to work on my tan."
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Bebe, you can do that anywhere; let's go on the corkscrew ride!"
Stan couldn't help but smile as he stripped off his t-shirt; his girlfriend was way better than Clyde's.
A gaggle of ten year old girls stared at him and giggled nervously, leaving Stan to feel ridiculously proud of his physique. Wendy took his hand.
"Come on, Enrique, let's go and get a lounger for Bebe." Stan noticed she gave the girls a look of pure hatred. Was it wrong that he even loved her insane jealousy?
As Stan commandeered a lounger and plonked himself down on the edge, Bebe wiggled out of her denim booty-shorts.
"Let's go and rinse off for the pool," she instructed, unfastening Wendy's dress. Stan stared, open-mouthed, as Wendy stepped out of the sun dress to reveal a backless swimsuit with a little heart cut out of the belly button. She and Bebe skipped hand in hand to the open showers next to the pool and both ducked under the same shower head.
Stan nearly fell off the edge of the sun lounger as they started to play with each other's hair and grab each other as they whispered conspiratorially.
"Dude," he breathed, barely noticing Clyde as he pressed a plastic cup of cola into his hand.
"Told you it was worth it," he said, slapping him on the back and sitting next to him on the lounger.
Stan's eyes were on stalks as he watched the rivulets of water cascade down Wendy and Bebe's supple bodies; Wendy lithe and slender, Bebe full and curvy. Through a combination of bare flesh and their impossible swimwear, Stan could see the shape of their erect nipples, the indentation of their belly buttons — Bebe had an outie, who knew? — and that little bump at the small of the back. Their lips parted and the running water kissed them gently; Wendy pushed her wet hair out of her face and as she giggled about something with Bebe, one of her breasts appeared to brush against Bebe's.
"Dude! Did their nipples just touch?"
"Yeah. Nice. Very nice," Clyde agreed in a monotone voice that didn't match his shit-eating grin. "You wait until they start applying each other's sunscreen."
Stan felt as though he had died and gone to heaven. Then he suddenly had a sickening thought, and turned to Clyde.
"Dude! You've been staring at my girlfriend?"
Clyde shrugged. "You were staring at mine."
Stan felt himself grow red with shame. "I wasn't! I mean... I don't!"
"You saw their nipples touch."
"Well, that was a by-product of watching my girlfriend!"
"So? Seeing Wendy's side-boob was a by-product of watching my girlfriend get sunscreen massaged into her soft body."
"Side boob! What do you mean, side boob?" Stan couldn't help but feel enraged.
"What cup size do you think Bebe is?" Clyde asked casually.
"Maybe a DD, but I think the one on the left might be slightly smaller," Stan answered before he realised he had been tricked. Clyde looked at him in grim triumph.
"How about we just pretend not to notice we're drooling over both our girlfriends in a sort of package deal, okay?" Clyde suggested and Stan nodded vigorously in agreement.
A hundred or so miles west of Denver, and Cartman was bored out of his mind. They had done nothing but drive around in this admittedly sweet Cadillac while Kenny drooled over that skank Maria, who was twenty-six —God she looked rough for it — and a former nurse who had jacked it all in after getting that life sentence from God and had been travelling all over North America. Cartman was starting to think that maybe God was doing the rest of them a favour by killing her with cancer; the way she snorted when she laughed was enough to make him want to do the job himself.
"I'd love to see the Grand Canyon," Kenny said, staring out of the window.
Maria gently nudged his arm. "Do you want to go? It'll take a few days, but—"
"We're not going to fucking Utah!" Cartman yelled, slamming his fists against the leather seat. Kenny turned around and glared at him.
"It's in Arizona, actually," Maria replied sweetly. God damn she was annoying, and all Kenny could do was laugh. It's as though she wanted to get her own back for her tittie cancer or whatever it was by taking Kenny's balls.
Suddenly, she screeched to a halt and Cartman nearly went flying through the window.
"The fuck?"
"Look, boys — it's so beautiful!" Cartman peered out of the window, but all he could see were some twisted up trees, some rocks and a big pond.
Kenny looked awestruck. "Hey, do you think there might be a waterfall near those rocks?"
"Could be, up in the distance." Maria pointed somewhere and Kenny's eyes followed hungrily.
"Let's stop here," Kenny suggested.
Maria smiled. "I've got some tacos in the trunk. They'll be cold, but I like them best that way."
Finally this woman was starting to talk some sense.
As Cartman lay sprawled out on the grass — sweet, sweet tacos lining his stomach — he could maybe see what those two pussies were taking about. It was quiet and green; the tinkling water was oddly tuneful as it dribbled through the towering rocks near the stream, which flowed into the lake.
Maria hissed behind him and Kenny seemed to practically leap to her aid.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine, just a bit..." She gripped the blanket she and Kenny were huddled together on. His hands flew to her sides.
"Can I do anything?"
Maria laughed. "You can drive the car for a bit."
"Hey, no fair — I wanna drive!" Cartman demanded. It was only fair — he hadn't had his permit yet; he needed the practise.
"Sure; whatever you need," Kenny said as Maria pulled out some weird tobacco stuff in a zip-lock bag from her handbag. She rolled a cigarette paper between her fingers.
"Doesn't bother you, does it?" She asked. "I know Colorado isn't into the whole medicinal thing anymore, but it helps me."
"Go ahead," Kenny replied casually, as Maria rolled up a joint and lit it.
"I've been smoking normal roll ups in the car, by the way — I don't toke and drive," she insisted.
"It's cool, Maria."
"Why the hell do you smoke anyway, bitch? You have cancer," Cartman interjected.
Maria smirked. "What's it going to do, Eric? Kill me?" She took a deep drag and offered the joint to Kenny. He shook his head.
"I'll try some," Cartman said before he even realised the words were out of his mouth. He was amazed when Maria actually handed him the joint and figured he couldn't back out now and look as much of a pussy as Kenny.
One puff later and he felt sick and heady, but whatever.
A comfortable silence filled the air while Cartman felt his head become liberally stuffed with cotton wool.
"My folks. They do that shit a lot." Kenny's voice was a whisper. "I'm not judging. I... I just don't want to end up like that, I guess."
"You won't." Maria's voice seemed firm, yet oddly far away.
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
Cartman looked up just in time to see Maria lie down on the blanket and rest her head against Kenny's lap.
"Have we got any food left?" she asked.
"Yeah; loads." Kenny was stroking her hair like some gay-wad. "You want some? I can get you some."
"I want to give it to the next homeless person we see," she said firmly and Cartman barely suppressed a groan. Why did he always end up stuck with a bunch of God damn hippies?
Kenny smiled. "Sure. We can do that. Maybe divide it up a bit; there are loads of homeless people in Denver."
"What do you care? You're fucking dying," Cartman pointed out. Slowly, he felt a blossoming pain in his shoulder. It took him a while of staring at the worn grips and rotting rubber of Kenny's soles to realise he had kicked him. Poor piece of trash.
"Exactly." Maria appeared to be looking at him, but neither of them were the right way up and Cartman couldn't muster up the energy to interpret his surroundings. "I don't want to spend my last months in fear and misery. I want to make me happy, and I want to make other people happy; my little gift to the world. People are seldom remembered, but their acts are."
"That's awesome," Kenny said dreamily.
Cartman smirked. "Maybe you should suck my friend off; that'd make him pretty fucking happy."
"Shut up, Eric!" Kenny's face had gone a hilarious shade of red. Maria merely shrugged and smiled at him.
"So, Denver?" she enquired, sidestepping Cartman's insightful suggestion altogether.
"Denver," Kenny affirmed, and they performed a little puke-inducing fist-bump.
Maria curled up a little against Kenny. "In a bit, yeah?" she asked sleepily, pulling his arm around her.
"Yeah." Kenny was back to stroking her hair with his free hand, as though it was the most amazing thing in the world. God damn poor people sucked.
"What about this one?" Jenny was shoving garment after garment under Kyle's nose, and he couldn't bring himself to have an opinion on any of them.
"Sure, whatever," was the best he could muster up from his slouched position on the leather-esque sofa in the changing rooms of some European shop with too-loud music. Jenny had taken them into Macys, picked up a few items, shaken her head and dragged them out to a series of shops he'd never heard of.
Jenny bent over and wagged her finger at him. "Come on, you must care on some level," she insisted. "What about if I brought you a nice evening gown, huh? Would you be all, 'sure, whatever,' then?"
Kyle shrugged. "So long as there's no taffeta. It does nothing for my complexion." He smiled a little as he said this; a smile which rapidly vanished as Jenny perched herself on his knee and draped one arm around his neck.
"So, here's what I was thinking. Slim fit jeans, a v-neck tee that's actually your size—"
"What's wrong with baggy?"
Jenny rolled her eyes. "What's wrong is that you have a really nice shape and you ought to show it off."
Kyle couldn't help but burst out laughing at this. "Jenny, I look like a ladle. It's very sweet of you to try and ignore it, though."
"Bull. Shit," Jenny said in such an insistent tone, Kyle thought she might swing an interrogation lamp on him until he agreed.
"Slim jeans, v-neck tee in your size—" she jabbed him in the chest at both 'your' and 'size', presumably to emphasise her point— "and I'm thinking a jacket." She frowned and rested her hand across her chin in thought. "Yeah, a tailored jacket in navy or teal... oh, and definitely some Converse. Very hipster."
Before Kyle could protest, she was up and dashing around the menswear department. Ike was lying on the floor, looking ready to chew on the upholstery out of sheer boredom.
"It's nearly over, Ike. It has to be."
Ike glared at their cousin's back. "Doesn't she have her own Barbie doll to play with at home? Why does she have to use my brother?" he grumbled.
Kyle didn't turn around, "I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" he spat.
"Dude, what's your problem? You're not the one being made over until they surrender."
His cousin turned and glared at him; Kyle found himself backpedalling. "I mean, it's very thoughtful, I guess, but half the stuff she's brought out would get me beaten up back home."
Kyle's expression suggested that not only wouldn't he mind, but he'd buy popcorn and watch.
"And Converse? Have you guys ever even seen snow?" Kyle continued unabated.
"There's... there's a... an outdoor sh... shop on f... fifth," a timid voice suggested. Kyle looked up and saw her looking back at him with huge almond-shaped eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses. He took a deep breath; she even smelled good, all fruity shower gel and mints. If she had wanted to perch on his knee, he'd have been overjoyed.
"Cool, thanks. Rebecca Cotswolds, right?" he asked as casually as he could manage. She blushed crimson and for some reason that Kyle didn't understand, this pleased him immensely.
"Yes," she replied. "How... how d... did y... you know?"
Kyle grinned. "Wow, fancy meeting you here, of all places."
"You know her?" His cousin appeared to have come out of his funk long enough to be curious about this.
"Sure. She was my first love. Ripped out my heart and fed it through a meat grinder. I was eight," he clarified.
To his horror, Rebecca looked deeply upset. "I... I d.... didn't realise... I'm s... sorry, Kyle."
Without thinking, he grabbed her hand. "Hey, I healed. I mean, I think my left ventricle's still a bit mushy, but what can you do?"
She giggled at this and started to fiddle with her skirt, which Kyle noticed was longer than Jenny's.
"How come your skirt's longer than Jenny's? Do you have different uniforms, or something?"
"N... No," she stammered. "Jen... Jenny tucks the skirt into her w... waistband to make it look sh... shorter."
"Oh. Why?"
Rebecca shrugged. "I d... don't know."
He was about to keep the conversation going with questions such as 'When did you move to New York?' and 'Are you free this evening?' except that Jenny returned. Rebecca practically fled, and Kyle felt a bubble of disappointment well up in his throat.
"Whaddya think? Navy or teal?" She put each jacket against him and stared thoughtfully as though putting the final touches to an art project.
"Get both," she declared eventually, perching herself in his lap again. "God, I'm good," she mused, and Kyle could have sworn she wiggled deeper against his crotch; her stocking covered thighs nudged at his stomach.
Suddenly, she reached forward and stroked his hair. "You should quit going to the barbers," she announced. "They have no clue what to do with your hair."
"Burn it?" Kyle suggested. Fifteen years on this planet, and he still had no clue how he was supposed to make it look even halfway presentable. He'd even tried shaving it all off a while back, but he looked like a knobbly sex toy — Cartman would have had years of mileage out of it, except that Kyle agreed with his assessment and thus spoilt all of his fun.
"I'd kill for your hair," Jenny said, pulling gently at a coil of his red hair. Kyle carefully wrapped his fingers around her wrist and moved her hand away from his head.
"Yeah, because you're a girl." Deep down, he knew this all meant he would find himself dragged to a hair salon. He'd simply accepted it, like those kidnap victims who survive for years because something in them breaks and the just keep obeying their captors to survive even if they could easily escape.
Which is why, three hours and four shopping bags later, Kyle found himself in pants that felt too tight while touching his weird, slightly greasy feeling hair, wondering what had happened to him.
"It looks good," Jenny insisted, and Kyle figured it was just safer to agree.
"It really does." Rebecca turned away, her cheeks flushed a rather attractive shade of pink. Suddenly, Kyle felt that all of the time he'd spent sat in a chair at the mercy of a camp man wielding scissors and a gay hairstyle was worth it.
"Thanks," he said, as Jenny looked him up and down before grabbing his arm.
"Very nice, if I do say so myself," she commented, admiring her handiwork.
"Thanks for going to all this trouble," Kyle said, feeling that he probably ought to.
Suddenly, Kyle felt someone kick him sharply in the ankle. He whirled around to see his cousin glaring at him.
"Dude, what?" Kyle snapped irritably. He felt Ike tug at the hem of his t-shirt; Jenny slapped his hand away.
"Don't ruin the effect, kid," she ordered. Kyle felt a surge of indignation.
"Hey, leave him alone; he's nine!" He turned his back on Jenny and bent down so he was face to face with his brother. "What is it, squirt?"
"I think Kyle wants to talk to Jenny," he said, his expression both knowing and derisive.
Kyle looked over at his cousin and suddenly got why he was so peeved. Jenny had spent so much time dolling him up, he hadn't had chance to hang out with her. Still, Kyle figured that if the girl was willing to go to that much trouble for one of Kyle's family members then maybe she really did like him, Rolex or no.
"Oh, sorry, dude. I'll make myself scarce." He gently detached himself from Jenny's iron grip, winked at his fuming cousin — was he ever fucking happy? — and deliberately hung back from Kyle's pissy-looking friends. To his surprise, Nathan came up to him and shook his hand.
"God damn. You're amazing, Broflovski," he said between fits of laughter. "I've never seen Kyle so pissed. You have to teach me your ways!"
"Wait, what?" Kyle asked, but Nathan was gone and there was someone far more distracting nearby anyway.
Rebecca walked a few steps behind her giggling friends, the sunlight catching her chestnut hair and threading golden hues through her curls. She paused to take off her blazer; the steam pouring from the vents in the street merely added to the already aggressive heat. Sweat trickled down her throat and under her open collar towards her hidden breasts; Kyle surprised himself with his sudden urge to lick it up.
He sidled up to her. "Want me to carry that?" he asked, gesturing towards her bag and blazer.
"Umm... I... I... Are you s... sure?" Her teeth pressed against her plump lips; Kyle's cock pressed against his zipper. He silently took the bag and slung it over his shoulder, then draped the blazer across his arm, using it as a handy shield across his crotch.
"Th... Thanks." Rebecca started fanning herself with her hand. "I d... don't th... think I've ever b... been s... so hot!"
"Me neither." Kyle imagined if she were any hotter, he wouldn't be able to breathe.
A tiny hand felt for his fingers; Ike was by his side, looking mournful.
"Are we going to see dinosaurs yet?" he asked.
"Hey, Kyle!" he shouted. "Museum of Natural History?"
His cousin's shoulders sagged. "Not now, Kyle."
Ike appeared positively betrayed. Kyle glanced at his cousin again.
"Look, dude. I promised him," he pleaded.
Kyle's hand was pressed against the small of Jenny's back. "Not. Now," he said through gritted teeth.
"Well, how about I go and meet you guys later? Our moms need never know."
Jenny looked as though she was going to protest this, but Kyle appeared delighted.
"Sure! Great idea!"
"We could all go," Jenny suggested.
Aaron snorted. "You said museums are for nerds and losers — ow!"
Aaron started rubbing his shin as Jenny scowled at him.
"Come on, let's go," Nathan said. "Later, Broflovski."
"Later," Kyle replied, watching as Nathan, Aaron and Matt quickly paired off with Jenny's friends, leaving Rebecca alone.
"W... Well, b... bye, Kyle," she said with a sad smile. Kyle grabbed her arm almost reflexively as she turned to leave.
"Hey, why don't you come with us?"
"Wow. Th... Thanks, but I have t... to get back to the d... dorm..."
"I'll walk you home," Kyle replied, and was rewarded with a shy smile.
"Well... I guess... Okay."
Ike groaned; Kyle slapped him across the head.
They walked to the subway in relative silence until Rebecca stammered, "Did... Did you know the T... Tyrannosaurus Rex p... probably w... wasn't a p... predator?"
"Was too," Ike insisted as they waited for a train.
"Evidence... Evidence suggests it was... was p... primarily a sc... scavenger."
"Nuh uh!" Ike retorted. "It ate everything else and had no predators; right, Kyle?"
"It's definitely a theory that they were apex predators," Kyle clarified, fascinated by the sheer fact that this argument was happening on a crowded subway platform. "But they've got tiny arms and large olfactory receptors, so I guess they could be scavengers."
"There... there was a... a specimen of T... Tyrannosaurus Rex with no... no w... wear to its t... teeth," Rebecca added. "So th... that c... could suggest they sc... scavenged. But... but they're from a... a suborder which rapidly re... replaces its own teeth."
"Cool." Ike suddenly seemed to warm to Rebecca.
"So, do you study palaeontology, Rebecca?" Kyle asked.
"As... as a hobby." She looked at the floor. "It's... it's kind of... of geeky."
"It's kind of cool," Kyle replied, because he adored geekiness when directed at the appropriate subjects.
"It's fricking awesome" Ike exclaimed. "Do you have fossils? I've got seven," he announced proudly.
"Wh... what era?" Rebecca enquired. "Mine are mostly la... late Cr... Cretaceous."
"I've got four Cretaceous and three Jurassic — my favourite is the ammonite Kyle found when we were on vacation in British Columbia. You can see the whole shell."
They soon reached the imposing faux-Roman entrance to the American Museum of Natural History.
"Wow; it's huge!" Ike exclaimed happily.
Kyle grinned. "When was Kyle expecting to meet up with us again?"
"Who fucking cares." Ike's expression was deadly serious as he dashed up the stairs and past the Roosevelt statue. Kyle had to rush after him; he could see unimpressed security guards eyeing him as though he were a walking anti-culture bomb.
"Two students and one child, please," Kyle said at the desk when they finally got through the bag searches — and Kyle had a lot of bags — and had left their belongings in the coat check. The clerk sullenly handed over their tickets as Rebecca reached for her purse.
"It's on me," Kyle said and Rebecca stared at him wildly for a moment.
"Umm... Is this... Are you... Is this a date?" she managed eventually.
It was now or never. Kyle raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. "If you want it to be," he challenged.
Rebecca continued to gape at him; the passing seconds felt ceaseless. When Rebecca finally smiled and said, "Okay," the rush of relief Kyle felt was intense.
Despite its enormous size and Ike's obsession with Microraptors — in Kyle's opinion the lamest of all the dinosaurs — Kyle barely noticed the time go by. He was genuinely interested in the history of the earth, and the forensic minutia of the human body whittled down to its component DNA, but when Rebecca laced her fingers with his during an intense discussion on convergent evolution in the Wallace wing, she was all he could think about.
"D... Do you... We c... could go to the p... planetarium. It's in the... the Rose C... Centre."
"Planetarium? Really?" Kyle was always a little wary of planetariums; he hadn't been near one since he was eight.
"It'll be f... fun," Rebecca insisted, then hesitated as though it were a crime. "I think Wh... Whoopi Goldberg is narrating." She smiled and squeezed his hand.
"Ike, do you want to go to the planetarium?" Kyle called, his anxiety suddenly less important than the feel of Rebecca's hand in his.
After ten minutes of wandering around the Rose centre, then checking the map and realising they had to be on the first floor to get in, they finally managed to get into a showing of 'Journey to the Stars'. Kyle put himself between Ike and Rebecca, so he could keep an eye on Ike and also let his gaze linger over Rebecca as she lay back in the sixty degree tilted seats. Her school uniform kind of hid her figure, but not enough that he couldn't make a reasonably accurate estimate. She definitely had generous breasts and hips, and he had a feeling from the way her white shirt creased around her middle that she had a surprisingly tiny waist. He wanted to touch her to be sure; he'd assumed before this moment she was fairly voluptuous everywhere.
She glanced up at him and he instantly felt ashamed.
"Are... are y... you okay?" she asked nervously.
"Yeah, I'm great," he replied with a smile he hoped wasn't too lecherous. She looked down at his hand, just as the lights darkened and the show began to play.
"The stars, the planets. We take them for granted as an unchanging part of the universe; but he universe is constantly changing, expanding, with every passing second..."
"May I... I'd l... like to h... hold your hand," Rebecca whispered.
"You don't have to ask," he said, taking her hand in his. She smiled at him through the dim light of the show.
"You d... don't h... have to a... ask e... either," she whispered. "If you... if you want to..." She looked away, apparently unable to finish her sentence.
Kyle was pretty damn sure at least seventy percent of the things he wanted to do with Rebecca required him to ask first, not only out of politeness but in order to avoid a law suit.
Ike was gazing up at the swelling pin pricks of light with eager interest as Whoopi Goldberg's soothing voice filled the air; Kyle was basking in the warm glow he felt from holding hands with Rebecca. How could something so simple feel so amazing?
He wasn't sure how long the show had gone on for, but around the time that Whoopie Goldberg began to explain how stars were formed, he felt Rebecca kiss him gently on the cheek. Unable to do anything but turn towards her, he soon saw the flush of her cheeks and her almost terrified expression. He didn't exactly know what the protocol was for these situations — did he thank her? Return it; place a delicate kiss to her cheeks too?
He ended up doing none of those things, and instead cupped her chin as carefully as he could in his clumsy, too big, hands.
"K... Kyle?" she whispered, just as he swiftly pressed a kiss to her lips. He went in too hard, and bumped the metalwork on her teeth against his; they both winced from the contact.
"Sorry," he whispered back, feeling like a complete idiot.
"It's o... okay." Rebecca had her hand clamped over her face, but he could see in her eyes she might have been smiling. That was enough to make him be really stupid and try again. This time, he cupped her face carefully and gently moved towards her, as though he was trying to pull a Jenga block out without sending the whole tower tumbling. Eventually, his lips pressed ever so delicately against hers.
"Gravitational centres in the nebulae pull atoms towards each other, drawn in by an irresistible force..."
-Friggingodess-
Their faces were close, much too close for Kyle to focus properly on Rebecca's expression, but he felt her smile against him. Taking this as encouragement, he kissed her again and felt her lips slide against his, hot and tempting. Her lips parted a little and he matched her movement; licks of tingling fire leaping deep in his belly.
"The combination of attraction and intense heat causes the particles to fuse; thus, a star is born..."
Rebecca's hand settled on his shoulder, her head leaning to the side as though to accommodate him. Kyle tried to push the arm of the chair out of the way, but it wouldn't budge. Stupid thing. He did his best to negotiate the obstacle and leant over it, his hands hovering awkwardly at Rebecca's side as the rhythm of their kissing gave way to a sudden, surprising, slip of her tongue against his. Barely able to control himself, Kyle's hand caressed her back as her tongue ran across the bud of wax stuck around the sharp wire of his braces and knocked it away. Kyle was too far gone to care; he just wanted more of this, of her. It took every shred of self-control he had not to let his hands roam over areas he knew he shouldn't be allowed access to on a first date. He let his tongue explore her; it slid between the wetness of her lips and the brackets they pressed against.
"As a star dies, it burns itself up. If it burns too hard and too fast, it can cause the star to collapse on itself..."
Their rhythm broke and as Kyle broke from her briefly to take a breath, he heard a little moan of pleasure escape from her lips. Literally everything tightened inside him. Ignoring the awkward position of the arm rest, he pulled Rebecca closer to him and kissed her again. She tilted her head back as though in surrender and he tentatively pressed kisses along her neck; relishing the salty taste of her skin, the thudding of her pulse against his lips. Her fingers grasped his hair inexpertly but desperately, and Kyle was pretty sure any sliver of self-control he had was well and truly gone.
"Urgh! Gross!" Ike's voice, full of disgust, sounded very far away.
"On the brink of collapse, all that heat and pressure builds and builds and the particles are crushed closer and closer together. Soon, the star blows apart in an intense explosion, generating one hundred quintillions more energy than our Sun releases every second..."
"Kyle," she gasped, as he bit down tenderly on the delicate skin where her neck and shoulder met. A weird, twisted part of him wanted to taste her blood, hear her cry out. He refrained, but almost subconsciously slid a hand over her right breast.
He stopped dead. "Sorry!" he gasped out. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Rebecca grabbed his hand and placed it back over her breast. "D... Don't st... stop," she moaned.
"Fuck!" he hissed, kissing her so hard he felt the force knock the back of her head against the padded chair. By the time he felt Rebecca's warm hand start to slip falteringly down the back of his pants, he was so lost in her he didn't notice the flashlight beaming down at them.
He couldn't ignore the rough hand that grabbed his shoulder and yanked him away from his prize.
"Oi! This ain't a drive-in theatre, kids," the usher said, glaring at them both. Kyle felt his whole face burn with embarrassment.
"Sorry," he whispered. "It won't happen again."
The usher flicked his flashlight from him to Rebecca and back again. "Any more funny business, and you're both out. Got it?"
"Got it. Sorry," Kyle offered again, slinking sheepishly down in his seat.
Ike stared at him in horror. "Christ, you are so embarrassing sometimes," he hissed.
Kyle shrugged, but as he caught Rebecca's shy, yet mischievous, expression he couldn't help but grin to himself.
As Stan showered away a day's worth of chlorine, he couldn't help but let his mind wander over the erotic fantasy that Wendy had conjured up for him at the water park and that he'd had to bury away for most of the day. On the way home as they sat in the back seat, she kept giggling and gently slapping his hand as he tried to touch her in the ways he'd been dying to ever since she'd let him wrap a big beach towel around her, so that it and his body heat could warm away the goose pimples on her sun-touched skin. He had behaved himself; he'd even gone around to Wendy's home and had dinner with her and her parents — which was never entirely comfortable because Stan was pretty certain Wendy's father hated him as much as her mother loved him — and kissed her goodnight in a way that made Mr Testaburger cough and look at his watch, but nothing worse.
Still, this was his time now, and he wasn't about to let today's exciting new thoughts leave him in a hurry.
He imagined Wendy and Bebe in their swimwear under the shower, shampooing each other's hair as they had done before leaving the water park, the soapy suds running down their wet, sun-touched bodies.
"Ooh, that feels so good," Wendy moaned.
"Oh yeah, so good," Bebe moaned back. "It's making me so horny..."
"Let's kiss with tongues!" Wendy exclaimed.
"Great idea!" Bebe replied with equal enthusiasm, and proceeded to lazily kiss Wendy's plump, reddening lips with her own. The moaned and gasped as their tongues slid against each other; Wendy gave a little surprised moan of pleasure as Bebe circled her left nipple with her thumb. Stan watched it grow harder with every touch as he gripped his dick and slowly pumped it.
"Ooh, I just wish we had a big, manly man to make love to us right now," Wendy sighed.
"Yeah," Bebe breathed. "This is good, but we can't possibly come by ourselves..."
"I need cock so bad." Wendy practically dry-humped Bebe as she moaned this, her back arching as though already in the act.
They both looked straight at him, wrapped in each other's arms. Their dilated pupils took in every detail of him, and lingered over his cock. Wendy licked her lips.
"Oh, Stan," she moaned, flicking her wet hair back. "Make love to us!"
"Make love to both of us," Bebe added with a shuddering sigh, untying her bikini top just as Wendy pulled her swimsuit down to expose her perfectly pert breasts. He started speeding up his actions.
Suddenly, Clyde appeared in the corner of the room, smiling.
"I'm just going to get us some pizza," he said. "Make sure you come all over Bebe's tits, dude."
"Oh yes," Bebe agreed enthusiastically. "I love hot jizz splashing all over my big, bouncing titties!"
"Oh, come on my tits, too, Stan; please!" Wendy begged. "I'll touch myself while you do it; I know you like that, you naughty, sexy...."
"Stanley, what on Earth are you doing? You've been in there ages!" his mother yelled, slamming the door with her fist and pulling Stan out of his fantasy as a very inopportune time.
"Umm, I'm coming, Mom," Stan shouted back, which was actually far more truthful a response than he thought his mother wanted.
"Well, Kyle's on the phone for you," she said. "Do you want him to call you back?"
"Just... just give me a minute, okay?" Stan grunted; his penis was so hard he thought he might be able to operate the damn phone without using his hands.
"Okay, I'll tell him. Shall I transfer the call upstairs?"
"Yeah; whatever, Mom!"
Finally he heard her footsteps echo along the hallway. A man on a mission, it took Stan an embarrassingly short amount to time to finish the job; he'd got as far as imagining Wendy on all fours pulling her swimsuit down to expose her firm little ass cheeks and moaning, "Oh, Stan; I need it so bad!" before he erupted with the force of a minor volcano and covered the tiles — and in a shameful realisation, probably covered fantasy Wendy's hair — with his semen.
He hastily pulled the shower head down and rinsed off the tiles before jumping out and drying himself haphazardly. Wrapping his towel around his waist, he padded over to his bedroom and took the call.
"Dude, what the fuck!" Stan hissed down the phone, his own slight shame tainting his voice.
"What? I'm just calling you." Kyle didn't sound particularly annoyed with him. "How are things with Wendy?"
"Fine until you phoned." Stan sighed heavily as he looked out of his window. Perhaps Wendy was looking out of her window and thinking about him, too? Maybe she was thinking about him in the shower, flicking herself into a frenzy over his flexing muscles and burning kisses... Stan suddenly felt terribly guilty, but also horny; neither of which were great states of mind to be in when your best friend is trying to hold a conversation with you.
"Whoa, dude! What did I interrupt?" Stan could picture the smile he knew was plastered on Kyle's face just from the tone of his voice.
"No! Nothing like that!"
"I was going to say! It's, like, one o'clock in the morning." Kyle didn't sound remotely sleepy.
"Not here it isn't."
There was a brief silence.
"Shit, I forgot. Sorry dude."
"Tard. Anyway, what's up?"
Stan could hear Kyle sigh heavily down the phone. "I'm in love."
"What?" Stan would have been less surprised if Kyle had told him he'd gunned down a school.
"Her name's Rebecca. You remember Rebecca Cotswolds, right?"
"No."
"Seriously? Rebecca? Home-schooled kid? Her brother was in third grade with us for a little while? She let me play doctors with her, then let me kiss her, then took my heart and ground it into dust?"
"No; when did you kiss anyone other than Bebe?"
"What?"
"Bebe. You kissed her in third grade."
"I don't remember that."
"Yeah, we built a clubhouse, she dared you to kiss her and you ran away like a pussy afterwards."
"Really?" Kyle sounded deeply sceptical.
"Yes, really. She moped over you for days. She waxed lyrical about your ass for... You really don't remember?"
"No, I really don't remember," Kyle snapped. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about Bebe. I want to talk about my siren."
"Your... siren?"
He heard Kyle sigh deeply again, followed by a squeak and rustle of fabric which suggested he had flopped onto his bed. "Rebecca. Oh, Rebecca. How she tortures me, Stan. I am in turmoil. I fear I must lash myself to the helm of my rationality, lest I steer my ship into the exquisite rocks of my desire and dash myself against them thoroughly, lured by her pulchritudinous charms into sweet oblivion!"
"Kyle, I only understood about a fifth of what you just said." Stan was starting to think that he preferred Kyle when he hadn't discovered girls.
"My mind is fogged with lust and my dick is in a constant state of readiness," Kyle clarified. "It hasn't stopped straining against my jeans since we made out in the Hayden Planetarium earlier. It's just there, mocking my useless desire."
"For Christ's sake, dude, just jack off like a normal person," Stan replied.
"I can't, it's Shavuot."
"So?"
"So, I kind of made a deal with God," Kyle explained. "The Torah says I shouldn't masturbate, like, ever. Which is insane. So, on the morning of my Bar Mitzvah I promised I'd restrict it to outside of our religious festivals. And I don't break my promises." He sighed heavily again. "Oh, Rebecca; you sly temptress! Your sensuous poison unravels in my very heart..."
"Dude, why the hell are you talking like a gay-wad?" Stan practically heard Kyle shrug in response.
"I'm feeling very Byron-esque," he admitted. "All brooding and self-absorbed in my desires... Fuck, how do you cope with this? You've been dating Wendy for, what, two years now?"
"Almost three," Stan corrected.
"Right; you must feel like this all the time. I've been coping with it for seven hours and I want to die!"
"Kay. I'm still not sure I get it."
There was a pause as Stan heard Kyle shift his position on the bed. "I want to be inside her, Stan," he said solemnly. "What's there to get?" He shifted again. "Damn it! What is wrong with you? You are surplus to requirements tonight, get the message and chill the fuck out!"
"Who, me?"
"Sorry, I was talking to my dick," Kyle replied as though this was perfectly normal. "Wait — chill. That's it!"
Stan heard another squeak of a mattress and a dull metallic thumping sound.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to the kitchen," he said. Stan heard a few doors open and close with care, then the ping of what he assumed was a refrigerator light.
"Umm, you want me to leave you alone?"
"No, dude. I need you to distract me. This is going to hurt."
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Making an ice pack for my genitals. I'm going to get soft by forcing the blood out."
"Dude, I'm not entirely sure that's going to work."
"Why not? We have cold showers, right? This is, like, an über cold show— Oh Jesus fucking Christ!"
Stan heard Kyle's frantic panting.
"You okay?"
"Fuck, that's cold!" Kyle gasped.
Stan sighed and leant back onto his bed. "Hang on in there, buddy. It gets better. How long's Shavuot?"
"One more night."
"Well, just think about how you can jack yourself off until you faint the day after tomorrow," Stan soothed. "Tug it until you think it's going to drop off. You'll feel better. Trust me."
"Thanks Stan. You're a real pal," Kyle said, without a trace of irony in his voice. Stan wondered if Kenny and Cartman were having these sorts of problems on their road trip. They were probably screwing the night away with a bunch of women too drunk to really notice.
He almost felt jealous.