The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 4: Summer Awakening — Girls, Girls, Girls
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessCartman sipped casually at his double stuffed Oreo milkshake, eyeing the other occupants of the diner with interest. He was alone, having ditched that loser Maria and that even bigger loser Kenny.
They had spent the past couple of weeks being lame-ass goody goodys. If it wasn't handing out free tacos to homeless people — who Cartman figured should really just get a job instead of relying on handouts — it was carrying people's shopping bags home for them, or talking to random old people at the bus stop, or reuniting sad old spinsters with their cats; Kenny spent three hours up a tree coaxing some tabby off the top branch. Cartman felt sorry for the poor thing after seeing the dried up old husk she was being forced to live with.
Anyway, after calling dibs on one of their hotel rooms — he'd let those two fucking share — Cartman had left them to their gay little chit chat in the hotel bar and gone out to explore Grand Junction, and by explore he meant pick up chicks.
So here he was, scanning the diner. There were a couple of guys in tight jeans and jersey sweaters — probably gay-wads from the way their stuck out their little fingers when they drank their coffee — a group of giggly girls with teased hair and short skirts sharing a sundae — probably poor-ass college students, so worth a second look — some drippy, fat Goth chick with a coffee and a copy of 'The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories' — no way was he that desperate — and a couple with a sharing platter — she had a short skirt and bare legs so she was probably a prostitute. So, nobody of major interest to Cartman; but he figured if the college girls split up, there were a couple he'd work his magic on.
Just as he was contemplating spreading a few Chinese whispers to get the girls fighting amongst themselves — divide and conquer, and all that — a girl snuck into the diner as though she felt unworthy of being there and took the most out of the way seat she could. Cartman got a look at her face; vulnerable, puffy and tear-stained.
She was perfect.
Taking his chance, he sidled over to her and sat right next to her in the booth.
"You look like you could do with cheering up," he said as kindly as he could manage. She looked up and wiped her eyes as though ashamed.
"Oh... I'm sorry," she said. "It's just." She smiled sadly. "You don't want to hear about my problems."
"Sure I do!" He made his voice go up a bit to sound both sincere and a tiny bit indignant. As he handed her a handkerchief, he watched her throat constrict as she swallowed, the flushed patches of skin almost aglow in the harsh lighting of the diner. She wiped her eyes, smearing her make-up; Cartman could picture her underneath him.
He leant towards her, his elbows on the table, making just enough eye-contact without staring her down.
"So, what happened?" he asked in pitch-perfect concern. The girl sniffled.
"I was supposed to be meeting Brad — that's my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend — down at Infinity. You know it?"
Cartman shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
"Well, it's this kind of club, and I was early, so I figured I'd wait outside. Anyway, I saw his car, so I thought, well, he must have been early too, I'll go and let him know I'm here. But when I got close, I could see it was kind of rocking." She started to breathe faster; her eyes glistened with fresh tears. "He was screwing my best friend in the back seat!"
Cartman allowed his face to form the perfect mask of horror, ignoring how desperately he wanted to laugh. "No way!" he gasped.
"I know. He just... He just laughed at me; said what did I expect when I was so... so... frigid!" She burst into tears again. Cartman did his best to hide his glee as he tentatively patted her shoulder. This was a gift from fucking God.
"I hope you don't mind if I'm honest with you," he said seriously. "He sounds like a grade A asshole. You're better off without him."
"I know," she said in a trembling voice, "but I... I loved him!"
She stared to sob yet again. What a fucking loser. Still, she had nice titties; Cartman was getting a good long look as they heaved and wobbled with every strangled sob.
"Shh," he soothed, stroking her back and shoulders with more certainly than before, as though her admission had made him bold. "It's okay."
They stayed like this for a while, Cartman feigning ultimate patience and compassion as she poured out her life story. He noted the important details; picked on at school for being ugly (low self-esteem), a series of dirt-bag boyfriends (perpetual victim), a need to follow her heart and not her head (slut; whenever bitches talked about their hearts like that, they were talking about their vaginas).
He stroked a tendril of her dark hair behind her ear. "Do you know what I think, Stacey?" he whispered, because they had got around to introducing themselves and he made sure to use her name as often as he could without sounding like he was taking the piss; it made them feel special.
"No," she said, her demeanour a little calmer, but her doe eyes almost expecting a rebuke. Cartman was tempted to offer one up just to see if he could thoroughly break her, but he had grander plans.
"I think... and I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, but I think you're a really special girl," he said with a straight face he couldn't quite believe he'd kept up. "I bet you've met a lot of people in your life who are a bit jealous of that, so they try and keep you down."
She giggled and pushed his arm away. "Shut up," she said in a self-deprecating tone that told Cartman she'd bought it hook, line and sinker.
"I mean it!" He took her hand in both of his and looked her straight in the eye. "Why don't we...?" He trailed off and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Forget it; it's a dumb idea."
"What is?" She seemed genuinely curious. Cartman affected a shy glance.
"Well, I was just thinking it'd be really nice if I could maybe take you out for dinner tonight."
She blushed. "You don't have to; you've been nice enough to me."
"I want to," he insisted, trailing a finger along her jaw. "Maybe, I dunno, tonight was fate, or something? I'm here all alone, then you turn up because your loser of a boyfriend doesn't appreciate what he's got..." She's a needy girlfriend who probably does his washing but is too frigid to do anything more than missionary, and she's got a slutty best friend who's nasty in the bedroom? That dude appreciates exactly what he's got.
She smiled at him and laced her fingers around his. "Yeah. Fate," she said boldly. "Why not?"
Cartman grinned; this was turning out better than he'd imagined.
Three hours and a fancy meal at some Italian restaurant later — you had to speculate to accumulate — and Cartman was strolling with Stacey back to her place.
"It's my parents', actually," she confessed. "They're away for the weekend, though."
"Nice," Cartman commented idly, his mind racing ahead at the possibilities. She wasn't too shabby — some junk in the trunk, to be sure, but Cartman was beginning to wonder if his tastes leaned towards the slightly anorexic look. Not merely skinny like Wendy, but girls who looked like they might snap under his buff body. Still, she was eager, and if it meant getting laid before Stan and Kyle, then he was all for it.
They reached an apartment block in a decent part of town and Stacey lightly padded up the steps and unlocked the door.
"Come on in, Eric," she said huskily. God damn, he was definitely getting some tonight.
He smiled and silently followed her to an apartment on the fifth floor.
She stopped suddenly in the living room and turned around to face him. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked awkwardly.
"Sure," Cartman replied, despite not particularly liking coffee. He figured it was just part of what you did. He sat on her plain cream couch which she busied herself in the kitchen. Cartman liked the arrangement; a chick that knew her place, for once. There were photos on the wall of a happy looking middle-aged couple and their accomplished daughter. Stacey apparently did ballet — so, flexible — and had got her high-school diploma.
"Here," she said, shyly putting two mugs on the coffee table and sat next to him. Sat very close next to him.
"Nice place you have here," he commented as her leg brushed against his.
"I suppose it beats student digs, right?" she teased. Cartman smiled back as though the joke had been hilarious and cute. Dumbass; she had actually believed his bullshit about being a college underclassman.
She gently touched his hand, and Cartman suddenly felt rather nervous — it was probably due to him dropping his standards so much.
When she kissed him, he was shocked at first, but this quickly settled into a feeling that sat somewhere between nice and anxious; like the moments just before executing some brilliant plan against Kyle, where it could go wrong or it could go so very right.
Her cold hand slipped around his neck, making him jump as he tried to follow her lead. If she pushed forward, so did he. If she ran her tongue over his lip, he did the same to her. It was like the weirdest game of 'Simon Says', although he couldn't recall a version where 'Simon Says' unbutton Cartman's shirt and rub his nipples. Apart from that one family Christmas.
Just as he was getting into it, she broke away.
"I don't normally do this," she said, blushing. "Take a virtual stranger home."
He cupped her face with his hand like he'd seen them do in the movies. "It's cool," he said. "I... Well, this probably sounds really corny, but I feel like I've known you all my life."
He smiled timidly to offset the sheer balls-out audacity of the statement. He figured maybe he'd pushed it too far with such Hallmark crap, but instead she sighed, "Oh, Eric," and all but clambered onto his lap to stick her tongue down his throat.
God damn this broad was dumb.
After around half an hour of this, she pulled away and stood up.
"I'm just going to go and freshen up," she said. "Why don't you wait for me in the bedroom?"
Cartman stared after her, slack-jawed, as she slinked her way down the hall. She was serious? What a slut!
He stood up, feeling panic flood him. Of course he wanted to — he wasn't some kind of pussy like Stan or Kyle who had to 'wait for the right girl' — but... but... there were things to consider. Important things. Like the fact that she could be some kind of lunatic who lures young boys to her home and kidnaps them; or she could be riddled with diseases! Yeah, sure she didn't normally do this. She was probably incubating some new kind of super-AIDS in her gusset.
He had no choice; he had to make an escape.
Using all of his skill, he stealthily opened the fire escape and crept down all five flights. Despite barely having the energy to even move after that, Cartman ran on empty along the deserted urban streets as though his life depended on it, eventually reaching the hotel.
He took the back route via the swimming pool, ready to regale Kenny with his awesome exploits, only to notice Kenny and Maria in the pool. Fucktards; it was midnight and not exactly warm.
Maria was wearing a surprisingly conservative bathing suit, given her whorish clothing; it was all high necked and Cartman was convinced he could see her bra, of all things. She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water.
Kenny was wearing nothing at all and happily floating on his back, exposing himself for all to see. Goddamn poor people; no fucking shame.
"I'm not sure it matters," Kenny was saying. "Everyone pretty much goes to hell."
"That's horrible, Ken!" Maria looked genuinely appalled.
Kenny smiled. "It's not that bad. I mean, Heaven's nice, I suppose, but it's fucking boring. Full of Mormons, what do you expect?"
"Mormons?"
"Yeah. 'Course, now Satan's finally kicked his douchey boyfriends to the curb and got his groove back, Heaven's been a lot more open; they need the numbers to fight against Satan's uprisings."
Maria was smothering giggles. "Wait, Satan's gay?"
"As a window."
"Okay. What about Hell, then?"
"It's alright." Kenny flicked a leaf off his stomach and into the pool. "People go on about fire and brimstone and all that shit, but really? It's okay. A little dark and muggy, maybe; but Satan throws the best parties. And it's true what they say about his music."
Maria giggled again as Kenny kicked his legs a little, causing him to float closer to her.
"You talk like you've visited them both and written a travelogue about it," she said.
"What can I say? I've been around," he replied and was rewarded by Maria splashing him.
"Idiot," she said fondly.
"Hey, watch the hair!" Kenny said with mock indignation. Maria grinned and slid into the water, grabbing his head and dunking him. When he popped back up, his blonde hair was plastered to his face. He pushed it back and grinned maniacally.
"Well, that does it. You just incurred the wrath of Kenneth McCormick," he boomed as she laughed.
"Oh yeah? And what's he going to do, huh?"
Apparently, he was going to chase her — Kenny was an irritatingly fast swimmer, probably due to his scrawny, malnourished form — then grab her around her waist and throw her into the water as she squealed in protestation. Fucking pussy didn't even do it properly; he just lightly pulled her under. If Cartman had been there he'd have thrown her in head first.
She emerged and wiped her face. Kenny grinned shyly at her.
"Are we still friends?" he asked as she swam closer to him.
"Hmm... I guess I can maybe find it in my heart to forgive you; but I warn you, my pride hurts a whole lot."
Kenny's expression suddenly became rather serious. His cheeks burned red as he whispered, "Well, I'll just have to kiss it better, won't I?"
Maria gazed at him. "I'm not sure where my pride is."
"I think—" Kenny floated a little nearer, his face impossibly close to hers — "it might be right..." He didn't finish and instead kissed her lips like a girl in some lame teen romance movie. She kissed him back and soon they were locked in an embrace, hesitantly kissing as though they'd just invented the whole fucking thing.
God damn it, poor people sucked balls.
Stan sighed heavily at the eager look on Wendy's face.
"Do we have to?" he asked eventually, absently feeling the cotton of her bed-sheets between his fingers.
"Stan, it'll be fun!" She was standing over him, her hands on her hips, staring him into submission.
A party at Butters'. It would not be fun. Not because of Butters himself — although he was a bit of a freak — but because Butter's father would inevitably turn up after one too many and creep Stan the fuck out.
"His parents are out of town," Wendy coaxed. "We'll be able to do whatever."
'Whatever' or the promise of it had featured heavily between Stan and Wendy for the past few weeks. Water parks, picnics; he'd even suffered a few art galleries, which got him access to her boobs through her top. He'd also discovered how amusingly ticklish she was.
"Okay, okay," Stan replied.
"Cool." Wendy appeared relieved. "Bebe and the others are all going, but I didn't want to end up stuck there alone."
Stan nodded; he understood. Butters kept some strange company, so his parties usually involved at least one drug dealer present and generally ended in a violent showdown between him and his father while his mother had a nervous breakdown in the car.
He reached out and grabbed Wendy around the waist, pulling her towards him.
"I guess it could be fun," he mused, reaching up to kiss her lips. "Especially if we can do 'whatever'." He kissed her again, sliding his hands around her back and towards her butt as he did; she deftly grabbed his hands and held them instead.
"I have to go and get ready with the girls," she said.
"But it's one o'clock!" Stan protested. "The party won't start until seven."
Wendy looked at him as though he were deeply stupid. "So, that's only six hours to get ready!"
"Alright, alright." Stan stood up reluctantly and pulled her into a hug.
"I'll see you later, babe." He kissed her again as much as she'd let him before he was summarily kicked out of the house. As he left her room, Stan glanced over his shoulder and saw Wendy stuff her entire closet in a bag.
"Umm, what's that for?"
"I'm taking it over to Bebe's. We have to decide what to wear."
"I don't know why you bother; you look good in anything, babe," Stan added, before leaving her to it.
Kyle dashed through the back streets of New York City, grateful for the speed and general fitness the past six months of basketball practise had given him. He checked his watch as he reached his aunt's smart terraced town house, where his cousin and Ike were waiting on the step.
"You're late," his cousin said disapprovingly.
"Sorry, Mom," Kyle teased. "I was only five minutes late." He knew his mother would be waiting in the hallway to give them a thorough tongue lashing, but he figured it'd be kinder not to let his cousin know and have to linger on the expectancy.
"Let me guess, you got held up?" Kyle asked archly.
Kyle grinned at him. "Like you can't say the same?"
Ever since Kyle and Rebecca had got together all those days ago, Jenny had suddenly become really receptive towards his cousin's advances — every time Kyle looked at them, she was shoving her tongue down his throat. His cousin didn't seem as thrilled by this as Kyle would have expected.
"She's only like that when you're around," Kyle said sadly.
"Huh. Maybe she's an exhibitionist and just likes being watched?"
His cousin surveyed him appraisingly for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. "Yeah. That's probably it," he replied, in an oddly bitter voice. Kyle decided not to worry about it; he was blindly fumbling through his first proper relationship, and he hadn't a hope in Hell of figuring out anyone else's.
Ike pointed at Kyle's crotch.
"You're hiding something in your pants!" he shouted far too loudly. Kyle felt his whole face glow; he'd been in such a hurry to get back he hadn't noticed. Trading minutes that could have been wasted on a leisurely walk home to be wrapped up in Rebecca was definitely worth a bit of absent-minded showcasing of his penis. He stuffed his hands in the front of his jean pockets to lessen the effect.
The front door swung open and his mother stood in front of them; her hands on her hips and her expression set into a scowl.
"What are you boys doing standing out here? Dinner's been ready for over five minutes!" she glanced at Kyle. "And take our hands out of your pockets," she demanded.
Kyle tried to ignore the instruction and pass by unnoticed, but to no avail.
"Kyle!"
"What?"
"Don't you 'what' me; hands out of your pockets, this instant."
"He can't," Ike announced proudly. "He's hiding something in his pants."
His mother folded her arms and fixed him with a stern glare.
"Kyle, what are you hiding?"
"N... Nothing, Ma."
"Kyle!"
"My erect penis, okay!" he snapped. "God damn!"
"Language, Kyle!" she scolded, but Kyle noticed she let the pocket issue drop.
A heavy silence descended over dinner; Kyle looked across his cousin's slightly melancholic expression, then at Ike's thoughtful one. His aunt Sarah, reed-thin and with a raspy voice, picked at her potatoes.
"You have to eat, Sarah."
"I know, Sheila. Just give me a minute." Kyle remembered when Aunt Sarah was twice the size of his mother and three times as loud. Not for the first time, he silently wondered if she was actually going to get better.
His mother glanced at them all and smiled hospitably. "Well, did you boys have a nice time today?"
"Yeah," both Kyles said in unison.
"What did you boys get up to?" Aunt Sarah asked.
"I showed them the Empire State building," Kyle said, which was partly true. They had visited the Empire State building and peered over the edge through the safety netting at the skyline of buildings laid out beneath them; it just so happened that Rebecca and Jenny had accompanied them. Two hour queues seemed to fly by when you had a Rebecca in your arms; Kyle could taste coffee and mints when they kissed. His cousin had been surprisingly nice by taking Ike home so Kyle could walk Rebecca back to her school. Of course, they had to say goodbye before she ran off to her dormitory in the grand limestone building. The way they said goodbye tended to take around an hour; natural exploration gripped them and Kyle always started to do mental calculations to justify spending longer and longer memorising the feel of every bracket glued to Rebecca's teeth against his tongue and squeezing any part of her that could be squeezed. Rebecca was so enthusiastic that she just squeezed right back and seemed to revel in his touches. He'd never tried to delve under her clothes — it seemed a bit too soon — but he figured his shaking fingers had caressed every clothed part of her that didn't cover anywhere that was particularly self-lubricating.
"Yeah, it was pretty cool," Kyle added to keep the story going.
"What's an erect penis?" Ike asked suddenly. Aunt Sarah dropped her spoon in shock.
"Ike, eat your dinner, Bubbeleh," his mother swiftly replied before glancing up. "That sounds wonderful, boys."
"It is like cooties?" Ike asked.
"Ike, not now," his mother replied wearily.
Ike suddenly sat bolt upright, his features horror stricken. "Did Kyle catch it from eating that girl's face?"
All eyes fell on Kyle; he did his best to stare at his salad intently.
"Kyle, is there something you want to tell us?" His mother's expression was surprisingly fond, as though she were trying to hide a smile.
"No," Kyle replied sulkily, wanting to keep Rebecca his private treasure and certainly not share her with his mother.
Aunt Sarah beamed at him. "Oh, he's so shy, Sheila. It's alright, Kyle. Have you met a nice Jewish girl like Kyle has?"
Suddenly, all of Kyle's back-bending accommodating of Kyle's crush made sense; Jenny was many things, but she was about as Jewish as Mel Gibson. It was clear his part of the bargain was to never let on to Aunt Sarah.
"Kyle has a little girlfriend?" It was actually kind of heartening to see his mother's look of unflattering disbelief upon hearing this news.
"Oh yes," Aunt Sarah said. "They're at that age, though, aren't they?"
"We're going to Ellis Island tomorrow," Kyle interjected in a desperate attempt to move the conversation on. "It's fascinating; do you think we'll find Grandpa's name in their database?"
After dinner, Kyle went upstairs to take a shower. He started to get undressed in the bedroom ready to grab a towel to take into the bathroom. Half-way through taking his shirt off, he heard a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's your mother."
Kyle walked over to the door and opened it. His mother entered the room and sat on Kyle's bed, then patted the quilt next to her.
"Sit down, Bubbeleh," she said softly. Reluctantly, Kyle did as he was told and sat on the bed next to her.
"So, this girl. Does she have a name?"
Kyle didn't want to answer, didn't want to give up his secrets, but he realise that his mother wasn't going to shift until he did.
"Rebecca," he said eventually.
She smiled. "What is it with you and Rebeccas, hmm?"
"Huh?"
"I remember your first little crush..."
Kyle couldn't help but smile. "It's the same girl, actually."
"Oh." His mother gazed at him curiously. "Well, you're nothing if not loyal."
Her smile was maddeningly infectious. "How long have you two been dating?"
"A few weeks, I guess." Kyle paused; there was no point in hiding it. "Three weeks and two days," he confirmed, and he was embarrassed he could count down to practically the hours.
His mother suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I don't know much about dating nowadays but... are you being careful?" she asked hesitantly, as though afraid of the answer.
"Mom! We're not doing anything!" Kyle protested.
"Kyle, I'm your mother. I have to check these things." She was clearly relieved as she patted his hand. "You know, if you need to talk about anything like that, about girls and... and sex... you can talk to me."
Kyle couldn't think of anyone he wanted to discuss his potential sex life with less.
"I think fifteen's a little young, but I was a teenager once. I know what it feels like to have all those hormones flying about—"
"Mom!"
"I just want you to be safe, Kyle." She smiled and glanced down at the floor.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Bubbeleh?" Her expression was calm, but Kyle could see the panic in her eyes. He briefly considered asking about something disgusting he'd seen in Kenny's fourth favourite porno — 'Moulin Splooge' — just to see the look on her face, but he thought better of it. He had a far more pressing question.
"Rebecca isn't... Are you going to freak if I bring home a gentile girl?"
His mother appeared deeply grateful. "Oh, Kyle! Your Aunt Sarah, she... she feels rather strongly about that; but as far as your father and I are concerned, you can bring home who you like, so long as you love each other and treat each other right."
Kyle nodded. He was fairly certain that, despite her assurances, if he were to bring home a stripper with a coke habit who loved him and treated him right, she'd find herself on the receiving end of a shotgun.
"Thanks, Mom," he said, grateful for her attempts.
"It was just lucky for your father and I," she continued. "Our eyes met across a crowded bar in Newark; he grabbed my breasts and said, 'Did you clean your pants with Windex? I can practically see myself in them,' I punched him in the face and broke his nose." She smiled fondly at the memory. "By the time the ambulance had arrived, we'd swapped phone numbers and, well, the rest is history."
"That's... that's a lovely story," Kyle said sardonically. His mother shook her head and glanced at him tenderly.
"You shpitzik boychik." She stood up and brushed down her skirt. "Come and give your mom a hug."
Kyle got up and stooped over to hug her.
"How did you get this tall, bubbeleh," she said while she squashed him against her. He let go and she smiled as she looked at him and tucked a coppery curl behind his ear.
"Just remember, if you're going to... just make sure you're protect—"
"Mom!"
"Oooh, what about this one?" Bebe asked, pressing a hot pink strapless dress to her ample cleavage.
"Put it on and let's see!" Millie squealed excitedly.
"Yeah," Wendy added to ensure she looked like she was paying attention. Red glanced at her and rolled her eyes, which was her default reaction to anything.
Bebe swiftly returned in the dress and Wendy could see it left very little to the imagination. Every curve was clung to; Wendy was fairly certain she could tell what underwear Bebe was wearing, judging from the embossed patterns in the fabric and the exposed bra straps.
"Oh, he'll totally love it," Millie enthused.
Bebe beamed. "You think?"
"Yeah, totally," Wendy agreed.
"Yeah, if you want him to think you'll open your legs after the party."
All the girls stared at Red in horror, except for Bebe.
"Perfect!" she said with a clap of her hands. "I mean, I was going for the 'I'll open my legs during the party' look, but that'll do."
At this point, Wendy decided she ought to stare at Bebe in horror instead of Red.
"What?" Bebe demanded. "Clyde and I have been dating for, like, nine months now. I want to get laid!" She looked at Wendy enviously. "Just because some people have been getting drilled for years doesn't mean the rest of us have been so lucky."
All eyes bored into Wendy, who felt the hot, sickly feeling of ultimate humiliation.
"Stan and I are not doing... you know. It," she protested, feeling her cheeks glow red.
Bebe rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
The others soon ignored the topic of conversation to discuss Millie's outfit and how Token would totally notice her, but Wendy could hardly concentrate. Nine months and Bebe wanted to have sex? Was that normal? The very thought of it terrified Wendy; Stan was testing the limits of her comfort zone already with his wandering hands, and that was over clothes. Maybe guys liked their girls to be like Bebe. Maybe that's what Stan wanted; he'd paid an awful lot of attention to her down at the water park, and why wouldn't he? Bebe was blonde and perky and big breasted and kind of slutty and everything Wendy wasn't.
"Wendy?" Bebe's voice sounded in her ear; Wendy looked up to see Bebe clicking her fingers in front of her face.
"Come on, Little Miss Daydream; we've got to give you a killer makeover too! When we're done, one look at you and Stan will be so horny, he'll be dry-humping you before we even get past the hallway!"
"Great," Wendy replied meekly, wondering if there was a makeover that would do the opposite.
"Come on, squirt; I'm fucking you up right here!"
"Hey, no fair — you cheated!"
"Performing an incredibly complex kill combo to reach Armageddon status is not cheating, Ike."
"When I got the magic bullet in 'Mario Kart', you said that was cheating."
"Yeah, because that's a game breaker."
Kyle and Ike had been duking it out in 'Slugathon IV' down in the basement for about an hour now. Their cousin refused to play on account of it triggering his migraines, but he was still in the room, idly watching when he wasn't texting Jenny.
"Beth says that Betsy's sister is in Colorado with her dad on business." Kyle shook his head. "I hope he's keeping an eye on her; she's a little off the rails."
"Who's Betsy?" Kyle asked, while slaughtering a camp alien vampire named Fab the Impaler.
"Beth's friend. Her and Rebecca are in the chess club together, I think." He sounded unimpressed by this.
"Oh," Kyle replied, thinking he really ought to meet some of Rebecca's friends. Then he thought about how he'd have to return the favour. Stan would be fine, but Kenny? Kyle was pretty sure he'd have to tie Kenny's hands behind his back and find some way of stopping him gawping at Rebecca's impressive breasts. As for Cartman? Kyle could see no alternative but to have him assassinated prior to the event.
"Ha! I got 'Kill 'Em All' mode — eat that!" Ike yelled in triumph as his gun strafed bulled fire in physics-defying directions to the strains of Metallica, while his score went through the roof.
"Goddamn it, Ike!"
His phone started vibrating in his pocket. He paused the game and fished it out of his pants.
"What the hell!" Ike grumbled. Kyle glanced at his phone — Rebecca's picture was flashing up along with her name.
"Yeah, whatever, you win," he said, jumping out of his seat and dashing upstairs to the only place he could get a bit of privacy.
Ike's shout of, "Coward!" followed him up the stairs as he closed the door to his and Kyle's bedroom and shoved a chair under the door handle as a make-shift lock.
"Hey, Rebecca. What's up?" he asked casually, in complete contrast to his thumping heart.
"Umm, Kyle? Can... can w... we t... talk?" she asked nervously and Kyle's heart plummeted into his stomach.
"Sure. What do you want to talk about?" He knew very little about girls in a dating capacity, but he knew that those words tended to signify one thing only; unceremonious dumping. He tried to think if he had done anything wrong, or if she'd seemed unhappy, but nothing came to mind. She was sweet and shy most of the time, but opened up and made interesting conversation with him; when they were alone she was... well, she was wild.
It was only after realising he'd spent rather a long time thinking while there was silence on the phone that he tentatively called out, "Rebecca? Are you still there?"
"Y... Yes," she stammered.
"Then, Christ, just tell me what—"
"I n... need you to st... stop, Kyle!" She shouted so loudly that Kyle felt his eardrum tingle.
"Stop what?" he asked, blood pumping loudly in his ears as a sickly feeling flooded him from his stomach outwards.
"What... Whatever it is y... you're d... doing to m... me," she whispered.
"Rebecca, I don't understand," Kyle pleaded, because he really didn't understand. At all.
"It's w... wrong, im... immoral, d... definitely illegal and it's l... leaving massive w... wet patches in my p... panties," she blurted out.
After some deep thought, Kyle figured maybe he did understand; it was all he could do not to burst out laughing in relief. He felt like the king of the fucking world.
"Would it help if I could kiss you right now?" he asked teasingly.
"No! St... Stop it!"
Kyle tried very hard to stop the giggle bubbling up inside from escaping his lips, but he failed. Miserably.
"Oh, don't... don't l... laugh at m... me," she begged and Kyle instantly felt guilty.
"I'm sorry; I'm not laughing at you, I promise," he replied, trying to buy some time while he figured out how to explain this to Rebecca without sounding like an arrogant dick. She was worryingly naïve for a fifteen-year-old girl and Kyle was pretty grateful she'd found him, who was himself pretty inexperienced and didn't want to push her into anything.
Yep, would definitely need to assassinate Cartman when it came to meeting his friends.
"I think about you a whole lot too, Rebecca," he said and awaited her response with baited breath.
"I... I'm not sure I f... follow."
He smiled down the phone, filled with the unutterable urge to jump through the speaker to her dorm room and cuddle her.
"Do you feel like... like..." He struggled to find the words to describe how she made him feel without using phrases he was sure he'd have to explain anyway. "Like you've got an itch somewhere bone-deep that you can't seem to scratch? Like you want to crawl out of your skin with need? Like the thing you're feeling is the only thing in the world that matters?"
"Y... Yes, that's exactly i... it! D... Did you m... make that h... happen?"
Kyle climbed up to the top bunk and sat on the bed, relaxing a little.
"Kind of; not on purpose, just... You make me feel that way, too."
"I'm s... sorry; I d... didn't mean t... to!" Rebecca sounded agitated.
"It's okay, it's not your fault! Umm, I like you, right?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, I really, really like you."
"Okay."
"So, it also means I really, really want you."
There was a moment of awkward silence before Rebecca replied, "You r... really, really w... want me to w... what?"
Kyle smothered a fond chuckle. "No, I mean... I mean you make me horny."
"What's h... horny?"
"Umm, how do I explain this? I guess, well, I feel like I want to have sex with you." Kyle's admission was met with silence, so he continued. "I guess that means you feel like you want to have sex with me, too."
Her silence did not abate. Kyle was close to chewing his fingernails — a habit he'd kicked back when he was eleven — when Rebecca eventually replied, "So you... you think we sh... should have sex... sexual intercourse?"
"No!" Kyle protested. "I mean, not right now."
"W... Why not?"
"Because, it'd be illegal and more importantly, we've only known each other three weeks and two days... I'm just saying these feelings are pretty normal."
"Really?" Rebecca's distress was palpable. "I can't h... handle it; it's dr... dr... driving me crazy. Can't we just have s... sex anyway, if it'll make this st... stop?"
Kyle took a moment; dear Abraham, she was asking him for sex. All he had to do was say, 'Okay', but he knew he wasn't going to. It was too soon — way too soon — but she sounded so distressed. Kyle racked his brains to come up with something that could ease her desire.
"Have you tried jacking off?" he asked, remembering Stan's sound advice — the evening after Shavuot Kyle had locked himself in the bathroom and nearly passed out when he came.
"C... Can girls d... do that?" she asked.
"Sure." He'd seen them do it in pornos loads of times.
"H... How?"
"Well..." Kyle felt himself colour up. "I'm not exactly sure..."
"Wh... What do y... you do?"
Kyle was fairly certain his face couldn't get any hotter. "Umm, me? Well, I guess I, erm, just sort of... Well, I sort of just slide my hand up and down my dick, I suppose." The lack of response prompted further explanation to kill the heavy silence. "I tend to use hand cream, otherwise it kind of hurts when I touch the head... Please, please, tell me you're still there, Rebecca."
"I'm h... here," she replied. "Sorry, I was j... just un... unbuttoning my t... top. I h... have you on sp... sp... speakerphone."
"Wait, what?" Kyle suddenly felt awash with horror.
"Oh, there's n... nobody here — I'm in the sh... showers and it's al... always empty at this t... time of night."
"Oh, right. Okay." Kyle could hear the sound of rustling fabric. "What are you doing now?"
"P... pulling my p... pants down. I'm j... just in my u... underwear now, and my socks. I'm about to take a sh... shower."
"Okay." Kyle suddenly found it impossible to form a single thought that didn't involve Rebecca's near nakedness on the other end of the phone.
"I'm t... taking my s... socks off n... now; I was g... going to t... take a cold shower, but n... now I think maybe I c... could have a g... go at m... masturbating instead. Would you st... stay on the ph... phone and h... help me out?" She said this with such nonchalance that it might as well have been a school project she was discussing.
"Umm, sure?" Kyle replied with complete uncertainty. "Wh... What do you want me to do?"
"I don't kn... know." Her tone was thoughtful. "Urgh, this h... hook is really st... stiff."
"What hook?"
"The one on my br... bra — oh, there we g... go, it's o... off now. I've just got to sl... slip off my p... panties and then—" Kyle heard the rush of a shower faucet; the water gushing onto a hard surface.
"C... Can you st... still hear me?" Rebecca's voice was a little muffled by the rushing water, but not much.
"Yeah, I can still hear you," Kyle replied, his cock straining against his zipper in a desperate bid for freedom.
"Wh... Where are you?" she asked.
"In the bedroom. Top bunk. Alone," he replied.
"I'm un... under the sh... shower now. The w... water's j... just about the right t... temperature, and I'm lathering up my h... hair. Are you st... still w... wearing what you were w... wearing when you s... saw me?"
Kyle looked down at his mint coloured t-shirt and dark blue slim-legged jeans. "Yeah, but I'm sockless."
Rebecca giggled. "Aww, I l... liked your socks. They h... had 'Wednesday' written on them, b... but it's Saturday."
"Yeah, I don't like my clothes telling me when they should be worn," he replied and she laughed again.
"You're s... so funny," she said. "I l... like that."
"I like you, you great sexy geek."
Rebecca giggled at this, too. "You're s... so sm... smooth." He couldn't quite tell if she was being sarcastic or deadly serious. "God, I w... wish you were here."
"What, in the shower?" Kyle smirked as he said this.
"Y... Yeah, in the sh... shower with me."
"What, naked? Or in my jeans and t-shirt getting completely soaked?" His idle comment was met with a roaring silence that worried him. "Rebecca?"
"T... Tell me where to t... touch myself," she begged suddenly, and Kyle wondered if he should just unfasten his jeans before he actually hurt himself.
"Umm, hold on!" Red faced, Kyle jumped down from the bunk bed, switched on Kyle's laptop — it took him two attempts to guess the password — and hastily did a bit of Googling while holding his phone to his ear.
"Kyle! W...What are y... you doing? Y... You can't j... just leave me with the thought of y... your wet clothes st...sticking to you in m... my shower!"
"I'm just checking out a few sites," Kyle said, remembering to clear the history once he had refreshed his memory of the last time he looked this stuff up after Kenny showed them a copy of 'Quim Gymnastics 7' and he'd had an argument with Cartman over whether the wine bottle scene would cause a vacuum and make the uterus explode.
"Okay; there's a bunch of stuff about warm baths and glasses of wine. I guess we should skip that," Kyle said as he clambered back onto his bunk.
"I p... put conditioner on while I was waiting. I'm com... completely ready, Kyle. H... Help me."
Jesus fucking Christ, he was actually in agony now; he needed bigger pants. "Have you washed yet? Do you have, like, soap or something?"
"I've g... got sh... shower gel on a sp... sponge; it makes lots of s... soapy s... suds. Sh... Should I c... cover myself with them?"
"Ah, yeah. Do that," Kyle instructed, convinced he ought to feel deeply embarrassed only his sheer horniness had overridden that particular emotion. "Umm, slide your hands over your body."
"W... Where? I'm p... pretty sl... slippery all over."
Kyle lay back on his bed and dug the fingers of his free hand into his thigh to try and distract from the throbbing in his crotch. "Just try your arms and neck first."
"O... okay." He could hear the wet slopping sounds of flesh against flesh as Rebecca caressed her skin with the lather.
"Umm, slide your hands over your breasts," he suggested, given it seemed the most obvious next step. He wasn't remotely prepared for the heavy breathing he started to hear down the phone.
"Rebecca? You okay?"
"Yes. V... very," she said breathlessly. "It f... feels good. Wh... When can I t... touch myself more?"
"You're asking my permission?" Kyle joked.
"Y... Yes," came the quivering reply and Kyle found the idea disturbingly hot.
"Okay, put your hand between your legs and just touch the... the..."
"The w... what?"
"The labia," he instructed, wondering if he was being a bit too clinical with his vocabulary choice. What else could he call it? There was only really 'lips', which was open to interpretation; anything else just sounded either stupid, gross or both.
The gasp Rebecca emitted threatened to rip his zipper open from the sheer force of his ever-increasing erection.
"Ooh... Th... that feels really n... nice," she moaned. "Should I g... go f... further?"
"Not yet; just run your fingers around them," he replied, her little gasps and surprised moans threatening to send him crazy. "Okay, okay; are you, umm, wet? I mean, down there?" he asked, scrunching his eyes up in shame as the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush.
"Y... yeah — oh, that feels g... good, too," she gasped.
"Okay. I guess you, kind of, rub your clitoris. Do it gently, though." Kyle felt like an elementary school teacher on the brink of being arrested.
"Is that the sticky-out thing in front of my—"
"Yes, that's it," he said, feeling very silly indeed; until she squeaked as though she had put her foot in a too-hot bath.
"F... Fucking hell! Th... This is in... incredible!" she moaned, and Kyle was amazed he hadn't come in his pants right there and then.
"Gently, gently," he urged. "Don't rush it."
"Oh, God — I... I can't! I n... need it, r... right now!"
"No; do it gently. Do it slowly," he said in soothing tones, gripping his thigh so hard he was convinced he had left indentations of his fingernails in his skin through the thick fabric of his jeans.
"You're s... such a f... fucking t... tease, Kyle," she whimpered.
"Fucking hell, I wish I was right there kissing you," Kyle confessed headily.
"I w... wish you w... were right h... here, too," Rebecca panted.
Kyle could hear little but Rebecca's maddeningly hot moans and groans until she begged, "I want you to t... touch yourself, too. Are y... you h... hard?"
"Like a fucking chess game against Lasker," Kyle groaned, needing little encouragement to unzip his pants. The act alone was immensely freeing, and he quickly found some hand cream and got acquainted with his member.
"Grip it t... tightly," Rebecca gasped. "Be... Because if you were h... here, I'd w... want you to g... give it to me s... so, so hard."
"Fucking hell, Rebecca; do you want me to come right now? Because saying stuff like that is going to make me like Nicholas Cage."
"What?"
"'Gone in Sixty Seconds'," he clarified, between grunts of effort.
"Tell me to stop being gentle," she pleaded.
"But, Rebecca, you are so hot when you beg," he panted, uncertain where that confession had come from or quite why it felt like a newly discovered kink.
"Kyle, you u...utter b... bastard!" She sounded near tears with frustration; there was no way Kyle could be that cruel.
"Okay, beautiful, you go wild," he whispered down the phone and the resulting chaotic near-screams he heard down the phone pretty much took him over the edge. He'd definitely come, with a near-blinding intensity, but he wasn't quite sure where it had ended up. More importantly, he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Wow." Rebecca sounded awestruck, and Kyle could still hear the shower gushing away. A dull thud pulled him out of his post-ejaculation haze.
"Rebecca? Are you alright?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. I Just l... leant back against the tiles." There was a long pause. "I feel much b... better now."
Kyle couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad," he replied, his dick lying flaccid in his free hand.
"Th... Thanks, by the way. For sh... showing me that," she added.
"Thanks for letting me show you," he replied languidly.
They talked about nothing for a good half an hour while Rebecca rinsed the conditioner out of her hair and dried herself off. For his part, Kyle hadn't moved from his bunk; his dick was still hanging out on display and he thought he had heard someone try to get into the room on at least three occasions. He didn't care.
Once they had hung up on each other after a barrage of phone kisses and promises to meet up tomorrow, Kyle began to wonder about what he had done. He'd never seen an agony column suggest ways to show your girlfriend how to masturbate; he was pretty sure Oprah had never talked about it either. He started to panic; she seemed happy, but had he done something awful? He'd never masturbated in front of anyone before — okay, it wasn't strictly in front of Rebecca, but it was damn close — and did people actually do that? Should he ask his mom? He couldn't ask his mom. She'd have his cock chopped off, surely. Who else could he ask? Kenny seemed to know lots about sex, but Kyle didn't really want advice that would invariably involve how to score a home run while he was panicking about hitting some form of second base. As for Cartman? Well, he was the guy who insisted that men had a clitoris in their rectum, so he'd have to be unbelievably desperate to take his advice on anything.
What about Rebecca? Would she giggle and tell her friends? Would she feel used? Should he try and sneak into her dormitory just to show her he really did care... but then, would she misconstrue that as a desire to fuck her? Then again, is that what she wanted? Was he being a stick in the mud by not rocking up and giving it to her?
His mind fogged with confusion as he tried to sort through the rush of data flooding his head. Stan never seemed to have these sorts of problems; he and Wendy were a perfectly cute and happy couple who never fought or terrified each other. In a way, Kyle was kind of envious of Stan; he was so together in a way Kyle couldn't fathom. Whereas Kyle was stumbling his way into madness trying to figure out the finer points of dating etiquette, Stan just seemed to breeze through it. He understood girls, always has. Kyle understood them as people — they weren't really much different from guys, except they wanted to be adults too soon and didn't find fart jokes very funny — but as romantic entities? He was just fucking lost.
Which is why he found the energy to tuck himself into his pants and dial Stan's number. If anyone could help him sort out this mess, it was Stan.
By the time Stan breezed into the party, things were already in full swing. The scent of weed filled his nostrils as soon as he opened the door; hazy smoke was filtering up the stairs from the basement. Stan was pretty certain he knew who would be down there, namely Craig and Tweek.
The music was blaring from the living room — some old nu-metal stuff that probably belonged to Jimmy — and Stan decided to head towards it, passing what looked like Token and Sally making out in the hallway.
"Why hello, Stan. Awful glad you could make it." Butters was standing in front of him with a jug and a set of plastic cups.
"Thanks, Butters. It seems pretty... pretty buzzing," he said, thinking about how he would never in a million years host a party when his parents were out of town. "Umm, you know Craig and Tweek are toking a joint down there, right?" He pointed at the basement and the wafts of bluish-grey smoke.
Butters chuckled. "Oh, those two." His forehead pinched into a worried expression. "I think they, ah, probably smoke a little too much, don't you?"
"Umm, yeah, I guess. Dude, don't you think your parents are going to freak?"
"Oh, well, those two cock suckers can go and ah, well, they can just go and fuck themselves with a cattle prod, can't they?" He smiled pleasantly. "Say, where's Kyle?"
"New York," Stan replied, watching Butters' face fall.
"Well, isn't that an awful shame," he said, patting Stan on the back. "Don't you worry; this'll take your mind off things." He steered Stan into the living room and poured him a cup of something blue and foul-smelling.
"Um, no thanks, Butters. I don't drink." Stan didn't want to go down that road again.
Butters shrugged. "Well, alright; we've got some Coke in the fridge — help yourself." He chugged the cup of blue stuff himself, grimaced and wiped his mouth. "Wow. That sure has quite a kick to it. I think I might need to throw up. Or put my head between Red's breasts and wiggle," he said with a devilish smile that in no way matched the rest of his Mummy's Boy demeanour. Stan doubted Butters' ability to manage his latter plan without having his balls kicked up into his pelvis by Red, but then he saw Wendy talking with her friends and suddenly nothing else mattered.
Stan almost choked on his own air supply as he took in her scandalous backless dress that just begged for his fingers to inch their way over it. The moment he walked up to her, she glanced at him and smiled.
"Hey, Stan," she said, resting her arms lazily around his neck and letting him kiss her. Man, the haughty little way she did that made him so fucking hot.
"Hey, babe," he replied in as sexy a tone as he could muster, pulling her close and capturing her mouth in a long, deep, lingering kiss. She was sex to him, pure sex, and every serious kiss he gave her he tried to make a representation of the slow, languid, worshipful way he'd make love to her the second she gave him the chance.
Wendy pulled away. "Have you got a drink?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"I'll get you one," she said with a smile as she ducked into the kitchen. He watched her retreat, her perfect round butt bouncing just the right amount and her bared, braless back stoking Stan's imagination like a power station. Oh, and her legs; never-ending and shapely, calves taut as she wobbled on dainty heels that definitely made her taller than him, but he'd take that sacrifice for the exquisite view.
"Hey, Stan." Bebe was clearly smothering laughter and it was enough to pull him back to reality.
"Hey, Bebe."
"Where's Kyle?" she asked.
"New York."
"Oh. Well, never mind him; we'll take your mind off things."
"Why would I need to take my mind off Kyle?"
Bebe shrugged. "Have you seen Token at all? Millie was looking for—"
Suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek cut through the strains of some hip-hop track Stan knew Kyle had on his smart phone. A girl — which Stan assumed to be Millie on account of her bobbed curly hair — ran across the hallway and locked herself in the downstairs bathroom.
Bebe and the other girls looked at each other and, as though they were the Borg collective, all moved towards the bathroom.
"Tell Wendy we're with Millie, yeah?" Bebe asked and Stan mutely consented.
As soon as Bebe was half way down the hallway, she called, "and if you see Clyde, tell him where I am!"
"Sure!" Stan replied, thinking Clyde wouldn't be able to miss her if he tried. He had heard the phrase 'She looks like she's been poured into that dress,' from his mom, but this was the first time he understood it. Wow. See, that was the thing about Wendy — she had class as well as being a first rate fox.
Wendy poured two glasses full of Coke and stared at the patterned tiles in the kitchen, trying not to shake. She was trying to be cool and disinterested in Stan's advances with her arms' length embrace — in order to counteract the dress she had been forced into by Bebe — but the way he'd kissed her suggested she hadn't been successful.
Maybe she should just leave? Fake a headache or something and just get out of there. Bebe didn't need her help to get Clyde into her underpants and Wendy wanted hers to be left well alone.
"Hey, babe."
Wendy whirled around to find Stan inches from her. He put his arm around her waist. "Bebe and the others had to go and follow Millie into the bathroom. I guess it's a girl thing."
"Why? What happened?" Bathroom consultations only ever happened if there had been a party-related emergency.
Stan shrugged. "I dunno. She ran into the bathroom crying."
"Oh my God; I've got to see if she's okay!" Wendy gasped.
Stan didn't let go. "Come on, half the girls in our school are jammed in there. They can do without you for a bit." He kissed her cheek, then whispered into her ear. "Wanna dance?"
The way he said it make it sound like dancing was the last thing on his mind.
She shrugged him off as gently as she could. "I should at least go and check on her," she said before handing Stan one of the Cokes and rushing to the downstairs bathroom.
Millie was sat on the coral coloured toilet seat, blubbing into a wad of toilet paper. Her make-up was smeared all down her face and her eyes were bloodshot.
"It's okay," Bebe soothed. "You're too good for him."
Millie took a deep, phlegmy breath. "But-I-was-crazy-about-him-and-he-was-just-all-over-that-total-skank-oh-my-god-I-want-to-die!" she blurted out tearfully.
Annie patted her shoulder. "There, there. Sally is a total skank," she agreed in camaraderie.
"And fat, too," Millie sobbed.
"Yeah, and really fat. Her ass is like a rhino's."
"But... But-what-if-he-likes-fat-asses-and-that's-why-he-was-feeling-her-butt-and-not-mine!" Millie wailed, tears still leaking from her eyes. Wendy rushed forward and put her arms around her.
"It's okay, Wendy," she bawled. "You don't have to stay. You go and hang out with your b... boyfriend who totally likes you even though you've got tiny boobs," she sobbed.
"Erm, thanks," Wendy replied, trying not to feel self-conscious.
"It's cool, Wendy. You go," Bebe said. "I'll man the fort."
"But what about, you know, Clyde?"
Bebe grinned and inclined her head towards the hallway, where Wendy could see Clyde staring at slutty, yet maternal, Bebe playing counsellor. He had a look of total devotion in his eyes and a very noticeable erection in his pants.
"I don't think he's going anywhere, do you?" Bebe pointed out.
Reluctantly, Wendy went off to find Stan, and wondered just how long she could put him off his amorous advances.
Stan took Wendy's hand as they stood in the living room. "Wow. She seemed pretty upset," he said, inwardly marvelling at Wendy's selfless compassion. He didn't know many people who would offer to give up their evening to tend to a crying friend. Maybe Kyle if he could fix the problem, or Kenny if he could distract you with porn.
"Yeah. She really liked Token," Wendy explained. "I guess it just goes to show how much sex and that sort of thing can kind of get in the way at our age."
Stan shrugged. "I guess; but if you've been together for ages like us, I think it can only bring you closer together." He didn't want her to be scared that anything like that would make him bail. He was completely in love with her; when they made love, it wasn't going to be to get some notch on his bedpost.
He kissed her cheek and let his hand trail over her exquisite bare back. She jumped at the touch, and her excitement fuelled him further.
"I'm so damn lucky." He punctuated each word with a kiss to any part of her face he could reach.
She giggled and blushed; Stan loved it. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and pulled her flush against his pelvis, grinding slowly and out of time to the frenetic music playing.
Suddenly, Wendy jumped away from him as though she'd got a static shock.
"Oh, look; there's Butters. We should go and say hi!" she enthused, grabbing Stan's hand and dragging him over to the kitchen, where Butters was busy chugging straight from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Stan shuddered — he remembered those days.
"Oh, hey there, Stan. Wendy," he slurred chirpily.
"Hi, Butters!" Wendy cooed, reaching over to hug him. Stan tried to ignore the tiny prick of jealousy he felt as Butters' hands fluttered over her back.
"Enjoying the party?" he asked.
"Oh, it's great."
"I mean, it's an awful shame about poor Millie, crying in the bathroom like that."
"I know, but I'm sure she'll be fine."
Butters brandished the bottle of Jack Daniels. "Want some?"
"No thanks," Stan and Wendy said in unison; Stan adored the fact Wendy hadn't taken to drinking either. It was nice not to be the lone sober person in a room of drunkards during these illicit house parties. Kyle had tried it and been unimpressed — and wary of his precious kidney — whereas Kenny and Cartman were definitely partial. Kenny tended to be surprisingly restrained, though, which had always confused Stan given the number of other stimulants the guy would happily ingest.
"Oh, well — more for me." Butters took a deep swig and waved the bottle in the air. "Here's to absent parents," he said. "May they never return. And if they do, and Father takes off his belt... Well, gosh darn it, let me just pick up his shotgun and splatter his fucking brains all over the couch. Mother too, the weak, simpering little whore." He beamed innocently and sipped at the bottle again. Stan stared, aghast; Jesus, Butters was freaky when he'd had a drink.
He noticed Wendy stare at Butters with deep concern; he merely smiled back at her.
"And here's to Stan and Wendy!" he announced. "The cutest couple I ever did see."
Stan smiled as he felt Wendy squeeze his hand.
Butters grinned and shook his head indulgently. "Look at you both. Stan. Why, you're so handsome; and Wendy? Well, golly, you're a real beauty." He nudged her in the ribs. "I sure hope he's sticking it to you every night. You look like a girl who needs a good, hard pounding."
Stan felt Wendy suddenly let go of his hand. She was blushing furiously.
"If you two need somewhere to, uh ha, get acquainted, feel free to use my parents' room. If you leave a used condom in the bed, it'd be a favour to me."
"Um, thanks..." Stan was really beginning to appreciate how awkward having a drunk friend could be.
"It'd sure teach those two cu—"
"We couldn't possibly!" Wendy interjected. It didn't matter; Butters had passed out on the kitchen table.
Stan practically dragged her upstairs, his hand encased in hers. To Wendy's relief, the master bedroom was clearly occupied.
"Oh yeah... yeah... yeah! Fuck, Clyde, just take me now!" Bebe was very loud, and it didn't surprise Wendy one bit.
None of this deterred Stan. He smiled at her and turned the handle on Butters' bedroom door.
"One empty bedroom, zero adult supervision, two of us... I like these kinds of math problems."
"Stan, I don't know about this."
"Relax, Wendy. We don't have to, you know, make love or anything. We can just, you know, fool around." Stan's smile was infectious and his desire alluring, but it didn't take away Wendy's anxieties. Still, she remained silent as he guided her into the room, kissing her all the while.
Bebe and Clyde's private show was even less private in here. Soon Wendy could hear the constant thumping of what must have been the headboard against the wall.
"Oh, that's it. Right there, baby, right there!"
"God, you're so tight!"
"You're so big!"
"No, I'm pretty sure you're really tight. I'm only about five and a half, really."
"Just shut up and fuck me, Clyde!"
Wendy stared at the floor; the gleeful sounds of Bebe giving up something Wendy just couldn't seemed to make a mockery of her and Stan's relationship.
"Poor Butters; if his parents ever have sex when he's around, he must hear everything," Stan said, shaking his head. "Still; they seem to be having fun."
"Yeah." Maybe she was frigid. Did people actually get frigid? Wendy had always assumed it was one of those things horrible guys made up to try and bully girls into sleeping with them, but now she was starting to wonder.
"Ooh, oh yes, yes! Touch me there, baby. Touch me!"
"But... but it's all slippery!"
"Urgh, fine. I'll touch it, you keep thrusting like the sexy piston you are."
"Okay... Wow, are you going to keep doing that? It's hot."
"Hey! Less talking, more fucking!"
Wendy jumped as she felt Stan's hand on her shoulder. "You okay, babe?"
"Yeah. Of course," Wendy lied. He smiled and kissed her gently; she let herself respond. He smiled against her lips and slid his arms around her.
"Slow and steady, yeah?" he murmured against her ear. Wendy could only nod as his fingers found the bare skin of her back and traced her spine.
"Oh, I'm coming... I'm coming... Oh, harder, harder, harder! I'm so close, I'm so fucking... Oh." Bebe suddenly sounded rather disappointed.
"Shit. I'm sorry, Bebe. I couldn't stop it."
"It's... It's okay, baby."
Wendy heard crying. "It's not okay. I'm such a loser. It was too much, and I couldn't handle it. I'm not a real man!"
"Oh, hush, darling. Of course you're a real man. Let's just... How about I just show you how I touch myself when I'm thinking about you, and we'll see if you get a second wind, hmm?"
"But it's all floppy and I didn't get you off!" Clyde sounded as though he was going to throw himself out of the nearest window.
Wendy felt Stan shake in her arms. She looked up, and he was silently laughing.
"Stan!" she hissed, smacking him hard on the arm. He winced and at least had the decency to look a little ashamed.
"Sorry, Wendy. But you've got to admit, that's pretty funny."
Wendy rolled her eyes, and was stunned at how quickly Stan's expression became sheepish. He took her hand and led her over to the bed, which was covered with the jackets of almost all the soon to be tenth grade. He found a small area to perch on, then patted his knee. "Come here, babe."
Wendy walked over — acutely aware that her feet were starting to hurt in her ridiculous heels — and sat on his thighs like a child rather than a sex goddess. He put his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.
"You okay, babe?" he asked. "You've been kind of quiet."
"I'm fine," she replied, not wanting to let on. She was trying to be subtly asexual, not a miserable bitch. To try and make up for it, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him; shifting uncomfortably when she felt something suddenly poke her right thigh. She tried to wriggle away, but Stan just got more enthusiastic and slid his hands over her thighs as they kissed.
"Why don't you, mmh, get a little closer, babe," he whispered into her ear as he gently tried to push her legs apart.
"Stan!" Wendy's skin prickled and she felt a sense of pure horror, until she realised he was only trying to get her to straddle him. Well, only was a relative term when he was cupping her ass and sliding her closer and closer to the bulge in his pants. She felt like the proverbial girl tied to the railway tracks as a cock-shaped train headed closer and closer to her while suspenseful music played.
He stopped and gazed at her for a moment.
"You're amazing," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "I... I love you."
With those words, he flipped her onto the bed and started to unbutton his shirt.
Stan gazed down at Wendy as she lay on the bed; the way she had kept wriggling and kissing him like something possessed dragged him in deeper — he knew it wasn't the booze talking because she didn't drink, and so he couldn't help but be enthusiastic back.
Slipping his shirt off, he joined her so they were both horizontal on the bed. After Stan had unceremoniously shoved the coats onto the floor and pressed Wendy between himself and the mattress, he swiftly decided this was one of his favourite places for Wendy to be. He kissed her again, and Wendy hesitantly reciprocated. Stan wasn't sure why Wendy suddenly seemed so reluctant; did he suck at this? Was him being on top of her an affront to her new-wave feminism?
"Wendy? Is everything okay?" he asked between desperate kisses.
"Sure. Fine," she replied tersely. He dipped his head to kiss her throat and slid the spaghetti strap of her dress down her arm, swiftly pressing his lips to the newly exposed skin.
"This is a pretty dress," he mused between languid kisses. "But I think it'd look even better on the floor." The thought of finally — finally — getting to see her perfect little boobs was almost too much.
He tentatively pushed the hem of her dress up her thighs a little, but just as he'd flicked his tongue out over her collar bone, he realised she wasn't reacting. At all. It kind of scared him. He lifted his head to speak to her, and noticed she was looking away from him, tears glistening in her eyes.
"Wendy? What's wrong?" He sat up, suddenly feeling very small and very helpless. Was he really so awful at this he'd made her cry?
"I don't want to do this," she said in a small voice. Stan edged a little away from her, giving her space to sit back up.
"Okay. That's okay," he said, watching her carefully as she sat up and surreptitiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Stan hastily felt in his pockets for a tissue and handed it to her.
"Thanks," she replied, dabbing her eyes.
"Was it me?" he asked, his stomach sinking. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," Wendy insisted. "It's me. I just... I don't... Not tonight. I don't feel ready."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry."
"No! Don't be sorry! It's okay!" Stan insisted. God, he felt sick. Would she have even said anything if he hadn't asked? He felt like he'd committed some awful sexual assault. Why didn't she just say something? Did she think he was such a pervert that he couldn't hold off?
To his utter shock, Wendy simply burst into tears. She sat on his bed, weeping into her hands and Stan didn't know what the hell to do about it.
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," she blurted out between hiccupping sobs. Stan felt his blood grow colder with every tear.
"It's okay. It's okay," he said, rubbing her back in little circles. She leant her head against him and he held her tightly, letting her cry onto his bare chest.
She didn't stop until his phone started to ring. She wiped her eyes with the damp tissue and stared at the cell phone as though it were an unwelcome intruder.
"Ignore it," Stan replied.
"But, it's Kyle." She was looking at his picture on the screen — taken at a recent funfair where he'd stuck a toy stuffed shark on top of his head and bared his mouth full of braces.
"He can wait," Stan insisted, but Wendy had already answered the phone.
"... No, it's Wendy.... Sure, last time I checked... What?" Her eyes widened, and her whole face froze in shock. She thrust the phone into Stan's hand.
"I think... I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow." With those words, she dashed out of Butters' room, not even giving him the chance to say goodbye.
"Wendy? Wait up!" Stan dashed to the landing, but she was already out of the door. A few people looked up at him from the stairwell; judgement written all over their features.
Having nobody else to take his rage out on, Stan put the phone to his ear.
"Dude, what the fuck did you just say to my girlfriend?" he demanded.
"Whoa, chill! I just asked her a question," Kyle replied. "Is she okay?" his voice had an edge of concern to it.
"Yeah, no. It doesn't matter. What did you say?"
"I just asked if she masturbated," Kyle said with all the nonchalance of asking her what she'd had for dinner.
"The fuck, Kyle? You don't ask girls that! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I... I needed some female input on this one!" Kyle stammered out. He sounded so genuinely bewildered that Stan couldn't be too mad at him for long.
"Just... just you make sure you apologise to her, okay?"
"Okay, okay... did you two fall out, or something? You're really tetchy."
"You just asked my girlfriend if she touched herself; I have a right to be fucking tetchy."
"I'm sorry, it's just..." He took a deep breath. "Is it normal to teach your girlfriend how to masturbate?"
Stan stared at his phone in shock. He was really starting to worry about Kyle being left to his own devices in New York.
"What?" Stan asked, more in an effort to buy him some time to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Well, I think I taught Rebecca how to masturbate. Over the phone. Is that normal?"
"No. Emphatically not," Stan replied. He heard Kyle exhale loudly on the other end of the phone.
"I didn't think so... It was fun, though. She makes really sexy little noises—"
"Dude, stop it. Seriously."
"I mean, she wasn't doing it by herself. I was jacking off, too."
Stan sighed. Why did Kyle keep telling him these things? Couldn't he go and look it up on the internet like any normal teenage boy?
"Wait, hold on. You were both jacking off on the phone to each other?"
"Yeah, kind of. Like, I was doing what she told me to do, and she was doing what I told her to do, and we kind of described it—"
"Dude, you had phone sex."
"No we didn't!" Kyle sounded horrified. "We just..."
"Masturbated while talking about sex to each other? That's pretty much the dictionary definition."
Now Stan heard Kyle sigh down the phone.
"Shit, really? I think we're moving too fast. Way too fast," he said.
"No kidding," Stan replied grumpily. Three years of dating and Wendy had just worked herself up into hysterics over the possibility of showing him her underwear. Kyle had been dating Rebecca for about three weeks and they were having phone sex. Stan just figured Kyle had better be really fucking grateful.
"I don't know what we should be doing," Kyle said. "And I know she doesn't. We're just kind of stumbling along, but I'm scared maybe I'm pushing her into stuff. She phoned me and was all..." He trailed off suddenly. "Should I be trying to cool her off a bit? Or is it good that she's so... you know. I mean, I like it. It's fucking scary sometimes, but I like it; I like her, and doing... you know... with her feels really good. But should it?"
"I think maybe you're overthinking things," Stan said. "If you're both happy, then whatever, right?"
"I guess." Kyle sounded unconvinced. "Eww. I think I hit the ceiling."
"You okay?"
"Yeah — I didn't mean my head." Stan heard the sound of desperate wiping on the other end of the phone.
"You repulse me sometimes."
"Sorry. What happened with Wendy, then?"
"Oh, dude. I fucked up is what happened."
"What did you do?"
"Thought she was gagging for it when she was just gagging. We were, you know, making out at the party. I thought everything was going great, but she burst into tears when I tried to take off her dress. I feel like such a dick."
"Didn't you ask first?"
"I implied with my hands."
"That's not really asking, is it?"
"Kyle, you can't just say to a girl, 'Hey, do you mind if I undo your dress?' can you?"
"Why not?" For such a clever, straight A student, Kyle could be staggeringly obtuse sometimes.
"It kills the mood."
"And making the girl cry doesn't?"
Stan felt a little bubble of anger rise in his throat. "Hey, at least I didn't jack off while talking to her!"
"She asked me to! Anyway, I'm only trying to help." Stan wished Kyle sounded grumpier; he was irritatingly cheerful right now.
"I thought you wanted my help."
"And you gave it. You told me not to stress, so I'm not stressing." Stan could tell from the falsely bouncy tone to his voice that Kyle was lying through his teeth. "Have you got Wendy's number, then?"
"What?"
"You said talk to her."
"Oh, yeah — just don't ask her about her pussy, okay? Or you hitting the ceiling."
After Kyle agreed to Stan's not unreasonable demands, he passed on Wendy's cell phone number, snapped his phone shut and sighed. Wendy. He needed to go after her, apologise for his emotionally retarded friend and the general mistranslation of the whole evening. First of all, he needed to find his shirt; in his haste to shift the jackets and make Wendy comfortable, his blue button-down shirt had gone AWOL.
As he searched through the pile of jackets, he could hear shouting.
"Well, you're a dried up old cunt, aren't you?"
"Butters, don't talk to your mother like that!"
"Go fuck yourself, Father." Butters made the epithet sound like an insult. "You, well, you can't do shit to me, by golly, and you know it... Come near me with that again and I will fuck you up, sir!"
Stan scrambled around the room in a desperate search for his shirt, his adrenaline pumping. He had to get out of here, and fast. He was going to give it two minutes and if he had no joy, just fucking abandon it and let the cops stop him on the way home. It'd be way better than — He caught a glimpse of blue poking out from under a grey velvet jacket. He fished it out, then realised the jacket was Wendy's. That gave him a good excuse to go round to hers later. He held it close; it smelt of her, her skin and perfume. Maybe he could keep hold of it for a little while?
He heard the door fly open. He stilled, then glanced around and found himself staring at Stephen Stotch, Butters' father. While he was shirtless and on his knees. Fucking great.
"Alright, kids. Party's ov— Oh. Hello, Stan," he said in a low voice.
Stan quickly scrambled to his feet. "Hi, Mr Stotch," he replied, never certain if the formality doused or stoked him. Mr Stotch smiled, his eyes glassy with alcohol and his expression predatory.
"You lost something?" he asked, his eyes raking over him in a manner that made Stan very, very uncomfortable. "Or are you looking to lose something." Mr Stotch's eyes travelled down to Stan's ass.
Stan held up his shirt. "Found it."
Mr Stotch nodded. "So, where's your little girlfriend?" he asked, leaning against the door frame in a manner Stan assumed he thought was casual and blocking the only sensible escape route. Stan was seriously contemplating climbing out of the window.
"Um, I kind of need to get this jacket to her," he said, which wasn't a lie.
"I'm sure she can wait an hour or so," Mr Stotch said, slowly undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. "It's... It's pretty hot out there." He stared at Stan pointedly. "And in here."
"Yeah, well. It's summer." Stan tried to get past Mr Stotch, but he remained where he was, his eyes staring hungrily at Stan's body.
"You work out?"
"I'm captain of the football team," Stan replied, hoping it didn't answer his question one way or the other.
Mr Stotch reached up and ran an idle finger through Stan's black hair as though he were examining a collectible. "You're a very beautiful boy; anyone tell you that?"
"I really need to get going." Stan tried to just barge past this time, but Mr Stotch shifted so the two of them were pretty much stuck in the doorway.
"Oh, sorry," Mr Stotch said in a tone that implied he was anything but. He glanced down and fixed his gaze on Stan's crotch. "Well, well. I wasn't expecting that."
Stan realised with a shudder that Mr Stotch had noticed his dick hadn't caught onto the fact that he was no longer on top of Wendy.
"Hmm. Your little girlfriend's very lucky. Very lucky indeed."
Stan laughed nervously. "Yeah, well; I need to catch up with my lucky girlfriend, so... umm, later." He tried again to squeeze past Mr Stotch and reach the safety of the hallway, but he put his arm out against the door frame and blocked Stan's path. He could smell the stale beer and sweat.
"Don't play coy with me," Mr Stotch whispered, his face inches from Stan's. "I mean to have you, Stan. I mean to have you and your pert, innocent little ass right on my—"
"Mr Stotch, the police want to talk to you." Clyde handed a cordless phone to Mr Stotch and Stan took the opportunity to sneak out.
"No, Officer Rentokill, I'm afraid I don't know..."
Stan fought the urge to laugh. Okay, so maybe he and Kyle were even now he'd saved Stan's ass. Literally.
"Hi, sweetie; how was the girls' night?" Wendy's mother called as she opened the front door. So much for trying to sneak upstairs, but at least she'd bought Wendy's cover for the party.
"Fine," Wendy lied. Her father peered around the sofa; his eyes widened in concern.
"Honey, what's the matter?" he asked.
Wendy inwardly cursed. "Oh, I just... We had a water fight."
"At midnight?"
"Well, it's still warm out."
Her father's eyes narrowed.
"This better not have anything to do with that Marsh boy..."
"No!" Wendy lied, just as her mother smacked her father's arm.
"Behave," she scolded. "Stan's a sweetheart."
"I'm just going to go upstairs," Wendy announced, trudging up the stairs, entering the sanctuary of her room and closing the door before promptly bursting into tears yet again. What was wrong with her? She couldn't even let her boyfriend of three years touch her boobs — or what passed for them.
She looked at herself in the mirror; make-up smeared, stick thin. Not for the first time, she wondered how on earth a guy could ever love her in the way Stan purported to without getting anything in return. Wendy sank onto her bed, hating herself for being so self-pitying and treating her body as though it only existed to make a man happy.
She was surprised when her phone started ringing. Maybe it was Stan, for better or worse. Wiping her eyes, she fished around in her handbag for her cell phone with her free hand. The number was unrecognised.
"Hello?" Wendy answered cautiously, half-expecting it to be some sort of prank from Cartman; Stan had enough time to have spoken to him between her leaving the party and now.
"Hi. Wendy?" The voice on the other end sounded just as wary. "It's Kyle."
"Oh. Hi, Kyle." He sounded different; Wendy was certain it was him, but perhaps his voice had got a little deeper since last semester.
"Hey." There was a long pause. Wendy knew Kyle could be drawn into erudite discussion if you tried to talk about anything where he could get on his soapbox — and Kyle had more soapboxes than the Palmolive factory — but outside of that he was a pretty quiet guy, at least from Wendy's experience.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said eventually. "Stan said I shouldn't ask that sort of thing." He sounded sceptical and that in itself made Wendy want to laugh. "I mean, I don't have a thing about knowing what my best friend's girlfriend gets up to in her shower time. I was just trying to figure out if it was, you know, something normal girls did."
Wendy felt pathetically grateful at being referred to as a 'normal girl', though she wasn't sure if Kyle would rescind this if she told him what had happened tonight.
"So, who are the not normal girls who you know do it?"
"Wendy, my sole experience of female sexuality comes from pornos, and I'm pretty certain — despite all the evidence they present — that girls don't dream of being spanked and having guys jizz all over their tits," he replied evenly, before adding, "Right?" in a small, nervous voice.
"No, they don't," Wendy clarified.
"So, yeah. Anyway. Totally didn't mean to freak you out. I... I was kind of freaked myself, and you were just there on the phone, which is why I ended up asking and... well, anyway, I'm sorry."
Wendy felt tears sting her eyes. Kyle's constant talk about freaking her out with sex was effectively transporting her back to earlier this evening; the barrage of eager hands and straining cocks wouldn't even leave her alone in her own bedroom.
"Wendy? Oh, please don't cry; I said I was sorry!" Kyle sounded fretful and Wendy tried — and failed — to hold in her sobs.
"It's... It's not you, Kyle," she replied between gasps of breath as her tears flowed. "I'm sorry."
"Huh; well, if we're both sorry, I guess it cancels out. Seriously, what's wrong?"
For some reason Wendy couldn't explain — whether it was the late hour, her vulnerable state, his oddly reassuring voice — she told him everything. She didn't go into specifics, but she certainly shared more than she needed to in order to give Kyle the gist of what had happened.
Kyle sighed heavily. "Oh, Wendy. Why don't you just tell him you're not ready? It's no big deal."
Wendy laughed. "Trust me, it's a big deal. Stan... it's all he thinks about."
"Well, yeah. He's fifteen."
Wendy felt sick. "I can't do it, Kyle. I can't live up to that. I'm... I'm not like Bebe, okay!"
"So?"
"So, I'm not busty, or blonde, or a hot sex kitten. I'm just some frigid beanpole..." she felt her whole face quiver. Then she heard Kyle snort.
"Oh, shut up, Wendy; you're gorgeous. And Stan loves you, not what orifices of yours he can put his cock in. Anyway, so what if he did, huh? If all he wanted from you was sex and he dumped you for not going along with it — well, why the fuck would you care? He'd be a complete fuckface and you'd have had a lucky escape."
Wendy stared at her phone for a few moments in complete shock. He made a damn good point, albeit in the crudest way possible. "You've got such a way with words, Kyle," she commented.
Then she realised he'd called her gorgeous and she felt her blush creep all the way down her neck.
"Look, forget that. Stan loves you, okay? Sure, I know he dreams about making love to you in a way that borders on obsessive, but the key word there is 'you'. When it comes down to it, you're what he dreams of, not... not it. Sex is just the icing on the cake and he's pretty damn happy with the cake as it is."
Wendy tried to focus on this obvious dollop of common sense, but her paranoia still had a firm grip on her thought processes. "It's a pretty flat cake. Tiny little un-iced cupcakes, really. Bebe has a whole big, bouncing three-tier wedding cake..."
"Urgh, fine. Whatever. Those cupcakes may be small, but they're really nice. Ah, they're pert and in proportion and... and they're probably really tasty, too." There was a long pause. "Don't tell Stan I said that. Please."
Wendy couldn't help but smile. "You've been admiring my... my cupcakes?" she teased.
"I just pay attention to the bakeries in my area," Kyle replied flippantly. Then Wendy heard him sigh heavily. "Sometimes I think maybe some of these New York cakes could do with a little less icing." He sounded a little mournful. In all of her worry about her modest cleavage and Stan's not-so-modest libido, she'd kind of forgotten the exact same things appeared to have been gnawing at Kyle too; although she doubted he had concerns about his cleavage not filling out a wrap-around dress.
"Are you okay, Kyle?" she asked timidly, having followed the extended cake metaphor back to its original meaning. He sighed and she heard the creak of a mattress through the speaker.
"Yeah. It's just... I met this girl."
"Oh?" Stan had briefly mentioned Kyle's sudden and unexpected infatuation with a girl in New York; he'd shown Wendy a picture he had been sent by Kyle of a gawky girl with glasses, frizzy hair and braces, who was dressed in an unflattering school uniform. Apparently she'd lived in South Park before, although neither she nor Stan could remember her. Stan still couldn't get his head around what Kyle even saw in this Rebecca girl and, if she was honest, she too was a little intrigued.
"She's beautiful," Kyle continued. "She's got big eyes and a cute smirk and she can trounce anyone at chess." Judging by the tone of his voice, the latter quality seemed to enchant Kyle more than anything. "We've been dating for, like, I don't know." There was another long pause. "Okay, fine; three weeks and two days. I could probably break it down into hours for you. Anyway, she's... umm... Well, the thing is, she's kind of naïve — like, really naïve — about sex, but she's really, really enthusiastic. Like, I don't know, she really goes for it when we kiss and stuff, but I have to explain what we're doing and why she's feeling certain things — which is a pretty weird imbalance of power right there. Well, tonight she phoned me up and she..."
Wendy listened patiently and didn't interrupt. It seemed to take Kyle an age to explain what happened, which could be boiled down to 'we had accidental phone sex'. If he was after advice, Wendy felt staggeringly ill-qualified.
"Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed it. I just keep thinking, you know, that it's all happening way too soon and I seem to be the one in control. That scares me — she should be setting the pace and I should be the pathetically horny boy trying to put my hands down her pants while she slaps me away, or whatever. Now I don't know if we've gone too far and now she's freaking out, or I didn't go far enough and she's freaking out, or if I feel used, or I made her feel like I was going to propose or... It's too much!"
"Kyle, calm down; you're going to give yourself an aneurysm if you keep up all this second — no, wait; fourteenth — guessing ," Wendy replied, wanting to give the poor, sweet, confused boy a hug. "It sounds like she was confused about what she was feeling, you clarified it and told her it was okay, she... umm... broached the idea of... well, yes; and you, umm, did it but you talked afterwards. It's not like you just got off and put the phone down. I can't see how you could have handled it any better."
She heard Kyle laugh a little in relief down the phone. "Thanks, Wendy." He exhaled in apparent relief. "I guess I didn't expect to be worrying about this kind of stuff so soon. I thought... Well, to be honest I thought all girls were like you. By which, I guess, I mean like me."
Wendy couldn't help but giggle at this. The casual way Kyle kept saying how normal her reactions were, how normal his anxiety was made her feel ten times better than she had upon fleeing from Butters' house. "I suppose we're all different," she mused. "Bebe's been trying to get Clyde's pants down for, like, months."
Kyle laughed at this. Wendy smiled and looked out of the window, phone in hand. "She succeeded, by the way," she added, while she absently watched Butters' father enter the house. Butters appeared to be taunting his mother over something while she sobbed in the car. Wendy couldn't help but feel they had brought all of this on themselves — she had heard stories of the things they put him through during elementary school. It was hardly surprising that as he got older, he started to dish out what he had been made to take.
"What, at Butters' party?" Wendy assumed Stan had told him about the party; Stan told Kyle practically everything. This probably contributed to how weirdly comfortable she felt talking to Kyle about tonight; he most likely already knew.
"Yeah. I feel kind of bad now; I left Stan there after I had my freak out. Still, I think the party must be over now; Butters' parents are back."
"Wait, Stan's there alone and Mr. Stotch is back?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You left Stan alone with the Giant Spider Queen?" Kyle sounded terrified rather than angry.
"The what?"
"Butters' dad. He's predatory and gay and he wants to steal your boyfriend's ass virginity."
"What?" Wendy had never heard about this before, and instantly started to worry for Stan's safety.
"Relax, Wendy; I'll deal with it."
"How?"
"I'll phone the house; let Officer Rentokill have a word with Mr Stotch. That'll give Stan time to escape his web."
"Officer Rentokill?" Sometimes Wendy felt like Stan and Kyle had a secret language only they understood.
"He's surprisingly effective. Normally Cartman does this shit but seeing as he's not here... Anyway, I'll see you when school starts, I guess."
"Yeah." She sat down on the bed. "Thanks, Kyle. I think you really helped."
"I didn't do much, but glad I could help." There was a pause. "Thank you. You know, for listening and not being pissy with me for asking about your masturbatory habits, or lack thereof."
"It's okay. Enjoy New York."
"Thanks. Bye."
Wendy was gripped with a sudden, spontaneous feeling. "I do, by the way," she said down the phone in a rush before reaching for the 'call end' button on her phone. She caught Kyle say, "God damn!" in an awe-struck voice before she terminated the call.
She fell back onto the bed, helpless with giggles.