The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 8: The Broflovski Effect — How to Have A Successful Not-Date
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessKyle noticed his father eye him suspiciously as he bounded down the stairs.
"And where are you going all dressed up like that? I didn't even know you owned a jacket," he teased from behind his newspaper.
Kyle looked down at himself — jeans, t-shirt, weird blazer jacket thing he'd been forced into during his stay in New York — and shrugged.
"Oh, Kyle's going on a date with a little school friend," his mother said in possibly the most patronising tone this side of a daytime chat show.
"It's not a date, Ma," he insisted as he laced up his Converse sneakers. "We're just going as friends."
"They're going to Denver to see a band — who did you say they were again, bubbeleh?"
"Umm... Where did you put the keys, Dad?" Kyle asked, avoiding answering the question altogether. With his mother, sometimes it was best to keep her in the dark.
"On the table, Kyle. Where you left them."
Kyle grabbed his — his! — car keys and shoved them into his pocket. Just as he had checked his wallet to see if he needed to take his pre-paid card with him, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," Kyle insisted, but it was too late; his father had already opened the door.
He heard a dazed, "Sure. Come in," and then Bebe entered the living room holding a puffed jacket and wearing a dress with a strap across only one arm that might as well have been sprayed on. God damn; he might not see Bebe that way — not even during seventh grade — but there was no denying she was hot. Then Kyle noticed the ankle-high sneakers she was wearing, and he actually figured the overall effect was kind of cute.
"Hey, Bebe. You look nice," he said as he put his wallet in the back pocket of his pants.
"Thanks," she said with a smile. "So do you."
"Ma, Dad, this is Bebe," Kyle said by way of an introduction.
Bebe waved demurely. "Hi, Mr and Mrs Broflovski."
"Nice to meet you, Bebe." Kyle could see his mother look her up and down, and judge her instantly. He could practically see the word 'nafka' forming on her breath.
His father, on the other hand, had a large smile plastered to his face. "Hello, Bebe. Kyle, why did you leave this lovely young lady to arrive here all alone?" he remonstrated.
"I was just about to go and pick you up, Bebe," Kyle promised.
"Oh, it's okay. I got ready at Wendy's. She's only, like, ten minutes away." She smiled at Kyle. "You ready?"
"Sure." He pulled the car keys back out of his pocket. "The show finishes at eleven; we'll be back by one in the morning," he promised. The entire week had been spent in tense, careful negotiations to his curfew to allow for this drive; he planned to make the most of it — he was pretty certain he could do the drive in less than an hour and a half.
"You take care, bubbeleh," she said. "Call me if there's any hold up on the roads! And make sure you've got a blanket in case you break down; and be careful of the schmucks on the road; and—"
"Mom, we're prepared. We'll be fine," he insisted, kissing her on the cheek and feeling rather embarrassed that he had to do so in front of a girl.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski," Bebe said, before turning to Kyle as they entered the hallway. "I found this little diner near the venue I figured we could go to. They're Kosher; I checked."
"Okay. Cool, thanks," he replied as he held the door open for her. He was surprised by her thoughtfulness.
She slipped her jacket on as they stepped outside; Kyle pressed the unlock button on his keypad and the lights of his new-second-hand Lincoln flashed.
"Wow, that's your car?" Bebe queried.
"Yeah; it's my dad's, but he gave it me when they bought a new one."
"Cool."
As Bebe buckled up and Kyle started the engine, he suddenly became aware that he had no clue what to talk to her about. He literally knew nothing about her, except that she was Wendy's best friend, she had been dating Clyde seriously since last year and that she apparently loved 'Li'l Bare Bait and the Hootchie Slut-Bombs'.
"So, how were your first week's AP classes?" she asked politely, and Kyle realised she didn't have a clue what to talk to him about either.
"Oh, okay; it's only the first week so it's kind of hard to tell. You? I mean, how are you finding classes?"
"Yeah, fine. Like you said, the first week back's always a bit of an easy ride."
An awkward lull in the conversation followed; Bebe took her phone out of her purse and started texting. Kyle absently wondered both how far they had travelled towards Denver and how long they'd have to wait for the band.
As Stan frantically tried to choose which colour shirt would give the best impression of a caring boyfriend who isn't interested in fooling around with his girlfriend in the back seat of her car, he could hear his dad and Mr. Broflovski watching the game on TV and drinking.
"Do you think you can tell if your child is gay?" Mr. Broflovski asked suddenly; Stan thought he could have stopped wondering about three months ago.
"Dunno. Why?"
"I... I just don't get Kyle."
"Well, he's... Wait, is he sixteen yet?"
"Not until May."
"Well, still. I don't think we're meant to get teenagers; be grateful you don't have girls to worry about. Why the curiosity, anyway?"
"He's gone to see some band in Denver with a girlfriend."
"So? Stan goes up there with Wendy on some Saturdays. I'm pretty sure that's hetero teenage behaviour."
"No, not a girlfriend, but a friend who's a girl."
Stan decided the best shirt sadly needed to be ironed and proceeded to find the ironing board; given his mom was out with Mrs. Broflovski doing... well, whatever old women do when they hang out together, he was going to have to attempt this alone.
"Oh, boys that age do have female friends nowadays. I don't know how they do it; I never had female friends."
"Yeah, me neither. There were girls I wanted to feel up and girls I didn't."
Stan noticed out of the corner of his eye that his dad looked at Mr. Broflovski incredulously. "There were girls you didn't?"
"Anyway, this girl comes over to meet him; it's the Stevens' girl. Bebe. She's his 'friend'."
Stan's dad swigged on his beer and appeared deep in thought. "Is that the one with the ass like two peaches wrapped in Clingfilm?" he asked, and Stan nearly dropped the iron in horror.
"No, that's Sally."
At this point, Stan tried to ignore the conversation while attempting to decrease his shirt without burning a hole in it. Instead, he ended up listening in increasing disgust at their discussion.
"The one with the hot full lips who likes lollipops?"
"That's Red. Bebe's the one who looks like a high-class porn star."
"Oh, Bebe? The blonde?" His father took another swig on his beer. "Gerald, he's flaming. No straight guy would go out with her just as friends; any normal boy would be trying to have sex with her. Hell, I'd be trying to have sex with her."
"Randy, I don't think she's even sixteen yet."
"It'd be worth the jail time."
Stan slipped his freshly ironed shirt on and angrily did up the buttons. God damn, parents were fricking gross sometimes.
Just when he had started to notice there was silence in the room, Mr Broflovski loudly proclaimed, "and Wendy? Wow, she's really pretty!"
"Oh, yeah. She's a hottie."
"Super hot."
Stan slammed the iron down. "Not cool, Dad. Not cool, Mr. Broflovski." He shook his head in disgust. "Not cool."
"Neither is eavesdropping, Stanley," his father replied with a little twitch of his lips.
As he stormed upstairs to retrieve his wallet, his jacket and the flowers he'd bought for Wendy, he could still hear them giggling like eight year olds over a loud fart.
"You're an asshole, Gerald."
"You loved it."
"Whatever, at least my kid's not queer." The tone of his dad's voice suggested he wasn't remotely serious.
"Hey, if my son's gay, then yours totally is. Give it a few years, and we'll be buying them an espresso machine for their new apartment."
"Mine's got a girlfriend; he's not the one being 'just friends' with a... a fucking junior playboy pinup!"
"B, E, A, R, D..." Mr Broflovski was barely making the letters heard over his dad's braying.
Stan sighed heavily and walked into the living room, ready to face the tipsy man-children.
"I'm going out now, Dad," he announced.
"Wow, Stan. You look very dapper," Mr. Broflovksi commented with a raised eyebrow.
"In a totally manly way, of course," his father added huffily.
"Right. Whatever. I'll be back by half eleven." He glanced at Mr. Broflovski's face, pink cheeked with amusement. "Will Kyle be back by then?" He figured he ought to see how his 'friend-date' went; poor guy could do with some fun after what went down in New York.
His dad burst out laughing as Mr. Broflovski's face apparently contorted into a giggle at this. "He said one, Stan. You don't need to wait by the phone for him."
The two of them looked at each other and burst into hopeless laughter.
Stan sighed, "You're an asshole, and you're an asshole," he said, gesturing with his bunch of flowers for emphasis, although it only seemed to make them laugh more.
"I'm going out," he said through gritted teeth, grabbing his bouquet tightly and storming out of the door.
"I can't fucking believe it!" Cartman grumbled as Kenny flicked through the channels on his TV. "Kyle's got a date with Bebe? I know she's just been dumped, but she can't be that desperate!"
Kenny shrugged and changed the channel once again — poor piece of crap didn't get to see much cable, and you have to give the less unfortunate a bit of charity now and then.
Eventually, he looked at Cartman. "Lucky boy, I say. Hope he gets a blow job out of it."
Cartman felt his stomach sink; that would be the worst. Kyle had already beaten him to the punch with that Rebecca chick — although Cartman didn't think it really counted due to her stutter — if he beat him to getting the first blow job too.... Well, it was inconceivable.
Cartman grabbed the remote off Kenny and switched the TV onto standby. "That does it; c'mon, Kenny."
Kenny made no effort to move — it was a fine balance between offering compassion and being taken for a ride with his kind — so Cartman poked him hard in the ribs with the TV remote.
"C'mon you scummy welfare whore; get your lazy ass off the couch!"
"What the fuck for?" Kenny demanded. Cartman sighed; fifteen years and he still didn't know his place.
"We're going to Denver."
"What? Why?"
"Because Kyle's going there with that slut and we have to follow them!"
Kenny eyed him wearily again; no wonder he was poor with that lack of energy. "And then what?"
"And then... then we're going to totally humiliate him, of course. God damn, Kenny — have you got fucking water on the brain or something? With your folks it's probably liquor." He sniggered. God damn, he was so funny he even amazed himself.
Kenny eventually got up. He looked Cartman in the eye and sighed heavily. "I don't want any part of this," he said. "I'm going home, you do what you fucking want, man."
With these words, he just upped and left. Cartman couldn't believe the ingrate!
"Fine, Kenny. You just bail, you fucking turncoat! I'll take care of it, like I always do!" he shouted at the door as Kenny shut it behind him. Mother fucking drain on society.
Cartman went upstairs and packed the essentials: water pistol, camcorder, rope and bull pheromone spray — he'd always though if he could get Kyle raped by a bull it would be so fricking funny.
He lugged the heavy backpack downstairs, grabbed his mom's car keys and yelled, "I'm just taking the car for a bit, Mom."
"Oh, sweetie, you can't. I need it to fetch grandma from the hosp—"
"Awesome; love you too, Mom," he shouted as he shut the door and clambered into the car, tossing his bag under the passenger seat. His mom didn't really need the car to deal with grandma — that's what ambulances were for.
"Okay, I see your point, and it's sweet, I guess—" Bebe leant across the table and grabbed a few fries from the basket in front of them — "but I just don't think it's a valid lifestyle choice anymore. Divorce is easier to come by, co-habiting is pretty common; people don't have to put up and shut up the way they used to." She dipped her fries in the ketchup on Kyle's plate and slowly ate them. "It's probably better to have had a few sexual partners, and to have had sex with your future husband or wife, before you get married. Then you're never wondering if there's something better out there, because you've tried it out. What happens if you're both there in the honeymoon suite and you just don't click sexually? How much would that suck?"
-Friggingodess-
Kyle raised his palms in mild rebuke. "Hey, I'm not saying I've decided on that. I'm just saying that I don't think it should be thrown away on the first person you lay eyes on."
"Sex, Kyle. You're old enough to say the word."
He couldn't help but smile. "Fine; I think sex is something special that should be kept for... well—"
Bebe looked amazed and amused in equal measure. "Really? You're really planning to stay a virgin until your wedding night?"
"I don't know. I haven't decided. I'm not even sure I know what counts as virginity anymore. I just know I want to wait for someone I think I'd like to marry."
Bebe raised an eyebrow. "But logically — as far as logic can be applied here — every person you date for a reasonable amount of time falls into that category." She smirked. "Or is that your point?"
Kyle stared at her in vague amazement as she sipped at her root beer. He'd always had Bebe down as a bit of a tchotchkala; you learn something new every day. She wasn't book smart like Wendy, but he was beginning to think she was one of the wisest people he'd ever conversed with.
She suddenly appeared a little melancholic. "Besides, sex is an important part of a relationship. If you're compatible."
"Surely that can be learned, though. It's something you figure out between the two of you."
She sighed. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
Kyle couldn't help himself, and gently touched her arm. "There are other guys out there; you'll find someone who you fit with even better. Every pot has a lid; that's what my mom says." He wasn't convinced by his mother's trite phrases, but it was all he had. He wished he truly believed there were other girls like... like her out here. Having said that... No. Friend-date. Forget it.
Bebe slid her hand over his and he felt a surprisingly familiar tingle. "I guess." She looked up at him. "What would you do? If your hypothetical bride wasn't doing it for you in the bedroom department?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that to her, for starters," he replied and they both laughed; Kyle was vaguely aware she still had her hand resting over his own. "I... I guess you could show them; nicely, casually," he suggested.
She smiled thinly. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."
Kyle used the resulting lull in their conversation to take a bite of his burger, feeling incredibly self-conscious as Bebe watched him; her chicken wings had long since been devoured in a heady, joyful mess of teeth ripping through flesh and sticky fingers being sucked clean in a shameless display of food-related eroticism. He could have watched her all day; it was part of the reason he had ground to make up, and he doubted that the way he was chomping through his burger had quite the same allure.
Just as he swallowed, he noticed Bebe stare at him oddly. Then she leant across the table — her amazing figure a perfect sight from where he sat and no doubt from every other possible angle — and tenderly wiped her thumb along his bottom lip.
"Burger sauce," she said by apparent way of explanation. When she sucked her thumb clean without breaking her gaze, Kyle briefly wondered whether he should re-evaluate his stance on casual sex.
Stan loosened his collar and checked for the hundredth time that the flowers in his bouquet hadn't wilted or been crushed. Gingerly, he knocked on the door as though he expected it to break his hand off. He was so nervous; he and Wendy hadn't been out on a proper date since 'dress-gate' back at Butters' party, and he simply had to show her that he wasn't sex obsessed.
The door opened and he was face to face with Wendy's father, who folded his arms and glared at him as though he'd just taken a crap on his doorstep.
"Hello, Stan," he said eventually. The tone of his voice was so cold, he might as well have said, 'fuck off'.
"Erm, hi, Mr. Testaburger. Is Wendy home?"
Mr. Testaburger shut the door in his face. Stan was momentarily shocked, but they he heard Wendy's father call, "Wendy! Your little boyfriend is here!"
Stan bristled at the term — there was barely any height difference!
The door opened again and Wendy stared anxiously back at him. She was dressed far more demurely than her usual style in a high-necked top, cardigan and long skirt.
"Hi, Wendy," he said, proffering the flowers and trying not to think about what she might look like if he got all those layers off her. Damn it! One night, that was all he asked. One night to prove to Wendy that he wasn't desperate for her pussy and he'd gone about fifteen seconds before every single thought he'd ever had about its look, feel and size filled his mind.
"Thanks. I'll just... just put them in water," she said shyly.
As she slipped away, Stan silently cursed himself. He just couldn't stop; now he was wondering how hairy it was. He was such a dick; Wendy deserved a boyfriend who didn't turn into a mess of arousal at the mere sight of her.
"You ready?" Wendy was at the door again, her arms folded protectively around herself. Stan suddenly realised she'd probably picked her outfit to be as non-arousing as possible; he could have told her it wasn't working. He ought to just write her an email: 'Dear Wendy. You could wear a sack. It will make no difference. I will still want to rip it off you and make sweet love to you down by the fire. Or anywhere. Sorry. Love, Stan'.
"Sure." He was about to offer his hand, then stopped. Hand holding could be misconstrued — it was only a few more steps into heavy petting; Stan figured you could make it as little as two steps. He wanted to show her how respectful he could be of the fact she didn't want things to get sexual.
They walked in silence to her car; on the drive to the restaurant, Stan counted at least six billboards advertising lingerie and their route passed some sex shop Stan didn't realise existed in South Park.
"So, how're AP classes?" he asked, desperate to make conversation and distract him from his sexy thoughts.
"Fine," she replied. "I'm glad Kyle's there, too — we're the only tenth graders there."
"That's good — but it just proves you're both doing these classes too young," Stan pointed out.
"There's no such thing," Wendy replied airily, and flashed him a cheeky smile. Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets to try and pre-emptively hide the erection he felt sure was about to appear. When Wendy took one hand off the steering wheel to touch his hand, but apparently missed and grabbed his thigh, he was grateful for his efforts.
"Sorry," she whispered; her cheeks flushed and her eyes were fixed on the road.
"It's cool," Stan replied casually, but he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. He pushed it away; this was his whole problem. She couldn't do anything without him thinking about how it could lead to sex. He was an asshole, and he couldn't understand why she was even with him.
Kyle instinctively grabbed Bebe's hand as they squeezed their way through the crowds while trying not to drop their drinks. As they found a suitable place on the balcony, Kyle took the opportunity to comment on something that had been bothering him all evening.
"Root beer? Who drinks root beer anymore?"
She shrugged. "I do," she replied before sucking languidly on the straw of her drink. Kyle tried not to let his mind go to dark, sexy places. She deserved better than that; Bebe happened to be surprisingly good company.
"Try some," she said, offering her lipstick-stained straw towards him in a rather inviting way. "You might just change your mind."
"Thanks, but I don't think I will."
The support band came out on stage and started to play — some weird band that dressed in kilts and sang about the economic crisis — and Bebe was in stitches.
"Oh my God; could they be any more niche?"
Kyle shrugged. "Maybe if they added some bagpipes."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the lead singer whipped out a set of bagpipes and started to play. It was all Kyle and Bebe could do to remain upright as Kyle felt his stomach start to ache from laughter.
For the rest of their set, he and Bebe traded new and crazier gimmicks they could display; between them they had a thirty per cent hit rate.
"I'm sure the Venn diagram of people who like all that stuff had precisely seven people in its centre," Kyle mused; Bebe seemed to find this most amusing. He did his best to ignore the blush that he could feel creeping over his face.
"Do you want another drink?" he asked.
"Sure, thanks." Bebe started rifling through her purse — which in a poorly lit stadium, seemed pretty fruitless.
He rolled his eyes. "You get the next one," he said, gently grabbing her hand and pulling it out of her purse.
"Ooh, I love it when you're masterful," she said, offering up a big — and very sexy — wink. Kyle rushed away so she couldn't see how red he'd turned; even in the poor light, he was sure she would have noticed. Hell, some man-made satellites would have picked it up.
By the time he'd queued, bought drinks, glared at the two jerks who were staring at Bebe with a hunger that boarded on starvation and found her on the balcony, the band had just taken to the stage.
"This is going to be so awesome," Bebe said as she took her drink from Kyle. "Have you seen them before?" She had to yell her last enquiry into his ear as the crowd erupted into loud cheers.
"No."
At this point conversation was impossible; Bebe merely smiled and touched his elbow. Kyle inferred this to be a 'You'll love it!' assurance.
Not long into the set, Kyle firmly decided that Bebe was right. The band played a few songs off their latest album — 'Sugar Tits' and 'Gang Bang Baby' — but mercifully most of it was their back catalogue; Kyle was particularly pleased to hear 'Black Bitch in the Ghetto', their heartfelt tale of interracial love in a dying town.
When they got to their most famous track — 'I Want (Your Pussy on my Face)' — the brash lead singer insisted everyone needed, "to dance with your bitches, or I'll fucking stab you!"
The audience laughed, but Kyle wasn't entirely sure he was joking.
He felt Bebe's hand rest on his chest. "Well, whaddya say?" she asked, looking up at him with a knowing expression. "Do you want what I want?" she sang along as the whole audience completed the rejoinder, "your pussy on my face."
As Bebe winked at him yet again, Kyle began to wonder if she was perhaps flirting with him a little.
"Dance with me," she urged and Kyle instantly felt awkward and uncoordinated.
"I can't dance," he said meekly.
Bebe grabbed his hand and placed it on her ass. "I'll show you."
Once she'd positioned his hands exactly where she wanted them — which was apparently one on each ass cheek — she slung her arms loosely around his neck.
"Just follow my hips," she whispered into his ear. "They never lie."
Kyle tried to gulp away a suddenly dry throat. "Umm, okay. Truthful hips, got it."
Following Bebe's honest — and flexible — hips proved an exercise in contortion. She ground up and down, left and right and everything in between. She was like a roller-coaster; you just had to hold on and enjoy the ride.
Bebe grinned at him, he grinned back and then the unthinkable — yet inevitable — happened; he started to feel his cock stir into life. There was no way he could stay like this; the risk of it popping up and poking Bebe in the thigh was increasingly exponential. Plus, Bebe would know — she knew about cocks; she'd actually had sex. Several times, if Clyde's subtle boasting was even half-way accurate. If Kyle was honest, that had always kind of pissed him off. Sex was supposed to be intimate, private; not something to brag about in the locker room.
With the speed of Usain Bolt, Kyle grabbed Bebe's hand, twirled her around and held her in a more traditional dance position. She joined in happily and soon they were dancing an exuberant and inept mash-up of the twist and ballroom style.
By the end of the gig, they were both a little sweaty and a little worn out. Bebe laughed and put one arm around his waist and the other on his shoulder. "I just need to go to the bathroom, meet you downstairs?" she suggested against his ear.
"Sure," he replied as she made her way to the ladies and he to the gents.
As he stood over the urinal and aimed at the little cube of disinfectant they always seemed to have in these places, he felt kind of pleased. Mostly because he had definitely thought about... about Rebecca way less than he did last Saturday, but a little part of him was also impressed that he'd managed to hit the disinfectant block dead-on for almost ninety percent of his piss.
He shook any potential dribbles from his cock, surreptitiously wiped it with a wet wipe — he always got funny looks when he did this at a public urinal — and washed his hands thoroughly before exiting the bathroom and heading downstairs.
That was when he found Bebe cornered by the two jerks he'd seen staring at her earlier.
"No, thank you," he heard her say politely, but firmly.
"Oh, come on, baby," the one goon said, who was all tattoos and so much muscle his head and neck were indistinguishable.
"Yeah," his crony added. He was even taller and bigger than his friend — and apparently was even sleazier. "Come back to ours; we'll show you a real fun way to work up a sweat." He ran a finger down Bebe's throat and towards the neckline of her dress; Bebe slapped his hand away angrily. Kyle felt the old red mist start to descend.
"You didn't mind being all slutty with your little fag friend; what's wrong with us?" the tattooed douche put his arm around Bebe's shoulder.
Kyle shoved his way through to them, grabbed the guy's hand and roughly pulled it off Bebe's shoulder. "Because I'm her boyfriend, asshole, that's why!" He knew he looked angry and he did his best to exaggerate it, giving them both one last glare before her turned to Bebe.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She smiled sweetly at him. "I am now, honey," she replied, keeping up the façade as they made to leave.
The two jerk-offs wouldn't let them.
"See, this is my problem," the tattooed one said, shoving Kyle into the wall.
"You've only got the one problem? I find that hard to believe," Kyle sniped.
"Shut up, fag. My problem is, a little slut like you clearly ain't getting no satisfaction from a queer like this and that just ain't right." The dickhead's leer suddenly became malicious as he grabbed Bebe around the neck. "Between the two of us, little lady, you'll be screaming our names tonight. One way or another..." He heard the sound of a fly being unzipped; if their behaviour itself hadn't sickened Kyle enough, one glance at Bebe's clearly petrified face was ample fuel to make him do what he knew had to be one of the stupidest things he would ever do in his whole life.
"Oh, I'm the fag, but you two want to get your sad little dicks out in front of each other? Wanna know what I think? She's just an excuse for you pair of ass-munchers to suck each other off," Kyle said loudly.
Suddenly — and predictably — all thoughts of raping Bebe seemed to fall by the wayside as they turned on him and cracked their knuckles menacingly, the one hastily zipped himself back up.
Kyle took his car keys out of his pocket and pressed them into Bebe's hand. "Honey, go and get in the car."
"Kyle!"
"Just do it!" Kyle snapped. Irritatingly, she stayed put.
"I'm not leaving you here to—"
Kyle felt the first punch land square on his jaw. His whole head seemed to rattle. He anxiously felt around his newly-straightened teeth with his tongue for any signs of damage. Then he glared at them and bunched his fists.
"Mind the teeth, cock-suckers," he snarled, before throwing caution to the wind and hurling himself at them. He figured he might be able to get a couple of good punches in before he was totally creamed by the two no-neck assholes.
His fist ached and he heard the snap of cartilage — he'd drawn blood from the one with the tattoo, at least. Sadly, the other goon kicked him right in the balls and he was left curled up in the foetal position trying to protect his ribs from a flurry of drop kicks. The pain spread out like an ink blot; he managed to desperately breathe out and tense his stomach muscles enough to spare himself from being completely winded. All he had to do now was remain conscious; it looked like a seemingly impossible goal as the blows continued to rain down on him.
Suddenly, the kicks stopped and Kyle heard scuffles and yells.
"Get your hand off me, fucking pigs!"
"Yeah; oink oi—" There was a dull thud followed by sniffling. Kyle looked up to see two police officers cuffing the two dick wads; both of whom had busted noses now. One of the officers slipped his dripping nightstick back into its holster, and the other helped Kyle to his feet. Kyle saw that Bebe was standing by.
"They just went for him, officer!" she said, her voice quivering theatrically. "I was so scared."
The officer looked at Bebe. "It's okay, miss. It's over now." He looked at Kyle and shook his head. "We'll get you to first-aid — maybe now you'll think twice before trying to be a have-a-go hero."
"Yes, officer," Kyle replied, knowing if that was a lesson he was ever going to learn, he'd have learned it years ago.
By the time they'd got to the first-aid department and a nice, matronly paramedic was tending to his black eye, bloody — but not broken — nose and checking him for a fractured rib cage, Bebe snapped.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she yelled. "You could have got yourself killed!"
"Wow, sorry Mom. I was only trying to look out for you."
"Me?" She sounded surprised for a moment, but it soon gave way to anger. "How exactly was you getting your ass kicked going to help me? You think they'd have just left me alone once you were choking on your own blood?"
"No, Bebe; I thought you'd have just left when I told you and locked yourself in the car by the time they'd got bored!"
"Very funny."
"I'm not joking!" He sighed. "I mean, I was kind of expecting you'd call the police before I died, but yeah. That was my plan. Not the best one I've ever had, but it worked."
"You... you..." Bebe didn't finish her sentence, and instead dragged her hands through her hair. "You're unbelievable."
The paramedic smiled. "You can relax. Your boyfriend hasn't sustained any serious injuries — although his pride's probably been a bit dented."
"Did you see those two guys? I wasn't expecting to win," Kyle pointed out.
Bebe sighed heavily. "You're a fucking idiot, Kyle," she said before turning away.
In Buca de Fagghecini, the waiter pulled out Wendy's chair and sat her down before Stan had the chance. Maybe it was just as well; Stan thought the back of Wendy's neck was exquisite.
"Would you'a like'a to see the menu?" their plump, cheery waiter asked in an accent Stan was pretty sure sounded Nebraskan.
"Erm, sure. Thanks."
They were swiftly handed a menu which took up a single sheet of laminated card, only the card was almost as big as they were.
Once the waiter had vanished, Wendy leaned over to Stan.
"I think he's more from Nebraska than Naples," she joked.
"Huh?"
"Naples. In Italy," Wendy confirmed. Stan laughed too loudly to compensate. Not only was he failing in his attempts not to drool over Wendy, but he was failing to match her level of knowledge. Kyle might not get it when a girl flirts outrageously with him, but Stan was sure he'd have known where Naples was.
"Stan? Are you okay?" Wendy asked hesitantly.
"Hmm? I'm fine," he insisted. She shrank back a little, and they both looked at each other. Stan dropped his gaze a little, realised he was staring at Wendy's boobs, so then concentrated on the plastic flower in a tiny vase on the table and tried to come up with something to say.
Suddenly, Wendy's phone chirruped into life — the whooshing sound told him she'd got a message.
She smiled at him. "It's just a text."
Then it went off again. And again. Other diners started to glare at them.
"Maybe you should just switch it off?" Stan suggested gently.
"Right, of course." Wendy scrabbled around in her purse — why was it that no matter how small a chick's purse was, they could never find anything in it? — and switched it off.
"Done," she said, looking a little flustered. "I'm all yours."
Stan suddenly felt a little flustered, too. God damn it, he had to stop thinking about Wendy and sexy acts.
They shared dough-balls with a buttery dip — which Stan desperately and shamefully wanted to suck off Wendy's greasy fingers — and they both had pasta for their main. Stan had spaghetti and meatballs, which proved to be a stupid idea as he got flecks of tomato sauce all over his shirt with embarrassingly regularity. Wendy had spaghetti carbonara and wasn't having the same problem at all. What she was doing, however, was sucking up spaghetti coated in a creamy sauce in a ridiculously erotic way. God damn it, his job was hard enough as it was; why did she have to pick something that made him think of her licking up his jizz?
Wendy stared at him coolly. "What?" she queried tersely and Stan realised that he must have vocalised at least a proportion of his thoughts.
The fact that the other diners in the vicinity were staring at him with utter contempt merely confirmed his suspicions.
"I... I... Sorry!" he stammered, throwing down his napkin and dashing for the bathroom.
Once he was inside the monochrome bathroom with its chrome urinals, he stared into the hyper-polished mirror above the sink and tried to compose himself. When that didn't work, he took his phone out of his pocket to phone Kyle, just as he remembered he was currently jumping about to some shitty band he could only assume Kyle and Bebe enjoyed ironically. He didn't know who else to phone who could help him with — Kenny! Kenny knew about girls!
No answer. Damn it!
This was insane; the more he tried not thinking about Wendy in a variety of exciting and probably freaky sexual ways, the more he couldn't think about anything else. He wondered if he should just go to town and imagine everything, but he was sure it affected the way he came across; she'd probably be able to tell. God, this was a nightmare — how was he supposed to make her feel comfortable by not placing any emphasis on his horniness when it overtook his brain every chance it got?
As Kyle drove the Lincoln back towards South Park with only the headlights to guide his way, he did his best to concentrate on the road and not the silent, brooding Bebe sat in the passenger seat, texting furiously on her phone. He felt pretty deflated; as though he'd blown it, even though there was nothing to actually blow because it was a friend-date. Perhaps part of him thought he had a chance with Bebe. Perhaps part of him wanted a chance? It was purely academic now; she hadn't said a word to him since he'd been patched up by that nice paramedic and given a relatively clean bill of health. How he was going to explain this to his mother, he had no idea.
"Stop the car," Bebe said suddenly.
"Are you serious?"
"I want you to pull over and turn off the engine," Bebe said firmly. Kyle sighed, but obeyed her instructions and drove the car into the nearest lay-by. He was clearly going to have to talk her out of leaving the car and walking home; she had a death-wish if that was her plan, regardless of her feelings towards him.
"Bebe, I'm sorry I—"
Bebe grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him towards her, frantically kissing him. To say he was surprised would be a bigger understatement that saying Elton John was a little flamboyant.
She pulled away. "Nobody has ever taken a beating for me before," she panted, before kissing him roughly again. Any sense of trying to stop and deconstruct what was going on evaporated when she threaded her fingers through his hair, although he winced when she pressed hard against a portion of his lip which had split.
"Sorry," she whispered, cradling his head in her hands. Kyle took the opportunity to bring things down to his more relaxed pace, and gently leant in to suck her bottom lip between his. She shuddered and caressed the nape of his neck, silently encouraging him to continue. They unbuckled their seatbelts to gain better reach, and Kyle slid his hands over her back, but under her jacket. He felt a surge of pleasure as he placed gentle kisses down her throat and he felt her back arch under his grasp. Her moan of appreciation went straight to his little head.
His stomach lurched in a very pleasurable way as she teased at the shell of his ear with her tongue, then they were back to exploring each other's mouths; he felt Bebe giggle as she ran her tongue over his permanent retainers. When she pulled away suddenly it was like being doused with cold water. He watched helplessly as she peeled off her jacket, her cheeks flushed and her smile wicked. He heated up all over again as she shifted closer to him and rested a hand on his thigh.
"Bebe," he whispered, ready to say that they didn't have to do this, but he thought better of it after their discussion at the diner. Bebe had waxed lyrical about knowing what she wanted; it would be kind of patronising for him to now suggest she didn't.
Her fingers with their pink-painted nails slid up and unbuttoned his jeans, then swiftly unzipped his fly. Kyle didn't know whether he should stop her or not; a classic case of one head saying 'We should give this some thought' while the other screamed 'Just shut up and let her get on with it!'. He wondered if he should warn her about his dick; he was pretty certain Clyde wasn't circumcised and he wasn't sure whether a) she'd freak out or b) what she did to him in the hand job department would actually be comfortable.
Within five seconds, he realised it was immaterial, because she'd ducked down and taken about a third of his penis in her mouth.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" he gasped. Bebe stopped and lifted her head up.
"Relax, Kyle. I know what I'm doing," she said, her voice dripping with sensual promise.
Not for the first time in the hands of a gorgeous girl, Kyle had literally nothing to say. His entire vocabulary had utterly deserted him except for the words, 'fuck', 'ah' and 'Bebe'. He ran his fingers through her hair and tenderly caressed her head and neck while she found new and amazing ways to scramble his brains with a combination of wetness, suction and friction.
He leant his head back against the car seat and watched her head bob up and down; her pretty, plump lips in places he could never have imagined and her body awkwardly prone with one leg knelt on the passenger seat, the other stretched out onto the floor of the car and jammed against the handbrake. Part of him wanted this to last forever, but part of him was vaguely aware that the sooner he came, the sooner she could get herself into a more comfortable position.
When he felt he was about to spurt he tried to pull her away, but she slapped his hand away and kept going. Unable to stop himself, he let out a loud, hoarse cry of release and realised she'd let him come in her mouth. When she swallowed, crawled onto his lap and whispered, "You know, as far as jizz goes, yours tastes pretty good," he suddenly felt as though everything he'd ever known about the world had turned to dust.
What did he say? 'Thank you' was on the tip of his tongue, but that sounded kind of dickish, so he instead went back to kissing her neck — he wasn't too fond of the idea of tasting himself in her mouth, as hypocritical as he knew it was — and her bare shoulder where her previously exposed bra strap had slipped.
"Did you like that, huh?" she asked, in a weird babying way that was completely incongruous to the act she had just performed. He could only nod and mumble incoherently; preferring instead to lavish attention on her exposed skin. She sighed happily and sank against him, her thighs gripping his tightly.
"Don't be afraid to touch me," she urged, taking his hands and sliding them up her thighs. On her cue, he let his fingers tease the hem of her dress up and up, sliding it over her butt and exposing her panties to the recycled air in his car. He displayed his fearlessness by tucking his fingers under the lace and cupping her bare ass cheeks, ready to do more as she arched her back sharply and left his face perilously close to her cleavage.
Suddenly, she stopped. "Shit," she moaned.
"What?"
"It's half twelve. How far are we from town?"
"About half an hour," Kyle admitted.
"Well, fuck," Bebe said, climbing off Kyle and sitting down in the passenger seat in a huff. She buckled her seat belt as Kyle zipped himself back up and clicked his seatbelt into place.
Once they were on the move again, he saw Bebe reach for her phone and text, yet again. Then she started to make a phonecall.
"Hello? Mrs. Broflovski? Yes, it's Bebe... No, we're fine. It's just that I had a bit of a scare at the gig, some thugs were hassling me and... No, no, I'm fine. Kyle really looked after me; he was a real knight in shining armour... It's just, well, I'm a bit shaken up and I was hoping you'd be okay with Kyle staying with me until my folks get back from their dinner party... Oh, no! No! They'll be back in an hour or two... They're seeing my aunt, she lives out in Colorado Springs, so it's quite a drive; I've got their number if you want to check they're okay with it... Sure, it's—"
Kyle listened as Bebe gave out what appeared to be her mother's actual cell phone number. When she'd finally finished talking to his mother, she ended the call and grinned at Kyle.
"You're coming home with me," she insisted.
As he set off for Denver, Cartman passed Kenny's house and heard a shot ring out; what else could you expect in that part of town? Soon after that he was on the road to Denver.
The drive was pretty boring; he wished Kenny was there to rip on. Cartman began to wonder if he should have asked Butters — his favourite patsy — along. Granted, he wasn't a challenge, but he was reliable. Yeah, Butters was the prostitute of victims — he just did what you wanted in return for the fee of having to hang out with him. Cartman saw it as an agreeable arrangement. Now Kyle? Kyle was your frosty prom-queen of a victim — unobtainable, rarely puts out but when she does? Oh, mama! The rare occasions Cartman actually full on beat Kyle were worth a hundred sessions of ripping on Butters.
By the time he'd parked up, Cartman saw Kyle and Bebe wander into the stadium. They weren't holding hands, which was something; Kyle clearly hadn't got very far in charming her. Not that Cartman was surprised; he was sure if he'd been in Kyle's shoes, he'd have had Bebe's panties off already.
Three hours and seven party bags of Cheesy Poofs later, and people were flooding out of the stadium doors; Cartman scrambled for his binoculars and studied them carefully. As the roads became jammed with cars, he started to panic; if Kyle and Bebe came out now, how was he going to follow them?
Fifteen minutes later; the traffic had mercifully thinned out, but still no Kyle. Cartman felt his stomach double up in knots — what if he'd missed them? Then he realised he could see Kyle's parked Lincoln in the distance, but the knot didn't go away. Where were they?
Just when Cartman was considering getting out and looking for them — if Kyle was being laughed at in the stadium he didn't want to miss it — they emerged. Holy fuck, Kyle was messed up! His face was all busted up; Cartman could see blood stains on his t-shirt. Bebe followed next to him, biting her lip and looking bewildered. In a desperate rush, Cartman grabbed his camcorder and started filming — he had to capture the blood and bruises on Kyle's ugly Jew face.
They clambered into the car and drove off. Cartman followed at a distance. Once they got onto the freeway, Cartman hastily switched his lights off and kept his distance — he didn't want to have to explain himself to the skinny fucking Jew if he got caught.
After half an hour of careful, near-blind driving, Cartman saw Kyle suddenly pull over into a lay-by. Cartman slowed down and pulled up nearby, then got out and set his camcorder to maximum zoom. Was Kyle seriously going to make a move on Bebe after she busted his face? This ought to be worth seeing.
When Bebe grabbed Kyle's shirt and stuck her tongue down his throat, Cartman nearly dropped his camcorder in shock. What the fuck was wrong with her? He continued to film as Kyle gently kissed and caressed her like some fucking gay-wad; his fingers danced over her skin and she writhed in delight. Asshole; a few whispers and she was lost in him — he was like the fucking Pied Piper for sluts.
Cartman actually gasped, "Jesus fucking Christ!" when he saw Bebe unzip Kyle's flies and start sucking him off. God damn, she really was a slut! She bobbed up and down like she was trying to grab an apple; her perky ass wiggled just in view behind the windscreen. Kyle's expression was priceless. Cartman tried to control his laughter as he watched Kyle's head tilt back in apparent ecstasy; his big eyes darkening and half-lidded in desire, his long fingers exploring Bebe's blonde curls. The moment he came, Cartman swore he could literally see him unravel. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted in what must have been an ear-shattering moan. Cartman couldn't help but burst out laughing.
Soon after, they groped each other for a bit before suddenly pulling away and driving off. Cartman got back into the car and switched his camcorder off; that had been better than anything he could have imagined. Bebe was a hot little whore, and Kyle looked like a fucking stroke patient when he jizzed. Fucking classic!
He considered making a move, but his pants were painfully tight. God damn, Bebe and her slut ways had clearly got him going. Not that leaving right now would have been the best idea anyway; he needed to put a bit of distance between him and Kyle's car on this empty road.
With nothing else to do to pass the time, he looked around furtively and unbuttoned his fly, thinking hard about what he'd just witnessed as he delved inside his pants.
Kyle found himself dragged into Bebe's dark house as she continually kissed him. Well, dragged was an unfair term; he could no longer have walked away from her loving embrace any more than he could have plucked his own eyeballs out from their sockets. His fingers were making their way through her mountain of tousled curls while her fingers were spreading out over his ass. He let one hand slide down her back and pulled her flush against him as they stepped carefully into her kitchen. At some point during their frantic moving make-out session, Bebe had clearly managed to hit a light switch, so now Kyle could see just how modern and sleek the Stevens' liked their décor. The thought soon left his mind, because Bebe had pulled away from him a little and slid her impressive body onto the kitchen counter.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked. "Coffee? Tea?" She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Me?"
Her hands were splayed upon the counter and the way she had arched her back put her breasts on tantalising display. Despite all of this, Kyle found himself gripping her thighs gently in his hands and replying, "I would actually really like a coffee, if that's okay."
She smiled. "You'll have to unhand me first."
Kyle let go as though she were contagious. "Right. Sorry."
She giggled. "What are you apologising for? I liked your hands there."
"Oh. Well, that's good." He watched as Bebe kicked off her sneakers and wiggled her pantyhose covered toes before sliding elegantly back onto her feet and tiptoeing around the kitchen. She stretched up towards a cupboard; Kyle opened it for her.
"What are you after? I mean, besides the coffee," he asked, feeling his cheeks burn a little when she slid her arms around his waist.
"Just the instant in the corner; that's okay, right? I don't really know how to work the machine Dad's got."
"Instant's fine; I just need to stay awake long enough to drive back," he replied.
"You could always stay here," Bebe offered in a sultry tone that suggested he'd get no sleep whatsoever. "I'm sure your mom wouldn't begrudge my knight in shining armour looking after me for just a little longer."
"Umm... I guess not." Kyle didn't really know how to politely tell Bebe he had no intention of sleeping with her. Especially when her fingers started to dance lightly along his back. Okay, okay — he had every desire to sleep with Bebe, but no intention. They were different things, and he wasn't a slave to the former. Besides, they'd both come out of serious relationships; it was hardly the best idea.
"Kiss me," she urged as she switched the kettle on. She batted her eyelashes and reached up to stroke his jaw with her soft hand. "I need you, Kyle. I need to..." She fell silent as she stretched up on tiptoe to reach him. Her lips were soft and pliant as they pressed against his yet again.
Still, what was a bit of making out between friends?
Her fingers wound through his hair as she kissed the very air out of him, and before he knew it, she was unbuttoning his shirt. His first instinct was to pull her away, but she pressed herself flush against him and it was too much for him to resist. He held her tightly to him and ducked away from her lips to trail kisses down her neck. When he grazed her pulse point very delicately with his teeth, the gasp she made against his ear had him standing to attention in no time.
She glanced down at his crotch and smiled playfully. "I think that's your cue to take me upstairs," she purred. When he simply stared at her, unable to quite take in how she had reacted to feeling his erection poke her like a particularly insistent Facebook friend, she grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs.
"You are so fucking hot," she whispered, shoving him into her bedroom and onto her bed. Kyle took a moment to look around this inner sanctum of creams and baby-blues. Bebe even had some kind of princess canopy over her bed, making it look part fairy-tale bed chamber and part Bedouin camp.
The lights dimmed; clearly Bebe had a dimmer switch. Kyle looked across the room and judging by her sultry expression and the way she had tousled her hair with her hand, she not only had plans but knew exactly how to execute them.
"I'm going to make you just as horny as you're making me," she promised, unzipping her dress and sliding it off her impressive figure. Kyle could do little but gawp as he took in her lacy bra that merely provided a decorative frame for a pair of breasts that were at least a third bigger in the flesh than they appeared under clothes, her odd lacy panties that let half her pert ass-cheeks hang out, her stockings — they weren't pantyhose after all — and the staggeringly high heels she had somehow found time to put on when he was busy wondering about the netting above his head.
"What do you like, Kyle?" she said huskily. "Do you want to take me from behind?" She turned to face her closet and pressed her palms against the MDF, arching her back as though she was getting off on the very act. She glanced over her shoulder and fixed him with a hungry gaze. "Do you like it face to face?" Swiftly, she turned around and leant against the closet, her fingers almost clawing at the surface as she slid one leg against the other.
"Umm..." Kyle suddenly felt incredibly out of his depth.
"Do you want me to beg?" At this statement, she stalked up to the bed and crawled on her hands and knees until she was straddling him, her thighs gripping his, and her breasts were heaving with every deep breath she took. She leant forward and rested her hands on his shoulders, letting her hair cascade over him.
"Don't you think we're taking things a bit—" Kyle was unable to finish as Bebe silenced him with another ever-deepening kiss. His hands wandered over her back, flesh against flesh as their tongues explored each other.
She broke their kiss, took one of Kyle's hands and placed it over the clasp on the back of her bra. "Take it off," she instructed.
"Bebe, I'm really not sure about this..." He trailed off at the hurt look in her eyes.
"Wh... What's the matter? I thought you, you know—"
"I do!" Kyle insisted. "Really. You're hot; you're super-hot. I just... I'm not ready, you know, for sex."
Bebe actually pouted at him in dismay. "Please tell me you're joking."
"We've been on one date. I'm not joking," Kyle replied awkwardly.
She looked disheartened for a moment, then playfully nipped his ear. "Ooh, you're such a tease—"
"I'm not teasing!"
"You are. You let me get a hold of your big, hard cock and now you're taking it away from me."
"Bebe, were you paying any attention to me in the diner?"
"Of course I did, sweetie, and I totally get that you want to 'save yourself' for the right girl. I'm just suggesting that maybe I can be a practise run?" She rained kisses down his chest between every other word.
"The whole point of saving yourself is... ah, that you don't... mmm, have practise runs," Kyle stammered out, his nerves on fire as Bebe seemed dead set on making him burn for her. He felt her unzip his fly; the heat from her body mingling with his own as she sat back and rocked slowly against him.
"Kyle, baby. Don't be shy," she urged, ceasing her movements and reaching behind her back. He watched helplessly as her bra slackened against her skin; she peeled the garment off in a single movement and freed her ample breasts. Kyle was kind of impressed they stayed up of their own accord; he'd imagined her bra had been fighting the forces of gravity far more than it was.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" she drawled as she arched her back and pushed her hair up. "It's downright criminal. I'm only asking for a little release."
As horny as Bebe was making him feel right now, he couldn't help but spare a thought for poor Wendy. If Stan was just a fraction as insistent with her as Bebe was with him, he was going to smack him one. While he had been taught at a relatively young age that pressuring a girl into sex was a no-no because it made her feel uncomfortable, nobody had ever thought to tell him that it probably fucking annoyed the girl as well, if his current experience was anything to go by. There was something rather irritating about Bebe's coaxing behaviour, and Kyle was almost ready to give in just to make her shut the fuck up. The push-pull he felt over the whole situation was mind-boggling; she was as achingly sexy as she was maddeningly exasperating.
Then he remembered an incident from when he was just ten years old that made him think there might be a perfect compromise...
"Dad," Kyle asked as he plonked himself on the sofa next to his father.
"Yes, Kyle?" his father's eyes didn't waver from the news broadcast.
"What do women want more than anything in the world?" he asked, clutching his copy of Chaucer's 'The Canterbury Tales' in one hand, his pencil poised in the other.
"Cunnilingus," his father replied flippantly.
"Is that one 'n' or two?" Kyle asked, scribbling down the response. His father swiftly stopped staring at the television and turned to his son.
"Don't write that down - why do you want to know, anyway?"
"For my book report," Kyle replied. "There's a story in here about a knight who has to find out what women want more than anything else in the world otherwise he'll get killed, because he ravished her, you see."
"And they teach you this stuff in fifth grade?"
Kyle shrugged. "We had to pick a book, but I was off sick so this was the only thing left on the reading list apart from Fitzgerald..."
"And you find F. Scott Fitzgerald's social commentary tries to disguise cowardice and failure as nihilism," his father finished.
"Exactly. So, what's cunnilingus?"
"Umm, you don't need to know about that. Just don't put it in your book report."
"But what does it mean?"
"Chocolate. Women love chocolate a whole lot, Son. Why don't you write about that?"
"Is cunnilingus a kind of chocolate, then? Is it European?"
"Just forget about cunnilingus, Kyle, okay?" His father's voice had a bite of impatience to it.
At that moment, Kyle's mother entered the room, with his younger brother Ike clinging to her skirt.
"Dinner's ready, boys," she called.
As they sat down at the table to eat, Kyle figured that maybe his mom would know. She was a woman, and Dad had said women wanted it more than anything in the world...
"Mom?"
"Yes, Bubbeleh?"
"What's cunnilingus?"
His mother dropped her fork in horror.
"What, what, what?" she exclaimed. "Who taught you such naughty words, Kyle? Was it that Eric Cartman?"
"No, it was Dad," Kyle replied. "So, what does it mean?"
"Cunnilingus, cunnilingus, cunnilingus!" Ike sang cheerfully as his mother glared at his father so coldly, it could have frozen nitrogen. He merely shrugged sheepishly.
"Well, Kyle," his mother said uncertainly. "It's something only grown-ups who love each other very much have to worry about."
"Yeah, but what does it mean?"
"You don't need to know, Kyle."
"But this morning when I didn't want to go to school you said education is really important, so you can't just turn around and refuse to teach me something. That's hypocritical."
"He's got a point," his father replied, as Ike continued to sing his newly penned opus consisting solely of the word 'cunnilingus'. His mother practically scowled at his father while he continued to eat.
"You're too young, now eat your dinner!" his mother said firmly, making it clear the conversation was over.
Later that night, Kyle put the word into Google. It autocorrected his spelling and led him to a video that he stared at for three full hours, equally repulsed and fascinated by what he saw...
With a grin he could feel was downright wicked, Kyle sat up and grabbed Bebe roughly around the waist.
"I'm not going to fuck you," he insisted before pressing a hot and heavy kiss to her lips. At the look of confusion and disappointment on her face, he flipped her onto her bed; her soft curves rippled slightly as she hit the soft quilt and hard mattress. With one hand on the waistband of her impractical panties he added, "but I am going to make you come."
The thrill of anticipation showed on her features; her lips parted in a gasp of surprise and when he ducked his head to plant kisses along her throat and over her breasts, her hands flew to his hair.
"Oh, Kyle!" Her moans were sinful, and merely encouraged his attentions. He felt one hand grasp his hair and draw him closer, and through his peripheral vision he saw her grip the headboard with the other. He placed kisses down her soft belly until he reached the waistband of her weird half-panties.
As he rocked back onto his knees, she looked up at him with trepidation and disappointment.
"Kyle?"
Silently, he curled his fingers around her panties and slowly slid them a little way down her hips, seeing if she wanted to stop him. He felt equal parts disappointment and relief when her hands rushed to his, but then she started helping him yank them down as far as she could reach. He helped with the remainder of the journey, sliding the lace along her nylon stockings and unhooking them from her high heels.
Kyle surveyed her as she lay on the crumpled comforter, her hair fanned around her like the most crooked halo and her incredible body — naked save for stocking and high heels — in such close proximity.
He slid his hands along her knees and up to her pillowy thighs. "Spread your legs," he instructed, sounding far more confident than he felt. Her eyes never left his as she silently complied, seemingly holding her breath in expectation. He slid onto his belly to get a closer look and figure out just what he expected to be doing.
It looked weirdly sore. That was something they never really made clear in pornos. It was swollen, pinkish-red and slippery — a bit like giblets, Kyle supposed, although more appealing. Had Rebecca's looked like this? He'd really only felt his way around hers. One thing he did notice was that Bebe definitely had less hair, which kind of threw his theory about it being an age thing out of the window. Also, despite Cartman's often horrible references to fishmongers, it didn't really smell of much.
Suddenly, he became aware of Bebe's eyes boring a metaphorical hole into his head, and it crossed his mind that maybe it was considered rude to stare at a girl's pussy as though it were a modern art sculpture on display at the local gallery. Uncertain of where to start, he adopted the 'ants finding their way home' technique of kissing around the edges with a plan of spiralling around until he got to the centre.
One tentative kiss somewhere on her inner thigh, and he heard her gasp with longing. Another closer to the goal, and she was almost climbing the walls.
"Oh, God!" she cried out. "Oh, please don't stop!"
Stopping hadn't been part of his plan, so he carried on. Each kiss or lick brought a new and wholly surprising sound from Bebe's lips, as though she were the world's most complicated recorder. Finally, after spending a reasonable amount of time acquainting himself with Bebe's pussy and hearing about seventeen variations on the theme of, "Stop fucking teasing me," Kyle took a deep breath and probed her lips with his tongue for the first time.
He felt her practically hit the ceiling and had to hold her steady to stop her crushing his face with the force of her hips.
"Oh... Oh, Kyle!"
That sounded reasonably encouraging, so he continued with more boldness, using her verbal cues and body language to gauge what she liked and what didn't get her going so much. After a short while of spelling out poetry on her clitoris, a sudden shock of pain as her metal heel scraped along his back and a few strangled sobs of, "Fill me, fill me; fuck, please fill me!" he went in with his fingers and tried the old 'come hither' wiggling that had sent Rebecca over the edge while keeping up his tongue action.
"Oh God, that's so good... Ooh, right there, Kyle, right there... Fuck, yes; that's the spot, that's my sweet spot... Ooh, you're a bad boy, such a bad, bad boy... Fuck, I swear every time we study Robert Frost in class I'm going to orgasm... Oh, lick it, lick it... Harder, harder — pound it... Oh, there we are, there we are... Oh, you're so good, so good; keep it up, baby, keep it up..."
Bebe was very chatty when she was getting intimate; it was like someone had switched on the DVD commentary of his oral sex technique. This meant there was no uncertainty as to when she'd come; if the fluttering of her muscles around his fingers hadn't given it away, the screams of, "I'm coming, I'm coming; Ooh, yes, yes, yes, I'm there, I'm fucking there!" that nearly pierced his eardrums before melting away into fraught little whimpers made it fairly clear.
He lifted his head up and gazed at her sweat-sheened figure and the dark flush to her face, neck and breasts. To his surprise, she suddenly stifled a sob.
"Bebe? Are you okay?" he asked warily. To his horror, she started to cry.
"Bebe? I'm sorry! Are you... shit," he settled on, scooting around to her side and gently resting his hands on her shoulders. She turned into him and sobbed against his chest.
"Whoa, Bebe. What's the matter?" he asked, pulling her into an embrace. She shook her head against him and he felt her giggle.
"Nothing. I promise. Nothing," she mumbled. Eventually, she lifted her head and pressed her hand to his cheek.
"Thank you," she said, kissing him deeply. "Thank you so much."
"Umm, you're welcome?" Kyle legitimately had no idea what to say in response, and decided instead to wrap the comforter around them both, cocooning her against his chest.
As Kyle awoke, he felt absently for Bebe by his side, only to find a crumpled but abandoned quilt. Before he'd even had chance to wonder where she'd gone, he felt the mattress sink a little as someone sat next to him on the edge of the bed. As he fully opened his eyes, he really, really hoped it was Bebe.
"Hey." She was clad in his shirt and holding a cup which she handed to him once he sat up. "I never did get you that coffee," she said shyly.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He felt a little self-conscious as she watched him sip at his freshly-brewed coffee.
"Sleep well?" she asked.
"Yeah. Like a log," he insisted, feeling suddenly awkward around her. Given he'd spent a good proportion of last night nose-deep in her pussy, he found his shyness a little ridiculous.
He set the cup down on her dresser. "What about you? Are you, you know, okay?"
She smiled and touched his hand. "Never been better," she replied, leaning forward and capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. He slipped his hand underneath his shirt and around her waist.
"It looks good on you," he murmured between ever deepening kisses. As he kissed her neck, he felt her swallow; when he pulled away, she appeared dazed.
"You okay?"
Bebe nodded silently, her eyes half-closed and her expression dazed. Kyle took it as a silent cue for him to continue, so he kept kissing further and further down. When her fingers tangled in his hair as he was lavishing attention on her breasts, he allowed her to guide him along her belly and felt her gently tug him towards her thighs.
He pulled away and lay back down flat on the bed. "My, you're insatiable," he said with a smirk and was rewarded by seeing her blush prettily. Emboldened by her reaction, he merely waggled his finger and gestured for her to come closer. She obeyed until she was practically sitting on his shoulders. Languidly, he grasped her thighs and pushed her legs apart, ready to go another round; the coffee had gone some way to reviving his weary tongue.
The angle of her ascent into climax was a new one; the view of her breasts hovering above him and her head tilting back unashamedly kept him distracted from the slightly uncomfortable position he was now in; he had to grab her ass hard to stop her from wriggling too much and potentially suffocating him.
Still, he could live with it. Sure, it was all kind of backwards with her moaning his name like it was a prayer before their second date, but if he'd learnt anything from his time with Rebecca it was that sometimes things don't always happen in the order you expect.
"Bebe! Would Kyle like some toast?"
Kyle froze. Bebe rolled her eyes and shouted, "I'll do it, Mom."
"Oh. Okay, sweetie."
"Wait, how does she know I'm here?" Kyle asked. "I haven't been downstairs yet."
Bebe shrugged. "Apparently she heard me screaming your name for half an hour last night," she replied. Kyle must have looked horrified, for she stroked his hair lovingly. "Relax; she said you seemed a very nice boy."
"Umm, okay." Kyle was pretty certain he couldn't have felt less relaxed if he were with Cartman and the documentary 'The Nazis — A Warning from History' started playing on the TV. Then Bebe started sighing and wriggling in his grip and he felt the urge to finish what he'd started.