The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 9: The Broflovski Effect – The Epussany
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessWendy checked her watch again; ten minutes and Stan was still in the bathroom. What was he doing? She shuddered and realised she dreaded to think that he was up to in there.
Staring sadly at her half-eaten carbonara, she sighed. She'd always liked that dish and now – thanks to Stan's outburst – she'd never be able to eat it again. She'd tried everything she could think of not to get him going; she'd worn an outfit that exposed as little flesh as possible, she'd done her best not to touch him – her one little accident notwithstanding – she'd tried to be a friendly and non-sexual as possible… but she'd managed to be a cock-tease just by eating.
She slumped her head on the table; this was impossible!
"Is everything'a alright, bella?" their clearly not-Italian waiter asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.
"Yes. Lovely, thanks," she replied quietly. He looked at her sympathetically.
"Can I get you anything else? On the house?"
"Oh, thanks. I'm not feeling all that hungry."
He smiled kindly. "He's just a boy," he said. "I was'a one once. Do you want to'a know something about'a boys?"
Wendy shrugged as he took the flower from the table and with sleight of hand made it vanish before her eyes.
"They're all'a idiots," he said fondly. "Don't take'a it to heart'a. Some of them'a grow out of it; some of us'a don't."
He made the flower appear as though it had been hidden behind her ear all along. Wendy couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself; she knew she should roll her eyes and think it was lame, but she'd always kind of liked magic tricks.
As the waiter walked away and Wendy marvelled at how he didn't break character even once, Stan returned looking very sheepish indeed.
"I'm so, so sorry, Wendy," he said quietly as he sat down. Wendy hated it when he gave her that look; he was gazing at her with those sad, puppy dog eyes for something that had been all her fault.
Stan pushed forward his plate. "Want to swap? I don't mind eating the cum spaghetti. I hear it's full of protein."
Wendy still didn't feel like eating, but she accepted his offer in the hope it would make him feel better; she knew he hated carbonara and so could only be offering for that reason. She also deliberately ate half a baguette of garlic bread, unable to think of a more obvious way to put him off making out with her later. At least that way she wouldn't get him excited when she didn't want to take things any further.
Stan mournfully took the remaining half and gobbled it up; his resignation made Wendy feel even worse.
"I'm sorry," Stan said again.
"Me too," Wendy replied, and he recoiled at this. What more did he want from her? She was really, really trying not to get him all excited when she had no intention of following through and she had no idea how she could be any more transparent.
They spent the rest of the evening in an awkward silence; as they made to leave, their chirpy faux-Italian waiter snuck her a ‘present' of their signature chocolate fudge cake.
"It's world famous in Colorado," he insisted.
Their silence persisted well into the journey home; Wendy terrified that she couldn't stop being such a tease, and Stan clearly in a sulk.
"I can't help it if you're really hot," he said grumpily.
Wendy sighed heavily. "I can't help it, either, you know?" She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but failed. Damn it, now she was trying to make him feel guilty for the way she was making him feel.
"I said I was sorry!" Stan stared out of the window and started to drum his fingers on the glass. Wendy sighed – why couldn't it be like it was just last year? They had none of these concerns; they just had fun together. Wendy would have thought Stan's behaviour a little insane if Kyle hadn't pointed out that it was apparently normal for fifteen year old boys to obsess over sex; which implied that Kyle, as a fifteen year old boy, also obsessed over sex. That was an image that seemed as crazy to Wendy as the notion that her parents might still do it.
See, this was why she needed to stop getting him so worked up. After all, he was trying to be understanding of her complete lack of interest in… in that sort of thing. It went both ways.
"Just… Look, I'm sorry too, okay?" she replied. Stan looked at her and smiled gratefully, taking her free hand in his and bringing it to his lips. Wendy felt herself blush instantly.
"You're so pretty when you do that," Stan murmured, which only served to create a positive feedback loop of blushing. See, ‘pretty' she was fine with; ‘sexy'? Not so much. It had implications.
They held hands until Wendy had to lock the transmission as she came to a stop outside Stan's house.
"Well, here we are."
Stan looked at her and smiled awkwardly. "Yeah. Thanks for the ride." He sighed. "I'm not going to say we should do this again, but we should try and have another date that I don't screw up."
"Stan, you didn't screw – okay, you kind of did," Wendy conceded. "But there'll be others." She considered mournfully adding, "where I won't be such a cock-tease," but she didn't find it very funny and she was pretty sure Stan wouldn't either.
Stan seemed to brighten at this. "Yeah." He hesitated, then kissed her on the cheek as he squeezed her hand. It was only when he shut the car door and headed back to his house that she realised he hadn't tried to kiss her on the lips. She didn't know how she felt about that, especially given they'd evened out in their garlic eating. Clearly it was another of those things that made him want more, which upset her greatly; kissing Stan was one of her top ten favourite activities.
Once she got home and fielded questions from her parents about her date that forced her to flat out lie, she showered, blow dried her hair and basically did anything she could do avoid going to bed and churning everything over in her mind as she failed to fall asleep. Eventually, she could avoid it no longer. Interminable hours of tossing and turning followed; she stared at the ceiling in the pitch black. Was she even capable of holding down a relationship? Should she just let it go? Was she ever going to want to get as intimate as Stan so clearly did? The questions were too much, and she instead tried to imagine how many flecks there might be in the ceiling.
By the time the clock slowly rolled around to the following morning, Wendy remembered she had switched her phone off in the restaurant. Hoping to perhaps hear from Bebe about her dumb experiment – she knew Kyle would treat her nicely and she probably had fun – she got up out of bed to switch it on, and within a few moments her ears were assaulted with the constant whooshing sound of what her cell phone company deemed an adequate representation of a falling letter. When she looked at her phone, she realised all of her messages were from Bebe.
'16:13 – Hey. In KBs sweet ride. Don't know what 2 say 2 him. Didn't think this thru.'
'16:14 – BTW, he kissed his mom goodbye in front of me. So sweet. I like guys who Rnt afraid 2 show emotion.'
'18:39 – U never told me he was so funny!'
'18:40 – Or so nice. I thought he'd B a-hole, but he cares about what U have 2 say. He didn't say NEthing when I ate chicken like a starving person either; Clyde always has smart-ass comment.'
'19:30 – KB stretching over the balcony. Still has a sweet ass.'
‘19:43 – Support act sucks. KB taking piss with me. We bet there will be a used tampon on the stage before set is over.'
‘20:20 – KB keeps buying me drinks; has he got wrong idea?'
'20:23 – 2 creepy pervs staring at me. Do not want.'
'21:07 – LBB fucking rule! KB cute when he's excited.'
'23:12 – Did a little bump n grind with KB. He got a stiffy but was pretty smooth at trying 2 hide it. In bathroom ready 2 leave. Would kind of like 2 do this again, obvs as friends. Obvs.'
'23:31 – Fuck my life; creepy pervs tried 2 rape me, KB tried 2 take them on! Fucking hell! He's, like, a third of their combined weight at best. Fucking idiot. Police on way; if I die U can have my iPlayer.'
'23:32 – BTW if I am every raped, I want U 2 help me get long, drawn out and horrific revenge. I promise 2 do the same 4 U.'
'23:36 – In first-aid. KB looks pretty messed up; he caused some damage but defo came off worse. His lip is cut, he's had a nosebleed and he's got a black eye. Is it wrong that I find that kind of hot?'
'23:43 – OMG he really is a fucking idiot! He didn't try 2 beat them up, he tried 2 B a human punching bag so I could get away. Fuck me, how is he top of our class? Is it wrong that I find that really hot?'
'00:04 – Fuck, I really, really want 2 suck him off. I could jump him right here in the car. No, no, no. Must resist. Is he cut? Don't answer that, don't want 2 know.'
‘00:06 – I can't stop staring at his crotch. Want him 2 fuck my mouth, think I might have a hero fetish. Text me back and talk me out of being so dumb.'
'00:34 – Thanks a bunch, Wendy. UR a gr8 fucking friend.' Wendy noticed the text was accompanied by a smiley which rolled its eyes.
'00:37 – KB has a rather beautiful cock, BTW. Does he like cinnamon rolls?'
'03:45 – Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't decide if Heaven is KBs tongue or his fingers. Fuck. Why did U let me do this stupid experiment? I'm so fucking confused. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!'
'04:50 – For such a skinny guy, his chest is v. comfortable. He fidgets in his sleep, though. He reached for me when I got up 2 go 2 the bathroom. I feel so safe in his arms. Fuck.'
'06:59 – KB looks adorbz when he's sleeping. Want to jump him, or ruffle his hair, or kiss him. Or all three at once. My life is ruined. Somehow, this is all UR fault.' There was a winking smiley on this one, and Wendy had no clue how to respond to any of it. What the fuck had Bebe been thinking?
The morning after Denver, Cartman was out of bed and ready earlier than he had ever been on a Sunday morning since he turned thirteen. He wolfed down his breakfast and dashed out of the door with his camcorder in his hand. He had to show it to someone, and Kenny was his best bet – Stan would probably just be all butt hurt that his boyfriend had cheated on him.
He hammered on the McCormicks' door – he hated going round to their shithole of a house but he'd put up with it today. Eventually, Kenny's clearly hungover old man opened the door.
"What the… Eric, it's seven thirty," he said in a hoarse voice, shielding his eyes from the pathetically dim sunlight as though he were a fucking trailer trash Dracula. Cartman barged past with a bellowed, "Need to see Kenny!" and opened the door to Kenny's damp-stained bedroom.
Kenny sat bolt upright and appeared shocked he was even there in his own bed; he felt his forehead as though he expected to find something else. What the fuck was wrong with him? Poor people: too many drugs, man. It was kind of sad.
"Huh? Eric?" he asked in a dazed voice. Cartman rushed over and sat on his too-small bed; he practically had to shove Kenny into the wall to fit.
"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny; you have to see this!" Cartman urged, switching on his camcorder and selecting the preview option.
"What is it?" Kenny asked blearily.
"You missed a real show last night," Cartman teased. "Bebe is a total slut!"
Kenny's eyes widened like he was a six year old girl who'd just been given a pony. "Whoa, Kyle got some?"
"See, now you're interested… Lucky for you I caught it all on camera."
Kenny practically barged Cartman's head out of the way to look at the viewfinder. "Did she get her titties out? Did she?"
"Oh, better than that—"
"Fucking hell! Go on, my son!" Kenny cheered with obvious pride. Cartman watched as he gawped, frowned and eventually watched with a puzzled expression.
"Pretty sweet, huh?" Cartman demanded, eager for some kind of response to his sweet, illicit video.
"Umm… Eric? You kind of… You don't really have Bebe captured, do you?"
"What? Sure I do!"
"No. You've got a few truly beautiful moments of her lips sliding up and down Kyle's cock – and really, you should be proud – but…" He trailed off nervously.
"What? What the fuck's up with you, Kenny?" If Kenny was getting all prudish on him, it must be a sign of an upcoming apocalypse.
"There's rather a lot of Kyle, don't you think?" he suggested in a gentle voice. "Like, you've captured Kyle's cock in great detail – far more detail than I ever needed to see – as well as his ‘O' face, and his—"
"Well, duh – he was there, Kenny!" Cartman smiled at the memory. "He's got the most hilariously retarded come face."
Kenny sighed heavily. "Eric, don't take this the wrong way, but… Doesn't it make you wonder?"
"Wonder what?"
Kenny's head drooped and he rested his elbows on his knees. "You keep saying you hate Kyle, but you won't leave him alone. You pull his hair and mime sex acts at him, you get super pissy on the rare occasions there's a chick into him, your methods of trying to ‘humiliate' him have become increasingly sexual the older you've got and you've just wasted seventeen gigabytes of quality HD footage on filming him climax. That doesn't make you wonder? About anything?"
Cartman had to cough away a dry throat at Kenny's insistent stare.
"W… What are you trying to say?"
"I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just suggesting that maybe you should have a good, hard think about what you're doing and why you're doing it."
Cartman stared at Kenny in complete shock. Was he suggesting…? No, he couldn't be; even Kenny wasn't that fucking backwards.
"You're… You're just pissed off that you missed Bebe being a total slut!"
Kenny scoffed. "Dude, I'm glad I wasn't there. I don't want anything to do with you collecting Kyle Broflovski spanking material."
"Shut the fuck up, Kenny!" Cartman felt a rush of blinding hatred towards him at that moment; luckily for Kenny he didn't think it was fair to beat up someone from a significantly lower earnings bracket. "He's a filthy fucking Jew, and if he were standing right here, I'd… I'd fucking punch him in his big-nosed Jew face, okay!"
Kenny sighed again. "Look, Eric. I don't care. Whatever conclusions you come to, you're… I'm your friend and that won't change. For the sake of your sanity, you really should try and figure out what's driving your batshit insane behaviour towards Kyle, okay? It's really gone on way too long."
"Wh… what? This is fucking bullshit, Kenny!"
He flopped back down on his bed. "If you want to hang around and be indignant about it, then whatever. I'm going to sleep," he said miserably.
Cartman watched as he hugged his pillow, leaving only an unruly haystack snuggled up between greying sheets. Mother fucking poor piece of trash. Like he'd ever, ever… He'd never done anything remotely sexual to Kyle! Apart from forcing him to kiss him in Newark, and trying to give him a hand job, and having wet dreams about him, and going to federal court to make him suck his balls when they were kids – like a typical Jew rat, he weaselled his way out of that one, too – and filming him shoot his load into Bebe's mouth…
Okay, there was no proof he'd done anything remotely sexual to Kyle, and that was what counted. It was just circumstantial anyway. You could draw that conclusion if you took the facts totally out of context.
Stupid ass welfare bitch – Cartman sure as hell hadn't done anything weird last night, and had no cause for concern. None at all. None whatsoever.
"Stanley! You'll be late for the school bus!"
"Mom, Kyle's picking me up, remember?" Stan called back as he slipped his sheepskin jacket on.
His mom seemed unsettled by this. "Oh. Well, how long has he been driving? Isn't he too young to take the test yet?"
Stan rolled his eyes. "Mom, he's been getting lessons this summer in New York; I'm sure he can handle the roads around South Park."
This didn't seem to calm his mom. "There's a lot more snow here than New York, Stanley. No amount of ‘lessons' in ‘New York' can teach you how to deal with that, and when you're skidding over a cliff, don't come crying to—"
Suddenly, a familiar car horn beeped. Stan grabbed his school bag.
"Later, Mom!" he said, snatching one last slice of toast before heading out of the door and into Kyle's car.
"Hey," Stan said, noticing with horror that Kyle was listening to L'il Bare Bait on the car stereo and that he looked like he'd been on the losing end of a tussle with Muhammed Ali.
"Hey, Stan," he said chirpily, before humming along with the music.
"Dude! What the hell happened to you?"
Kyle shrugged. "Some assholes tried to hassle Bebe."
Sometimes Kyle was utterly baffling to Stan; he'd rant until he was blue in the face about far more trivial things, but something this serious and he just shrugs it off? Weird.
"Umm, wow. So, how did the not-date go?" Stan figured it would be best to get this conversation out of the way before they picked Cartman up – he knew Kyle would refuse to talk then.
He didn't answer, and instead just flashed Stan a maddeningly knowing smile.
"That good, huh?"
Kyle nodded and bit his lip. "Yeah huh. I really feel like… like we made a connection. I won't lie, I really didn't expect to… but then we… and she… Bebe's really quite clever, Stan. Had you ever noticed that? I hadn't."
There were really only two things Stan had ever noticed about Bebe before, but from the way Kyle was babbling he'd clearly noticed hundreds. Still, she was definitely prettier than that Rebecca girl – Stan considered it a decent upgrade.
"So, how far did you go?" Stan teased. "First base? Second base?"
Kyle shrugged. "Whichever base oral sex is," he replied.
As Stan metaphorically picked his jaw up from the floor, he realised Kyle was actually expecting an answer. "Third," he said.
"Right."
Kenny was very quiet when they picked him up; Stan noticed he'd been out of sorts ever since they got back from that road trip. Kyle insisted Kenny was going through the grieving process, but Stan wasn't so sure; he'd only known this Maria girl for a few weeks. Stan had tried talking to Kenny about it, but he just brushed it off.
They stopped at Cartman's, and Kyle frowned as though he was considering driving off without him.
"Oh, wow. Check out the Fagmobile. What's up, you fucking ugly Jew? Someone rough you up while ripping the gold from your fillings?"
Kenny rolled his eyes and leant his head against the window. Kyle whipped around and glared at Cartman.
"Wow, you watched the History Channel this weekend, huh? Must have taken a lot of brain power; I thought I could smell burning. You can always just get the fuck out of my car, you fat fuck!"
"Alright; chill, you fucking queenie Jew princess." Cartman buckled himself in and stared out of the other window.
Stan looked ahead and recognised the car in front of them as Clyde's. He sighed; at least Kyle was happy. He'd been just about ripped open by the whole Rebecca thing. Okay, Bebe seemed like a weird choice, but they say the best way to get over a girl is to get on top of one, and…
And Bebe was cuddling up to Clyde in his car.
Kyle gripped the steering wheel and stared at them as though they were the killers in a horror flick and he was the blonde girl in a tight sweater.
"Oi! It's fucking green, you limp-wristed…" Cartman trailed off as he stared out of the windscreen as well, before he laughed so hard it shook the car.
"Come on, dude," Stan whispered, placing his hand on Kyle's shoulder. "There's probably a rational explanation for—"
Just as the lights changed again, he saw Bebe stick her tongue in Clyde's ear just as they pulled away with a screech of tyres.
"I… I don't believe it," Kyle breathed.
Cartman was still laughing; Stan wanted to punch him.
"Oh my God! Wow, Kyle – your milkshake sure brings all the girls to the yard. You probably scared her off with your freaky cut cock; I bet she thought it tasted of latkes and defeat!"
Kenny shook his head in an apparent display of second hand embarrassment.
Kyle suddenly grew angry; he turned around and yelled, "How the fuck do you know if she went anywhere near my cock, huh?"
For the first time since Stan could remember, Cartman actually shut up. He completely, submissively, shut the hell up.
Wendy came out of her AP Calculus class with an overwhelming desire to kill her friend Bebe. Kyle was tense, snappy and robotic in his answering of every question; traits which, thanks to Stan, Wendy could recognise as him being heartbroken.
Of course, Bebe had got back with Clyde now her research was over. As soon as she spotted Bebe, she psyched herself up to unleash the most severe tongue-lashing, but the look of utter torment on Bebe's face shook her resolve a little.
"Bebe, what the—"
"Don't start. Please," she said wearily.
"You broke his heart," Wendy ground out. "And it wasn't exactly in good shape before you did a number on it!"
"I didn't mean to!" Bebe insisted. "I just… Oh, damn it to hell; I just couldn't resist him!"
She slid to the floor and leant against her locker, a stupid grin plastered to her face.
"He just… wow. That mouth, Wendy. I had no idea… I'm going to have to pack a spare pair of panties every time he does a presentation in class, because I'm just going to be thinking about what a better use he could make of those muscles." She fanned herself between her legs with her exercise book, much to Wendy's disgust.
"Bebe!"
"Has Stan ever…"
"What? No!" Wendy protested hotly, feeling humiliated just thinking about it. She cared about Stan a lot, but the thought of doing… well, anything like that just made her stomach tighten; and not in a good way. She tried to push all thoughts of Saturday's disastrous date out of her mind.
"Then you don't get it," she said dreamily. "I tried to get Clyde to do it a few weeks ago. He got down there, stared at it for a bit, and then started crying. For two hours. It's like, he looked into my pussy, and my pussy looked back, only he couldn't handle it." She sat up suddenly. "Maybe Kyle's like the Kwisatz Haderach, but with pussies? He can look into the dark spaces that others cannot?"
The bell rang. Wendy held out her hand.
"Come on; we've got class."
"What is it?" Bebe asked, grabbing Wendy's hand and allowing herself to be hoisted up.
"Biology. We're debating Evolution, remember? Kyle and I are heading each side."
"Really? Fuck, that's my underwear ruined. Do you think if I ask him nicely, he'll finger me behind the bikesheds before English?"
"If you like him that much, just ask him out." Wendy wanted to add, ‘Instead of messing with his head like you have been,' but she decided to keep it to herself. Bebe was in enough anguish.
"I can't!" Bebe seemed horrified by the notion. "He's… He's… Look. He's the kind of guy you can't keep to yourself. That would be selfish. You enjoy him, then send him off into the throng to spread joy throughout womankind with his fearless, inexhaustible tongue…"
She stopped dead in the hallway, and a group of Emo Eighth Graders slammed into her.
"Watch it, bimbo," the tallest one sneered.
"Hey, fuck you, kid. I stared into the face of God the other night, and his fiery curls were tickling my thighs!" She turned to Wendy and smiled beatifically. "I think that's it. I've found God, Wendy. I've had a… you know, a deeply profound spiritual experience."
"An epiphany?" Wendy suggested. Bebe clicked her fingers.
"Right. An epiphany. Kyle's a sexual prophet, and we must follow his teachings to find the way and the light through our own sexual power… I've not just had an epiphany, Wendy; it's an epiphany concerning my pussy. An epussany!"
"Great. Can we go to class now?"
"Sure. I need to listen to the teachings of my new leader."
Wendy shook her head in dismay. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"
Suddenly, Clyde arrived with a bunch of rather lovely looking flowers in his hand.
"Hey, Bebe; I almost forgot." He handed the bouquet to Bebe with a fraught expression.
"Oh, thanks. They've very nice, Clyde," she replied, her eyes on the lockers. Clyde hovered awkwardly.
"Want me to walk you to class? Maybe carry your—"
Suddenly, Bebe pushed him aside and rushed towards Kyle the second he got close to his locker. Wow, she wasn't joking about her epiphany; or rather, her… No. There was no way Wendy was going to refer to it as that, not even in her head.
"Hi, Kyle," Bebe said in a simpering tone that Wendy was convinced she'd never heard her use before. Kyle whirled around; he had fire in his eyes.
"What the hell, Bebe?" he demanded.
Bebe's smile faltered. "I don't know what—"
"Don't. Just fucking don't. I saw you, okay. With Clyde."
Bebe at least had the good grace to appear guilty. "Look, Kyle. That's… It was just one date—"
"Yeah; one date where you practically forced yourself onto me, and after everything I'd said about the sanctity of… God damn it, Bebe." He slammed his locker door shut.
"Kyle, wait! Please!" she hovered anxiously. "Let me walk you to class! Maybe I could carry your books for you?"
"I don't need your pity," he snarled, and Bebe appeared startled.
"Pity? Jesus, Kyle – no girl would ever pity you." She reached up and gently stroked his cheek; he pulled away and grabbed her wrist.
"You got what you wanted, now just leave me the hell alone," he said before turning on his heels and storming off. Bebe ran after him.
"Kyle! Hold on! I need you!" she shouted, causing every single student in the area to turn and stare after her. For once, the boys weren't just gawping at her breasts.
Clyde stood rooted to the spot, and the flowers fell from his hand onto the floor.
"Bebe?"
"Apparently experimenting can have unforeseen side-effects," Wendy shot back before walking away. He was partly responsible for this mess, so fuck him.
As they got undressed and hit the showers after gym class, Cartman found himself caught between Clyde and Kyle as he carefully hid himself behind the biggest bath towel he could bring in his gym kit.
"Dude, what happened on Saturday?" Clyde begged; he sounded terrified. Cartman wished Kyle wasn't being such a moody fucktard – they could totally have had a bet on when Clyde would cry.
"Don't ask me," Kyle snapped back. "I'm not your girlfriend!"
"Come on, Clyde; a gentleman never tells," Token joked, only for Clyde and Kyle to both glare at him.
"Shut up, Token!"
Token merely laughed. "Just drop your pants and measure for her. It'll save Bebe some time."
Kyle looked disgusted, but Clyde seemed anxious. "Fine, if that's how it has to be…"
Cartman stared at Clyde as he stared to strip down. See? Kenny was spewing balls – he wasn't gay. He could see Clyde has the figure of a football player – despite being on the basketball team – and was in pretty good shape. The slight love handles and soft belly he could understand made him appealingly buff while giving the chicks a little something to cuddle up to. More to the point, he could see all this and wasn't remotely horny.
He turned his attention to Token. His mom always noticed Token when they all came over for his birthday parties. Another basketball player; Token was pretty average build, although Cartman snuck a look to see if it was true what his grandma said about black guys. It wasn't true – he had a penis and not a polluting, fire breathing demon. Again, he felt nothing. Kenny was such a loser.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cartman saw Kenny wander off towards the shower – fucking food stamp boy. He wasn't very tall and he was skinny as fuck, but the girls about town seemed to adore him. Cartman was kind of reminded of a china doll encrusted with dirt; people wanted to scrub away at the filth and reveal the perfect façade, but Kenny had never wanted to get clean.
"Dude, what the hell are you doing?" Stan was staring at him in shock, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Quit staring at the guys in the locker room, it's fucked up!"
Stan. Stan was the acid test; Cartman knew he was a good-looking guy and given Mr. Stotch wanted to pound his ass raw, he must be a fag magnet, too. He took a good long look. Stan had just come out of the shower, and the drips of water were still clinging to his skin, flattening the dark smattering of hair on his chest and leading to his pubes. He was toned, in a naturally active way rather than a steroid-junkie way. His shoulders were broad, his jaw a little square but with a softness that Cartman assumed appealed to ass bandits. He was kind of thin lipped, but his eyes were a vibrant blue; the kind where you weren't completely certain if he was looking right at you, and his hair –
"Quit staring at me!" Stan demanded, hitching his towel up to cover as much of himself as he could.
"Have I got an erection, Stan?" Cartman asked, and Stan's eyes widened in horror.
"What?"
"Do. I. Have. An. Erection?" Cartman demanded. "It's not a difficult question."
"No," Kenny said wearily as he walked past, butt-naked and dripping wet.
"See! Fuck you, Kenny!" he shouted after him in triumph.
Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way he always did when he thought he was so much fucking better than everyone else. "Whatever, just quit dicking around and get in the shower. Maybe you can see what's taking Kyle so long."
"He's probably all tuckered out from packing your fudge in there," Cartman shot back and was rewarded by the laughter of the other boys. Stan just rolled his eyes and carried on drying himself.
"Did he hit your clit, Stan? Did he beat your sweet spot? I hope you cleaned up your jizz before you left; I don't want to step in it."
Stan sighed. "Cartman, I don't have a clitoris. I'm a guy."
Cartman noticed with interest that he didn't deny any of his other accusations.
Fortunately, the rest of the class were too busy giggling to notice when Cartman had to do the walk of nakedness between hanging his towel up and getting into the showers. Leaving Stan to his afterglow, Cartman took the opportunity of this distraction and hurried into the showers, only to find Kyle still rinsing off. He turned around and tensed instantly.
"What the hell do you want?" Kyle asked through gritted teeth,
"Oh, I just thought I'd come and finish my math homework; what the fuck do you think I want in a shower?"
A smile played at Kyle's lips as Cartman felt his doe-eyed glance settled on his chest. "Jesus, Cartman. That still hasn't come off?"
"No, Kyle. It still hasn't fucking come off," Cartman grumbled, looking down at the ‘I'm a fat fucking pervert' legend that was still visible on his chest. At least the one on his forehead was such a pale grey it wasn't instantly noticeable.
Kyle went back to washing soap suds out of his hair, apparently satisfied with bringing up one of Cartman's most humiliating experiences. Cartman watched as the lather ran down his back along the tracks of bone and sinew jutting out under his skin; the scrawny little Jew was made of nothing else. Cartman could count every last one of his vertebrae – and a funny long, thin graze along his lower back – as the suds dribbled down his ass crack. Kenny had been right about Stan so clearly taking the ass pounding; Kyle's ass was so God damn tight you'd struggle to get a Q-tip up there, much less a cock.
Kyle whirled around. "What the fuck, Cartman!" he practically growled out in irritation, and Cartman could see the tiny smattering of ginger body hair on his chest and holy shit! His facial injuries were nothing compared to the rest of him. Angry blue-black bruises had blossomed up and down his ribs, contrasting violently with his milk-white skin. There was a particularly nasty one on his hip that Cartman was sure would make him scream out if he pressed it –
"For fucks' sake, Cartman! Point it somewhere else, will you?" Kyle sounded horrified.
"What's crawled up your ass and died? Stan's baby gravy?" Cartman spat.
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Stop aiming your erection at me; I know you probably can't see it under your fat fucking gut—"
"Whatever," Cartman blustered, feeling his cheeks grow red. "Just make sure you clean your bell-end thoroughly; if Stan's shit gets in there you could get infected," he shot back before scuttling out of the shower room in dismay.
That… that didn't mean anything. It was just a coincidence. The heat from the showers was making his pecker misbehave. Kenny was still a no good lying fucking shit-stirring asshole.
It didn't take Cartman long to get dressed and dash out of school. He didn't want to hitch a ride with that scumbag Jew, and he didn't want to have to sit on the school bus with those other rems. Okay, it would be a stupidly long walk, but he was in no hurry. Stupid fucking naked Jew. Stupid fucking erection. Cartman figured he could handle it if he were gay – they got to wear pretty fancy clothes and women seemed to think it was cute if they grabbed their tits – but gay for Kyle? No fucking way. It was probably that asshole's fault… Cartman could suddenly think of nothing except Kyle's asshole and the surrounding area. God damn fucking Kyle – it was all his fault; he was probably using his freaky Jew powers on him. How else could they control the media, own all the money and get the Hershey's Cookies and Mint candy bar discontinued?
Suddenly, he was distracted by two freaking massive guys at the side of the road; textbook trailer trash, right down to the tattoos on the one and the wife-beater the other wore in spite of the snow on the ground. They were leaning on a pick-up truck and staring at a map. Cartman was reminded of how two gorillas trying to read an A to Z might look.
"It must be around here somewhere."
"We'll find it. That skinny ginger fag's gonna pay for Saturday night; that beating wasn't enough to teach him some manners."
"Hey, fat boy!" The tattooed dick wad strode up to him and shoved his camera phone in Cartman's face. "You seen this kid?"
Cartman allowed his eyes to refocus on the image mere inches from his nose; it was Kyle dancing away while Bebe rubbed up against him; God damn she was a filthy little slut.
"Why I do, gentlemen. I do indeed. His name is Kyle Broflovski, and he's a God damn filthy Jew whore," he spat. "I'll take you to him if you like."
The missing links stared at each other for a moment, then the one in the wife-beater opened the door to the pick-up.
"Get in, then," he instructed. Cartman obeyed.
He pointed out directions from his seat between them in the truck, until eventually they headed up a dirt track.
"You sure he lives here?"
"Oh, yeah. He lives on a farm," Cartman insisted.
They pulled up outside the cattle farm; Cartman pointed towards the concrete building nearby.
"Go in there; I'll lure him in," Cartman said with a malicious grin as they all exited the truck.
"Thanks," the thick-necked wife-beater wearing one said. "You're alright, fatty," he said as they turned towards the building and began their ascent up the gentle hill.
"Wait!" Cartman shouted in a panic-stricken tone.
"What?" The tattooed one was clearly getting impatient. Cartman felt around in his school bag and found what he was looking for.
"You need to disinfect yourself."
"Why?"
"Because, you'll be near a God damn Jew! Do you want to catch The Jew? Do you?"
The two meat-heads looked at each other, clearly sceptical. Cartman stared at them frantically, and it was this that seemed to make them shrug and allow Cartman to douse them liberally with the contents of his spray can.
"Quick, sneak in there. I'll get him in with you and lock the doors. They're iron-wrought – a bull couldn't get through there, much less a person. Now, go!" Cartman hissed. They obeyed him and ran full-tilt for the concrete building.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Cartman waited until they were inside and bolted every door but one shut. He entered the building via the small tradesman entrance.
By the time he arrived on the podium overlooking the enormous steel fenced pen that was the focus of the building, the two gorillas looked confused, as though someone had just snatched a rudimentary tool from them. Cartman walked over to the PA system behind him and switched it on.
"Greetings, gentlemen," he announced over the echoey speaker system.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, you fat little turd?" the tattooed one raged.
Cartman smiled. "Nice, isn't it? Here in South Park we have a thriving animal husbandry industry; here's where the farmers come to sell their prized cattle. On Sundays, they sell bulls here for breeding; obviously the building has to accommodate that, and this one has been specially designed so angry, lumbering, tiny-brained beasts can't charge their way out through the iron gates or—"
The thick-necked wonder tried to leap the fence; a small – but not insignificant – electric shock put him in his place.
"—or at the crowds of buyers; electric fences do wonders for keeping the beasts in their place." He smiled courteously again and gestured towards the only open gateway. "Right there is the bull enclosure. There's only one bull there right now; I believe his name is ‘Rammer'. They haven't been able to sell him for weeks due to his violent temperament, but I'm sure with enough training he'll be fine. Like, if I were to release him into the enclosure you're currently trapped in like particularly dumb rats in a particularly fiendish maze, I'm sure he'd leave you alone. Even with all that pheromone spray I covered you in earlier."
Fear settled around their features. Cartman always loved that moment – when they knew what was coming but could do nothing about it. He never got that with Kyle, of course – idiot Jew never knew when he was beaten.
Cartman beamed down at the trembling trailer-trash apes from his podium, and then dramatically hovered his finger over the gate release mechanism.
"I know; why don't we find out just how tame Rammer is?" He pressed the button and soon enough, a humongous, virile bull charged its way into the enclosure, pounding the dirt with his hooves and spitting with every angry snarl. Cartman couldn't help but laugh as the two douchebags ran pointlessly around their prison, trying desperately to escape Rammer's attention; Cartman particularly relished the moment where he clearly got a whiff of those pheromones and went fucking crazy. Wow; that shit really did the trick. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't ever got around to trying this on Kyle.
He leant against the inert fence of the podium and absently ate a bag of popcorn he found in his bag as he watched the carnage. One of the white-trash losers looked up at him as he was gored up the ass. Cartman briefly saw the question in his eyes as he was tossed in the air – why?
Cartman figured he deserved an answer, so he grabbed the microphone plugged into the PA system.
"Nobody," he said in a low, hate-filled drawl, "but nobody fucks with Kyle Broflovski, apart from me."