The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 11: The Broflovski Effect – The War Between CLIT and COCK
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessStan waited anxiously by Wendy's locker. He glanced at the clock in the hallway, which claimed it was quarter to nine. She was always in a little early, and Stan was eager to give her the birthday present he had spent all weekend sourcing.
He was also worried about giving her the birthday present. It wasn't any old birthday, it was Wendy's sixteenth birthday. That had implications, sexy implications of the legal variety. Now Wendy was sixteen, they could have sex without Stan running the risk of getting arrested for statutory rape if her father found out. It was a moot point, because Wendy didn't feel ready and as much as he wanted her, Stan was okay with this; she was totally worth the wait. This didn't stop panic settling in his stomach at the thought that she might not think he could control himself, and this was where the birthday gift took on a life of its own. Too little, and Wendy might think he didn't care because she wouldn't put out. Too much, and she might think he was trying to give an extravagant gift in return for her virginity; Stan had received a very classy – and expensive – watch for his sixteenth birthday from Mr. Stotch, and as much as his parents insisted he keep it and that it was such a thoughtful gift, he and all of his friends knew exactly why he had been given it.
"Hey, dude." Kyle was rooting through his locker and glanced at the gift-wrapped box in Stan's hands with vague curiosity. "What did you get her?"
"This hat thing she's wanted for ages," Stan replied. "I managed to find a version with a different ribbon, so hopefully nobody else will have one the same. Girls care about that, apparently."
Kyle nodded. "Nice choice." He stuffed a couple of books into his bag, and took out a brightly coloured sealed envelope. "I got her a card; we've been studying a lot together and, you know, if you two ever do get hitched I'd expect to be best man, so… Is that weird? Is that crossing a line?"
"Dude, it's just a birthday card," Stan reasoned.
Kyle shrugged. "Yeah, I just don't think I've ever given a girl a birthday card before. Could you maybe…" He handed the envelope to Stan. "If it comes from you, it won't seem so… I don't know, so personal."
Stan took the card from Kyle and frowned at him. "I think birthday cards are kind of meant to be personal, but whatever, dude." Stan knew he could try and get his head around Kyle's insane logic, but it probably wouldn't be worth it and just leave him with a headache anyway. Was he worried she'd think it was a declaration of love? In fairness, as dumb as that idea was, Kyle had spent the past few months having to fend off girls who took everything he said as a declaration of prophetic wisdom, so Stan could forgive him for being a little paranoid about being misconstrued.
Kenny strolled out of their classroom and made a beeline for Stan, patting him on the back as soon as he reached him. "Hey, hey! Wendy's sixteen today, right? What have you got planned for this evening? A hotel? The back of her car? Edible body paint?"
"Dude!" Stan felt himself colour up, because he had conjured up several scenarios that used every one of Kenny's suggestions.
"Why don't you ask Wendy and see how long your dick remains attached to your body," Kyle joked. "My bet's for thirteen seconds."
Kenny chuckled fondly. "Okay, okay. I'll leave Stan to his secrecy." He looked at Stan with a very serious expression. "Just remember that Wendy's a class act; if you offer her fries behind the bike-sheds, you'll be dumped faster than Kate Moss after a coke binge."
Before Stan had a chance to retort, he spotted Wendy head straight into their classroom.
"Later, guys," he said, dashing after her.
"Hey! Happy Birthday!" Stan handed her his gift and the cards.
"Hey! Oh, thank you!" Wendy smiled as she opened the envelopes. "Oh, it's from Kyle? That's sweet. Tell him I said thank you, won't you?"
"You could just tell him yourself; he'll be along in a minute."
Wendy appeared a little awkward. "I know, but… Well, if it comes from you, it'll seem friendlier. He won't think he's got some other cult member to worry about."
Stan stared at her. He swore blind at times that he would never fully understand either his girlfriend or his best friend. At times like this, they seemed to be on a different level to him.
Wendy seemed to appreciate his card, which was a relief to Stan as he had just picked it out at random. She perched on the edge of her desk to unwrap her birthday present, just as their other classmates started to filter in. Cartman, to Stan's amazement, was already sitting at his desk. A more deliberate look at him made Stan realise he was fast asleep, however.
"Oh, wow! Thanks, Stan! I've been after one of these for, like, ever!" She looked at him with fondness, but she didn't move forward to kiss him. Stan wanted to, but did she want him to? Would it make her feel uncomfortable if he kissed her?
The moment had passed before he had even come to a decision.
"Kenny, put them down. You're kind of making me uncomfortable!" Kyle and Kenny had sat down at their desks; Kyle was eyeing the way Kenny languidly played with his scissors. Kenny silently placed the scissors directly in front of him, as though deliberately keeping himself away from temptation.
"Thanks, Stan," Wendy said quietly. "It's a really thoughtful gift."
"You're welcome," Stan replied nervously, trying to work out if that was a good thoughtful that made him a caring boyfriend, or a bad thoughtful that said he was trying to get her panties off.
Stan noticed Kyle was staring at him and Wendy, his forehead creased in a frown. He quietly sat back at his desk.
"Everything okay, Stan?"
"Yeah, fine," Stan lied. He didn't know how to explain to Kyle his concerns about making Wendy feel like his prey. Especially when Cartman was snoring loudly at the desk next to him.
"One of us is going to have to wake that fat fucker before Mrs Langstrom gets here," Kyle grumbled.
"You're nearest," Stan replied as he stared to worry about his choice of date venue for tonight. Casa Bonita was fun without giving any suggestion of sexual expectation, right?
Cartman felt the weight of the blonde man's hand as it clapped down on his shoulder.
"I like your play an awful lot, Eric, and so do my stars," he said with a smile, his impressive moustache twitching as he did so. "I think we can come to some arrangement."
"Thank you, Mr Stotch—"
"Oh, please; call me Leo." He doffed his hat and gestured towards the open door of the renovated windmill. "Welcome, my friend, to the finest cabaret in the whole of Gay Paree!"
Cartman glanced up and the flashing pink neon sign, ‘Le Moulin Rose'. He'd spent a lot of time here of late. As Leo quickly pushed him through the open doors, Cartman found it easy to ignore the plethora of scantily clad men serving drinks and the crowds of excitable gays of all kinds.
Kyle was on stage. Everything literally stopped for Cartman when that boy performed. He never wore make-up, save for the kind that played up the lights, nor did he have to wear a wig with those fiery curls. The only hint of drag in his drag act was the glittering silvery body, fishnets and high heels. The way he coiled himself around the trapeze which formed the centrepiece of the stage was nothing short of physics-defying, but it was when he seemed to look right at him with those big expressive eyes as though he was the only person in the room that Cartman couldn't tear himself away.
"Forget him," Leo cautioned, handing him a glass of wine. "He's my biggest draw, you know. Why, if it weren't for him, we wouldn't have such an influential patron." He inclined his head towards a handsome, if cold looking, man who was seated in the only box of the whole theatre. His jet black hair was slicked back and he stared at Kyle hungrily; Cartman felt his stomach clench at the sight.
"Stanley Marsh. He's a duke, you know," Leo said proudly. "He came here last year, on the quiet, of course. He worships Kyle and, well, he pays a staggering amount for the privilege."
"Naturally," Cartman said, trying hard to keep the fury out of his voice. Kyle was a courtesan here at the Moulin Rose, and Cartman knew for the past six months that this Duke asshole had been his only client. Apparently the guy was rather possessive.
Once the show was over, Leo took him by the arm and led him back stage.
"I'd like you to show Kyle your latest script," he insisted as they passed through swarms of half-naked men and wig tape. "He really thinks very highly of your work, by golly."
Cartman smiled. Back when they first met, Kyle had mistaken him for this Marsh character; a simple misunderstanding that might have been funny if he weren't so beautiful and Cartman wasn't so lovesick.
Now, when he had to watch the oily Duke kiss Kyle's hand and gaze into his eyes as though he were his and his alone, Cartman could find nothing amusing in the mistake. Kyle loved him, he knew it. Why did he have to compete with this asshole? Cartman could offer Kyle love like he'd never known, but Stanley Marsh could offer him everything else, and Kyle was a very practical man. Cartman couldn't blame him for it, even as it killed him to see that duke place his sweaty palm on the small of his back.
"Kyle? Mr. Cartman is back with the rewrite of the script," Leo announced grandly. Cartman saw the Marsh asshole look at him with a mixture of condescension and disgust.
"Now, Leo. I'm sure Kyle doesn't need to be bothered with such trifles right now." He fixed his blue eyes on Kyle once again.
"I feel very strongly about the performance, Your Grace. It has to be perfect, and Mr. Cartman here is very gifted," Kyle insisted. Cartman felt his cheeks glow warmly at the compliment, which intensified at the dazzling smile Kyle directed at him.
"My dear, you are a true artiste," the Duke conceded, kissing Kyle tenderly on the cheek. He accepted the gesture gracefully; a little touch of the arm to show he returned the affection, or at least he could fake it.
"What is the play about, pray tell?"
Cartman cleared his throat, careful to hide any revulsion he might feel for the asshole who was going to steal his man away. "It's a romance, naturally," he explained. "It's about an evil maharajah who attempts to woo an Indian courtesan, only he – the courtesan – is already in love with a penniless sitar player. What will he choose? The cold trappings of wealth and fortune, or a love greater than any he's experienced?" He tried not to stare at Kyle as he spoke, but it was impossible. Kyle looked away, clearly moved.
"Well, that sounds like the perfect modern-day dilemma," the Duke chuckled. "I look forward to see it." He turned his attention fully to Kyle. "And you, my little kitten," he simpered, before kissing his hand once more.
Cartman fought the urge not to vomit. As if anyone who had known Kyle for more than five minutes could ever call him a kitten. That man was a tiger, and needed to be treated like one – with respect, awe and a little fear. There was no doubt in Cartman's mind that Kyle was very dangerous; he'd certainly conquered him with little effort.
"So, do you have the new lines?" Kyle asked, and it took Cartman a little while to realise they were now alone.
"Yeah, right here," he replied, pulling out the slightly dog-eared script. "I was still making amendments on the train."
Kyle slinked closer to him; Cartman could fell his warm breath fan out against his ear. "So, what wins out?" he asked. "Love or comfort?"
"What do you think?"
"I think love is beautiful, but it doesn't keep one off the streets."
Cartman couldn't bear to be so close and yet so far from this exquisite creature. He took his hand and brought it to his cheek. "It doesn't have to be such a choice, you know."
Kyle pulled away and turned his back to him. "Well, that's the difference between you and I; you can walk away from this place, but I am chained to it."
Cartman slid his hands around Kyle's taut waist. "Then let me make you a key," he urged, turning Kyle to face him.
Kyle pulled away, but not enough to leave Cartman's embrace. "The Duke will keep me for life."
"You never wanted to be kept, any fool can see that," Cartman retorted, the coolness of Kyle's palms pressing against his chest seemed to send fire through his very bones. He removed one hand from Kyle's back and cupped his face tenderly. "I would never keep you. I would cherish you."
Kyle looked away uncertainly, and laughed humourlessly. "Do you know what I thought the first time I laid eyes on you, Eric?"
Cartman shrugged. "Tell me."
"I thought you'd be very, very bad for business," he replied quietly, his lips parting in expectation of a kiss Cartman was all too eager to give.
When Cartman opened his eyes, Kyle was staring right in his face.
"Dude, wake the fuck up! Mrs. Langstrom will be here any—"
Cartman didn't wait to hear the rest of Kyle's statement. Instead he threw his desk to one side and screamed out loud in horror as he dashed to the boys' bathroom.
Safely ensconced in the empty bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face and tried to compose himself. This was bad, this was very bad. When he was having dreams about fucking Kyle up the ass, at least there was some element of power and humiliation going on there. He could reasonably argue with himself that fucking Kyle would humiliate the stupid Jew, and would put Cartman firmly in control. Dreaming about kissing him? Romancing him? He felt sick inside; maybe he was beyond help?
He stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep breath, glancing along the corridor for potential witnesses. It was probably the fault of being surrounded every day by those dumb fucking cock-hungry whores fawning over the Jew asshole. Clearly it was rubbing off on him.
By the time he had decided it was cool, he was cool and he could go back to class and maybe hit Kyle with his textbook to show that he really didn't give a crap about him, Bebe was standing in front of him. She looked like she'd just swallowed a wasp.
"Oi! I want a word with you, Cartman!"
"What's up with your face? Missed your period?" Cartman retorted. Bebe glared daggers at him, which surprised Cartman; he figured she'd be used to those sorts of insults.
"You blasphemer!" she accused hotly. "You peddler of lies! You've twisted the acts of our prophet!"
"You twist the acts of your gay Jew asshole prophet," Cartman retorted.
Bebe snorted at this. "Gay? Yeah, right. You dare to make our sexual awakening all about your cock; he asked for nothing in return!"
"Only because you got on your knees for him like the fucking slut you are! He probably felt guilty; he's a fucking Jew! It's like, their default state!"
Bebe looked horrified for a moment. "How… How do you know about that?"
Cartman smirked. "Charade you are, Bebe. You didn't think he'd tell just about everyone?" If he could get her to hate that Jew asshole, then Cartman would never have to worry about Bebe getting her slutty claws into him again, and – wait, no. That wasn't why he was doing it at all.
Bebe stormed up to him until she was mere inches apart from him. "He didn't tell anyone," she insisted, jabbing Cartman in the chest as she did so. "I had to tell Clyde what had happened because none of his friends knew and could fill in the gaps for him!" Her expression grew suspicious. "Just how do you know, anyway?"
"I… I… I don't have to answer your hateful propaganda!" he spluttered.
Bebe raised an eyebrow at him. "That doesn't even make sense!" she shrieked. Then, without warning, she said the worst thing Cartman could ever have heard from another person in his entire life. "You're obsessed with him."
"That's rich, coming from the dumb bitch who formed a cult over him!" Cartman jeered.
"So? I've got a reason to… and you hate that, don't you?"
"Fuck off!" Cartman scoffed. "Like I give a crap where that fucking Jew sticks his freaky chopped—"
"Enough! You have spread lies about our saviour for the last time!"
"What are you going to do about it? Strap on a bomb and give me a cuddle, you fucking terrorist?"
Bebe grabbed his lapels and with a strength Cartman didn't realise she'd ever possessed, she dragged him forward. "If you want a war, fatass, you've fucking well got one. Tonight, eight pm. My flock and I are going to fuck you up!"
She let go and Cartman struggled to get his breath back. "Fine, you crazy fucking bitch; we'll be there!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
With those words, Cartman realised he must gather his troops. The war for Kyle had begun…
Not for Kyle, obviously, but for the right to make money out of his gullible fapping club.
Cartman reiterated this thought to himself all the way back to class.
Wendy waited in her car until Bebe rapped her knuckles on the passenger side window.
"Hey!" she said breezily, though there was steel in her eyes. Wendy tried to ignore the stupid badge she wore with pride.
"What have you done now?"
"I've done nothing," Bebe insisted, "but Cartman? He's taken away, like, a third of my flock! He's led them astray with false promises and I know he's taking money from them, too." She slammed the door closed in an apparent display of her anger, that ridiculous pink badge quivering as she moved… What was it? Stan said it was like a tulip, but Wendy thought it looked more like a mollusc.
As she drove off from the school parking lot, Bebe was in full flow.
"…And he's just teaching them lies! ‘Giveth unto your dude a blow job and, lo, he will reward you…' What a load of bullshit!"
Wendy sensed that Bebe had felt this betrayal herself, and far too keenly. She considered it just another item on the mental list of why she wasn't allowing Stan anywhere below the waist, or anywhere unclothed, for that matter.
"Don't you think you're taking this too far?" Wendy couldn't understand why she even had to ask the question. Two months into this bizarre experiment and it had clearly gone too far before it had even started. Every time she saw Kyle in their AP classes he looked a little more haggard. She'd even taken to offering him sanctuary at her home so he could study away from the dozens of girls camped outside his house singing hymns. Then her own mother came home with one of those pink badges that looked like…
"Oh my God! That badge, it's… it's female genitalia!" Wendy exclaimed, having suddenly made the horrible connection.
Bebe smiled at her wisely. "Only once you see can you truly understand."
"It's disgusting," Wendy spat, her eyes glued to the road.
"See, this is why you need re-educating. To say that you find your own pussy disgusting? That's generations of patriarchal suppression of your desires."
"I'm perfectly happy with my… my bits," Wendy insisted. "I just don't want to wear them on my lapel."
Suddenly, Bebe slapped her hand on the dashboard. "Stop here!" She insisted.
Wendy could see they were outside Kyle's house, where several girls milled around the front garden holding candles and singing ‘One Way Or Another' as one.
"No," Wendy replied firmly. "Leave him alone—"
It was too late; Bebe had already opened the door and barrel-rolled out of the car. Wendy cursed herself for driving past so slowly. She pulled up and got out of the car, rushing after Bebe.
"Bebe! Wait! Stop doing this!" It was no good; Bebe simply shrugged her off and led the girls in a prayer which Wendy recognised as being a ‘Reader's Confession' from Cosmopolitan magazine.
"Wendy? Not you too?" Suddenly, Stan was by her side with Kyle, and looking deeply betrayed.
"Me? Of course not, Stan; why on Earth would I want to worship Kyle, of all people?" Wendy countered, before glancing at Kyle. "No offence."
"None taken."
The girls suddenly started to circle closer and closer to Kyle, like sharks that had sensed a drop of blood in the ocean.
"Hi, Kyle."
"Show us the way, oh Wise One!"
"Let us please you, our saviour!"
Kyle's expression suggested he'd happily carpet bomb every last one of them; Wendy saw his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
"For the last time, I am not your fucking messiah!" he ground out through clenched teeth.
Bebe smiled beatifically at him. "Oh, Kyle. You totally are our fucking messiah."
"And only a true messiah would deny his existence!" a mousey-haired girl nearby exclaimed. Wendy eyed her red plaid coat and realised she'd bought the very one Wendy had been coveting. Bitch.
"Yeah!" The congregation cheered simultaneously. Kyle looked at the floor and dragged his hands through his mess of coppery curls.
"Fine, fine; I am you messiah," he offered.
"See! It's true!" Bebe exclaimed, but before anyone had a chance to respond, Kyle spat, "Now go fuck yourselves!"
"How should we fuck ourselves, oh Wise One?"
Wendy and Stan barely had time to rush through the open front door before Kyle slammed it shut with such force that the pictures on the wall shook.
"Are they still there, Bubbeleh?" Kyle's mother called from the kitchen in a weary tone that told Wendy this had been Kyle's getting home ritual for a long time.
Wendy felt Stan's hand tentatively reach for hers. She took it, grateful that with Mrs. Broflovski around, there was no way it could turn into anything more. Nobody could expect anything from it, and she couldn't be a tease just by holding hands, right?
"Yes, Ma. They're still here," Kyle replied sulkily.
"It's not my fault, Kyle."
Wendy felt like answering Kyle's mother with a retort of, "It's not Kyle's fault either," but then Ike bounded into the front room, the straps of his little back pack on both arms, and loudly proclaimed, "Ma! There's a bunch of girls outside being gross!"
Kyle peered through the curtains and grimaced. "Oh my… Abraham," he said carefully, glancing towards the kitchen.
"Dude, what is it?" Stan asked, walking over to the window and peering through. "Dude!" he exclaimed in a mixture of horror and fascination.
Ike clambered up the couch and joined him at the window. "I know, right?"
Kyle stormed towards the front door, opened it and yelled, "When I said ‘Go fuck yourselves', I did not mean literally!" before slamming the door again. This time, a picture fell from the wall nearby, and Wendy managed to catch it.
"Wow, nice save," Kyle said with a tinge of awe.
His mother peered around the kitchen door and sighed heavily.
"I'll go and get the broom," she said nonchalantly, disappearing into the cupboard under the stairs only to re-emerge with a heavy-duty broom. She walked outside and all Wendy could head was the thrashing of bristles and a repetitive stream of, "Shoo! Go home! Get out of my garden! Oy, vey!"
Kyle kicked an innocent waste-paper basket across the living room. "God damn it!" he hissed.
"Chill, dude," Stan said kindly. "Look on the bright side; you've got loads of hot chicks into you. That's got to be pretty cool, right?" To Wendy's horror, he looked a little envious.
Kyle glared at him. "No, it's not cool, Stan! It's a fucking pain in the ass! They will not leave me alone – I can't study in the library because they congregate around me, they hang around waiting for me after class, they shove their way into the gym to watch me during basketball practise – which pisses the rest of the team off. It's horrible, okay? I'm not even free of it in my own home; oh, and let's not forget that the only teacher who hasn't got involved with this stupid cult is our drama teacher!"
"Mrs. Langstrom?" Wendy asked, a little surprised by this titbit of information. She'd have had earthy, romantic Mrs. Langstrom down as one of the first to join up.
"Dude, then you're guaranteed straight A's no matter what you do; how's that bad?"
"Yeah, because colleges will be totally cool with such blatant discrepancies if it turns out I'm sucking in class and screw up the SATs!"
Suddenly, Kyle fixed Wendy with an icy glare. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? Are you, like, genetically predisposed to fuck with our heads?"
"Dude! Leave Wendy out of this!" Stan glared back at him with an anger Wendy had rarely seen from him.
"Hey! In case you hadn't noticed, I'm playing no part in this insane little cult, thank you." Wendy was surprised by two things; one, that Stan had actually taken her side over Kyle's and two, that Kyle's little verbal attack had actually stung her.
She watched as Kyle's shoulders slumped and he looked at her with big, soulful eyes.
"I'm sorry, Wendy," he said. Wendy knew he meant it, largely because Kyle wasn't very good at being insincere.
Still, she wasn't quite ready to let such a sweeping misogynistic statement just drop. "Well, great. Because sexism's totally okay, so long as you remember to say sorry afterwards!"
"If you're going to be a… If you're going to be like that about it, I wasn't being sexist, I was being misogynistic. There's a difference!"
"I do know! I just doubted that your bitter little man-brain could comprehend such nuances!"
"Now who's being sexist?"
Stan hovered awkwardly between the two of them. "How about I go and get everyone a drink?" he offered before dashing off to the kitchen. Typical; any conflict between his girlfriend and his best friend and Stan would find any way to wheedle out of it.
"Fucking pussy," Kyle muttered under his breath around the same time Wendy did. They smiled at each other, and it seemed to break the tension.
"I am sorry, Wendy. It's just…" Kyle, unusually, seemed to struggle for words. "Fuck, what's wrong with me?" He perched on the arm of the couch.
Wendy couldn't help but smile at his brooding. "I think you've got rather the opposite issue, Kyle. Those girls don't think there's a single thing wrong with you."
He slumped his shoulders yet again and didn't meet her eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of why they don't stick around afterwards."
Wendy felt a pang of sympathy, and slid her arm around him.
"Don't take what Bebe did to heart," she urged. "Yes, she was an idiot, but she really does like you a lot. It's just that her and Clyde are… well, her and Clyde; spending time with you made her feel really confused as well—"
"I don't mean Bebe," Kyle mumbled, and it suddenly hit Wendy like a ton of bricks. How could she have been so stupid?
"Rebecca," she acknowledged. The poor guy was still totally cut up over her.
"Why wouldn't she fight, huh? Am I really not worth it? I know she said it was for the best but… fuck, how can this be good for us? For me? I'd have walked through fire just to see her again, and she wouldn't even IM me under a pseudonym?"
To Wendy's utter shock, he started to cry. Not the big, heaving loud sobs she tended to have, but silent tears were definitely rolling down his face. She had no idea what to say, so instead hugged him tightly, surprised once more when he leant into her arms and accepted her comfort.
He was skinnier than he looked and though his hands were cold where they curled up into fists and rested on the nape of her neck – Wendy supposed it was his way of keeping the intimacy a stage apart from how she and Stan would hug – she felt close to sweltering where she was trapped within his arms. The weight of his head against her shoulder didn't bother her particularly; she was just glad to have been able to return the favour after her nervous breakdown in the library during the start of their AP classes. Especially because after studying with him, she was back up to her usual A grade standard.
When Stan walked in holding three drinks in a triangle between his hands and glanced across at them, Wendy was uncertain how he'd react. It turned out he merely set the drinks down on the table and hovered by the door frame, as though waiting for the moment where he could return without making anyone feel uncomfortable. In a way, she felt a little peeved at his lack of jealousy, but overall she was glad he respected her enough not to be freaked out by her hugging his teary-eyed friend.
Although it would have been nice if Stan could have appeared a little less aroused by her nurturing behaviour. She caught his eye and they both looked away; she felt ashamed that she kept making him feel this way, and she could see how frustrated he felt.
Wendy suddenly felt a vibration somewhere around her hip-bone; Kyle let go of her and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and glanced at it briefly, before looking up at them both as though they were aliens.
"What the fuck's wrong with you two, anyway?" he asked suddenly. "Why are you both acting like you're contagious or something? I mean, Jesus Christ, I've had more intimate interactions with the both of you than you've had with each other recently."
Wendy met Stan's gaze; he appeared as embarrassed as she did. Apparently, Kyle's piercing gaze was like truth serum to Stan; he looked fit to burst with the expression of someone who really didn't want to.
"Dude, I don't want to, you know…" He sighed and looked at Wendy. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with me, okay? Like, I know you're sixteen today, but it doesn't mean I expect… you know. God damn it, just because we're both legal now doesn't change anything, okay?"
"Stan, I understand; I'm trying really hard not to make you feel that way," she protested. "I don't want to be some… some kind of cock-tease!"
Suddenly, Kyle burst out laughing.
"What? This isn't funny, dude," Stan spat.
Kyle wiped his eyes. "Oh, it is. You two… Aww, man. You're so desperate to make each other feel comfortable that you're putting insane amounts of pressure on yourselves." He looked at Stan. "Dude, it's okay to fantasise about making love to your girlfriend."
Wendy felt Kyle's hand on her shoulder. He smiled kindly at her. "Wendy, a cock-tease is someone who says they're going to put out and doesn't. Making your boyfriend hot for you is not the same thing. Will you two just chill the fuck out?"
Stan looked at her awkwardly. "Wendy? I don't want to push you into anything, but I can't help thinking about you like that. I totally want you, but it's cool that you're not ready. I just want to go back to how we were before that dumb party."
"Me too," Wendy insisted. "I just didn't want you to feel… I thought I'd be being a bitch if we were to, you know, make out and stuff when I didn't want to go further."
Stan gawped at her. "Really? I thought you didn't want me anywhere near you after I'd… you know, the dress and everything."
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Will you two just kiss and make up?"
Wendy could see no reason why she shouldn't run into Stan's arms and kiss him like she'd wanted to for the past three months. When he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips, she could have died on the spot. Flinging her arms around him, she kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his hands roaming over her back as he held her tightly against him.
"Yeah, okay guys. My mom will be back in the house at some point," Kyle warned. Stan let go of Wendy, his expression sheepish.
"So, you wanna go celebrate your birthday? I kind of booked a table at Casa Bonita…"
Wendy couldn't help but smile. "You know, Stan? Tonight I'd rather just go to a drive-thru and make out in the back of my car," she replied.
"Sweet!" Stan looked thrilled. Wendy felt a little flutter in her stomach at Stan's enthusiasm.
She glanced across at Kyle, who appeared a little embarrassed. "Thanks, Kyle. We kind of just needed to say that out loud."
"Yeah; thanks, dude. Why are you so fucking wise about this shit?"
Kyle shrugged. "It's easy to be wise when you're on the outside looking in."
Wendy walked up to Kyle and hugged him; she noticed that Stan did the same.
Kyle didn't appear particularly impressed at his being trapped in a group hug between the two of them. "Great, now get the fuck out of my house and have some fun. There is no way I should be this intimately involved in your relationship," he said in mock weariness.
By the time Kyle had trudged to the rendezvous point given in Kenny's text, he was already waiting with a cigarette dangling between his lips.
"Hey," he said nonchalantly through a cloud of smoke.
"Dude, you should really give that up; those things could kill you," Kyle pointed out. To his utter bemusement, Kenny seemed to find this very funny.
"Thanks, Mom, but I'll take my chances."
They ambled along the side street in a comfortable silence, until Kyle broke it with, "Not that I mind, but why do you need me to come with you to hand in your drama homework?"
Kenny gestured towards his grimy jeans and worn duffel coat. "Because I stink of glue and smokes, man. I reckon it'll look bad, given she gave me an extension." He grinned. "I wouldn't mind returning the favour and giving her my extension."
"Dude, what is it with you and our teachers this year?"
Kenny shrugged. "Some of them are fucking hotties. Just saying." He eyed Kyle curiously. "The Eurotrash thing's really working for you, by the way."
"Huh?"
"That coat, for example. That slightly gay double-breasted trench coat with the turned up collar that you wouldn't have been caught dead in until you came back from New York." He grinned. "It's got almost every female in town worshipping you. If I was taller, I'd have raided your closet already."
At least with Kenny, there was no follow-up comment about finding Stan in there. "I don't think I'd have really had an opinion on it, to be honest," Kyle admitted, absently fingering his collar. "It can't be that, though. I was dressed like this before that dumb cult took off."
Kenny shrugged. "It must be something. I mean, guys get new clothes and get their braces taken off all the time, and nobody starts praising them like they're responsible for every girl's second coming, so to speak."
Kyle grimaced. "Yeah, thanks for that, Kenny."
They stopped at Mrs. Langstrom's door; Kyle could see it was ajar. He knocked lightly on the door, but received no answer.
"Just go in," Kenny insisted. "Mrs. L's cool. She made me hot chocolate when I brought around my cultural analysis of ‘Romeo and Juliet'. Plus she helped me to write something more than, ‘they die, it sucks'."
"Well, that's definitely succinct," Kyle agreed as he pushed the door open… and walked straight in on Mrs. Langstrom lying spread-eagle on her couch while a man Kyle assumed was her husband was between her legs. He tried to sneak out, but it was too late; Mrs. Langstrom had spotted them.
"Kyle! Kenny! How did you—"
"Ah! I'm sorry, Ma'am. The door was open and I just—"
"Sweet!" Kenny breathed in awe. Mrs. Langstrom's husband did not appear particularly pleased by this.
"And what exactly are you two boys doing loitering outside our house?" he asked testily.
"Bernie, do calm down," Mrs Langstrom said kindly.
"I just came – ahem – to hand in my assignment," Kenny explained sheepishly, placing his papers on the coffee table. "I'll just leave it there. Thanks for the extension, Ma'am. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
To Kyle's horror, Kenny actually winked at their teacher's husband. In a way, it was comforting to see that her husband appeared to feel the same way as Kyle, although it was less comforting that he seemed to take it out on Kyle.
"I'm surprised you're not busy at your little cult meetings," he said disapprovingly, and this riled Kyle up so much that it didn't cross his mind to ask why he was striking up any form of conversation after being caught giving oral to their teacher.
"They're not my meetings!" he snapped. "I have got nothing to do with that… that insanity!"
"Well it seems to have affected almost every woman in this place," he countered. "All my colleague's wives are wearing those ridiculous badges. Sharon was the last to succumb." He glanced at his wife. "You know Sharon, right?"
"Who, Stan's mother?"
"Oh, for the love of—"
Kyle suddenly felt Kenny grab his arm tightly. "We should leave you to it. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Langstrom!" he called as he dragged them both out of the house.
Kyle shut the door behind them. "Man, I could have lived my whole life having happily never seen that," he said.
Kenny beamed in delight. "I, on the other hand, feel my life has been enriched by the sight. Well, my jacking-off fantasies have been enriched."
"Dude, gross!"
"What's gross about it? Chicks fucking love it, trust me." Kenny's expression was a weird mix of melancholia and desire.
"I don't mean the act of cunnilingus itself. I mean seeing our teacher getting it," Kyle replied.
Kenny fixed him with a surprised glance. "You know about licking the lady Laffy Taffy?"
"If you mean oral sex, then sure." He sighed heavily. "Not that it did me any good with Bebe."
Kenny whipped around at this and grabbed Kyle's lapels. "Wait, did you go down to Bebe's Pussy Town diner and order the ‘all you can eat' special?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, Kenny?"
"Bebe, did you give Bebe cunnilingus?" he asked, his eyes wild with panic.
"Sure." He looked at the floor; memories of Bebe's beautiful unravelling flooded his mind and bruised his heart. "I thought she really liked me, and she really wanted me to screw her, but I couldn't do that on a first date – that would be so weird! So we kind of… I figured it was a good compromise, but she just got back with Clyde like it was no big—"
"Dude!" Kenny cut him off eagerly. "I think I get it. I know what this dumb cult's all about! It's all because—"
Suddenly, Kenny stopped and slumped against Kyle.
"Kenny?" Kyle said uncertainly, before feeling warm wet drops on his hand. He looked down and saw blood. When he looked up to find the source, he saw a makeshift arrow comprised of barrettes and pencils had smashed right through his skull, ear to ear. Kenny was dead, and before he'd even managed to give his answer.
"You bastards!" Kyle whispered as he closed Kenny's glassy eyes.
"Oh, Stan!"
Wendy's shocked little gasp was the greatest thing Stan had ever heard in his entire life. He'd have responded, but he was too busy grazing her ear with his teeth and making her writhe against him in the cramped space of her car.
Then she coiled her fingers around the hair at the back of his head and pulled his away until they were face to face. By the time she had crashed her lips against his, Stan was lost in her. The heat of her thighs enveloped him as she hitched her leg around his, and Stan was pretty sure this was the closest he had ever physically been in contact with her.
She pulled away slightly and looked at him. "Are you sure this is okay?" she asked shyly.
"Wendy, this is pretty fucking perfect," he replied, kissing her eagerly again. She halted him by pressing her hand to his chest.
"What's the matter, babe?"
"Oh, nothing. Just hungry," she said.
Stan smiled at her. "Working up an appetite, huh?" he teased, before propping himself up on one elbow and using his free hand to reach into the burger bag. He found Wendy's vegetarian burger and unwrapped it with his teeth – he figured she can't mind his mouth being near her food given that she'd just had her tongue in it – before offering it in front of her.
"Stan!"
"Come on, the birthday girl gets a slave for the evening. It's, like, a law or something."
She tentatively leant forward and took a bite, then continued. Stan discovered that he found feeding her rather erotic.
However, he found Wendy sucking his fingers clean once she was done even more erotic. He hoped against hope that she wouldn't be able to notice his erection poking against her thigh through two pairs of jeans, but the sudden blush that spread across her cheeks suggested she had. Still, she didn't seem freaked out, so that was a definite plus.
She leant forward and kissed him. "You should eat," she instructed, so they took a brief break for Stan to finish his burger and Wendy to eat her remaining fries. As he swallowed the last of his burger and watched Wendy eat her fries rather daintily – she always ate them one at a time, and never crammed a whole handful into her mouth like he or any of his friends would – he couldn't resist grabbing her hand and sucking each salt-coated finger clean.
The way she shuddered went straight his dick.
"Stan? Are you okay?" She sat up suddenly. "I'm not teasing you too much, am I?"
He couldn't help but grin. "Babe, if you teased me for the rest of my life, I think I'd be pretty damn happy," he replied, before sliding his spit-slicked fingers through her hair and kissing her welcoming mouth. He felt her moan against his lips as he pulled her flush against him in his lap, and when he laid her gently on her back in the cramped car, she wrapped her legs around his again. His senses went into overdrive when he felt her gently, almost imperceptibly, grind against him. Panic gripped him for a moment; what should he do? He sure in hell didn't want her to stop, but if he ground back would she freak? Gingerly, he attempted a few meek little thrusts of his hips to see how she reacted. Quite well, it turned out; she gave a little sigh and kept up her motion, so Stan did his best to match it without slamming against her so hard he actually tore through both their pants. It was a definite fear of his; as good as this make-out session felt, he wanted to be in her so much it hurt. On the plus side, he was in for a treat of a masturbating session tonight.
Stan felt Wendy's fingers tentatively start exploring his lower back and creeping closer to his ass; the moment she gave his left ass-cheek a squeeze through his jeans he nearly ploughed her straight through the car door.
A little gasp of surprise escaped Wendy's lips; Stan hoped it was the pleasant kind. He chanced taking things further by letting his fingers walk across the waistband of her low-slung jeans and hover meaningfully at her fly, but she gently batted it away while still kissing him frantically. Still, Stan figured this was good; he could at least try to go a little further while safe in the knowledge she'd be happy to stop him without feeling uncomfortable. He slid his hands up to her waist and roamed everywhere he'd already been granted access to instead.
Suddenly, the car jolted.
"Wh… what was that?" Wendy asked blearily.
"I don't know," Stan replied, propping himself up on his hands to peer out of the window just as another shockwave jolted the car. "Maybe it's an earthquake?"
"In South Park?" Wendy asked incredulously just as Stan saw a nearby shop burst into flames.
"Or maybe not," he concluded as hundreds of women suddenly rushed across the street with flaming torches.
Wendy peered out of the window alongside him. "Are those archery bows?" she asked as a group of women scaled the hardware store and started firing flaming arrows across the street.
Before Stan could answer, the car door was wrenched open and a gaggle of crazy women yanked them clean out of the car.
"What the hell!"
"Heathen!" a tall blonde woman yelled at Wendy. "You worship a false idol!"
"Excuse me?" Wendy appeared rather angry; as the group of women circled them viciously, Stan felt she should probably be far more scared right now. He knew he was.
"Get the heathens! We must protect the prophet!"
Stan grabbed Wendy and held her to him protectively; slightly gleeful despite everything that she buried herself in his arms. Before the crazy ladies could pounce, Kyle showed up wielding a baseball bat, his coat spattered with blood and dirt.
"Oi! Back off, you lunatic bitches!" he yelled, dead-legging the women nearest them and sending them ricocheting through the group like skittles. He grabbed Stan's arm.
"Come on; we need to get out of here!" he instructed. Stan followed him instantly, holding Wendy's hand as they fled.
"What the fucking hell is going on!" Stan bellowed as they ran full-pelt away from the hoarding womenfolk.
"Some kind of holy war has broken out!" Kyle shouted back. "It's spilled out onto the streets and the whole town's under siege!"
"What?" Stan felt his voice flatten as he replied; it depressed him no end that Kyle's response didn't leave him shocked, or frightened or ever horrified. No, it left him thoroughly unsurprised. There was a holy war. Bebe's cult had got out of hand and they were roaming the streets trying to impose their religion on everyone. It was almost inevitable.
"War. Holy. Between Bebe and…" Kyle frowned as they sprinted down the street. "Who the hell is she opposing, anyway?"
"I have no idea," Stan replied, as they ducked into a side street to catch their breath.
"Maybe… there's been… a splinter group…?" Wendy suggested between gasping breaths. Stan had forgotten she wasn't so much non-athletic as anti-athletic. He rubbed her back comfortingly as she struggled to regulate her breathing.
"We should find Kenny," Stan said. "If they're after you, they're going to come after your friends…" He trailed off at the mournful look on Kyle's face.
"Dude, Kenny's dead," Kyle said quietly, his eyes closed as though in prayer.
Stan felt his jaw drop. "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!" He looked across at Kyle expectantly, waiting for… well, he wasn't exactly sure, but he knew Kyle should have said something to his exclamation.
"I said it earlier," Kyle replied. "But listen; he was onto something. Before he died, he said he thought he knew why Bebe might have started this freaky cult."
"So, what was it?"
"I don't know; he got an arrow through his head before he could finish his sentence." Kyle frowned in thought. "He was talking about cunnilingus before... before he passed away."
"Cunnilingus?" Stan racked his brain but couldn't think of anywhere he'd heard that word before.
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Stan? We need to have a talk."
"Oral sex, but on a woman," Kyle replied, and Stan suddenly felt rather silly.
"Oh, I see. What's that got to do with anything?"
"I don't—"
"Wait, can you hear footsteps?" Wendy's voice had a definite edge of panic to it. When Stan looked over his shoulder, his heart started to race.
"He's here!"
The women staggered eagerly down the suddenly claustrophobic street, clutching copies of Cosmopolitan magazine. Stan grabbed Wendy's hand and yanked her along as they fled.
Just as they reached the end of the small street, they found their way blocked by a security fence.
"Damn it!" Kyle was getting seriously agitated. "Hang a left!"
Stan followed Kyle down a narrow alleyway, but Kyle stopped so suddenly that Stan backed into him, and Wendy backed into Stan.
"Turn back, there's more of them!" Kyle instructed, but instead of turning around and running, he stopped and glared at the advancing armed group.
"Cartman?" he said incredulously. Stan had to crane his neck to see and, sure enough, Cartman was heading the group. Somehow, this didn't surprise him either.
"What the hell are you doing, you fat fuck?" Kyle yelled.
"I'm protecting my people, Kyle," Cartman said evenly. "I'm protecting their right to practise their religion how they see fit. Ladies, behold your prophet."
The group of women sighed collectively.
"He's not their fucking religion, you asshole!" Stan shouted back. "And you? Worship Kyle? Seriously?"
"Hey! I believe, okay? I believe in a better future for female sexuality. I believe in raising money and awareness of these women's plight. Plus, I believe in a good tax break once we're registered as a charitable organisation."
"You are fucking unbelievable!" Kyle raged. "Of course you had to be making money out of it!"
"Yeah, taking money from those gullible women is no better than stealing right from their purses," Stan added.
Cartman coughed quietly. "Ladies, I believe Mr Marsh over there is belittling your faith."
The group of women surrounding Cartman collectively gasped in horror, and then rushed forward with hairspray cans poised and swinging hefty charm bracelets like nunchucks.
"Pull back, pull back!" Kyle ordered, and they ran towards the security fence once more, hemmed in on all sides.
"It's no good," Kyle said. "We're going to have to climb."
"Climb? I can't climb up that thing!" Wendy had turned white as a sheet.
"Wendy, if you stay here, you die. Just climb over; it's not that bad."
"Yes, it is," Wendy retorted.
"It's okay, babe. I'll carry you," Stan promised, as the hordes of women started to close in on them. He looked across at Kyle. "You climb to the top, and I'll pass Wendy over to you."
Kyle inclined his head slightly in agreement, and then scaled up the fence like the lanky human spider he was.
"Stan! I'm not going to be passed around between you two like a beach ball or… or glandular fever!"
"Wendy," Stan said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "it's either that or you get stuck between the crazy zombie-like ladies who think you're a heathen witch."
Almost on cue, one of the women glared at Wendy and pointed at her. "Look! It's the heathen! Kill her!"
The other females rounded on her with rage in their eyes.
"Excellent point, well made," Wendy said in an oddly high-pitched voice, and allowed Stan to put his hands on her butt and shove her up into Kyle's waiting arms.
"Be careful, dude, she's kind of heavy," Stan warned, and he recoiled at Wendy's icy glare. "In a good way!" he insisted.
Kyle grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her onto the only edge of the fence which wasn't covered in spiky rails.
Wendy screamed as Stan began to climb the fence.
"You're making it wobble!"
"Relax, Wendy. Just get on my back, and I'll take you down," Kyle soothed.
Stan heard Wendy take a deep, steadying breath.
"Okay?" Kyle urged.
"Okay."
Stan watched as Wendy awkwardly swung her legs over Kyle's head and hooked one leg over his shoulder and the other between the crook of his arm. She clung on tightly as she slid her other leg down to grip his waist.
"Jesus, Wendy! I kind of still need to breathe," Kyle wheezed.
"Sorry."
The moment she looked vaguely secure, Kyle climbed his way down the other side of the fence, with Stan hot on his trail. The women on the other side started to bang against the wire fence, as though trying to bring it down.
"Stanley! See the light! Cross over!"
To Stan's horror, his mom was leering back at him through the lattices of the fence, her eyes shining with hope.
"Mom? Not you, too!" he said dejectedly.
Wendy grabbed his arm. "We've got to keep moving," she said sadly.
Stan nodded, and the three of them dashed along another side street and back onto the now trashed main street. Shops were on fire, cars overturned, and a group of fire-fighters were trying to contain the blazes.
"Boys, you need to move back," a tough, butch-looking female cop announced sharply.
"We're trying to," Kyle explained, but the cop stood between them and the route forward.
"Go back!" she insisted.
"But Officer, they're all back there trying to kill us!" Wendy pleaded.
"Move back, heathen," the cop snapped back, and Stan suddenly noticed the flash of pink partially hidden by her epaulette.
"Shit! She's one of them!"
The tried to get around her, but two squad cars squealed onto the street and blocked the way.
"You dare to kidnap our prophet?" the cop roared.
"Whoa, ma'am! You've got it all wrong," Kyle reasoned. "I'm here of my own accord, and we're heading forward because I said we—"
Wendy grabbed Kyle's baseball bat and smashed the cop straight in the face before leaping forward and shattering the windscreens of the two cars.
"If I hear one more fucking person talk about their fucking prophet, or call me a fucking heathen, I am going to fuck you all up!" she shrieked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Kyle gawp at her appreciatively.
"Let's get out of here!" Stan shouted, and the three of them made a mad dash across the hoods of the police cars and sprinted through the remains of the main street.
"Let's head to my place, it's nearest," Stan suggested.
"Wow. Nice work, Wendy," Kyle said in an awestruck voice.
Wendy was shaking. "Oh God, oh God – I just attacked a police officer! No Ivy League college will take me now!"
Stan grabbed Wendy's arms and made her face him. "It's cool, Wendy. We'll be your alibi," he promised, although part of him was a little excited at the thought of Wendy maybe choosing a college a little more in his own league.
"Can this wait until we've taken cover?" Kyle demanded, glancing shiftily along the street.
Stan let his hand slip into Wendy's as though it belonged there. "Let's move," he agreed.
Firecrackers squealed across their path – clearly debris from the fighting on the streets. They had to duck and cover when one exploded above their heads and showered wall tacks over them, but they eventually reached the sanctuary of Stan's house.
"It'll probably be empty," Stan whispered. "Dad's probably out looking for Mom."
He opened the door and they crept inside, conscious that so much as putting on a light could attract attention from the crazy ladies tearing each other to shreds outside.
Stan stepped inside the living room, only to find his dad in just his pants watching some film where Shannon Tweed was getting screwed on a pool table.
"Dad!"
"Wha – Stanley! You're back already?"
Stan noticed with interest that his dad changed the channel with startling speed.
"Yes! There's a huge holy war raging outside!" Stan retorted. He watched as his dad looked briefly out of the window.
"Oh, yeah. I did wonder where all that noise was coming from."
"Dad, Mom's out there!"
His dad's jaw slackened in horror. "Oh my God, no! We don't have enough meatloaf left, Stanley! We've only got three meals' worth between us! It's no good, we're going to have to eat each other."
"Dad, who cares about fucking meatloaf? Mom has joined some crazy Kyle-worshipping cult!"
His dad shrugged his shoulders. "Son, there comes a time in every man's life where he has to accept that his wife has hobbies and interests outside of him. Take me, Stanley. I like to watch TV and have a few beers. Your mother, on the other hand, likes to learn about her pussy. It's weird, but that's how it is."
Kyle suddenly fixed Stan's dad with a curious piercing stare – the kind Kyle only exhibited when on the brink of discovery.
"Mr Marsh, do you perform cunnilingus on your wife?"
"Dude!" Stan actually felt physically sick at the thought.
His dad looked rather sheepish. "Now, Kyle. I hardly think that's an appropriate question to—"
"Just answer me!" Kyle raged, grabbing Stan's dad in a headlock.
"Dude! Chill the fuck out!" Stan begged.
Kyle ignored him. "Do you lick on the old ice-cream cone? Do you drink from the furry cup? Do you?"
"Alright, alright! No! It's kind of…" His dad seemed to struggle for the words. "Its gross."
Wendy folded her arms. "Oh, but I suppose you expect your wife to perform oral sex on you, Mr Marsh?"
"Wendy!" Stan really wished his best friend and girlfriend would stop getting such intimate information out of his dad.
"What? I'm just pointing out that there's a distinct double-standard going on here." To Stan's surprise, she appeared very cross.
"That's completely different," his dad mumbled, but Wendy was in full flow.
"Would you, Stan? Would you go down on me?"
Stan felt every inch of his skin burn. "What, you… do you want me to? Like, now?"
"No, I just want to know if you would," Wendy replied.
"Well… I don't know – would you go down on me?"
"Don't shirk the question, Stan!" Wendy retorted, while ironically shirking Stan's query.
Kyle rolled his eyes and tutted impatiently. "Wendy, if it means that much to you, I'll go down on you. Now, just listen because I—"
"Dude, that is not cool!" The very thought of Kyle anywhere near his girlfriend's panties was not a pleasant one. Wendy's flushed face made him feel even worse – he hoped she was just embarrassed.
"Will you both shut up for one minute? I think I know what Kenny was trying to say. I think I know how to stop this."
"What? How?" Stan forgot the awful mental image he had conjured up of Kyle's bushy-haired head between Wendy's perfect legs.
"You both need to round up every guy in town and get him to the community centre," Kyle instructed. "I need to exercise my Powerpoint skills."
Kyle tapped his foot anxiously as Stan and Wendy brought the last of the men into the community centre. Once they had closed the door, Kyle locked it. He had already checked the exits; there was no escape.
He pulled the key out of the door and thrust it into the pocket of his jeans before glancing maniacally around the hall. Every male in South Park over the age of sixteen was in this hall, and Kyle was determined to make this work. His very sanity depended on it.
"Right!" he roared, switching on the projector. "You are all going to learn how to lick pussy, and you're all going to like it, because I am fucking sick of this shit!"
He pressed a button and a diagram of the female genitals was brought into sharp relief. Grabbing a nearly pointer, he whacked it at the pubis mons, making a satisfying thwacking noise.
"Let's start at the beginning…"
Five hours later and a bunch of inventive lox bagel props later, and Kyle felt confident in letting his students out to practise their new found skills.
"Dude! The crazy troops are subsiding!" Stan exclaimed. As he looked across the street at the receding crowds, Kyle felt a surge of relief; the nightmare was hopefully over.
That relief was smashed away when he saw Clyde sitting on the steps of the community centre bawling his eyes out.
Tentatively, Kyle sat next to him and placed a hand on his back. "Dude, what's the matter?"
Clyde wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I can't do it," he sobbed. "It's scary down there, and I can't… I can't satisfy Bebe, okay." He glared at Kyle as though it was all his fault and in many ways, Kyle knew it was sort of true.
"I'm sure you can." Kyle consoled him as best he could when the facts suggested otherwise and he was in no position to test the theory.
Clyde sniffled wetly. "She thinks you're so fucking amazing. I want to be amazing for her, I really do, but I'm just not. We had a fight the other day, and she told me I'm at the bottom of her list of greatest lovers!"
"Bebe has a list?" Kyle didn't care how many times Cartman called Bebe a slut, he still found this surprising.
"Well, it's a list of three. You're top, followed by the head of her power shower, and then me. She fucking worships the air you fart in!"
"Whatever, she doesn't want to date me." Kyle felt a sliver of bitterness at the thought, but after the past few months he really though that having Bebe no longer give a shit about him was far more conducive to his health. "Come on, buck up! Just give it a go; I'm sure Bebe would be happy to let you practice on her," he urged, desperate for Clyde to just fucking make Bebe come so she'd quit thinking he was the only guy capable.
It suddenly dawned on him that this very notion had driven Bebe's behaviour right from the moment he had crawled out of her bed with a cricked neck and sore tongue all those months ago.
"I… I don't know." Clyde sounded as though he was being talked into strolling into a battlefield naked.
"Sure you do. It's not scary; she's a beautiful woman, Clyde, and she's eager for you."
Clyde seemed to flinch at this. "It's terrifying, Kyle! You may be okay with that, but it's pink and wet and hairy. What else do you know that's pink and wet and hairy? I'll tell you – nothing, because it isn't normal!"
Kyle fought back a huff of irritation; this stupid asshole was going to ruin everything. Then he had a brainwave.
"Well, maybe you could kind of use the shower head on her clit when you screw?" he suggested. "She likes that, right?" Kyle assumed that's what she did with it; he couldn't imagine she shoved it up there.
Clyde looked at him as though he'd just performed a miracle. "Yeah!" He stood up. "Yeah!" he said with more confidence, and gave a motivational fist-pump. "I'll just find Bebe and tell her, ‘Hey, sweet thing, how about a threesome: you, me and your power shower!' Thanks, Kyle!" He embraced him as though he'd just saved him from drowning and then ran off, presumably in search of his errant girlfriend.
Kyle offered God a silent prayer in the hope that Clyde would be successful.
"Is that everyone?" Stan asked as the crowds dispersed.
"Yeah. I really hope this works," Kyle replied as the headed back into the main town. Wendy linked arms with the both of them, which made Kyle feel a little uncomfortable, but he let it go as Stan didn't seem to mind.
The sound of every female in town – from adolescent to geriatric – collectively orgasming was music to his ears; finally he'd be left alone.
"Oh, Clyde! Yes, yes, yes! Finally! You fucking watery sex beast!"
Even Bebe's quivering screams made him feel glad to be alive.
Suddenly, he felt Wendy's arm slip out of his and reach across his shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked, her expression a portrait of sympathy.
Kyle reached over to his shoulder and touched her hand gently. "Never better. Seriously," he assured her.
They reached Wendy's car; the windscreen had been smashed in and the tyres slashed.
"Dude, that sucks! Do you need it towing to the garage?" Kyle offered.
Wendy shrugged and smiled. "I'll be fine, Kyle. I'll just phone up the breakdown people."
"You know they take ages, right?" Kyle commented, although he had a feeling they took ages because they – rightly – prioritised lone women.
"Stan can keep me company," she replied with a bashful smile; Stan looked as though all his Christmases had come at once. When he hugged Wendy and gave Kyle a surreptitious thumbs-up behind her back, Kyle got the message loud and clear.
He left them to clamber eagerly into her smashed up care to continue their make-out date, and continued down the main street. As he ambled home, he relished the peace and quiet, and the fact he didn't have to constantly look over his shoulder for crowds of fanatical women jostling to harangue him.
A buzzing in his pocket distracted him from his reverie. He took out his phone and saw he'd received a text from Bebe.
‘I was rite about U bein R sex prophet. I luv C like it hurts, but I need U 2 know I will always adore U 4 what U did 4 me. Look after urself; if U ever need me for NEthing, just ask – x'
Maybe he'd have felt insulted and enrages a few months ago, or even a few weeks ago. Now, however, Kyle couldn't help but smile; not that he'd take Bebe up on her generous implied offer, but something in the sentiment touched him all the same.
As he headed home, he texted Bebe back.
‘You're a crazy, crazy lady. You're welcome.'
He made sure he added a smiley face.
With a heavy heart and bleeding nose, Cartman gathered up the remains of his armoury and threw them in a nearby skip. Despite how his venture had ended – thanks to that asshole Jew – he was still seven hundred and forty-nine dollars up, and that should have pleased him immensely.
The reason it didn't was because of that asshole Jew yet again. He'd practically chewed him a new one for his actions and it fucking well got to him! How could it have got to him? Nothing ever got to him!
Naturally, the only solution to this was to wind Kyle up so much that he snapped at him again and they could have a proper fight where Cartman, obviously, gained the upper hand.
With a feeling of trepidation, Cartman knocked on Kyle's door. He wondered if maybe the bunch of scheming Jews were out or – worse still – he was round Stan's house snuggling up to him. Not that he cared.
Just as he was about to assume there was nobody home, the door opened and Cartman found himself face to collar-bone with Kyle.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, as his eyebrows quirked into an irritatingly knowing expression.
"Well, that's a fine way to talk to me after I make all this effort to show up on your doorstep, you fucking no good J—"
"Just get in the kitchen, you fat bastard," Kyle instructed wearily, and Cartman was so surprised, he silently obeyed.
"What? No PMS-ing? No hissy fit?" Cartman mocked.
"I'll be honest, Cartman; I can't be arsed. It's not like I expected anything else of you," Kyle replied, gesturing towards one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table. "Sit down."
For some reason, Kyle's comment really stung. Cartman scraped the chair back, and was about to launch into a verbal tirade to show that little Jew asshole who was boss, but Kyle bent down to investigate a nearby cupboard. Cartman watched him wriggle about as he reached for something, then Kyle walked over to him with a first aid kit and sat very, very close to him on the kitchen table. He could practically feel the warmth radiating through Kyle's jeans.
Cartman watched Kyle dab a cotton wool bud with some sort of antiseptic and wipe it across his wounds. It stung and made his eyes water, but when Kyle held his face tenderly somehow it didn't seem to hurt as much.
"Stop squirming," he demanded. "You're such a baby."
"I'm not squirming," Cartman mumbled while Kyle took out a pair of scissors. "What the hell are you doing with those?"
"I'm cutting you some butterfly stitches for that cut on your head," Kyle replied evenly. "It looks pretty nasty."
"It's fine," Cartman replied, even though it fucking hurt. He felt Kyle's cool fingers on his forehead as they pressed a number of strips across the hot, sore skin where he assumed the offending gash was.
"There. Better?" Kyle asked, smacking Cartman's hand away when he tried to touch the stick-on stitches.
"How the fuck can I tell?" Cartman spat back, not wanting to let on just how better it felt simply from having Kyle near him.
Wait. What the fuck? That no-good fucking Jew rat made everything worse, always. There was no possible way… It simply made no sense.
"You're welcome," Kyle replied, before frowning at Cartman. "Shit, dude. Your nose is bleeding."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"I mean more than it was, asswipe." Kyle grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of his seat. "Sink, now."
Cartman let himself be pushed towards the kitchen sink. Kyle stood behind him and gently tilted Cartman's head until it was hanging over the sink, then reached for his hand. Confused and suddenly uncomfortably hot, Cartman allowed him to take it in a sickening, heated jolt of electricity. When Kyle placed Cartman's fingers on the bridge of his nose, Cartman was left feeling oddly frustrated.
"Hold it here," he instructed, "and wait for the bleeding to stop." He patted his back gently, and Cartman had to stop himself from leaning into his touch. "You'll be okay."
Cartman said nothing, and continued to stare in the empty sink as his blood dripped onto the chrome. Kyle leant against the work surface next to him and looked at him with a mixture of pity and irritation.
"I'd ask if you've learned your lesson, but I know you haven't," he replied cynically.
"Whatever, you stinking fucking Jew. I got nearly eight hundred dollars out of that," he announced proudly.
Kyle shook his head. "You can't put a price on dignity."
"You can," Cartman retorted. "The market value on dignity's pretty good, I find."
To Cartman's amazement, Kyle laughed. Something in his stomach seemed to glow at the sound.
"When you've finished bleeding into my sink, fancy playing ‘Maimed and Butchered III: Colombian Turf War'? I unlocked the Cocaine Missions," Kyle offered.
"Stan not coming over?" Cartman asked in a more bitter tone than he'd intended. Fortunately, it seemed lost on the emotionally retarded Jew rat.
"No, he and Wendy are out on a date. Well, I think they're just making out in her car."
Cartman took a small break from staring at the pool of blood he was making in the sink to look at Kyle's big, expressive eyes. "That doesn't bother you?" he asked incredulously.
"Why would it?" Kyle asked, his expression one of guarded surprise. Clearly he didn't realise Cartman knew what was going on between them, what with their kiss in the school parking lot.
Cartman shrugged. "Just wondered."
"Yeah, well. Nothing to wonder about." He stretched, flashing a tantalising glimpse of his practically concave stomach and the outline of his ribs, and smiled. "I'm just glad this hot mess is over with; I am through with women, let me tell you."
"Yeah," Cartman said into the sink, wondering if he felt the same. He wasn't sure he'd go as far as to give up women completely, but perhaps it was time to accept the horrible, awful, disgusting truth: He was in love with Kyle Broflovski, and it wasn't going to go away with continued DIY electroshock aversion therapy.