The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 13: The Play's The Thing – The Immaculate Conception
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessStan waited in line with the other hundred-odd pupils. He could just about see the ‘Dracula Auditions' sign written in Cartman's not-so-fair hand from his position in the queue and, not for the first time, he marvelled at how Cartman had generated so much interest. Kids from all their grades had been chattering eagerly about the auditions for days – presumably because Cartman had been posting enigmatic Twitter messages for a fortnight. Just when the school collectively couldn't take anymore, he'd revealed the play title and now everyone was clamouring for a piece of the action. You had to hand it to Cartman, he was good.
Wendy leant against Stan and traced patterns on his hand with her finger. "How long are we going to have to wait?"
"A while," Stan replied.
She sighed irritably.
"Want to go?" Stan offered, but Wendy stubbornly shook her head.
"No way! Participating in things like this looks good on my college applications! Plus, I think this'll be fun."
"Fun? With Cartman? Who are you and what have you done with Wendy?" Stan joked.
"I trust Kyle, okay? He'll make sure this doesn't descend into chaos."
"Mmm." Stan kissed the top of Wendy's head, thoroughly unconvinced. As much as he knew that Kyle would fight Cartman over every transgression, he still clearly attracted insanity. Stan honestly wasn't sure which would in out in the end.
"Damn it! That's so unfair!"
"I would have made an awesome Dracula."
Jason and Kevin walked past muttering crossly.
"Whoa, they filled the part already? Can they do that?" Wendy sounded intrigued.
"It's their play. I wonder who got it?" Stan mused.
At that moment, Kyle stormed past looking furious. He clearly spotted them, for he turned on his heel and walked back up to them.
"You won't believe what that fat fucker has done now," he fumed. Stan took this to be as close to ‘hello' as he was going to get.
"Picked some douchebag to play Dracula already?"
"Well, he fucking picked me, so that really depends on your opinion."
"Wow. Congratulations, Kyle," Wendy offered.
Kyle smiled thinly. "Thank you, Wendy. Now have either of you considered why he might have picked me?" He asked this in a way that strongly hinted he expected them both to know the answer.
"Because you gave a good audition?" Wendy suggested with a cheeky smile. Stan was acutely aware that Kenny was somewhere else right now, because of the absence of a response like, "Because you gave good head?"
"Clearly he's using this against me," Kyle replied hotly. "This is going to turn into another of his Jewish agendas; the monstrous, corrupting creature who is repelled and eventually defeated by Christianity? You and I both know what he's trying to do. Well, over my rotting fucking corpse!" he vowed.
"Dude, you're being paranoid," Stan replied, but even as he said it, he knew it just wasn't true; unless you still classified it as paranoid even when they were actually out to get you. Kyle didn't even dignify his comment with a response. He simply stared at him contemptuously.
"Kyle, you won't give him the satisfaction," Wendy assured him. "You have the power to halt his every whim. Enjoy it. Make his life a fucking misery – you owe it to so many of your classmates," she said evilly.
God damn, Wendy was scary when she was bad. Scary and really fucking sexy. Unable to help himself, he pulled her close and kissed her hard. She patted his chest and pulled away, her cheeks flushed.
"Stan, I was in the middle of a conversation," she said a little tersely, glancing carefully at Kyle.
"Sorry, babe," he whispered into her ear, suddenly remembering that Wendy wasn't really big on PDA.
Kyle looked at Stan, then Wendy and smiled. "So long as I'm not expected to punctuate our conversations with kisses," he commented idly, and Stan noticed Wendy blush ever harder.
"Dude! Quit embarrassing my girlfriend!"
Kyle shrugged. "You started it." He glanced at his watch. "Gotta go, guys; I need to do some prep for my tutor group this evening. Oh, and practise my evil laugh," he deadpanned before producing a full on hammy laugh worthy of a Fifties horror, which made Wendy giggle.
"You got a tutor session today?"
Kyle nodded. "No doubt Cartman will tell you to tell me to get some condoms, or some stain remover for the blood, or whatever other vile insinuation he's going to make about me having sex with a bunch of underage girls. Anyway, good luck." He directed this at the both of them.
"Thanks, man," Stan replied as Kyle walked away. He wasn't sure if he was that fussed about being in the play, but Wendy was, so if he didn't get involved somehow they'd hardly see each other – it was difficult enough with his new football captaincy and Wendy's AP classes. How Kyle fit in AP classes, basketball and tutees while still finding time to dick about with them, he didn't know.
By the time he reached the audition room, Cartman appeared as though he was in his element. He even wore a beret and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves.
Cartman looked down at his list. "Ah. Stan Marsh, is it? Do take a seat."
"Cartman, you know who I am," Stan sighed as he sat down. Cartman pulled out a sheet of typed paper and laid it carefully on the desk in front of them.
"I've been looking at your résumé," he continued, steepling his fingers and staring appraisingly at Stan. "Very impressive: Narrator of the third grade nativity play, John Keller in the fourth grade production of ‘Helen Keller'." He frowned. "A bit of a dry spell after that – second monkey in the eighth grade adaptation of ‘The Wizard of Oz', but ninth grade saw you take the part of ‘The Artful Dodger' in ‘Oliver!' Nice. Very nice; a little too socialist for my tastes, but I appreciate the honest and unflinching portrayal of Jews in the piece."
"Cartman, just get on with—"
Cartman put his finger to his lips in the international gesture of silence. "So tell me, Stan, what part did you have in mind? I trust you've read the entry on the school website detailing the roles?"
"You mean the Wikipedia link? Yeah, I read that," Stan said casually, racking his brains to try and think of any names he had read that sounded male. "Umm, Jonathan seemed like a role I'd be good at," he offered.
Cartman slammed his hands on the desk and leant forward, eyeballing him in a way that bordered on psychotic. "The lead male, huh? You fancy yourself as a hero? You think you've got what it takes to be the moral compass of our show? The lynchpin of goodness?"
"Whoa, chill out, Cartman! I can play the part, okay?"
Cartman sat back down in his seat, but did not appear remotely appeased. "I'd like you to do a reading, Stan Marsh. I'd like you to perform it in the manner you would envision Jonathan Harker," he challenged.
Stan gulped away a dry throat. "I could always, you know, be an extra, or help out behind the scenes."
"No, no, no, Stan. You think you can be Jonathan Harker; I want you to prove it." He dropped his voice to a low but dangerous whisper. "Show me how fucking noble you are, Stan Marsh."
He pushed another sheet of paper across the desk; Stan picked it up. It was a piece that he didn't recognise, but he went ahead and tried to read it in a manner that suggested innocence, virtue and bravery.
"Long I pondered my King's cryptic talk of victory. Time has proven him wise. But from free Greek to free Greek the word was spread that bold Leonidas and his…" Then it started to become familiar. "Dude, is this ‘300'?"
"Just read the piece, Stan," Cartman said in a weary voice.
Stan cleared his throat and continued, uncertain whether his interruption had cost him; Cartman's expression was inscrutable.
Just as Stan was moving from timid uncertainly to sure-footed insistence, Cartman halted him with a cursory wave of his hand.
"Thank you, Stan. I'll be in touch."
"But, I hadn't finished—"
"I'll be in touch. Next!" Cartman called and Stan had no choice but to leave. He shrugged to himself; he'd tried.
"Oh, and tell your little Jewish princess to wear a condom when he's fucking his baby groupies; don't want to give the dumb infants AIDS, do we?" Cartman shouted after him.
Stan merely gave him the finger in response.
"Well, there are my suggestions. What do you think, Kyle?" Cartman asked as he tacked wallet-sized photographs of their prospective actors next to each character name.
Kyle hadn't cracked a smile since Cartman had halted auditions for the part of Dracula after seeing him goof around with the monologues. In those moments he was everything Cartman imagined for Dracula: tortured, sadistic, charming… and he didn't even realise it.
"I don't know, Cartman. I haven't seen half of the auditions, have I?"
Cartman couldn't understand why he was in such a mood. He was his muse, and he was the lead in his visionary play. What more did the selfish fucking asshole want?
"Just trust me, Kyle, I've got a knack for this. I spotted you, didn't I?"
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Great, that makes me feel so much better."
So that was it. Kyle didn't think that he'd be any good? Cartman felt like an idiot. Clearly, Kyle just needed some encouragement. It was kind of weird, though; Kyle had pretty much cornered the villain market in their school plays ever since his turn as Fagin in ‘Oliver!' – which, again, had been all Cartman's idea. See, he knew what he was doing.
Tentatively, he placed a comforting hand on Kyle's shoulder and did his best to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through his whole body. "Relax, Kyle. You'll be great. Think about how good you were in ‘Oliver!' hmm?"
For some reason, this seemed to annoy Kyle further. "I knew it. I fucking knew it!"
"Knew what?"
"Don't play fucking coy with me," Kyle sneered and for a brief, sickening moment, Cartman thought Kyle had figured him out. Not that it stopped his dick reacting violently to the tone of Kyle's remonstration.
"Kyle, I really don't know what you're bitching about," Cartman spat back as reflexively as he could. "It's well-documented history that Jews are evil, conniving villains, so it's only natural that—"
He was completely shocked when Kyle lunged at him and wrestled him to the floor.
"I am not going to stand by and let you mock my people!" he growled, his long fingers coiled roughly around Cartman's wrists and his lean, taut body pinned to him; knees gripping Cartman's thighs like a vice. Cartman silently prayed that Kyle wouldn't move any closer; he didn't know if he could hold out.
"I'm not, you fucking fag," Cartman retorted, using his weight to flip Kyle over onto his back and pin him instead. "You were… you were…" God damn it was hard to think with Kyle underneath him; he'd dreamt about it so many times of late.
"Oh, come on. You can do better than that!" Kyle goaded, surprising Cartman by shoving his arm back and making him lose his balance; Cartman fell backwards and Kyle fell right on top of him. For the first time ever, Cartman was exceedingly grateful for his generous footballer's physique – it was the only thing stopping his painfully hard erection from poking Kyle's inner thigh.
"I don't have to, you paranoid Jew fag," Cartman taunted, because it was better than giving Kyle a chance to discover how fucking turned on he was. "You're the one playing to type with your persecution complex!"
Then, just in case he never got the chance again, he briskly stuck his hands up Kyle's shirt and gave him a skin-on-skin titty twister.
"Ow! You fucking asshole!" Kyle drew his fist back; it was worth the resulting blow for that fleeting feel of his thin, warm body.
The tussled for a little longer on the carpeted floor of the drama studio; an endless sweeping overload of grunts, sweat and heat that threatened to send Cartman over the edge.
"Alright, alright! Get off me, you Jew Fag – unless you're trying to rim me, or something." He flashed a grin that he hoped was a little sexy. Softly, softly, and all that.
"Oh, stop it," Kyle spat. "You're being pathetic!"
Cartman was grateful Kyle didn't seem to know just how true his words were.
They fell silent as they each got back up on their feet – Kyle far more quickly with his skinny, lithe frame – and stepped away from each other. Cartman quickly sat down so he could hide his ridiculously tented pants, but he still snuck a few glances at Kyle, wondering if maybe – just maybe – he'd felt something too.
Instead, Kyle strode over to the desk with Cartman's lovingly created cast photos and leant over to peer at the list again. His ass was shown off to perfection under his tight jeans and Cartman could even see a sliver of pale skin where his shirt rode up over his pants and exposed the arch of his back. Fuck, he was beautiful. Even if he did wear underpants from Target.
"If you don't agree with my choice, we can change it. That's the whole point of a collaboration," Cartman found himself saying. God Damn, that Jew asshole had his nuts in a fucking vice.
"It's not that I disagree, exactly." Kyle's voice had a thoughtful tone to it now. He picked up the photos of Stan and Wendy pinned next to Jonathan Harker and Mina Harker respectively. "Life imitating art, I see?" he chuckled.
Cartman shrugged. "I figured it would be easier on them – they have even less acting to do this way, right?" he offered innocently, checking Kyle's reaction. If he could really shove Stan and Wendy in his face, then maybe he'd see how much of a two-timing asshole Stan was, and then maybe Kyle would start to look for better, more manly alternatives.
Of course, there was the other reason for choosing Wendy as Mina. From what Cartman could gather from the weird girls who had vampire blogs online, Dracula and Mina were the real love story – in a sexy, murdering kind of way – and maybe it was about time Stan got to see what it was like when he had to watch the love of his life cavort with someone else; by choosing Kyle and Wendy, he'd covered all of Stan's potential objects of desire.
Kyle hid his shock well. Instead he suggested something which nearly knocked Cartman straight on his ass.
"I think you should cast Bebe as Lucy," he said, and for a second Cartman felt as though the air had been punched clean out of his lungs.
Lucy was Dracula's first – and very willing – victim. Cartman knew in his mind's eye how this would play out on the stage – essentially humping with some blood – and the idea that Kyle wanted to act it out with that God damn riddled whore made him feel sick. It's not like Kyle could have merely been curious, as he'd already had a go on the exclusive funfair that was Bebe's body and had clearly enjoyed himself.
"But Red has the right hair," Cartman retorted. Lucy was a ginger in all the pictures he'd seen online.
"We can get Bebe a wig," Kyle replied, with a bite of impatience, before he glanced warily at Cartman. "Are you okay?" he asked, his upper lip curled ever so slightly in the way it always did when he was trying to hold back a smile.
"Of course," Cartman replied, and he saw Kyle's gaze settle on his hands.
"You might want to let that pen know," he replied breezily. Cartman glanced down and saw that he had crushed his biro.
"Shit," he hissed, trying in vain to wipe his hands clean of ink. He gave up and dashed to the nearest bathroom.
So, Kyle had upped the ante, huh? Cartman tried not to think about Bebe and her obvious man-stealing charms as he watched the soap and ink dribble into the sink as dark lather. Cartman wasn't sure he could stand watching Bebe all over Kyle like a rash that she'd probably caught to begin with, but he couldn't refuse Kyle's request in case he figured it all out. Kyle's Jew brain was quick and the time wasn't right to make his feelings towards him known. Damn it to hell!
When he got back to the drama studio, he could still hear laughing, but this time it was accompanied by a tinkling female laugh.
"Really, Kyle? That's so patronising!" Wendy had shown up.
Cartman relaxed a little – Stan's little beard was probably Cartman's best chance of making Kyle see that Stan was a no-good two-timing asshole, so he let her carry on.
"Hey, it's Dracula – the evil, bloodsucking fiend. He'd hardly sneak his way into Mina's bedchamber and say, ‘Mina, I really respect your independence and intellect,' would he?" Kyle retorted. Cartman peeked through the open door and saw Kyle reclining on one of the desks wagging his finger in a ‘come hither' motion. Wendy was neither coming nor hithering; if Cartman had been on the receiving end of that, he'd have done both copiously, and he didn't even know what hithering was. Fuck, how had it taken him so long to notice how God damn hot that boy was?
"Cartman! What are you loitering outside for?" Kyle called languidly, his leg dangling over the edge of the desk.
Cartman was about to try and make up some convincing lie, but then an excuse showed up in the form of Ruby Tucker, who clutched her schoolbag nervously.
"One of your little pupils has arrived," Cartman said knowingly, ignoring the silly little slut as she glared at him. She poked her head around the door and Cartman was satisfied by the way she gawped at Kyle. Yeah, he wasn't the only one who had noticed.
"Oh yeah, she's arrived, all right," Cartman commented. The girl looked like she was going to arrive all over the carpet because they don't come much more posh than that.
Kyle looked up at the Tucker brat with his Bambi eyes. "Sorry, Ruby. Am I late?"
"No! ‘Course not," she replied breathlessly. "I just happened to be around and figured I'd see if you… I dunno, maybe you'd let me bum a lift again?"
As if that little tart in training hadn't gone out of her way to hang around here.
Kyle shrugged. "Sure. I was going to take these guys home anyway – there's room for one more."
Cartman saw Ruby's face fall. "Sure. Great," she said, a little moodily. She gestured towards Wendy. "Her too?"
"Yeah, my car's in the garage being repaired," Wendy explained. "Kyle's been kind enough to be my chauffeur this week." The way she smiled at Kyle made Cartman want to vomit, and he knew she only had simpering eyes for Stan. Ruby must have wanted to carve her face off with a flick knife and feed it to her pet hamster.
Kyle must have noticed Ruby's expression and completely misinterpreted it like the emotional retard he was, for he looked at her and said, "Wendy's going to play Mina in the play. She's going to be my undoing," he joked, slinging an arm across Wendy's chest and pulling her against him as though capturing her.
Cartman had to stop from shaking his head. How could a guy who got near perfect SAT scores be so oblivious to what was right in front of him? He hoped he wouldn't be so dense when it came to writing the play; and yes, he was going to get Kyle to write it under his watchful gaze. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?
"Guys, what the hell are you doing?" Stan asked as he stared at Cartman's living room. Cartman and Kyle were sat in the middle of the room surrounded by DVDs, books and newspaper articles; all of which were to do with vampires. It was like being in the room of a twelve year old Hot Topic dweller.
"Research," Cartman said, as though that explained everything. Kyle had his nose in a book with a black cover and an apple on the front, and he looked appalled by what he was reading.
"Oh, God," he moaned. "This is awful. This is actually melting my brain-cells, it's so bad. How can an author have this little grasp of the English language? Ike could write better prose than this, and he's eleven!"
"Dude, what are you reading?"
"Those ‘Twilight' books. God, it's dreadful! How did this sell any copies? How did this even get a publishing deal?"
Wendy let go of Stan's hand. "How far are you into it?"
"Page five," Kyle replied.
"Of which book?"
"The first one… Oh, Jesus, I can't do it anymore!" He flung the book across the room in disgust. "Just give me the gist of it, Cartman."
Wendy eyed Cartman sceptically "You've read these?"
"Yeah," Cartman replied, stretching. "They're awesome, Kyle. You're really missing out."
"I so don't think I am."
Wendy continued to stare at Cartman. "You read these and liked them?"
He sighed wearily, as though he couldn't understand why he needed to explain this. "Of course; what's not to like? They're all about some outcast smart girl who finally learns her place, which is behind the kitchen sink, popping out babies. She marries some rich guy who emotionally blackmails her to do whatever he wants her to do, and she totally goes along with it. He even beats the shit out of her when they fuck and then makes her feel like it's her fault; how fucking awesome is that? He's my hero. And there's a bunch of Native Americans who fight them all the time until they finally realise they aren't as worthy as the white guys and become subservient to them. The chick who wrote these? She totally gets how the world should work. I can really relate to her vision of the future."
Kyle glared at Cartman. "God damn it, Cartman! Why do you have to twist everything to fit your sick, racist, homophobic, misogynistic world view?"
"In fairness, Kyle," Wendy piped up, "that's pretty much what happens in the books."
Stan saw Kyle's expression fall, as though he were genuinely disappointed in humanity. Wendy gave him a kindly smile, as though she sympathised.
"You want a drink, Wendy?" Stan asked.
"A soda would be nice," Wendy replied. "Thanks."
"Oi, this is my house! Stop helping yourself to my stuff!" Cartman said angrily.
"I'll have a soda, too," Kyle said, while flicking through an extensive notebook of his scribblings.
Stan rolled his eyes. "Dude, I'm asking my girlfriend, not you."
Kyle shrugged. "Fine; I'll have a soda, and give you a kiss when you bring it over."
"Dude, sick!"
"Or I'll suck you off, whatever; so long as I don't have to move." Kyle didn't so much as lift his head from his notes.
Stan rolled his eyes. "Fine, but you've got to deep throat me," he said as he stomped off to the kitchen.
"I've been hanging around with Cartman all day. I'm pretty sure my gag reflex has worn off."
"Oi!"
Grabbing a couple of glasses from the draining board and a bottle of soda out of the refrigerator, Stan caught Wendy's nervous glance and instantly panicked. Did she expect him to expect her to…? Not that he didn't want her to – he really, really wanted her to – but only if she wanted to. Even though he fantasised about it during most of his history lessons, his fantasy involved her being just as enthusiastic as he was.
He poured out some of the soda into each glass and managed to carry three of them in a triangle formation into the living room, passing one to Wendy.
"Here you go, babe," he said, kissing her on the cheek in what he hoped was an affectionate gesture with no hint of sexual longing behind it. She smiled in thanks and sipped on her drink in a way that had him feeling nothing but sexual longing, so he quickly turned away and jokingly thrust his crotch against the back of Kyle's head seconds before he realised that such behaviour would only be funny if he didn't actually have an erection.
Fortunately Kyle had such thick curls he didn't seem to notice. He did, however, lift his hand in silent request for the soda Stan had brought him. As Stan put the glass into his cupped palm, he said, "Oh, it's so big, I don't know if I can handle it all," in the most sarcastic manner possible.
"Oh thanks, dude. Now I've gone right off the boil," Stan remarked dryly, as he sat on the couch and gestured for Wendy to join him.
"So, how's the play coming along?" she asked as she nestled herself next to Stan and tucked her long legs under her. He couldn't help but rest his hand on her stocking-covered knee.
"Not bad, not bad," Cartman said. "We're almost done with the first draft."
Kyle coughed loudly. "Well," he said eventually, "there are a few changes we need to make—"
"No, Kyle," Cartman snapped. "They're called ‘creative differences'. And your differences happen to be wrong."
Kyle sighed wearily. "Cartman, Mina and Lucy are going to prance around in leather and, quote, ‘slap each other's titties about' over my dead body." He languidly made finger quotes with his left hand.
"What? It's an integral part of the legend!" Cartman looked to Stan for back-up. "We have watched tons of vampire flicks, and every time I get a kick-ass piece of inspiration, Little Miss Sandy Vagina here has to try and shoot it down in flames! We watched ‘Interview with a Vampire'…"
"We are not having Dracula start necking eighth graders," Kyle interrupted.
Cartman rolled his eyes. "We watched ‘Queen of the Damned'…"
"We are not making Dracula a rock star."
"We watched some Russian film with subtitles that had loads of flies everywhere…"
"We are not making Van Helsing a drunken abortionist."
"We watched ‘Vampyros Lesbos'…"
"No. Just, no."
"And we watched ‘Underworld' just before you guys got here."
Stan looked at Kyle in expectation. He blushed to the roots of his red hair.
"I… Kate Beckinsale was in a PVC body suit. I don't really remember much else," he confessed. Kenny grinned.
"Wow, you do have a functioning dick down there, Kyle. Who knew?"
Kyle said nothing; merely rolled his eyes. Stan understood. Kyle was pretty private about that sort of thing; his Kate Beckinsale confession was more than Stan had ever expected him to say in public about his sexual feelings. What Stan knew about Rebecca and Bebe were very much confidences, not bragging.
"The point is," Cartman continued, "that this priggish Jew was the one who kept telling me that ‘Dracula' is all about sex, but when I try to put any sex in the play, he gets his panties in a bunch!"
Kyle slammed down his notebook. "I said that ‘Dracula' has erotic subtext. What you keep trying to do is just put in pornography!"
"I don't see any difference," Cartman pointed out.
"The difference is massive, you idiot," Kyle spat. "Pornographic is showing some chick getting fucked on a bed. Erotic is showing her fingers gripping satin sheets while she arches her bare back and moans in longing. Pornographic is some guy getting his dick sucked; erotic is a whisper of a promise against a throbbing pulse point that sends shivers down your spine. Am I getting through yet? It's suggestive, subtle. You can have two characters never so much as touch and it aches with sexual energy, more than any number of naked women rubbing each other's nipples. That, Cartman, is the difference, okay?"
The room was heavy with silence. Kyle folded his arms and stared at the blank TV. Wendy inspected her own hands and didn't meet anyone's eyes.
"That is why I'm perfectly happy with adding the sexual subtext to Dracula's obsession and seduction of Mina that was in that Francis Ford Coppola version, but I'm not happy with adding the rapey werewolf!" Kyle added crossly.
Cartman huffed and held a cushion close to him. "Well, thank you, Doctor Broflovski. Maybe Stan should get a say on the matter; after all, he's playing Jonathan and I did write him a pretty epic scene where Dracula's brides stick their titties in his face…"
"Who's playing the brides?" Stan asked before he realised Wendy was right next to him. He braced himself for her death glare but she barely seemed to have heard him. Her attention was focused on the back of Kyle's head. Stan hoped she wasn't too pissed off with his friend.
"Heidi, Red and Millie," Cartman replied. Stan nodded. He could live with that.
"There will be no titties in anyone's faces," Kyle said firmly. "And I also don't get why you don't like the Victorian setting."
"Because it's old, Kyle. Kids today want new, modern. We need to set it on a spaceship in the future, or in the back alleys of the Bronx."
"Oh, brother…"
"Victorian's good," Wendy piped up. "There's lots of corsets and high-necked blouses to be ripped open, plus it fits with the theme of repressed sexuality."
"Jesus Christ, are you two channelling each other or something?" Cartman moaned. "That's exactly what he said." He jabbed a fat finger in Kyle's direction.
"Well, two against one, man. Maybe you should just go with it," Stan suggested. He never felt entirely comfortable when Kyle and Wendy seemed to be on the same wavelength – which was increasingly often nowadays – so any encouragement he could give Wendy to show how much in tune with her feelings he was, he'd give it.
"Whatever, just put the next movie on, you fucking Jew."
"You do it, you fat fuck. You need the exercise."
Cartman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kyle, I've just got comfortable with my cushion…"
Kenny silently got up and stuck a DVD in the player. He examined the cover.
"Slutty the Vampire Layer?" he queried. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Dude, you can't put porn on in front of my girlfriend!"
"Depends on whether Wendy wants to watch it, surely?" Kyle remarked. Stan kicked him in the back of the head.
"It's the last one on our research list," Cartman said. "So shut up and enjoy it. Kyle, you'd better be taking notes."
Kyle rested his notebook on his lap. "I was just wondering if your mom was going to be in it."
"Shut the fuck up, Kyle!"
"Hey, it was made ten years ago. It's possible," Kenny replied, staring at the cover. "Tonight's looking up."
The film played; a no-budget rather than a low-budget affair. A woman in a ridiculously fake blonde wig stalked around a polystyrene set of gravestones in tight leather boots, a tiny pleated skirt and a leather corset.
"That's your mom," Kenny said firmly. "I'd recognise that ass anywhere."
"Shut the hell up, that's not my mom!"
"Ooh, I've got to find vampires to stake. There must be some around here. What about in this empty grave?" The blonde-wigged woman sucked her finger and bent over, wiggling her ass in the direction of the camera. Cartman covered his face with the cushion.
"Yeah, that's definitely your mom," Stan pointed out. Kyle peered more closely at the screen.
"It doesn't look much like her," he confessed. "But that might be the wig throwing me off."
"I don't want to know," Cartman mumbled into the fabric.
"Well, well, well; if it isn't Slutty the Vampire Layer," a man in tight leather trousers and an impressive moustache said. Plastic fangs threatened to fall out of his mouth as he spoke.
Wendy giggled at this. Stan looked at her.
"You okay watching this?" he asked. Wendy nodded.
"It's pretty funny," she said, and while it wasn't quite the reaction he was hoping to get from her when watching porn together, it was way better than her freaking out about it.
Kyle and Kenny's heads were effectively blocking the screen at this point.
"It's definitely her voice," Kyle agreed. "I'm not sure about the face, though."
"She's covered in make-up," Kenny added. "It makes it hard to tell. Plus, you're thinking of her now, not ten years ago when she was super-hot."
"Kenny! My mom is not hot!" Cartman shouted angrily.
"Ha, you're not going to stake us, Slutty; we're going to stake you!"
Guitar music filled the room, along with moans of, "No, no! Unhand me you evil undead… Ooh, you're such big boys!"
"Well, they're staking her good," Kenny pointed out dispassionately.
"They're staking her at both ends… Oh wait, there's another one. Where the hell's he going to…? Ah, I get it now." Kyle sounded vaguely fascinated, as though he were watching a nature documentary on dolphin mating rituals.
"Cartman's mom is very efficient," Kenny mused. "You can't take that away from her. She's doing the work of three ladies up there, and she seems completely aware of the camera angles. That comes from experience."
"Lots and lots of experience," Kyle added, laughing.
"Hey, can I borrow this tonight? I'd like to watch it alone," Kenny said.
"Can I borrow it after Kenny?" Kyle asked. Stan saw him glance at Cartman and his expression softened.
"Alright, alright. We've had our fun." He switched off the DVD player.
"You okay, babe?" Stan asked, squeezing Wendy's arm as they walked towards her house.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. What was she supposed to say? That she'd spent most of the evening fantasising about his best friend? Wendy hated the word ‘fantasising'; it carried with it the awful implication that what she had been thinking was a desire of hers, rather than an involuntary thought process. She decided to lay the blame firmly at Kyle's feet. He was, after all, the one who had spouted off halfway through the evening about the finer points of eroticism and made it almost inevitable that her mind would tumble into hazy images of black satin sliding over pale skin; her body naked and vulnerable as Kyle cupped her face and poured illicit promises into her ear like wine; long fingers tracing her neck and collar bone, thrilling the very bones of her…
When Stan started kissing her neck in the midst of all this, hitting that little spot near her pulse that always made her brain fog, she felt as though she would die on the spot.
"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured into her ear, his hands gentle caressing her lower back. "Let me take you home."
"You're taking me home, Stan," Wendy replied, a little breathlessly.
"I mean back to my ‘home'," he explained. "My parents aren't back until late."
Wendy was about to protest, but Stan placed his hand under her knees and picked her up as though she were his new bride and South Park high street was their threshold. She instinctively slung her arms around his neck.
"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, Wendy," he said earnestly. His smile was bright and dazzling, his blue eyes wide and eager. He was handsome and wonderful and why hadn't he taken the lead in her fantasy?
"Umm, can you take me back home? Please?" She felt hot and sick having to turn him down like this. It felt cruel, but she just couldn't. Not yet. She wasn't ready, not quite. Wendy felt as though she were in some strange transitory phase where she yearned for and recoiled from sexual exploration in equal measure.
Stan appeared disappointed for a brief moment; then he kissed her gently on the lips and shifted his weight slightly.
"Sure; I'm still carrying you, though," he announced, and proceeded to walk down the street with her in his arms. As cute as his behaviour was, Wendy was a little concerned he would slip on the snow and drop them both, or he'd strain a muscle under her weight. Sure, she was kind of skinny, but she was tall. Taller than Stan by a hair's breadth.
"Urgh; school tomorrow," he said as he walked along the street with her in his arms.
"I know, but I can't wait to see what Kyle and Cartman come up with for our script," Wendy added.
Stan smirked. "Yeah, if they don't kill each other in the process. I swear Mrs Langstrom must have been at the gin when she suggested they run this jointly."
Wendy shrugged. "Well, Cartman is kind of good at this sort of thing…"
Stan eyed her suspiciously. "Wait a second. I'm not going to have to fight Cartman for you, am I?"
"What? I'm just saying he's pretty good at bossing people around for his own gain. Plus, you have to admit, Kyle is good at bossing Cartman around."
"Fine, fine… I just remember you kissing him in front of everyone during that town debate."
Wendy stared at Stan. "Who, Kyle?" she asked, briefly terrified that her guilty thoughts from earlier had somehow been readable to him.
"No, Cartman."
Wendy was flummoxed. "When was this?"
"In third grade. We did that debate on our town flag, and you just got up and kissed him in the middle of your speech!"
"I don't remember that…"
"I'll never forget it. You broke my little heart, Wendy Testaburger."
"Wait, did you say third grade?" Wendy adored Stan, but sometimes he took the tiniest of things way too seriously.
"Yeah."
Wendy couldn't help but giggle. "Oh, Stan. I was eight. No wonder I don't remember!"
"God damn it," he muttered.
When they reached her house, Stan set her on her feet. Just as she was going to place her hand on the front door handle, he grabbed her arm gently.
"Hey," he said, his expression suddenly very serious.
"What's the matter?" Wendy always felt a little sickening jolt when he looked at her like this. She was waiting for the moment where she was deemed no longer suitable for the position of Stan Marsh's girlfriend on account of being ‘frigid'. She was getting there, but she knew for a fact Cartman went on about whether she put out at every given opportunity; he was too stupid or too selfish to bother censoring himself when she showed up. It always made her wonder what the others guys said to Stan when her back was turned. She absently wondered if Kyle ever stood up for her; she knew he'd done things with at least two girls that made her blush just thinking about, but after their phone conversation the other year, she figured he might understand given he only wanted to properly hand over his v-plates on his wedding night.
"About... About earlier. You know I really like you, right?"
"Yeah." Wendy was very careful not to give anything away. If there was any danger of being dumped, it was all you had.
"And you… I mean, you like me too, right?"
"Of course."
He looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just… Look, I don't want to be the asshole boyfriend that's always pushing for sex, okay? I know I say stuff, and I'm always asking you to come back to mine, or find somewhere to be alone." He took a deep breath. "I just want to make it clear; I only want to do that stuff with you if you want to, okay? I like you a whole lot. Not just your body." He looked her up and down; Wendy saw a blush creep into his cheeks. "I mean, it's a really nice body. A super frickin' hot body… but I like your thoughts and your smiles and the way you get super-competitive at ‘Dance Dance Revolution', too. So, if I'm, I dunno, if I'm being too pushy or just a dick about it, tell me. And maybe slap me too; sometimes I need my messages reinforced."
Wendy didn't really know how to convey her sudden rush of feelings into words, so she kissed Stan hard on the lips instead.
"I guess that was an ‘okay', huh?" Stan asked sheepishly when they broke apart, his grin so wide Wendy wanted to kiss it off him all over again.
Stan cupped her face with his hand. "Love you, babe," he whispered, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and striding down her driveway towards the street.
Wendy watched him leave and felt suddenly bereft.
"Stan?" she called, and he whirled around.
"Yeah?" his gaze was expectant.
"Do you want to come in for a bit?" She wondered if maybe she needed to explain, but the grin on his face told her otherwise.
Wendy's house was unusually loud, and unusually closed off – normally Wendy's mom loved to leave every door open, but the living room door was shut tight. It didn't stop the shrieks and giggles from escaping, however.
"What's going on, babe?" Stan asked as Wendy took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs.
"My Mom's having some lingerie party or something," she replied. Stan suddenly felt a little queasy.
"Please tell me that's not the party my mom said she was going to…"
The familiar giggle he heard told him it was.
"Oh, brother."
"Cheer up, Stan." Wendy's smile was devilish and enchanting. "We get to be alone for a while."
"Okay, that sort of makes up for it," he said, grinning back, just as he heard Craig's mother loudly proclaim, "I don't know what it is about geography teachers! Sometimes, I get my Thomas to dress up… Oh, lordy!"
"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to obtain an erection ever again, Wendy. Can you still be my girlfriend?" he asked. Wendy smiled.
"Relax, honey. We can play chess and become voyeurs," she dead-panned, opening her bedroom door and kissing him all the way to her bed.
"You know what? I think maybe I'll be okay after all," Stan said, pulling her into his arms.
"So," she said between heated kisses as they sank back into her many pillows. "You're going to be my husband?"
Stan suddenly felt bewildered; when had he ever suggested anything like that? Then he caught Wendy's cheeky smile.
"The play?" she pointed out.
"Right. Yeah, so I am," he replied, kissing her neck. "And Kyle's going to try and murder you."
"Or seduce me," she said nonchalantly.
"Hmm?" Stan suddenly felt a little nervous, but he carried on pressing kisses down Wendy's throat and slipping his hand up her sweater.
"It depends how you interpret Mina and Dracula's struggle. You could argue that Mina is repressed in every sense; intellectually, spiritually, sexually—" the sudden, sharp gasp she gave at this Stan took to be a direct result of his fingers gently caressing her left nipple under her bra— "and Dracula offers her fulfilment of her desires, at a price."
"Or he's just a murdering demon that needs to be destroyed," Stan suggested, before adding, "I love your breasts. They're amazing."
"You really do follow the principal of Occam's Razor, don't you?" Wendy mused, apparently paying no attention to his compliments. Stan shrugged and pressed another long, lingering kiss to her lips.
"I don't know," he commented upon pulling away. "I guess I don't really overthink things like Kyle does."
"Well, that's Kyle. It means his mind's always whirring on overtime, but it does make AP English Literature interesting. It'll definitely make this play interesting."
Then, for the first time ever, she casually took off her sweater. Stan simply gawped in awe. The only glimpse he'd ever had of her in her underwear was back in eighth grade, and she definitely looked different now. Her breasts were bigger, but still small and perfectly encased in a shiny purple bra. He could sort of see her ribs when she stretched, and her milk-white skin had swiftly become covered in tiny goosebumps.
Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
"Is… Am I okay?" she asked, her eyes fixed to the comforter.
Stan gently prised her arms away. "You're perfect," he assured her, pulling her into his lap to kiss her. As she relaxed and slid her arms around him, he leant forward and laid her back onto the bed, kissing her frantically and wondering just what he should do with this newly exposed territory. Well, he knew what he wanted to do. As he felt Wendy written beneath him, he decided that maybe he should just go for it.
Nervously, he tucked his fingers under Wendy's bra straps and slid them down so they hung near her elbows. As she didn't seem to mind this, he moved into phase two: Operation Bra Cup. Somehow taking the whole thing off seemed like it might be kind of scary to her, so he pulled the fabric of her bra cups down until her breasts sat on top of the ruffled material. She stroked his arm in an encouraging way. He kissed her neck because he figured he probably should, then moved down to her breasts as soon as he thought he could get away with it. When her fingers tugged at his hair, but pulled him closer, he felt every muscle clench with excitement.
She moaned quietly and wriggled underneath him when he sucked on her nipple; it kind of surprised him, but he wasn't complaining. He kept going in elation. After years of dreaming, he had Wendy's nipple in his mouth, and he wasn't about to let it go in a hurry. When she grabbed his ass through his jeans, he kept on lashing her nipple with his tongue. When he moved to her right breast, she moved her hand away. He was about to ask her to keep touching him, but he felt her strangely hot hand gently grip his junk through his jeans and he nearly popped out of his skin.
He gave a strangled moan and tried not to rub up against her invitingly warm palm; he completely failed, but she seemed happy enough. Grunting, he glanced up at her face, and saw her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. For a brief, panicked moment he thought she had fallen asleep, but she gave a little gasp as he flicked his tongue over her wet skin.
Jesus fucking Christ. He was sucking on her breasts and she loved it so much she was letting him hump her hand, sort of. He must be dreaming – he simply couldn't believe the day had finally come.
Then, to Stan's utter embarrassment, so did he. He stopped dead, and Wendy sat up a little.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, her expression fraught.
"Yeah. Umm, fine," Stan said, before figuring he should maybe just admit the truth. "I kind of got a little, um, carried away." He felt his cheeks burn red with every word he spoke.
Wendy looked confused for a moment, but when realisation dawned, she only seemed surprised. "Wow. Did I do that?"
"Definitely," Stan replied. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what action had caused it – it was probably a combination of her hand, her wriggling, her moaning and her breasts – but it was definitely Wendy-induced.
To his amazement, she bit away a smile.
"It's not funny," he insisted.
"No! I'm not laughing. It's just… Wow. I did that." Wendy appeared suddenly bashful.
"And I'm very grateful," Stan insisted, at which point they both burst out laughing. He sat next to her and let her head rest against his shoulder.
"I should probably go and get cleaned up," he said after a short while.
"Sure," Wendy replied, reaching for her sweater. Stan felt a little mournful that she was going to cover up her beautiful breasts.
"Umm, do you want me to return the favour?" he offered, waggling his fingers. Wendy blushed and shook her head.
"Not yet," she replied.
"Okay." Stan opened the door and wandered to the bathroom, when it suddenly dawned on him the significance of her words. Not yet. That wasn't the usual ‘No' that slowed down every make-out session; it was a suggestion of a near future where Stan's fingers would be all over her pussy like a living gusset of flesh. Or like something far less gross sounding.
He tried not to whistle his way to the bathroom just in case any of the scary party upstairs headed up for a pee break, but God damn he wanted to.