The Universal Law of Gravitation and Other Stories
Chapter 15: The Play's the Thing – Dangerous Liaisons
written by SleepySheep683 - illustrated by FriggingodessWendy clapped sedately as the leather ball rolled towards the croquet hoop. The normally temperate English sun was beating down in an almost oppressive manner, so she took out her fan and wafted it delicately next to her bosom.
"Don't you think our boys play so wonderfully?" Bebe said next to her, clapping enthusiastically as Mr Donovan doffed his hat towards her.
"Indeed. Even when they are losing, they are most gracious," Wendy agreed, watching as Mr Marsh accepted another defeat at the hands of Mr Donovan.
Soon enough, Mr Black was at their side.
"Miss Stevens, Miss Testaburger? May I introduce Mr Broflovski? He has only just arrived in town, and from London, no less!" he said, gesturing towards a most unusual – yet very appealing – looking red-headed stranger who knelt down and kissed her hand. Wendy felt quite a flutter.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Testaburger," he said, his big eyes fixed on hers in a way that made Wendy feel he was looking deeply into her very soul.
"Do you play, Mr Broflovski?" Bebe asked, casually gesturing towards the game of croquet being played on the lawn.
"Oh no, Miss Stevens. I must confess I prefer more… physical recreation."
Wendy had to grab her fan and bat it far more vigorously than ever before.
Suddenly, that wayward croquet ball rolled past her feet and landed in the nearby lake with a splash.
"Oh, blast!" Mr Marsh exclaimed and Wendy was most scandalised by his language.
"Mr Marsh! I do declare that most unseemly behaviour!" Bebe scolded.
"My sincere apologies, Miss Stevens, but it appears that is our only croquet ball and as such, the match may have to be forfeit," he reasoned.
Mr Broflovski surveyed the lake. To Wendy's shock, he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and simply dived right in! He emerged quickly, holding the croquet ball in his right hand and proceeded to bowl it towards the croquet lawn. The game continued without a hitch.
"Mr Broflovski! You'll catch such a chill!" Wendy fretted leaping up and rushing towards him. He put out his hands and steadied her from crashing into him.
"Miss Testaburger, I can assure you I shall be fine," he said in a low drawl. Wendy looked up at him – from the wet shirt clinging to his taut chest right up to his darkened curls hanging more loosely around his face – and she suddenly felt drips of water land on her skin.
"Mr Broflovski," she said nervously. "I beg of you, keep a little distance. Your proximity is making very, very…" She trailed off, embarrassed and ashamed.
Mr Broflovski smirked in a manner she could only describe as indecent. "Perhaps you would care to take a walk with me, Miss Testaburger? I can see that croquet is of as little interest to you as it is to myself, and the countryside in these parts is most beguiling in this balmy weather."
He held out his hand. Even though she knew it was wrong, and that a man with such a wicked smile as Mr Broflovski could only draw her into trouble, she took his hand and followed him over the country lanes.
They had been walking for a while when they entered a most picturesque clearing; long grasses tickled at Wendy's legs under her skirts, and the whole area was secluded from view.
"Hmm. It appears that Mother Nature has afforded us the perfect setting for an intimate tête-à-tête, Miss Testaburger," Mr Broflovski murmured, and Wendy felt acutely aware of the way his hand lingered on her shoulder. It made her blush just to think about it.
"Mr Broflovski, don't you think it a little improper to touch a lady in such a manner?" she said primly, trying to ignore how violently her body ached for more.
"Miss Testaburger, don't you think it a little improper to find yourself alone with such a man as I?" he teased back, although something in his eyes told Wendy he was very serious. He caressed her cheek with his hand and kissed her hard on the lips. Unable to ignore her passions, she kissed him back eagerly, but came to her senses and pulled away.
"Mr Broflovski! I am engaged to be married! This is most immoral!" she gasped, only for Mr Broflovski to pull her tightly against his wet, supple figure.
"What's immoral is this beautiful creature being untouched for so long," he relied smoothly. "Do you not yearn for a little pleasure of the flesh? I can see it in your whole demeanour, Miss Testaburger; you feel stifled of your desires." He kissed her throat, and Wendy felt her vision start to blur. "If I offered to lay you down and make love to you with such wild abandon that you cried out in joy to the heavens, would you really resist?"
"I… I…" Her mind started to swim as he splayed the fingers of one hand over her covered breast.
"I can feel how hungry you are for release, Miss Testaburger, and I confess that your most radiant beauty and wilful personality rather give me the raging horn," he whispered in her ear.
"Mr Broflovski! Your words are shocking and verily touch me where no man has ever touched me before!" she gasped, suddenly feeling faint with shock. When Mr Broflovski caught her in his arms and laid her down in the long grass, she felt her heart hammer wildly in her chest.
He knelt before her and slowly slid her gown from her shoulders, pressing delicate, teasing kisses to her newly bared flesh. Unable to control herself, she let out a little whimper of desire, which seemed to please him.
"Why, Miss Testaburger, I do declare that you are most desirous of further advances," he said, unbuttoning his fly. She stared eagerly at the treasure hidden within.
"Does my cock frighten you, Miss Testaburger?" he asked, grasping it in his hand like a sabre.
"On the contrary, Mr Broflovski," she breathed. "I find it most agreeable."
"May I humbly request your permission to rip off your panties and pound your pussy forthwith until such moment that you scream my name to the heavens?" he asked, raising a single eyebrow in expectation of her consent to the proposal.
"You may, and I exuberantly concede to your request to use my body as your playground," she replied, eagerly lifting her hips to allow him to remove her underwear with greater speed.
Wendy lay back and took in the sight of both the rippling sunset and Mr Broflovski's assured expression. She felt his hands grasp her thighs.
"Miss Testaburger, I implore you to spread your legs," he whispered, and she eagerly obeyed.
The moment of union sent spasms of unimaginable pleasure coursing through her whole body; she simply couldn't stop the screams and moans that she seemed to drag from a most unholy place.
"Why, Miss Testaburger, you are exquisitely loud," Mr Broflovski grunted approvingly as he thrust away like one of the pistons on those new-fangled steam-powered printing presses. She let her fingers grasp at his bare buttocks as though clinging on for dear life.
"Mr Broflovski, you are simply exquisite," she panted, matching every thrust.
"May I assume that you are arriving at this very moment?" he panted back, steadying himself by placing one hand hard on the ground beside her shoulder for purchase.
"Oh, Mr Broflovski! I am indeed arriving, and with great haste!" she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt stars begin to burst all around her.
Eventually, she opened her eyes, and struggled to regulate her wildly out of control breaths. Mr Broflovski was gazing down at her, and he stroked a damp tendril of hair from her face.
"My dear Miss Testaburger, I must confess that the flush of love-making has quite transformed your beauty into something otherworldly," he murmured, kissing her tenderly on the lips. She sighed happily and let her arms rest on his back. All she could really muster was a breathless, "Oh… I… Oh!"
"I would dearly enjoy the possibility of recreating that flush again and again, all evening long, until your legs are trembling like a newborn colt," he whispered into her ear, just as he caressed her bared nipple with his thumb and made her arch her back in desire…
"Wendy! Time to get up!"
Wendy woke up with a start, damp with sweat. Momentarily disorientated, the memories of her dream came flooding back. Did she really have to have a dream like that just before school? Not only had it left her rather… well, excited – and the realisation made her blush a little – but the object of her fantasy was going to be sat next to her in their first class of the day, sharing a microscope with her and chattering about blood cell types. Not to mention they were due to demonstrate to Cartman, of all people, something that made Wendy feel sick with nerves just thinking about.
The timing of her subconscious was just crap.
The clock ticked and the big hand moved to twelve. Cartman looked at his watch for confirmation, then at the shut door of the drama studio. God, fucking nerds and their fucking AP classes – didn't they realise how important this play was? They'd better have a damn good replacement for his epic Dracula and Mina scene – that shit had been gold. He had been particularly fond of the, "Don't fight it, bitch," line he'd given Kyle; partly because the subtle sexual undertones seemed rather clever to him, but also because Kyle sounded fucking hot when he delivered it. Wendy, being the frigid bitch she was, had just got embarrassed when he whispered it into her ear whilst straddling her.
From his position perched on the teacher's desk, Cartman heard the door handle turn.
"What the fuck time do you call this?" he said without looking up.
"Well, pardon me for having classes I actually bother to attend." Kyle slung his bag in the corner of the studio and sat right next to Cartman on the desk. Why did that asshole have no concept of personal space all of a sudden?
"Where's the hippie bitch?" Cartman asked.
Kyle patted Cartman's knee. "Relax, she's just in the bathroom. She'll be along in a bit… Is it even worth me pointing out that she has a name?"
Did Kyle have any fucking idea what he did to him? Or was he playing the long game, too? It made Cartman's head swim to think of it, so he just enjoyed the cool weight of Kyle's hand on his leg instead.
As if on cue, Wendy rushed in, all flushed and bright-eyed.
"Sorry!" she panted. Kyle jumped up and placed his hand on her back.
"You okay?" he asked. Wendy looked up and nodded, leaning a little into his touch. This was perfect – how fucking jealous would Stan be if he saw his beard and his boyfriend cosying up like this? Yeah, Marsh, how do you like it?
"Come on, I haven't got all day!" Cartman demanded, eager to get their little display of egotism out of the way so he could prove that his direction was far superior.
"You ready?" Kyle asked gently. Wendy gulped, nodded, and then clambered onto one of the tables and pretended to sleep.
"I thought we could have some dry ice here, you know so it looked like Dracula had transformed and slipped under the door," Kyle pointed out.
"Yes, yes, just get on with it!" God damn priorities, people! What use were props when the performance wasn't horny enough?
"Okay, okay! God damn," Kyle grumbled, before smoothing down his shirt and getting into character. He moved slowly but confidently up to Wendy's sleeping form and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand in a way that was both possessive and affectionate. She stirred and whimpered in a way that, to Cartman's amazement, went straight to his cock.
Kyle whispered something in her ear which sounded like, "Come to me, Mina." Cartman watched as Wendy sat up as though sleepwalking, then started to scream at the sight of Kyle. When he put his finger to his lips to shush her, it seemed as though he literally stole her voice away.
Their eyes met and never once looked away from each other as Kyle beckoned Wendy over. She followed as though hypnotised, all wide-eyed and bitten-lipped. Kyle gestured towards her collarbone, and she unbuttoned her shirt, using one hand to expose her neck and collar area at his bidding. Kyle gently grasped her arms and tenderly nuzzled her, before suddenly yanking her flush against him and biting down on her neck, tilting her back so far that he was the only thing stopping her from toppling to the floor.
Wendy let out a strangled cry and bit down on her lip, seemingly torn between pain and pleasure. Her hands trembled before she clung to him in desperation. Kyle pulled away and looked her up and down – her eyes followed his as though she couldn't tear herself away from his compelling gaze. She sat on the desk and looked up eagerly at Kyle as he displayed his finger and pretended to nick it with a knife. He offered it to her, and she took it deep between her soft red lips and sucked hard, still maintain eye contact with her nocturnal visitor.
Fucking hell, if for some crazy reason Kyle and Wendy ever made a sex tape, Cartman knew he would buy every last copy.
They both stopped and Kyle looked right at him. "Well?" he demanded haughtily. That fucking asshole knew exactly what he was doing to him.
"You guys, that was beautiful," Cartman replied, dabbing his eyes theatrically. "It touched me, Kyle. It touched my balls. They're throbbing, Kyle." Unable to resist, he grabbed Kyle's hand and shoved it between his legs. "Feel them throb, Kyle." Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle's hands were cold! Cartman cursed himself for wearing such thick jeans and missing out on the sensation reaching his junk.
Kyle snatched his hand away. "Get off!"
Wendy looked desperately embarrassed. "Excuse me," she mumbled before fleeing the drama studio. Crazy fucking bitch.
"So, if we do that instead of your scene, you'll be happy?" Kyle asked.
"I'd be over-fucking-joyed, Kyle," Cartman replied. "Now, get the fuck out of here."
Kyle stared at him, then shook his head. "We worked fucking hard on that! Do you really have to be such an asshole about it?"
"Well, that's like your type!" Cartman blurted out. His retort was met with a withering glare.
"What the fuck are you talking about Cartman?"
Cartman felt his stomach plummet to his shoes. "Nothing." Deny, deny, deny.
"No, you meant something. Why else would you say that? Not that it makes any fucking sense."
Damn it. Kyle was too fucking smart for his own good sometimes. Cartman was going to have to evade his questions.
"Piss off, Kyle. I want to be alone so I can have a little tug over how hot Wendy looked when she was being all submissive and shit." Well, he was torn between that and thinking about how hot Kyle was when he was dominating her.
"Shut up, Cartman."
Just to really labour the point and to make Kyle so uncomfortable he'd leave, Cartman unzipped his fly and stuck his hand down his pants. He made a good show of pretending to jerk off. "Oh, Wendy! Suck it, Wendy! Oh, you're so good at it, you filthy little slut—"
"Shut the hell up, Cartman!"
"Oh, you like that, Wendy? You like the feel of it between your pretty little lips, huh? You're such a good girl, Wendy. You're such a good little girl; all the boys love your hungry little mouth, huh?"
"Shut your filthy fucking mouth, Cartman!" Kyle yelled. He looked so angry – his face was red and Cartman could have sworn a vein at his temple was throbbing. He simply smiled and retrieved his hand from his pants.
Kyle glared at him. "You are unbelievable! How can you… I don't even know what half of that was, but it was still… Just don't do that again!" He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Yeah, of course Kyle didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to be reminded of how hot Wendy was to boys. To Stan. Clearly he knew, deep down, how he wasn't enough for that dickface Stan.
Cartman understood he was going to have to make Kyle face the truth before he could see what was right in front of him, ready for the taking. He felt as though he'd made a bit of progress.
Wendy rushed into the girls' bathroom, and felt relieved when she saw it was unoccupied. She splashed her face with cold water and tried to steady her hands. That didn't happen. That did not just happen.
Shaking, she dashed into a cubicle and inspected her panties. It did just happen. Well, fuck.
Wiping herself down as best she could – and feeling unbelievably grateful for the secret-keeping powers of her biological makeup – she rearranged herself and stepped back out towards the communal sinks.
As she washed her hands, she felt torn between shame and delightful warmth. She could honestly say that had never happened with another person before; it was a first. A first she should have really had with her actual boyfriend.
The door creaked open and Wendy stilled as though she was a deer and a hunter was turning the handle.
Bebe's familiar breasts and mass of blonde hair poked through the door before the rest of her. Wendy had never felt so grateful to see her.
"Hey, Wendy," Bebe said casually. "I'm so glad you're here. Have I got cum in my hair?"
"Wh… What?"
"Cum. I was sucking Clyde off in his car and he had a little accident," she said matter-of-factly as she stood on tiptoe in front of the mirror. "I think I got it all, but I'm not sure about the back."
"It looks fine," Wendy assured her, not wanting to know how in the act of fellatio she managed to be in danger of getting semen on the back of her head.
"Thank God for that!" Bebe patted her chest and gave a little gasp of relief before fixing Wendy with a small frown.
"What are you doing hiding out in here?" She smirked. "Did Kyle's sexy Dom Dracula get too much for you?"
Just as Wendy felt her cheeks flush even more than they had in Kyle's arms, Bebe gawped at her.
"Oh, boy! He really did? Wow. I didn't think he was the type." Bebe appeared a little disapproving, and it took Wendy a little while to work out why.
"No, no, no! He didn't do anything! I mean, not on purpose… Oh, Bebe! I was just all worked up and he bit that spot on my neck just as he pulled me close and—"
"Fuck me, you lucky bitch!" Bebe gasped. "I would literally murder babies to have one of those without direct stimulation."
"It's not lucky!" Wendy insisted. "It's awful! How am I supposed to cope with this every rehearsal?"
Bebe shrugged. "Extra thick panty-liners and a smile?" she offered.
Wendy sighed and sank to the floor. "This is awful!" she cried. "I dreamt about him last night, too."
"So?"
"It was a sexy dream!" she blurted out guiltily. "We were at a croquet match in what I think was the Regency period, and we went for a bracing walk. He had his wicked way with me in the rolling English countryside and… and, oh God; does this mean I don't love Stan anymore?"
"It doesn't mean anything, Wendy," Bebe assured her. "This week alone I've dreamt about being fucked on Clyde's kitchen table by his dad, having my panties pulled down by Mr Spencer during Math class and getting spanked in front of our whole class until I could successfully recite the order of operations, and being a Hylurian Madam who accepted Link's offer of fifty-seven rupees and his fishing rod for a hand job because he was the Chosen One and Zelda was a cocktease…"
"Bebe! I loved it!"
"Again, so? I can categorically state I shouted, ‘Oh yes, Clyde's Dad,' begged Mr Spencer to spank me harder and informed Link he had the biggest cock I'd ever seen – but I think in the last dream I was lying to bolster his self-esteem… The point is, they're just dreams. They don't mean shit."
Wendy sighed. "You're right," she said, and wasn't surprised by how unconvinced she sounded. Bebe smiled pityingly at her and gave her a hug.
"There, there. It's okay. Everyone has silly little crushes now and then," she soothed, rubbing her hand in comforting circles on Wendy's back as she let her head rest against Bebe's shoulder.
"How many more rehearsals do we have?" Wendy mumbled her query into Bebe's collarbone.
"Don't think of it like that," Bebe urged. Wendy assumed she did this because there had to be dozens and dozens to go.
"But it feels never ending," Wendy sighed.
"It isn't. Just enjoy your little crush, and you'll be over it before you even realise," Bebe promised.
Wendy said nothing in response; she actually felt deeply affronted that anyone could treat Kyle as such a romantic inconvenience.
She kept this to herself, however.
When Stan arrived at Kyle's house, he found Kyle pacing the kitchen and clutching a letter, which he appeared to be engrossed in.
"What's up, dude?" he asked, only for Kyle to hastily stuff the letter back in its envelope and into the pocket of his jeans.
"Oh, nothing… Say, have you heard from any colleges yet?"
Stan laughed. "No, dude. Applications aren't for ages!"
Kyle suddenly appeared very bashful. "Right. Of course."
Stan grinned and slammed his bag on the kitchen table. "I got a flower print note pad and a sports cup with a straw attached to it; does that scream ‘Personal Assistant' to you?" He giggled. "Or does it spell ‘Personal Ass-isstant'?"
Kyle merely raised an eyebrow querulously. "Are you sure this will work? Because I'm getting pretty desperate right now." He shuddered. "Stacey tried to play footsie with me under the table with me last night, only she seems to think it involves rubbing my crotch with her bare foot."
"Well, relax, dude. Once we're done with your tutees today, they won't be lusting after you any more, guaranteed!" Stan felt rather proud of his plan. Kyle was plagued with a threesome of over-horny tutees who were too busy fighting over him to do any actual work and instead were hampering Kyle's tutoring skills. Said girls were in dire need of some metaphorical cold showers. Cue project ‘Let's-Show-Kyle-Is-Really-A-Gay', as Stan had named it in absence of anything catchier coming to mind.
The plan was simple; Kyle tutors at his house, Stan helps him out by bringing his drinks, turning his flip-chart, rubbing his shoulders, basically anything which would make them look like a hopelessly in love couple. Sure, he was going to have to throw in a few, "You know, Wendy's totally for show," comments, but he was sure Wendy wouldn't mind if it resulted in her no longer being threatened by those pint-sized bunny boilers for daring to so much as talk to Kyle. Oh, he had so many ideas; the only worry he had was that Kyle wouldn't be able to keep a straight face.
"How would you feel about the nickname, ‘silly buns'? Or do you want something more manly?" Stan queried as he helped himself to a cola.
"Dude! You've never been camp, like, ever. If we're going to be a gay couple, fine, but if we're going to be a camp gay couple, they will smell a rat. It's really not like either of us," Kyle pointed out.
"Okay, no ‘silly buns'. I take it ‘love pirate' and ‘golden cock' are out, too?" Stan grinned as Kyle fixed him with a despairing look.
The doorbell rang; Kyle's face took on a deathly pale complexion.
"They're here," he whispered.
"What, all three of them? It's, like, half an hour before the session!"
"Yup. See, they'll always try to be the first to arrive, I guess so they get to be alone with me. So they'll follow each other to try and pre-empt that. Logical conclusion? They all show up at the same time to sabotage the attempts of any of the others to gain my advantage," Kyle replied hollowly.
God damn, girls were complicated.
Stan decided it would be best if he answered the door, as though he was so at home here he could act as host. He nearly dropped his glass in shock when he was the three of them plastered in makeup and wearing the tiniest clothes imaginable. They looked like slutty clowns, and it was truly horrific.
"Oh, hey. Come in," he urged, beckoning them forward with his hand. "Kyle! Your little pupils are here!" he called out in what he hoped was a blood-boiling patronising tone – he'd studied Cartman intently during the past few rehearsal sessions.
The girls looked at him with the slack-jawed blankness of insolence before following him inside.
Kyle had already set up the kitchen table as though it was a mini classroom; Stan had the dubious pleasure of watching Ruby, Stacey and that other girl who looked about twenty suddenly switch into seduction mode. It was cringe inducing.
"Hi, Kyle," Ruby simpered, playing with her hair. She was soon shoved out of the way by the old-looking one.
"Hey there, Kyle. I like your shirt," she said, placing her hands on her hips and sticking her chest out so hard a button on her shirt threatened to ping off. Stan had to fight the urge to smack his face with his palm in sheer derision.
Meanwhile, as those two were jostling, Stacey sidled up to Kyle and sweetly said, "I've done my homework for you, Kyle." She held her exercise book out to him, but let it slip through her fingers before Kyle could reach it. She sighed prettily – not that she was all that pretty – and bent right over to pick it up, clearly angling herself so Kyle couldn't help but be forced to see her ass cheeks poke out from beneath her tight mini-skirt.
Jesus Christ, this was an absolute freak show!
"Okay, girls, does anyone want a drink before we get started?" Kyle asked.
"What about Karen?" Stacey asked.
"She's on her way. She's been held up at ballet class," Kyle assured her. Stan instantly felt the prickle of tension that filled the room; the notion that Karen had clearly made private contact with Kyle did not please the others.
Kyle, naturally, was oblivious to this and instead got up to grab a few glasses. Stan thought this would be the perfect time to start their operation.
"Let me do it, Kyle," he said in a soft, honeyed tone, letting his fingers stroke Kyle's as he reached for the glass in his hand. The girls appeared puzzled, and glanced at each other as though looking for answers none of them had.
"Thanks, Stan," Kyle replied nonchalantly. Stan let his hand caress Kyle's shoulder briefly, noticing with triumph that the girls watched his every move.
Despite this, his efforts seemed to have done Jack shit. As Kyle went through his introduction to ordering functions, the girls went back to vying for his attention. There was even an accidentally-on-purpose soda spill when Ruby felt the need to sabotage Stacey's old-school move of leaning over Kyle's shoulder to get a better look and letting her hair brush against his cheek. That was around the time Stan learned that the blonde girl who looked about twenty was called Andie, because Ruby had jealously taunted, "Andie, your tits are totally bursting out of that shirt – do you think maybe you need the next size or two up?"
After ten minutes they took a break – Kyle had explained to Stan that the girls seemed to work much better in short, sharp bursts – and while the girls were texting on their phones, Stan grabbed Kyle and whispered in his ear.
"Dude! We need to take it up a notch. Let's go to your room," he said, grabbing Kyle by the hand. "Umm, excuse us, ladies. I need Kyle's help to find my, umm, textbook in his room."
Stan made a point of stammering, and also of ignoring Kyle's bewildered expression as he dragged him upstairs.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle hissed once Stan had pulled the door ajar so there was enough peeping room without it looking deliberate.
"They're not biting," Stan replied, peeling off his shirt. "We need to make it more convincing. Take off your clothes."
Kyle's eyes widened in horror. "Dude, I know I said I'd do anything to get them off my back, but I draw the line at your ass!"
"Jesus Christ, Kyle, we're not actually going to have butt sex, we're just going to pretend. Anyway, who said you'd be fucking my ass?"
Kyle smirked as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Come on, Stan. We both know if this—" he gestured between the two of them— "were real, then I'd be doing the butt fucking."
"Wendy finds me very rugged, manly and able to take the lead," Stan grumbled.
"That's sweet, Stan, but I'm not Wendy. Now, how naked to we need to get for this?"
Stan glanced at Kyle's bed. "If we get under the covers, I reckon we can keep our underpants."
Kyle began to unzip his fly, his expression full of disgust. "This had better fucking work, Stan, that's all I'm saying."
"Wait!" Stan demanded, grabbing his hand. "I should unzip them."
"Fuck off!"
"I'm serious! We've got to make it look real, and by the way, I'm on top."
"They're not even upstairs yet!" Kyle's eyes narrowed. "If this is your way of asserting your alpha-male status, might I propose an arm wrestle instead?"
"Just be quiet and do as you're told," Stan retorted, yanking down Kyle's pants and shoving him towards the bed.
After artfully arranging their clothes on the floor so it looked like they had been ripped off in the throes of passion, Stan got Kyle under the duvet and positioned himself so it looked as though he was in his ass.
Kyle glared over his shoulder at him. "I am seriously disturbed by how much this seems to please you," he commented. "I think I need to warn Wendy about this chest-beating caveman side of you."
Stan scoffed. "Like your caveman side is so fucking refined. I remember last year how Bebe told anyone who would listen about what a tease you are. At least I'm not making anyone beg!"
Suddenly, Stan heard footsteps and giggling.
"Here they come," he hissed, thrusting his hips back and forth in an exaggerated motion. "Try to sound turned on."
Kyle rolled his eyes, then made a great show of gasping and moaning.
"Dude, you've got to do it too," Kyle insisted mid-moan. "Otherwise it makes no sense."
"Oh, right." Stan started to make as many over the top noises as he could. Soon enough, he felt Kyle glare at him.
"Dude, what the fuck is that?"
"My sex noises."
Kyle started to snigger, and Stan felt rather insulted. "Don't you dare try to tell me how I should come," he retorted.
"It's just not very manly and alpha to whimper, ‘I'm a slave to your asshole', is it?" he teased. "Aren't you supposed to be feminising me, or something?"
"Well, how should I come, oh guru of ass-piracy?" Stan demanded.
"I don't know, like however those guys do in pornos when they're doing some chick up the ass," Kyle snapped.
"But they always sound like they're taking a shit!" Stan hissed back.
"Then clearly that's manly, so just do it," Kyle retorted, just as they heard stilted giggles. Stan kept up his rhythm and grunted as loudly as he could, feeling slightly distracted by Kyle's loud and over the top commentary.
"Oh, yeah… That's it, right there… Fuck, you make me so horny… Pound my ass, Stan! Pound it like the little bitch I am…"
Stan leant over until his lips were inches from Kyle's ear. "Could you sound anymore sarcastic?" he hissed, only for Kyle for start laughing.
"Dude, why do you care so much about how I'm pretending to reach climax?" he whispered back.
"You think this is easy?" Stan grunted as he pounded away and shouted, "Oh, baby! Your ass is like… like fucking Disneyland!"
Kyle looked over his shoulder and pulled away. "That's it," he said. "I'm taking over."
Kyle and Stan swapped places, which was a little tricky under the duvet, and Kyle began slowly thrusting against Stan's ass.
"Oh yeah, you like that, don't you? You dirty little bitch." Kyle slapped Stan's thigh, presumably to create the sound of him being spanked.
"Ah!" Stan gasped in what he hoped sounded like a mix of shock and arousal.
"Yeah? You like that? Beg for more, then. Beg Daddy for more," Kyle taunted, presumably to get his own back for Stan taking the lead in the first place. God damn, he was an asshole.
"Please, Kyle! I love it when you spank me like a naughty schoolgirl!" Stan groaned. "I love it even though anyone else would think you were a complete fucking pervert!"
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Kyle stopped mid fake thrust.
"Shit," he muttered. "Karen."
The patter of rushing feet echoed down the stairs. Kyle hastily pulled away and jumped out of the bed. Stan did the same and quickly dressed himself. Once Kyle was clothed, he carefully opened the door. Nobody was about, but Stan heard the front door creak open.
"Oh my God, Karen! You will not believe what we just heard! Kyle and Stan were…" Ruby seemed unable to get the words out.
"They were fucking!" Stacey blurted out, apparently unable to control herself.
Stan grinned at Kyle. "What did I tell you? I knew that would totally put them—"
"It was so fucking hot, I could have died!" Andie exclaimed.
"What?" Stan said in shock, already feeling Kyle's glare beating down on him.
Light footsteps echoed along the staircase and before Stan had even finished pulling on his t-shirt, Karen was standing in the doorway with her arms folded and her expression one of knowing pity.
"Karen, we're totally not gay," Stan insisted. "We were just trying to put those crazy girls off Kyle and—"
Karen hushed him with a finger to her lip, before staring at them both disparagingly. "Seriously? You pretended to have sex together – which they could witness – to make them less hot for you? Seriously?" She shook her head in despair and walked away from the door and back downstairs, muttering something about naïve idiots under her breath.
Stan felt Kyle's angry glare bore down on him once again.
"Erm… Oops?" Stan offered as meekly as he could.
Cartman gawped through his binoculars as he hid in the bushes of Kyle's back yard. He'd known this had to be going on, but to actually see it? Well, he could only describe it as weird. Watching Stan and Kyle take off their clothes and crawl into bed together kind of hurt like hell, but just like any decent car crash, Cartman couldn't look away. He felt kind of disgusted by it all; he thought he was getting through to Kyle, but apparently not, given the way he was eagerly letting Stan smuggle his cock up his asshole. God damn it!
Mind you, seeing Kyle get ass fucked was hot, there was no two ways about it. He looked beautiful when he was horny, and the heated glare he gave Stan when he looked over his shoulder sent Cartman's pulse racing. He could imagine that Stan was whispering sweet little nothings to try and appease Kyle; only Kyle was finally starting to grow a backbone and see through his lies. If Cartman were in Stan's position, he'd make every second count; he'd worship Kyle and make him come so hard he saw stars. He'd stay with him afterwards and hold him tight. He'd even make him breakfast in the morning; well, he'd get his mom to do it, but that was pretty much the same thing. Kyle was so skinny; he probably could do with a few hearty breakfasts.
At some point during Cartman's musing, they had switched; now Kyle was fucking Stan from behind, and Cartman felt himself grow hard at the sight of Kyle in complete control. Stan appeared to be crying out, as well he should. He should feel fucking honoured to have Kyle ride him like that; Cartman knew he would happily beg for Kyle's cock like a fucking stray dog would beg for access to Denny's trash cans.
Okay, that was maybe going a bit far. Cartman figured he needed to stop himself from being quite such a little pussy – he wasn't Stan, after all. Still, Cartman gazed at the sight and allowed his body to react without feeling anything but the dull ache of not being able to act upon it. When Kyle was like that, all composed and in control, it made Cartman want to be the girl, just for a little while.
Then he noticed Kyle's expression, all smirking and kind of angry. Clearly he was enjoying being in control or… or maybe he was punishing Stan? That thought was given extra weight when Cartman saw Kyle give Stan what looked like a spanking under the duvet. Perhaps he was getting through? Perhaps Kyle was getting fed up with Stan's behaviour. Fucking hell, how could he do this to Kyle? Normally, Cartman would wholeheartedly approve of Stan's dickishness, but Kyle was different. Kyle wasn't to be treated in such a way and if Stan was too much of an idiot to notice, then he deserved what was coming to him.
Cartman let his hand slide down into his underpants as he contemplated this. Maybe Kyle wasn't going to take Stan's two-timing ways for much longer? Maybe he'd need a shoulder to cry on? Maybe he'd need some cock to heal his broken heart? Maybe Cartman could be that shoulder, and that cock? He needed to be kind and caring, ready to listen to Kyle's bitching until he could utter the immortal words, "Kyle, if I were Stan, I'd pound your ass and yours alone." Then Kyle would sigh and say, "Oh, Eric! I thought you'd never ask!" Then they'd fuck on his couch and Kyle would be all, "Oh, Eric! Your cock is so much bigger than Stan's!"
Suddenly, Cartman felt release. He felt release all over his right hand, and hastily wiped the sticky mess on the leaves of the bush he was hiding in. He could hardly be blamed, although by now Kyle had stopped their fuck fest and they were both quickly getting dressed.
Cartman smiled to himself. He just had to bide his time.
"So, what if they ask you about your greatest achievement? What will you say to that?" Kyle's mother demanded as they drove along Route 90 from the airport.
"Surviving this trip?" Kyle deadpanned. Despite being the one driving, his mother took the time and risk to glare at him.
"Harvard's an incredible opportunity, Kyle. Don't be so flippant!" she scolded.
Kyle looked out of the window at the train lines and skyscrapers that ran sporadically past the freeway." I know, Ma," he said quietly. He'd only applied at the insistence of the school careers counsellor – getting a near-perfect SAT score suddenly meant a whole sub-section of the school who paid you no mind before now apparently gave a crap – and if he was honest? At the time, he simply didn't care. He'd filled in the application form, got the testing centre to send out his scores, pulled together his last two school reports and some teacher ‘evaluations', knocked out a personal essay and listened patiently to Wendy as she insisted on correcting it and making him redraft.
Everything changed when he received the letter asking him to attend an interview. Suddenly, attending Harvard was a very real possibility, and as Kyle had started to research his course under Wendy's watchful glance, he could actually see himself there.
He'd kept this to himself, however. The only one of his friends who even knew was Wendy, and he'd sworn her to secrecy. Cartman would probably find some way to sabotage it out of spite, he'd feel bad about rubbing Kenny's face in the fact that – thanks to his father being an equity partner in a law firm, his parents' judicious saving and his many Bar Mitzvah gifts towards his college fund that had pissed him off at the time – he didn't have to worry about the exorbitant fees, and Stan? Kyle felt incredibly guilty about not telling Stan, but he reasoned that there was no point unless he actually got an offer.
"Where do you see yourself in five years' time, Kyle?" his mother asked sharply.
"On ‘America's Most Wanted'," he retorted.
"Kyle! This is serious! You need to practise your interview technique!"
"What do you think I've been doing for the past week? I'm freaking out enough about it, okay? I don't need you adding to it with the pop quizzes!"
His mother shook her head. "Well, Kyle, sometimes I get the impression that you just don't care about this!" Her voice went oddly high pitched, and Kyle knew she was two statements away from either crying or screaming at him. It's not as though he could gently hint at her seeing a doctor or enquiring about HRT – he'd tried months ago, and it had not ended prettily.
"I care, Ma. Trust me," he replied as gently as he could. He did indeed care a great deal about the outcome of today – he just wasn't sure what he wanted it to be.
As soon as Kyle saw the eclectic mass of modern buildings and nineteenth century architecture line the road into the campus, he felt his stomach start to clench as nerves began to kick in.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" his mother asked as they parked up.
"Ma, I'll be fine," he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and kissing her cheek. He knew that however panicked he felt right now, having his mother there to butt in unnecessarily would just make things worse.
"Good luck!" she called as Kyle shut the door to their hire car. For the first time, Kyle realised she might be even more nervous than he was.
Walking through the well-kept streets, passing greenery and eager students rushing to classes, Kyle decided the outside space was a definite plus. There were laminated signs pointing the way to the open day students, and Kyle soon found himself in a large, old-fashioned room decorated with paintings of historical alumni. Sure, it was pretentious, but you had to expect a little of that in a place like this. Twelve students were already there, excluding their parents. Kyle swiftly felt conscious of both his loner status and the fact he was the thirteenth arrival. Unlucky, if you believed such things.
He sat in the nearest seat next to an icy looking blonde girl who was chattering animatedly with another blonde girl who could have passed for her sister, only judging by their discussion about their vacations, they clearly weren't. Both of the men with them – Kyle assumed they were their fathers – were swaggering about and shouting loudly into their cell phones about bears and shorts.
"Hey," Kyle offered by was of a greeting to the girls. They both looked at him as though he'd just crapped on their shoes.
"Hello," the girl furthest from him said in a frosty voice, before turning her nose up at him and resuming her conversation about the other girl's ‘summer retreat' in Tuscany. The girl nearest to him barely even looked up. Fucking hell, if this as a taster of the kind of students he might have to share classes with, then they could just show him the door right now; no matter how strong their engineering courses were.
Suddenly, a guy with the face of a sixteen year old but the body of a heavy weight boxer plonked himself next to Kyle with such force that both chairs bounced.
"Sorry, Bro," he said sheepishly.
Kyle shrugged. "S'okay. I'm Kyle, by the way."
"Luther," he replied, "and yes, I am."
Kyle surveyed Luther's wry smile. "At least you're named after someone cool," he offered. "I'm named after my uncle, who died from asphyxiation when he got stuck between some lap dancer's fake titties."
Luther instantly burst out laughing, then covered him mouth in horror.
"Go ahead, it's pretty funny," Kyle assured him. "My cousin and I were both born around three months later. It makes family gatherings a little confusing."
"Oh, so you're Ashkenazi Jewish?" Luther asked and the fact he even knew there were different ethnic groups floored Kyle momentarily.
"One of my friends in Michigan is Ashkenazi," he explained. "His grandpa died just before his little brother and around seven of his cousins were born. All the boys were called Walter."
"Yeah, it's a thing," Kyle replied, just as the bitchy blonde near him suddenly became very vocal.
"Well, nowadays it's not so exclusive. They'll let anyone in really," she said, glancing not-so-subtly at Luther.
"Oh, hell no. You did not just go there, B!" he shot back.
"She's right though," Kyle replied sarcastically. "They seem to be calling people for interview based solely on merit. How appalling! I mean, you're black, I'm Jewish…"
"I'm a lesbian," a cute girl with trendy thick-rimmed glasses and purple hair added, and Kyle couldn't help but think it was a bit of a shame. He glanced briefly at Luther and could see he was thinking much the same thing.
Kyle gestured towards the girl. "Right. See? Totally going to the dogs. Heaven forfend, you might meet some foreigners, too!" Kyle pulled an exaggerated fearful expression and mock-bit his fingernails.
"Like me," an older girl with plaits in her hair and a very sassy demeanour added. It turned out that she was called Isla, she was their student guide and she was from Scotland, which only transpired when one of the parents present made the apparently dire mistake of stating, "I love your English accent!"
Isla showed them around the campus and chatted amiably about the history of the college and the various courses. Despite himself, Kyle found he was deeply impressed by the enormous library, the many museums the school sponsored and… well, everything. This complicated matters; he was hoping to hate the place as some great bastion of moneyed pretension.
Kyle and Luther were joined by the unfairly cute lesbian – who introduced herself as Casey – and a cheerful jock-type guy from Denver called Ryan, who outed Kyle as a redneck the moment the "Where are you from?" conversation happened during lunch.
"Yeah, I try to balance my stereotypes," Kyle deadpanned, which seemed to make Ryan laugh. Luther begged Kyle to tell the story of how he was named, which bizarrely prompted another girl at the table to ask, "Whoa, is your cousin in New York called Kyle Schwartz?"
Casey rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way. "Come on; he's not going to be related to every Kyle in New York, is her?"
"Crazily enough, that is his name," Kyle replied. "He goes to Queens Gate High."
"That's the shmendrik," the girl said.
"huh?"
"Shmendrik, right? That means a jerk, doesn't it? I mean, I don't know if it covers being a life-ruining cad."
"Yeah, I don't think it does." Kyle couldn't think of anyone who less fit that description. "Why, what has he done?"
The girl's eyes widened. "Shit, you don't know? He totally got this girl at Nim's pregnant."
If Kyle had been drinking his soda, he'd have spat it all over the table in shock. As he hadn't, he merely gawped.
"What the fuck?" He was dimly aware that a few of the congregation seemed to flinch at his swearing.
"You didn't know?"
"No! Well, my aunt would have kept it quiet, I guess…"
Soon the discussion moved away from his fecund cousin onto more important matters.
"So, Isla, what's the interview like?" Casey asked anxiously, and the whole table of people fell silent.
"It's okay," she replied airily. "They want you to do well; they just like to make sure you're a good fit and you haven't lied on your application form. If you've done a bit of interview practise, you'll sail through it. Although, if you've got Professor Tranter, you drew the short straw. He's… well, he's a bit of a wanker."
Kyle had memorised Professor Tranter's name ever since he'd first read his interview letter. Fucking great.
Suddenly, an apple rolled onto his lap. Kyle picked it up and just as he wondered where it had come from, he noticed the blonde girl who had steadfastly refused to say a single word to him looked as though she had just stepped on a live wire, her hand gripped in a distinct apple shape. She looked so worried that, despite their previous interaction, Kyle felt compelled to say something nice.
"It won't be that bad," he assured her, handing her back the apple. She looked even more terrified for a moment, then took the apple while keeping her eyes completed downcast. It suddenly dawned on Kyle that she might be painfully shy, rather than a bitch.
Her friend rolled her eyes in disgust. "Who asked you? Just because you've never ventured out of Hicksville doesn't mean the rest of us as so naïve as to not appreciate what real tension is!"
Kyle really wasn't in the mood. "Oh, can it, you stroppy bitch," he retorted lazily. He was both surprised and delighted to see her stare at him, open and close her mouth like a goldfish, then remain silent. He also noticed Casey wink at him appreciatively, and for the first time in his life, he felt saddened by his lack of a vagina.
The interview portion of the day came all too soon, and Kyle found himself waiting in the reception of the engineering department staring at the various tension models mounted on the wall. Oddly enough he didn't feel nervous at all; he already felt like he didn't stand a chance, though he still ran over potential interview questions in his head – he was at least going to give it his best.
Suddenly, the door to Professor Tranter's office burst open and the blonde girl who had dropped her apple earlier ran out, sobbing hysterically.
"God damn it," Kyle muttered under his breath, before getting up to try and calm her down.
"Hey, hey," he said in soothing tones. "Come on." He put his arms around her and was kind of surprised when she clung to him like a limpet and sobbed into his shoulder. It seemed inevitable that he was going to get makeup all over his new-ish suit, but he guessed he was a sucker for a damsel in distress.
"Kyle Broflovski," a gruff voice called; Kyle assumed that was Professor Tranter.
"Coming, just give us a minute," he said, hastily trying to find a clean tissue for the crying blonde girl.
"Kyle Broflovski!" The voice grew incredibly impatient.
"Go," the girl sobbed. "I don't want you to mess up your chance, too."
He awkwardly patted her shoulder, handed her his handkerchief – embarrassingly monogrammed – and sloped off for his interview covered in tears and mascara stains.
"Hmm. I hope you're not in the habit of keeping your professors waiting," Tranter said grumpily.
"Apologies, Sir. I'm just not in the habit of leaving crying young women all alone," he retorted smoothly.
Everything about Professor Tranter screamed modern academic; from his turtle-neck to his glasses with the invisible frames, and his haircut which could only have looked right on someone twenty years younger. Everything about the way he sat down behind his desk and smirked a little before steepling his fingers and casually offering Kyle a seat screamed dickhole, however.
Professor Tranter glanced deliberately at his notes, and Kyle was reminded of Cartman when he was playing at entrepreneur.
"So, Mr Broflovski. I see you live in… South Park, is it?"
"That's correct." Fucking hell, he was a douche. Yes, it was a small town that he was clearly trying to imply was of no consequence, but it consisted of two very simple words that were quite easy to read and the effort just came across as idiotic.
"Hmm. It's rather different to Cambridge. How do you think you'll manage the transition, Kyle?"
"I lived in New York for a few months. That was fine," he replied. "I can't imagine Cambridge would be that much of a culture shock in comparison."
Professor Tranter nodded inscrutably. "Your school reports describe you as, ‘upstanding', ‘very bright', ‘compassionate towards others', and ‘very forthright' – which is a polite way of saying you're argumentative." He made air quotes, and no man over forty should ever do that. "What do you say to that?"
"I think it's fair," Kyle replied. "It's easy to be labelled as forthright when you're surrounded by people who like to be wrong with impunity."
Professor Tranter smirked at this, and Kyle wasn't sure whether it was a good or bad thing.
"Hmm. You play basketball for the school team? Seems rather… incongruous with the rest of your academic record."
"I suppose so, but Harvard has a reputation for both academia and athletics as well," Kyle retorted. Jesus Christ, this was just the kind of irritating tit-for-tat that Cartman would dole out.
Good thing he had extensive experience of handling it.
Wendy stared out of the window of her dad's car as they drove into Denver. All they had really said to each other since boarding the plane from Tweed-New Haven was a nervous, "So, how did it go?" from him and a snapped, "I won't know until they tell me!" from her. Wendy couldn't stop going over and over the Yale interview in her head. Could she have talked up her class presidency more? Did she make a fatal error by showing excitement at being able to do a minor in English alongside her Environmental Sciences major? Had she screwed up her chances by not being single-minded enough? Professor Roebuck was such an eminent name in the ecology field; Wendy was certain she couldn't have matched what must have been her lofty expectations.
Suddenly, her father pulled over into the parking lot of Sam's No 3.
"Come on, Wendy. Let's get some dinner and celebrate your achievement," he said with a gentle smile.
"Dad, we don't know whether I got through. It's a bit premature to be celebrating anything."
Wendy's dad got out of the car and opened the passenger door. "We can celebrate you getting the interview. Wendy, that's huge, regardless of what happens as a result," he insisted.
Wendy reluctantly agreed, uncertain if she could even muster up a semblance of an appetite. She barely mentioned her tenth grade project studying the distribution of the Boreal toad in forests versus meadows…
The place was packed, although the queue for a table was relatively short. Wendy forced a smile at the waitress who handed her a menu. She was ready to find the tiniest thing on the menu – which wasn't going to be easy in a place that proudly advertises burritos that are the size of your head – until she was distracted by the conversation of the two people in front of her.
"So, what did you say then?" That sounded a lot like Kyle's mother.
"Oh, I told him to go and fuck himself, then stormed out of the interview artfully. Nobody offers me a college place in return for sexual favours." That voice was unmistakeably Kyle. When Wendy looked up from her menu, she realised the hair was as well.
"Don't be sarcastic, Kyle!" There was a tense pause. "You are being sarcastic, aren't you?"
"Of course I am," Kyle replied wearily. "Ma, there's no point raking over this. Either I got in or I didn't, and given I got the most asshole professor in the whole department interviewing me, I wouldn't bank on the former."
"Kyle! Language!"
"I'm just being succinct." He didn't sound that upset about it, but Kyle had really kept his cards to his chest on the subject of Harvard.
"Kyle?" Wendy ventured, poking him gently on the arm. He whirled around, and the smile he flashed her seemed to soothe away every frazzled nerve – which it certainly should not have done.
"Wendy, hey!" he said cheerfully. "How did it go?"
Wendy's body language must have told him all of her fears, for she felt him wrap his surprisingly strong arms around her and hold her close.
"I'm willing to put money on it having gone at least forty percent better than you think it did," he murmured into her ear, and Wendy suddenly felt… well, surprisingly relaxed in between the thudding of her heart and the butterflies in her stomach.
"I don't know," she mumbled into his shoulder, and she felt his ribcage vibrate with gentle laughter.
"Let's forget about it," he urged. "We can't change anything now."
Wendy felt a tingle as his fingers trailed briefly over her scalp, then withdrew just as quickly.
He let go of her suddenly, and Wendy found she missed his touch like crazy. She concentrated hard of conjuring up images of her sweet, handsome, kind boyfriend Stan, and was only vaguely aware of Kyle's mother proclaiming, "Well, why don't we all get a table together?"
Her father seemed to cringe at this. "Oh, we wouldn't want to impose, Mrs—"
"Nonsense! The more the merrier; and maybe your girl can get more out of my boy than gunisht," Kyle's mother replied loudly, glaring at a beaming Kyle.
"Well, when you put it like that, why not?" her father replied meekly, and it suddenly dawned on Wendy that he was a little scared of the formidable Mrs Broflovski.
They eventually got a booth near one of the windows; Kyle and Wendy sat opposite each other and next to their respective parents. Their sunny young waitress introduced herself as Tina and took their drinks orders.
"Excuse me, is your meat kosher?" Kyle's mother asked in that impressive way she had that meant the waitress was bound to feel guilty if it wasn't.
"I'll just go and check," Tina said nervously, dashing off.
Mrs Broflovski shook her head. "It can be such a pain eating out sometimes," she said to Wendy's father, who looked as though he was weighing up what would be the safest response.
"Only if you eat meat," Kyle replied airily. "If you eat fish or go vegetarian, it's not a bother."
"Don't start, Kyle."
"I'm not starting anything, Ma." Kyle's voice was even, but firm. Wendy imagined he and his mother probably had many spectacular rows – not because they didn't get on, but because they were so similar. These were people who wouldn't give an inch when it mattered. Their arguments must be legendary.
"So, how did your interview go, Kyle?" Wendy asked in an effort to stop their impending row.
"Oh, not you as well," Kyle moaned theatrically. "I was interviewed by an asshole professor who made the girl before me run out crying, he said very little about my academic achievements and instead interrogated me on my home life and extra-curricular activities as though I wasn't worthy. Dick. Course, I didn't take it, so… Yeah. I think I'm unlikely to be accepted." He said all of this without so much as looking up from his menu.
"What, what, what? Why didn't you say something before?" Kyle's mother looked apoplectic with rage.
"I'm going to go for the fried cod fish sandwich. I'm in the mood for fish tonight," Kyle commented airily.
"He has no right to judge you on that sort of thing… Why didn't you tell me?" his mother demanded.
"Because I knew this is how you'd react, Ma. It's fine; if I don't fit in, I don't fit it." He put down the menu and frowned. "He even made a detour to come and talk to me when I came out of the bathroom later on, and he was all, ‘Oh, hey Kyle, what do you think of the campus?' I was polite, but seriously? What a dick. He's already made his mind up, and then he's asking me stuff like that?"
"Umm, Kyle? I don't think the professors who interview you often go out of their way to make small talk about college life unless they actually quite liked you," Wendy pointed out.
"Definitely!" His mother looked as though she'd already seen his acceptance letter. "That's a great sign. Now, when he asked you what you thought of the campus, how exactly did he—"
"Mom, we're not having this conversation, okay!" Kyle met her eager gaze with a fierce one of his own, and after staring each other out for a short while his mother surprisingly dropped the subject.
They soon moved on from the touchy conversation of college interviews to the even touchier subject of kosher butchers – Kyle insisted they were humane while Wendy pointed out they were fully conscious when they were being slaughtered.
"Oh, and you think an electric bolt through the head is humane?" Kyle challenged.
"I think it renders the animal unconscious quickly so they can't feel anything," she replied, "which is better than slitting its throat and waiting for the blood to pour out until it dies."
"The animal dies pretty much instantly when its throat is slit. Anyway, sometimes those bolt guns miss, so they hit another part of the brain and it doesn't knock the animal out for ages. Even if it does, how do you know the cow doesn't feel anything? All you know is that you can't see its pain. If you ask me, that form of humane killing is humane to people, not to the animals. A shochet—"
"Huh?"
"Kosher butcher – is trained to do the job effectively with a very sharp knife and a precise depth of cut. It's probably just as quick – quicker, even – than jamming a bolt gun between some poor cow's eyes and shoving ten thousand volts through its brain until it collapses."
Wendy surveyed him coolly. "You know, there's a reason I'm vegetarian," she replied, feeling his leg brush against hers as he shifted in his seat. He didn't move it, so the contact remained. They were leg to leg; his leg on the inside of her, almost penetrating the space between her knees.
He leant forward, so his face was inches from hers. "See, that's what I like about you, Wendy. You practise what you preach."
Wendy felt herself blush. "I do my best," she replied quietly, guiltily savouring the intimacy. His hand brushed against hers all too briefly; then he suddenly sat up and broke their connection. Before Wendy could really react, Tina had arrived with their meals.
"Cheese enchilada," she said, placing Wendy's food in front of her. Wendy was glad they had stopped here now; she was starving.
Tina dished out their parent's meals, then turned to Kyle and said, "and one fried cod fish sandwich with house fries," before placing the plate of food in front of him.
"Thanks," he replied, just as someone rushed past and knocked Tina straight into him.
"I'm so sorry!" Tina said, clearly mortified.
"It's cool, really," Kyle said, offering her the sort of smile that would have looked sleazy on anyone else. He gently supported her back while allowing her to get onto to her feet. "Are you okay?"
"I think so… thanks," she said as a pretty pink blush crept over her cheeks. The bitch probably did that on purpose just so she could cosy up to him. Around the moment that Kyle was loosely holding her hand while she tucked her bobbed hair behind her ear, Wendy suddenly realised her father was trying to prise her fingers free of the salt shaker.
"Wendy," he said in a warning tone, "I'm not sure it's going to withstand this pressure."
Deeply embarrassed, Wendy let go as though it were contagious. To her horror, she caught Mrs Broflovski's knowing expression as she glanced from Wendy to Kyle and back again.
The meal passed by in a flurry of animated conversation, and Wendy stealing Kyle's fries every so often while he gently smacked the back of her hand in mock-annoyance. Despite being so committed to avoiding food earlier, now Wendy rather fancied a dessert.
"You not having one?" she asked Kyle as she put in her request for a hot fudge chocolate chip cookie sundae.
"I can't, really," he replied.
"Why not? I'm sure you could stand to gain a few pounds," she teased.
"No, it's more to do with the diabetes. I mean, I could have a bit, but I have to be careful," he replied, and Wendy suddenly remembered her knowledge of his transplant that she wasn't supposed to know about.
"Well, feel free to steal some of mine, then. It's only fair," she admitted.
When the sundae arrived – with two spoons and a sly wink from Tina that made Wendy's whole face burn with shame – Wendy jammed her spoon eagerly into the gloopy cavity waiting to happen. Without even thinking, she offered it to Kyle.
"Want some?" she teased. To her surprise, Kyle simply leant forward and sucked the spoon clean.
"Not bad," he replied, before grabbing the spare spoon and offering her a spoonful of her own dessert.
"Really?" she said, folding her arms.
"Really," he replied smoothly, waggling his eyebrows in a jokey fashion.
Despite her misgivings, Wendy leant over and allowed Kyle to feed her spoonfuls of delicious ice-cream and chocolate chip pieces, giggling at the silliness of it all and grabbing his wrist at one point when he tried to be all clever and take the spoon away at the last moment.
As she looked up at him while sucking the spoon clean, she noticed him staring intently at her. Their eyes locked and it was almost like that scene in ‘Eric Cartman's Dracula' – yes, that was the working title which Kyle had made his personal mission to change – between Dracula and Mina. Wendy felt as though he could have asked her anything in that moment and she'd have done it. The lack of control she felt around him terrified her, not least because he wasn't her damn boyfriend and this shouldn't be happening.
Suddenly, Kyle handed Wendy the spoon and pulled away.
"Sorry. I got a bit… You're clearly old enough to feed yourself," he said with a nervous chuckle that was notable for being completely out of character. Wendy tried to catch his eye, but he was staring steadfastly out of the window.
"I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's Saturday tomorrow," Kyle said, his eyes still on the passers-by outside. "I'm going to be knackered tomorrow."
"Yeah , me too," Wendy agreed.
"You and Stan got plans?"
"Not really," Wendy replied.
"You should. The weather's supposed to be nice, maybe you could go for a picnic or something together?"
"Yeah, that'd be a good idea," Wendy said, feeling her stomach double up in knots. God, she was a horrible, horrible girlfriend. She'd spent a good half an hour not-quite flirting with her boyfriend's best friend! How could she be any worse?
She knew exactly how she could be any worse, and when Kyle looked up at her through his lashes, she started to imagine her potential worse behaviour in great detail.
They left the diner soon after that; the memory of Kyle's cool hand brushing against hers as they put their spoons in the sundae dish at the same time still lingered heavily in her thoughts.
"Oh, Wendy, I do hope you get accepted," Mrs Broflovski said with genuine feeling.
"Thanks, Mrs Broflovski—"
"Please, call me Sheila," she said. Wendy stopped dead at this. She'd only ever called Stan's mother by her first name. Was Sh—Mrs. Broflovski implying something?
As they said their goodbyes and Wendy climbed into the passenger seat of her dad's car, she heard Kyle exclaim, "Ma! We're just friends!" in horror.
Oh God, she was getting worse at hiding it. Oh God, she was supposed to be in love with Stan, but kept daydreaming about his best friend. Oh God, Kyle just… with a flush of shame she gave the thought form in her head: Kyle turned her on with barely a smile. Was this really just some dumb three and three-quarter itch? Would she really just get over it after doing this ridiculously erotic play and the ridiculous rehearsal sessions that just made a terrible mess of her panties? Would she just forget all about it in a few weeks and go back to being uncomplicatedly in love with Stan?
Come to think of it, had she even actually been in love with Stan?
Of course she had! Stupid, stupid question.
As they drove off along Route 25, Wendy could feel the tears run down her cheeks. When her father handed her a pack of pocket tissues, squeezed her arm in a comforting manner and said, "Oh, sweetheart; we've all been there," she felt about ten times worse.
She stared out of the window and realised with a start that for the first time ever, Kyle had hugged her tonight without trying to bunch his hands into fists.