South Park © Matt & Trey.
All my stuff has the same flavor .. but if you want something that is a different flavor, head over to nolotica's account and check out our collab ;) it's super duper (link near the bottom of my profile!)
So, anyway, I'm writing in Craig's POV, which isn't something I often do. Hopefully I can do him justice. I've never written in the POV of a character with borderline (even though I live it every day!) so this will be a little new~
Warnings: abuse, noncon, sex work, drug addiction, mental illness, character death, femdom, daddy kink mention, internalized homophobia
Pairings: Craig/Red/Craig, Kenny/Craig/Kenny, some side pairings
DISCLAIMER: Since there is speculation Red and Craig are related, they are not related in this!
When the sun goes up, the world looks like shit.
Today is the same as any other day. Dull. Monotonous. Then again, I like it that way.
I just turned twenty-one, which means I can finally buy my own liquor. I'm not a big drinker, though. I prefer to just get high these days.
High, high, high as a bird…
Lately I've got a taste for the hard stuff. I know I'm going down a pretty dangerous road, but I can't find it in me to care.
Right now, it's early in the evening. I'm sitting on my bed with my girlfriend. Her name is Rebecca, but most people call her Red. I just call her Becca. I know she prefers it. She says it makes her feel closer to me and it separates me from everyone else.
She's here most days.
I live in a two-story townhouse with Kenny McCormick. It's nothing special. There's a kitchen and a living room on the first floor and three bedrooms plus a bathroom on the second floor. Clyde was supposed to room with us, but he ditched us last minute to get an apartment with Bebe. They're still together, but they're always on and off. Sometimes when they have fights Clyde will spend the night here in the room that would've been his. We turned it into a guest room when Clyde said he wasn't going to be moving in, so sometimes other people crash with us.
"Craig," Becca says my name, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You're spacing out again."
"Sorry," I respond flatly.
I've known Becca since we were babies because our parents know one another. We used to take baths together.
We've both had exceedingly normal childhoods. I don't know why we both grow up to be such assholes. Our parents are probably really fucking disappointed in us. I know they wanted more for us. Neither of us sees our parents much these days. The last time I really spoke to my parents was when I told them I was moving out. They thought I was too young. I guess nineteen might be a bit young, but it all worked out fine.
Becca was popular in high school. So was I, but we were part of different crowds. We're the same height and her strength rivals mine, but I never put it to use unlike her. I was a bit of a slacker. She was a cheerleader.
Everyone thought Bebe Stevens was the prettiest girl in school, but I always thought it was Becca. She has really red hair and really fair skin and she's soft and slender with green eyes. She has nice lips, too.
"Hey, where were you adopted from?" Becca suddenly asks, probably trying to keep me from floating away. "I never really thought to ask. I wasn't sure if it was a touchy subject or not."
"Albania," I tell her. "In Gjirokastër."
"I don't even know where that is," she admits.
"Europe," I say. "It's a Mediterranean country. My parents travelled a lot after they finished university. They ended up visiting an orphanage in Albania in the spur of the moment and adopting me. They wanted to adopt, though they probably did it somewhat impulsively. They said they kinda fell in love with me on the spot."
"Aw," Becca coos.
"They took me there a few times when I was younger," I add. "They kinda encouraged me to explore my roots, but I don't feel much of a connection to the country, honestly. It's hard to when I can't even speak the language."
"Wow," she murmurs. "So, you haven't seen your parents in a while, huh?"
I shake my head. "I'll wave if I see them around town, but we haven't actually spoken since I moved out. We didn't part well. I always wonder if they think about me… talk about me… I wonder if people ask them about me. It probably just makes them feel shitty."
"You miss them," she accuses.
Yeah, I do, but I don't want to admit it. I want to keep being spiteful about the argument we had and the fact that they didn't chase after me when I left.
"They abandoned me," I say. I don't want to be the one to crawl back.
"You pushed, Craig," she points out. "They probably decided to let you go for now. I'm sure they just want to give you the freedom you seemed to desire. They probably hope you'll return on your own. I doubt they want to force it."
It makes me bitter because I know she's right.
Out of the blue, she pushes me backwards so I'm lying down. She reaches for my legs, pushing them apart.
I nearly have a coronary.
"Christ, don't!" I exclaim, frantically shifting away from her and sitting up.
"Why won't you let me touch your butt?" she asks, pouting and whining.
"Because I'm not a faggot," I retort, collecting myself.
She rolls her eyes at me. "Don't be a dick, Craig," she says. "Be serious. I want to fuck you. Just once. I want to know what it's like to do the penetrating."
God, I hate this conversation. Ever since Bebe told her she fucked Clyde in the ass, Becca keeps asking me to do it. I always give her the same answer.
"No."
"Why?" she whines.
"Because I'm not into having stuff shoved into the hole I shit out of," I say bluntly. "That's fucking filthy."
She looks humoured. "Well, maybe you would like it. Have you ever tried it? Probably not."
"Hey, don't assume."
"So, you have tried it?" she pries. "It's okay if you don't want me to do it, Craig. Just stop being so offensive and give me an actual answer instead of being completely homophobic and ridiculous."
I frown, feeling contemplative. "My uncle fucked me in the ass once when I was fourteen," I decide to tell her. It's probably not the answer she's looking for, but I'm sure it'll shut her up.
"Oh," she says quietly, but somehow she doesn't seem all that surprised.
I wrinkle my nose. "I think he did it because we weren't actually related… I mean, my parents adopted me… but still, it was fuckin' disgusting… I tried to protest, but that probably just turned the pervert on even more."
He liked to play the part of the "cool uncle." He had a big house with a swimming pool and a lot of video games. We all liked it there. Every time I'd go to his place, he'd let me and Ruby and some of my cousins drink. I thought that was fucking great at the time, but looking back on it… Well, it's obvious that was a clear warning sign that he was a pervert to let kids get drunk under his roof. Me and Ruby got drunk at his place so many times. Sometimes I wonder if he ever touched me before that night. There are a lot of blank spaces during the time I spent at his house. I try not to think about it. I never went back after that. My parents pried, but I just acted like I had other plans. Ruby never went back, either. Sometimes I wonder if she knows. She was passed out, but she might've woken up and just been too scared to do anything. I guess it doesn't matter now. We haven't spoken in a while.
Becca frowns, staring at me piteously and I fucking hate it. I hate that look.
"Tsk," I click my tongue at her. "See… this is why I never tell people. I know they'd look at me like that."
"I'm sorry," she says quietly.
"I don't want you to look at me like that," I say pointedly.
"I won't anymore," she promises, leaning forward and pecking me on the forehead. "I'm glad you told me, Craig… and I'm really sorry you had to go through that."
"It's whatever," I tell her with a shrug. "He got arrested for possession of kiddie porn a few years later. So, he's where he belongs and I never had to say a word."
But I'd be lying if I said it didn't still bother me. It does. It probably always will because it was a really fucked up thing… Still, I like to pretend I've moved on. In reality, there isn't really a way to move past something like that for a lot of people. All you can do is deal with it as best as you can. I guess this is why I do some of the things I do. Clyde always tells me it's fucking stupid because I'm just screwing myself up worse. I guess it's true, but I don't care. It's relief.
"Did you ever tell your parents?" Becca pries.
"Nah," I say with a shrug. "I just kept it to myself for a long time, but I think they knew he in the least tried to mess around with me. I mean, after he was arrested they asked me if he ever tried to touch me or anything because he was around a lot. I got real defensive. They tried asking me a few more times after that, but I just flipped at them every time. Eventually they just dropped it. I told Clyde, but apart from him you're the only one who knows. It's funny, though… because my parents still made me go to see a therapist. They said it was just to make sure I was all right after the shock of my uncle being a kiddie diddler… but I knew it was because they wanted to know if he tried to fondle me. Anyway, I wouldn't talk and I didn't go back until a few years ago when I began going off the deep end. Maybe this is why I have a borderline personality. I don't really know."
"If you ever want to talk about it…" she trails off.
"I don't want to talk about it," I tell her. "Let's fuck."
"Now?" She sounds surprised.
"Why not?"
"Well… we were just talking about something rather heavy…" she points out cautiously.
"I don't care," I dismiss.
"We have no condoms," she adds.
"It's fine," I say. "You are on the pill, right?"
"Yeah, but it's always best to be extra safe," she responds.
"One time will be fine," I insist. "That's what the pill is for."
She shrugs carelessly, standing up and shredding her clothes. I follow after her, discarding my t-shirt and then slipping out of my sweatpants. I sit on the bed again with my back against the pillows. A moment later she sits on my lap and starts rolling her hips expertly. She prefers it on top which works for me because I'm pretty lazy. I stay in shape, but I prefer to be on the bottom when it comes to sex.
It doesn't take me long since it's been about a week since we last fucked. Work gets in the way of things.
"Sorry," I apologize. "That was weak as hell."
She laughs good-naturedly and says, "It's fine."
"Want me to eat you out?" I ask.
"Don't bother," she says. "I'm not really in the mood."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Well, we didn't have to fuck if you didn't want to. You're supposed to tell me these things."
"It's not that," she murmurs. "I mean, I like sleeping with you even if I don't get an orgasm. It's still nice to be close to you, y'know? I still like it."
"All right," I relent. "You pissed or something?"
"No…" she starts, getting a tissue and wiping between her legs. "I just wish you'd talk to me more. You never want to talk. Whenever you tell me something important about yourself you brush it off five seconds later like it's no big deal. It's like when we take a step forward, we take two back a split second later. Why do you do that?"
"I just don't want to act like a little bitch about shit that's long over," I tell her.
She scoffs lightly. "You were hurt, Craig," she states.
"Shut up…" I mutter, standing up and grabbing my clothes after wiping my dick off.
She follows and we both throw our clothes back on. Once modest, she repeats, "You were really hurt by your uncle!"
"Shut up!" I say again, but this time I raise my voice. I don't raise my voice much, just when I'm pissed off. It takes a lot to get me mad, but Becca is pretty good at it.
"No!" she shouts back.
"I didn't tell you so you could throw it in my face like this! GOD!"
"It's not even just about this, Craig," she bites out. "It's about everything! You're always so fucking blank. Don't you feel anything? Fucking talk to me or cry or something!"
Of course that's what she fucking wants. Well, I'm not going to give her the satisfaction. Instead, I give her a sardonic smile and calmly say, "No."
"Jesus!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "Fuck it, I'm leaving."
"Fine," I say, not bothering to chase her as she walks out even though I want to. I fucking hate it when she does that and she knows it. I hate when people leave.
This is how it goes.
We fight a lot. Half the time it's not even because of drugs. It's just because we're too alike. We may not seem it, but we're both confrontational assholes.
She never reacts the way I want her to. I never react the way she wants me to, either, though. But when I tell her about things that fuck me up, I'm not looking for advice or a shoulder to cry on. If I was, I'd ask. I just want her to be quiet and let things sit. I tell her my secrets because I want her to understand. Simple as that.
When I hear the front door slam, I finally leave my bedroom. I wander down the hallway and into the kitchen.
"What're you doing?" I ask when I spot Kenny hovering over the counter in front of a mixing pot. He's wearing an apron and his bangs are pulled away from his face in an elastic hairband. His hair is really shaggy, so it gets in the way a lot. He kind of looks like a skateboarder or a surfer. He's really tanned, too.
"Making special brownies," he says.
"Pot brownies?" I assume, knowing I'm right.
"Yep," he confirms with a snicker. "Want me to save you some?"
"Sure," I say.
"So…" Kenny starts, "Red ran out of here pretty fast… Did you guys have another fight?"
"She's being stupid," I mutter, taking a seat at the kitchen table and watching him bake.
"You shouldn't call your girlfriend stupid," he chides me.
"She wants me to show more emotion," I start. "I'm not an emotional person, so it's not going to happen. I don't really know what she expects."
"It's pretty weird, though," Kenny muses. "She's kind of right, y'know… You always talk in the same, flat tone. Even if you're talking about something totally depressing. You're cold. You're so cold I'm surprised everyone around you hasn't died of frostbite."
"Gee, thanks," I mutter sarcastically.
He smiles a small smile. "I mean, I've been your roommate for a few years now, plus we've known each other since we were kids… and I've never seen you cry even once!"
"I'm not a crier," I say simply.
"When was the last time you cried?" Kenny pries.
"I don't fucking know," I tell him.
"Think about it," he challenges.
So, I do. I can think of a time that happened, but I'm not even sure if it was the most recent. I don't tend to remember dumb shit like this.
"Well?" Kenny asks expectantly.
"I think I was seventeen," I tell him.
"Christ!" he exclaims. "That's like four years ago, dude!"
"I told you, I'm not a crier," I repeat the sentiment.
Kenny tilts his head to the side. "I guess… So, why were you upset?"
It was the day my uncle was arrested… but I don't want to tell Kenny that because then I'd have to tell him more than I want to tell him. So, instead, I simply say, "Family problems."
Kenny nods his head, understanding. "Rough. I know what that's like."
Of course he would. Kenny's the definition of Daddy Issues, though Becca always scolds me when I say that. She says I'm victim blaming. I guess she's right. It's not Kenny's fault his dad is shit.
Kenny's dad used to hit him a lot. He'd probably still hit him if he didn't get arrested a few years ago for having a meth lab. It was on the news. Both Carol and Stuart were arrested. Shortly after, their house was set on fire. Insurance and government assistance covered enough to get Kevin and Karen a tiny apartment, but Kenny moved in with me.
Kenny says he's sure Kevin set the house on fire. He probably did it because there were too many shitty memories. I don't really blame him for that.
Kenny still sees his brother and sister a lot. Sometimes he visits them, sometimes they come here. Sometimes they go see their mom in prison, but they never go to see their dad. Only Kenny visits Stuart. I don't really know how he can bear it. He still wants to protect his dad from slander and keep on good terms. I guess that isn't surprising. People who are victims of such heinous abuse often want to protect their abusers.
"Do you work tonight?" I ask him out of the blue.
He nods his head. "I need to head down to the club at nine, so I have some time to waste. Plus, it's a short shift. Three hours, tops."
I glance at the clock above the stove. It's only 3PM.
"So, what are the brownies for?"
He smiles. "I'm having some of the boys over after my shift. I'll probably make another batch this weekend. Kyle is on spring break, so he's coming home for a bit. We're going to meet up on Friday." He pauses and glances at me before offering, "You can hang with us, if you want to."
It sucks that Kyle is spending spring break in South Park. It's still snowing here. I thought students liked to head to Florida, or somewhere warmer. Then again, maybe he just misses Kenny and Stan… probably not Cartman, though.
"Nah," I turn him down. "I work… Plus, I don't really like your friends."
Kenny snorts back a laugh. "Ass."
I hear my phone beeping from the other room. With a sigh, I go and fetch it. It's Becca, naturally.
REBECCA: Sorry.
ME: So am I.
It's funny in a gross and sad way… After my uncle did what he did, I went straight to Becca. I was a virgin until that point. I asked her if she thought there was an emotional aspect to virginity. I didn't want to believe my virginity would be gone just like that, without me having any say or choice in the matter. She said, "Virginity is whatever you make it to be." So, I decided I was still a virgin and I asked her to take my virginity. By then we were already dancing around each other a bit, so it was inevitable that we'd have sloppy teenage sex eventually.
I felt disgusted the entire time – not of her, but of myself. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea. I got soft halfway through and felt like crying, but I forced it back because I refused to cry over that piece of shit bastard. So, for a long time, I didn't. The only time I cried about it was when it was happening and then when he got arrested. I was quiet about it, like I always am.
I mean it when I say I'm not a crier, but sometimes I wish I was. Maybe it'd be easier. Maybe I'd feel lighter. Either way, I can't bring myself to cry. Tears just won't come out, even when I know they should.
Whatever.
I put my phone in the pocket of my sweatpants and grab my keys and wallet. "I'm leaving," I say as I walk past the kitchen. I should probably be social instead of bumming around the house all day. I get depressed when I'm inside for too long. Plus, I'm craving caffeine.
"Bye!" Kenny calls.
"Have fun getting naked for strangers," I call back, slipping into my boots, grabbing my coat and leaving the townhouse.
Yeah, Kenny is a stripper. I don't want to sound like a dick, but it suits him. I've seen him work the pole enough times to know he's good at it, too.
Oh, well. A job is a job and Kenny seems to like what he does.
Work opportunities are pretty slim around here. Most people I went to school with ended up settling for pretty low income jobs.
Becca works at the video rental. She fucking hates it. Cartman and Jason are bouncers at the nightclub Kenny strips at. I used to bartend there a couple nights a week back when I was only part time at the animal shelter. Now I'm full time, so I don't need a second job.
Stan works with me. His girlfriend, Wendy, went to university. She's in Boulder along with Stan's best friend, Kyle. Token, Nichole and Kevin went to university, too, but they left Colorado altogether. I guess they wanted to get as far away as possible.
Token and Nichole are still dating. They went to Yale. Kevin is at Harvard. Bebe works at in the mall at some cosmetics shop called Sephora. Butters came out as trans just after high school and now goes by Marjorine. She works in a daycare. Clyde did a two-year course at the community college and now he's a welder. Tweek works for his parents at their coffee shop.
The list goes on. Everybody has something, even if it's not the something they want to be doing with their life.
Soon enough, I'm standing in front of Tweek Bros. I walk inside and spot Tweek at the cash register. I hold up my hand and wave to him. He waves back. When I'm close enough I say, "Coffee, black."
He nods and I get out my debit card, paying after he rings me in. As he makes the coffee, he asks, "How's your health?"
"All right," I say, taking a seat on one of the stools. "You?"
"All right," he echoes.
Tweek has pretty bad psychosis. That's why he's so damn paranoid. He has all these conspiracies and thinks the government is literally out to get him. People usually shake him off and say, "The government is out to get us all, man!" It's true enough, I suppose, but there's no use in reasoning with him when he gets like that. You just need to be patient and make sure he's okay.
Contrary to popular belief, Tweek avoids the hard stuff. He tried weed for a while, but he said it just made him even more paranoid. However, he does smoke a lot of cigarettes and have a lot of capricious sex. He did it with Kenny once. I found that so fucking odd.
When my drink is ready, I stick around instead of leaving. I chat a bit with Tweek. I don't see him as much as I used to because he thinks I'm a lot to deal with. I get that. I mean… I can be hard to handle. It just sucks when people throw it in my face like that. Still, I try hard not to let it bother me.
"I'm off my medication," he tells me out of the blue.
"Is that a good thing?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "It kind of just turned me into a zombie. I swear, they do more bad than good. Anyway, my doctor wants me to keep a log of how I'm doing and if things get bad, then I have to start taking them again… but it feels good now. It's like, in a sense, I have a clearer head. My personality has returned."
I nod my head. I'm lucky I was never forced on any anti-psychotics. I've only ever had one psychotic episode in my life and that was more than enough. It was strange. I was thoroughly convinced there was someone in the house, but Kenny wasn't home and Becca was at work. I remember how fucking scared I got at the possibility of there being someone who could potentially hurt me, so I kept hiding yet every corner of the house I turned to I thought that I was being followed. I guess I ran out, because a neighbour ended up finding me down the street sitting by the mailboxes around 9PM. I guess he already thought I was a bit of a nutter. He escorted me home and returned me to Kenny, who was home by then.
It's still so weird to think about it. I was completely sure I was right, but Kenny looked through the house with me and we didn't find any signs of entry or anything amiss. The following day, he made me make a doctor's appointment.
"Yeah, that sounds pretty shitty," I say to Tweek.
He nods his head lazily. "So, how's Red?"
"She's good," I say. "Working a lot."
"That's good," Tweek responds.
We continue chatting about pleasant, light things. I sip on my coffee slowly and when it's empty, I decide I should probably head home. I've spent enough time out. "See you around," I say, getting up and disposing of my empty coffee cup.
"Bye," Tweek calls.
I take the long way home, shoving my hands in my pockets. It's pretty chilly out and the ground is slushy, but at least it's not snowing.
When I get back, I kick off my shoes, hang up my coat and go to the kitchen. I grab one of the brownies Kenny set aside for me and then laze around. Kenny is in his room, but I don't bother going to greet him.
I retreat to my my own room and undress, feeling restless. I stare at myself in the wall-length mirror that hangs on my closet door. I'm not critical of the way I look. I know I'm really attractive, vain as I may sound. It's not something I ever doubted. I've always been pretty cute. I never really went through an awkward phase like most of the guys I know. I guess I'm lucky.
I have really blue eyes – the kind everyone seems to love. My hair is black and thick. I doubt I'll ever be bald. It cooperates when I brush it and the only time it gets messy is after sex or when I wake up. My skin is pale, but not pasty. I have nice legs, nice arms. I don't look it, but I am pretty strong. I run a lot, so my stamina is pretty good even though I'm a lazy shit. I'm slightly below average in height and I'm rather lithe – slim, but not scrawny. I have a nice ass, a decent sized dick. I'm not particularly hairy and I don't bother shaving any of the hair that does grow on my body – unless it's on my face. I still can't really grow a beard and it just ends up looking pretty patchy and stupid. I have some scars on my thighs from self-harm. They're old and faded, so I don't really think about them much and Becca never brings it up. She's tried, but I just brushed her off. She's given up since then.
I guess sometimes none of it really matters because I still go through these phases where I can't think logically. Bad thoughts fill my head and I can't find one good thing about myself. I get stuck in a lot of ruts and end up doing stupid shit I regret later.
I turn away and get on my bed. I lie down and start to touch myself. I stick two fingers in my mouth and then stick them up my ass.
No…
It's not the same.
I remove them, not feeling satisfied.
"Kenny!" I shout.
A brief moment later, I hear his footsteps approaching. He opens the door to my room and eyes me, leaning against the doorway. He crosses his arms, smiling sweetly. "Yes?"
"Let's do something," I proposition, sitting up. "Kill the lights."
He does so, moving into the room. It's dim, but I can still see him clearly.
"Take off your clothes," I tell him.
And he does that, too. I watch him undress. It looks like he just shaved. He says he has to do it for work, which sounds pretty shitty to me.
He has a lot of very large and visible scars. He says they're from childhood adventures gone awry. He even has a few on his face. I don't really believe him when he says how he got them. I think they're just from his dad. He says the club manager tries to make him cover the bad ones with makeup, but he never does. He says they're a part of him and he isn't ashamed of what he's been through. I wish I could be more like that. I'm often ashamed.
"Hey, can you still put your legs behind your head?" he asks, joining me on the bed. "You used to be able to do it."
Me and Kenny took yoga instead of gym class back in grade nine. We thought it'd be easier, but it unfortunately wasn't. We got teased for it a little bit by some of the other guys. Nonetheless, we did get pretty limber. I continued with it. I think Kenny did, too, but he's nowhere near as flexible as I am.
"Yes," I say, "but I'm not going to show you – especially not when I'm naked."
"It'd be such a nice view, though," he coos, pushing me down so I'm on my back. "I bet we could do it in a lot of fun positions if you'd loosen up a bit. It's always interesting when your partner is super flexible."
I look at him with blatant distaste, but he just laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs all the fucking time, never taking anything seriously. I guess that's how he gets through life, acting like everything is just a big game.
He hovers over me and leans down until we're close enough to kiss, but we don't. We never do. "I'm going to get something fun," he says. He pulls away from me and leaves the room.
By fun he probably means kinky and potentially disgusting. I sit back up and wait.
Kenny returns a moment later with a double-ended dildo and a bottle of something sticky. He starts lubricating the toy and then he joins me on the bed, sitting across from me. "Lie back down," he says.
So, I do. I pull my legs to my chest and giving him free reign to do whatever the hell he wants. He sticks it in me, sliding it in easily before doing the same to himself. He lets out a long moan. I can feel the toy go deeper and deeper until my backside is pressed against Kenny's. I swear I can feel it in my stomach.
I perch myself up on my elbows and stare at him. He's flush-faced and visibly horny. His dick is already leaking. He's always a lot more enthusiastic than I am. I'm not even hard yet. I put my legs over his and he starts grinding his hips back and forth. Ass to ass, I follow his movements until we're in sync.
"Ah… fuck…" he whispers shakily. He's always so loud in bed. I wonder if he's like this with girls, too. Probably. After a few minutes, he asks the inevitable. "Hey," he starts. "Can I fuck you?"
"No," I respond, not missing a beat.
"C'mon," he whines. "It wouldn't be the first time." He perches himself up, lifting a leg and removing the toy. He winces, pushing it out gingerly. I can feel it going deeper in me. "Fuck," he breathe, toes curling. He lets out a sigh, leaving the toy in me and sitting up. "Let me fuck you," he says, kneeling between my legs. He grabs the toy and twists it around, shoving it in deeper. Too deep…
I feel my stomach tighten. I shudder and again say, "No."
"What would you do if Red saw you like this?"
"Die," I say simply. "Take it out… it's too much."
With one brisk movement of his hands, he removes the dildo like he's trying to start a lawnmower.
"Shit!" I exclaim, convulsing around on the bed.
Kenny chortles. "Sorry."
"Ha… No, you're not."
"Please let me fuck you," he says again.
"Hm…" I pretend to consider it. "No."
"You're so uptight!" he whines. "I'll bottom if you want?"
That's not what I want.
I just want him to keep begging.
I want him to want me.
"Want me to ride you like Red?" he asks, rubbing a palm over my partial hard-on. "Or… should I put it in here?" He takes his other hand and slides a finger inside my asshole.
"W-wait…" I stutter out.
"You want me to stop?" he taunts. "Come on, tell me to stop, Craig. You want me to? I don't think you do."
He likes to tease me and I fucking hate it. He acts like it's his right because he's the only one who knows about this side of me. It's humiliating.
Then again, there are times I tease him just as bad for being a stripper. I guess we're both a couple of dicks.
"Do you have condoms?" I ask him.
"Yeah, in my room," he says. "So, is that a yes?"
"Yes, fine," I respond. "Go get one."
He gives me a triumphant smile and then disappears, returning a moment later with the desired item. He slaps it on and then rejoins me.
"Here," I say in a murmur, lifting my knees to my chest and spreading my ass. "Put it in." I try to sound calm and collected but it's a hard thing to do at a time like this.
"Put what where?" he asks coyly, wanting me to say it.
"Put your dick in my ass," I bite out.
Kenny snickers with satisfaction, positioning himself against my backside. "Hey, why do you always gotta play hard to get?" he asks, sliding in easily. "Why can't you just say what you want? You called me in here, after all."
"Because it's more fun for me when you're the one who begs," I respond hoarsely, trying to get used to the sensation. We don't fuck as much now because Becca is always hanging around the house. Plus, she has a key. She spends more time with us than her housemates – Lola, Annie and Heidi.
"Y'know, you're still pretty tight…!" he exclaims, hovering over me. He leans down, but, like last time, he doesn't kiss me. Of course he doesn't.
"Don't sound so fucking surprised," I mutter, locking my hands around his back. "You're the only person I've done this with."
"Aren't I lucky?" he coos.
I try to control my voice because I hate what I sound like when I'm a moaning mess. I sound like such a fucking bitch. I hate the thought of being seen like that by anyone. I'm only loud when I'm drunk because I forget and I don't care. That's also the only time I let it happen with the lights on.
"What if Red walked in right this second?"
I let out a groan, going rigid at the thought.
"Ah..ahah…" he laughs breathlessly. "You're clenching, but it feels good…"
Of course he'd say something like that. "Pervert," I respond in a voice just as breathless. "Stop saying shit like that."
He moves his hips rhythmically, quickening his pace. His breath quickens and he lets out a boyish moan. Before I can tell him to pull out, it's too late.
"Sorry, ha," he apologizes, breathing heavily.
"It's fine," I say, cringing at the wet sensation. "You didn't last long."
"Sorry," he apologizes again. "I haven't had sex in a few weeks and I've been too busy to jerk off." He pulls out and goes down on me. I put an arm over my mouth, trying to stifle any more sounds I might make. He pauses, lifting his head. "Don't hold back," he says. "You always hold back. I like to hear the sounds you make when you're not trying to suppress yourself. It's encouraging. Like this you just sound like you just got fucking shot or you're being strangled."
Hearing that makes me sound even more self-conscious. I perch myself up on my elbows and give him a look of disdain. "Why do you always say the worst things in bed?"
He smiles sheepishly and shrugs. "I have no tact?"
At least he fucking knows it. I lie back down, not bothering to respond. A second later, I feel his mouth around my dick and his fingers in my ass. I close my eyes and try to enjoy it. Kenny is good at this. Then again, by now, so am I. Funny, maybe Becca would see that if I actually let her fuck me.
I doubt I'll let that happen. I'm different when I'm with her. I'm different when I'm with Kenny, too. That's not to say that I'm being fake with either of them. I'm not. I feel like I'm constantly shaped by the people around me and the things they expect from me. In that sense, I'm used to being around Kenny like this… even though it's still fucking embarrassing.
It takes me a while to cum. It often does (unless I haven't had sex in a while). It's probably because my mind is wandering. When it happens, I don't need to give him a warning. He probably senses it by the way my legs are shaking. I feel my stomach tighten. "Fuck…" I gasp, tangling my fingers in Kenny's hair.
He makes humming sounds before drawing away. I still have a boner because, like a girl, I can have multiple orgasms. Still, I'm fine with just one. I'll go limp soon enough.
I begin to sit up, but Kenny pushes me back down, hovering over me. "How do you feel?" he asks. "Honestly."
"Out of it," I admit, since he wants the truth.
"Wow, I'm that good, huh?" he jokes, smiling down at me.
"You're funny," I say tersely.
He sobers and then pries with, "So, what is it, then?"
I hold out my hands and stare down. "I don't know... but sometimes I don't even feel real," I murmur.
"That's fucked up, dude," Kenny snorts. He never takes anything seriously. Sometimes I fucking wish he would… especially since I let him put his boner in my ass.
"Suck my dick," I mutter.
"Just did," he points out.
I let out a sharp sigh. "I have BPD, asshole. Sometimes I dissociate and shit gets all weird."
It happens a lot during sex… for obvious reasons. It's probably something that'll always happen because sex was pretty much ruined for me.
"I know," Kenny says, softening. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't make jokes."
"Whatever," I mutter. That's just the way he is. I'm not excusing it, but I accept it. Plus, on the grand scale he's pretty much harmless. He has no ill intentions. I know that for a fact.
"Is that why you wanted to have sex? To connect… or ground yourself or whatever?"
"That's not it," I say vaguely, because it's basically the opposite and I don't want to get into that with Kenny.
"You always make me turn the lights off," Kenny points out suddenly, still staring down at me. "Why?"
"Because it's humiliating," I state, making eye contact with him. "I'm always embarrassed."
"You shouldn't feel embarrassed," he reasons. "Well, unless that's your kink…" A pause. "Is it? Do you get off on being ashamed or something?"
"No," I say dryly. I push him away and sit up again, grabbing a tissue from my nightstand. I wipe the mess away, grimacing to myself. This part is so gross.
Kenny lies down, watching me. He's always looking at me. I don't like it, but I can't really tell him to stop.
"Becca wants to fuck me in the ass," I tell him, disposing of the tissue and lying down with him. For some reason, I want to make him jealous.
"Why won't you let her?"
"Because I don't want her to see me like that," I confess. "When I'm with her, I'm different… When I'm with you, I'm also different."
"How?" he pries, perching himself up on an elbow and staring down at me.
I glance up at him before returning my gaze to the ceiling. "I don't know… I'd just find it even more humiliating to let her see me that way. It's bad enough you see me like that."
"Hm…" he muses. "That's silly, though. When me and Bebe used to hook up, she'd play with my ass all the time. You shouldn't feel embarrassed about it."
"Bebe is the one who put these ideas into Becca's head," I mutter.
Kenny chuckles at that. "Yeah, she's into that kind of stuff… but it doesn't matter. It's not like it's going to make you gay or something. Everyone has an asshole. Besides, I think you're a little past the fear of being a homo… especially since we do stuff like this."
"I'm straight," I say, but it sounds stupid even to my own ears.
He rolls his eyes. "Sure, dude."
"I am!"
"All right, chill," he says. "Be whatever you want to be, man… but I do think you have some internalized homophobia that you need to deal with."
"No, I don't," I deny.
He gives me a dull look, doubting me. "If you're so straight why the fuck do we do this?"
He's giving me a headache. I rub my temples. "God, just shut up…"
"Just admit you're bi."
"I'm not," I insist, but I pretty much am. I don't know why it's so hard for me to admit it.
"Then what the fuck are we doing?" he asks, sounding exasperated. "Christ, Craig… Why do you let me stick my dick in you if you aren't at all attracted to me? Do you even like sleeping with me or is this some sort of twisted self-punishment? Because if it is, tell me. I don't want you using me to punish yourself. That's fucked up."
I feel sick, dizzy and trapped. My plan of making him jealous has backfired and I don't know what to tell him. I don't know what he wants to hear. "It feels good," I murmur. "I don't hate it…
"So… you like sleeping with me?" he asks, needing the reassurance.
"Yes," I bite out.
"Who is better in bed – me or Red?"
"You're both good," I respond.
"But who is better?"
He's not going to let this go.
I shake my head. "If I say you, then you'll never let me forget it… and if I say her, then you'll get mad."
"I won't get mad or anything, I promise."
He's saying that because he already knows the answer. He just wants me to confirm it.
I stare at him for a minute, debating whether or not to give him what he wants. Ah, fuck it. "It doesn't feel as good unless I have something in my ass."
Kenny stares at me and then begins laughing. "That's the sluttiest thing I've ever heard you say!"
"Says the stripper," I retort, giving him a particularly harsh shove.
He falls backwards off the bed and lets out a pained groan. "Touché…" he relents, climbing back onto the mattress. He shifts towards me, pulling me into his chest. "I like you, Craig… Hell, maybe more than that."
I want to tell him to stop, but that would be cruel, wouldn't it? Then again, perhaps stringing him along like this is much crueller.
So, I simply say, "Yeah…" I lean my forehead against his shoulder and we stay like this for many long minutes.
I think he's crying, but I don't mention it. That would just make things awkward. Kenny cries a lot. He's the opposite of me in more ways than just that. He's light and I'm dark – in every aspect of our personalities. He's been through just as much as I have, but he deals with it differently. He doesn't let it affect him so negatively. He lives a fairly clean life these days, unlike me.
I have no intentions of being with him. I can't. I don't know what I want and even if I did, I'd never be able to bring myself to say it. It's easier to be with Becca. She's familiar and comfortable and I do love her.
She's the only person I've ever kissed, not including my uncle slobbering all over me. I haven't let Kenny kiss me. He's asked to, but I turned him down. He never asked again after that.
It's stupid. It's like… as long as our mouths don't touch, then I can keep pretending I'm not cheating on my girlfriend. It's wrong, but I always try to justify it in stupid ways. I like to pretend I have an excuse. Becca was my first, but I wasn't hers and I find that unfair because I don't like the thought of her being with anyone who isn't me... and yet I keep doing this to her.
Still, I think if Kenny asked to kiss me one more time, I'd let him… but he won't, so I guess it doesn't matter.
"Kenny?" I say his name.
"Hm?"
"Why do you like me?"
"I just do…" he says. His voice is hoarse.
"Do you think I'm attractive?" I ask.
His pulls away from me and his eyes are glassy. I was right. He was crying. "Yeah," he admits. "You're a really pretty guy. Red is lucky to have you."
When I stare into his eyes, I can see myself. I don't really know what that means, or if it means anything at all. We're both too different but we both have scars. Mine are self-inflicted and I think a few of his are, too, but I never asked because I know most of them are from his shitty dad. We both stand at a measly 5"5' and we're both relatively slim… but I think that's it. I'm small for a man.
A man…
It feels weird to call myself a man. I still feel like a boy. A child. A stupid child who gets fucked by his stupid uncle…
"I'm sorry," I apologize suddenly.
He doesn't ask me why I'm apologizing. He knows. So, instead, he just says, "It's okay. I can't force you to feel something for me. I'm satisfied with having at least this much of you."
I can't help but wonder how.
"Tell me a secret," I request. I don't know why I'm asking. Maybe I'm feeling sentimental. Maybe I want to connect with him in a different way than just purely physical. Then again, maybe I just like the power that knowing secrets gives me.
Kenny looks thoughtful for a moment. "When I was a kid I used to wet the bed a lot and it pissed my parents off," he says with a bitter laugh. "My dad once beat the shit out of me for it. I don't think he ever realized it was his fault I did it. I was always so fucking scared of him and I guess it resulted in me not being able to control my bladder for a while. It stopped after I was thirteen, but yeah…"
"Oh…" I murmur uncomfortably. I didn't expect him to reveal something so heavy.
"Your turn," he says.
"Um," I muse. I try to think of something, but I can't. All I can think about is my uncle and I don't want to share that story twice in one day.
Great. Now I feel shitty.
Everything always backfires and blows up in my face.
I get out of bed without saying anything and I grab my clothes, moving across the hall and into the bathroom. I step in the shower briefly, rinsing myself off. I feel like I'm going to have a fucking heart attack. Or is it a panic attack? Anxiety attack?
No.
No, no, no.
This isn't me.
I'm not someone who whines and gets all emotional.
I turn off the taps and step out of the tub, grabbing a towel. I dry off and quickly throw my clothing back on. Before reaching for the door handle, I hold my breath. I do it in a way that reminds me of something I did as a kid.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
I always counted to seven over and over again. The numbers were always stuck in my head because of this old nursery rhyme my grandmother taught me when I was learning how to count.
I move back into my room. By now, Kenny is half-dressed. He's sitting on my bed, looking like he's been waiting for me.
"Hey," he says. "What was that?"
I dismiss his question, sitting down next to him. "When I was a kid… I'd hold my breath when something didn't go my way," I start. "If my parents said I couldn't have something, or I couldn't go somewhere, I'd hold my breath until they relented and gave me what I want. I was spoiled."
Kenny smiles a small smile. "That sounds like you."
"Hey," I say, nudging him. "Tell me another secret."
"You want to know something else?" he asks me and when I nod he continues, "When I was a kid, I wore that stupid fucking parka because I didn't want to be seen. I didn't like to be seen. I wasn't comfortable being looked at. For me, being naked was the last thing on my mind, but I've grown up since then and being naked means something different. It doesn't matter whether you're being paid, whether you're on film, or in a room full of people. It doesn't matter if it's just you and another person alone, soaking up each other's comfort… It doesn't matter, as long as you and that person both have respect for each other. You can always tell. I used to sleep around with people and I didn't care. I wouldn't say I regret doing it, because I don't, but I do get that some of what I did was wrong. I was doing it for all the wrong reasons."
"And now you're doing it for the right reasons…?" I wonder. "That's why you strip?"
"A person's body tells a story," he explains. "It has memories, whether they're visible or invisible… whether they're told or untold. I'm proud of that. I'm even proud of the bad things because they were lessons. The most exhilarating thing you can experience is having your naked body with that of another person. That's why I like being naked. It's empowering. I like my body and I like the things it does."
I force a smile. "All right. Fair enough."
He smiles back and then points out, "Y'know, you smile a lot more these days."
"It's a conscious effort," I confess. "When I was a kid, I never smiled and people always told me to because I looked so sour. I hated that."
"When I was a kid I smiled a lot," he says. "I think it's how I compensated for always feeling shitty."
"That's how I am now," I admit.
He nods his head, frowning. "So… Are you okay? You looked like something in you snapped…"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I insist. "Just having a moment."
"Borderline business?" he asks.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. "Not really."
"What's it like?" he pries.
"Google it," I say.
"Isn't it better if I ask you? Everyone is different and I'm just interested in you."
"I get tired of explaining it," I admit. "People always ask, but they don't really seem to get it. They ask to be polite but whatever I say goes in one ear and out the other. They just think I have a bad attitude. They don't get that I'm literally emotionally unstable and I don't process things the way most people do. I'm not trying to be a brat."
"I don't think that you have a bad attitude," Kenny promises. "People just don't get that there are things that shaped you that were beyond your control. That's what happened t you, right? Something bad?"
"Yeah, something bad," I murmur, "but for others, it's just genetics..."
Part of me wants to tell him because I think he deserves to know, but I won't. Not yet. Sometimes I come close to telling him, but I never end up actually getting the words out. I just say something else instead, something less important.
If I told Kenny, then he'd know all my secrets. He'd be the only one.
Clyde knows most of them and hasn't treated me any different. The only thing he doesn't know is that I'm doing it with Kenny. I have a lot of shame over it, but I know Clyde wouldn't judge me on it. He never does. It doesn't matter what I do, Clyde treats me the same. He even cried for me when I told him about my uncle and somehow it made me feel better because I couldn't cry for myself. I just sounded so fucking empty as I got the words out. I felt it, too.
I don't know what made me tell him. I just felt heavy, like I'd end up exploding if I didn't at least tell someone. So, I chose Clyde. I chose Clyde because he never let me down before and I knew he wouldn't then. I would have told Becca, but I wasn't ready for her to know a thing like that about me. There was a dramatic difference in the nature of my relationship with her.
The words come out easier now, almost like a joke… though nothing about the memory itself is easy. It still makes me sick to my stomach with anger and revulsion.
Like any ordinary teenager I used to masturbate a lot, but after that happened I could hardly see myself naked let alone touch myself. I'd wake up covered in jizz-stains because I wasn't taking care of things. That went on for many months. I didn't sleep with Becca again after the first time. Instead, I spent most of my time with Kenny. We'd get drunk and stupid. He's a talkative drunk. I've learned a lot about him that way.
We only became friends because I bummed a cigarette off of him near the end of freshmen year. Something about him drew me in and we just continued to hang around each other.
The first time I saw the perverted side of him was when we were drunk. It was a few weeks after I did it with Becca. Our friendship was still new. We were sitting close, watching some stupid horror movie in his bedroom. Halfway through the movie, Stuart came in and started screaming at Kenny, accusing him of drinking all the beer. Kenny had a boner. I don't fucking know why he got hard from being yelled at, but he did and it freaked me out. I was worried he was going to ask me to touch it or something because he knew I was staring, but he didn't.
When the movie was over I went home. Kenny apologized to me the following day. He asked me not to tell anyone and then called himself twisted. I just said it was fine and that I'd keep it a secret.
The first time we slept together was a mere few days after that incident. It was a mess. I don't know what made me ask for it, but I did. We were watching a movie in his room again and I turned to him and asked if he wanted to do it. I thought it might make me feel better since doing it with Becca didn't. It was a fucking stupid, desperate idea.
Naturally, Kenny was up for it. He muttered compliments the entire time and for some reason it just made me feel dirtier. I couldn't get off. I just kind of lied there, feeling paralyzed. There were about a million thoughts running through my head and I was trying to compartmentalize them. I was trying to sort them out and put them into tidy boxes, back where they were supposed to go. Kenny kept asking me if I was okay. I'd just say, "Mhm," in the weakest, meekest tone. I wasn't looking at him. I was looking at nothing in particular. Nothing about my surroundings was registering.
Kenny didn't finish inside of me. He pulled out and finished in the bathroom, giving me a moment alone. I think he knew I wasn't okay.
When it was over, I realized that I was clenching my fists so tightly there were bloody crescent moon shapes in my palms. "Are you okay?" Kenny asked yet again. I insisted I was, but he knew better. "No, you're not," he said, "but I won't pry… just talk to me if you're ready."
He never brings up that memory. I think I'd die a little on the inside if he did because I know I was a horrible fuck. I don't know why he still wanted to sleep with me again after that.
I didn't think I'd ever be okay because my uncle fucking ruined sex for me. Doing it with Becca sucked and doing it with Kenny sucked even worse… I hated it, yet I still kept doing it with the both of them. I don't know why. I guess it sounds messed up. Maybe I wanted to prove something to myself. Maybe I didn't want to let him get the best of me. It's bullshit though, because I kept making it all about him when it should have been about me and while one part of me likes sex, another part of me still fucking hates it and probably always will.
I eventually went back to Becca after the first time, asking for a do-over. After that, she told me she liked me. I told her I liked her, too. Kenny wanted me to choose him, but I chose Becca. Still, he stuck by my side.
"You're spacing out," Kenny says, waving a hand in front of my face and bringing me back to the present. "What are you thinking about?"
"Uh, nothing," I respond, finally joining him on the bed.
Out of the blue, he puts his arms around me and then pulls me down with him. I let it happen, lying with him quietly until he has to leave for work.
Around midnight, Becca comes over. She just finished her shift. Kenny is already back from work by now, too. I can hear him and his friends all the way from my bedroom. Still, I'm trying to drown them out.
"Do you have any stuff?" Becca asks, crawling onto my bed.
"Yeah," I tell her. "Wanna do it now?"
"In a few minutes," she says. "Um… we can talk first if you want?"
I refrain from scoffing at her. "What about?"
"I said some shitty things earlier," she starts. "I was getting impatient and making you feel bad over something pretty serious. I shouldn't try and tell you how to deal with it. Anyway, I'm sorry."
"You already apologized," I point out. "So did I. It's of the past, okay?"
"Okay," she relents quietly, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.
"But why weren't you surprised when I told you what my uncle did to me?" I ask, eying her.
"Um, well… I didn't want to go assuming shit, but there were times I kinda wondered if something fucked up happened to you as a kid," she admits. "I mean… you got kind of weird about nudity for a while. I was kind of used to seeing you naked and I remember walking in on you when we were fourteen and you freaked out and told me to knock. I thought it was weird and then the following week you asked to sleep with me… which was even weirder. You went soft and I felt like I wasn't pretty enough or something." She pauses, letting out a sheepish laugh. "Plus… you have those dreams once in a while."
"Mm…" I mumble.
Right. Nightmares, I guess. Sometimes they're not even dreams about my uncle, they're just dreams of me running or getting trapped or seeing people die... whatever. Cliché shit. Becca says I mumble in my sleep a lot and so she ends up shaking me awake.
"How do you feel right now?" she asks.
"I'm not sure," I admit. "I wish I knew, but I don't."
"That's fine," she says. "You don't need to label everything, I suppose."
"I prefer to," I point out flatly. "I need labels, Becca. If I don't label the things around me, I won't know what the fucking hell is going on and it'll frustrate me. I need to label myself to remind myself of who the fuck I am."
Yet I still can't come out and admit I like men.
I can feel my temper rising. I move towards my nightstand and open the first drawer, pulling out a metal box.
"Craig –" Becca says my name.
"Sh, no more talking," I cut her off, sitting down next to her and opening the box. Inside is a plethora of drug paraphernalia – alcohol swabs, spoons, syringes and of course the most important part: the drug itself.
I take out the spoon, getting the drug ready.
"Here," I murmur, handing her the syringe. "There's a glass of water on my desk."
She nods, taking it. A moment later, she hands it back to me. I squirt the water over the powder on the spoon and then set it aside before grabbing my lighter. Using one of the cotton swabs as a filter, I draw the dissolved drug in through the syringe.
"Okay, here we go," I murmur
And this is what we do. There's not much else in a shit-hole town like South Park. Kenny has some of his friends over. They're all local loadies. There's a cooler of jungle juice in the kitchen. They already inhaled the brownies. Weed and liquor doesn't mix. Kenny is probably going to black out.
Me and Becca stay in my room for the night, pretending we're different from them when in reality we're probably worse. What we do is worse. What we do is a lot more dangerous and potentially fatal.
The first time I did heroin was when I was eighteen. I did it with Jason because we were both curious. He didn't like it, but I did. Still, I managed to keep myself away from it until last month. I asked Jason where I could get some and he introduced me to a guy. So, I bought some of what he was selling. I did it with Becca and I fucking hate myself for introducing her to this shit. I'm a bad person for it because she likes it as much as I do, sometimes even more.
It's weird when your own body is used against you. Usually you can try to escape the things that hurt you, but you can't really run away from your own body, so you try to numb it instead by hurting yourself.
Maybe that's why I do it and maybe I dragged Becca into it because I didn't want to do it alone. I'm so fucking scared of being alone, yet I'm constantly pushing people away and I never let anyone in. It seems counterproductive. I don't give anything, yet I take and I take and I take. Sometimes I find it so hard to relate to other people, to empathize, to remember that other people have feelings and it's not just about mine. I feel guilty because I feel like I use people - people like Kenny and Becca. Maybe all it boils down to is that I fucking hate myself and I'm in too much pain to think about anything other than me, me, me.
Becca ties the belt around her arm and allows me to do the rest. She closes her eyes as the needle slides in. "Good?" I ask.
"Mm…" she moans, lying down.
She threw up the first time we did it. Then again, I threw up my first time, too. Jason didn't, though.
I take the belt from her and tie it around my own arm, clenching it in my teeth as I ready a second needle.
We always try to be careful, but it's kind of pointless because what we're doing is still so fucking stupid. I'm probably going to die from this and I've come to terms with that, the only thing I regret is taking her with me.
I stare down at the crook of my elbow, positioning the needle. I let out a long, content sigh. I put the needle back on my nightstand and toss the belt on the floor before lying down with Becca. She puts her arms around me and starts playing with my hair.
It's quiet. We're quiet.
Later in the night, I find myself waking up. I guess if fell asleep. The lights in my room are still on. I sit up and glance at the clock. It's 5AM. The start of a new day. I can hear sounds coming from outside my bedroom door. I get out of bed and turn off the lights, darkening the room. I tip toe out into the hallway just in time to see one of Kenny's friends leave. I watch at the top of the staircase until he's gone and then I make my way downstairs. I turn into the living room and Kenny is alone – alone and naked.
So, that's what they were doing…
"Hey, Craig," he says carelessly, picking his clothing up from the carpet.
Funny. I was trying to make Kenny the jealous one earlier, but now I'm the one that feels jealous.
"What the hell?" I ask him, but he doesn't respond. He just smiles sheepishly. "Did you fuck everyone that was here tonight?" I bite out.
"No, not that it matters," he says calmly. "You're the one hiding away in your bedroom putting chemicals into your damn veins. I don't tell you how to live your life, Craig. Don't sound so disgusted. I had sex with one guy. I'm allowed to, you know."
I keep my mouth shut. I feel like I'm going to fucking implode.
He moves into the kitchen, holding his clothes under his arm as he gets a class of water. He sips slowly and all I do is watch him.
"Are you jealous?" he asks me, setting his clothes on the table. He's frowning. "You can admit it. I know it's not because you want to be with me. It's just because you're possessive. You feel like I'll leave you if I'm with other people the way I'm with you." He pauses and then says, "We can do it if you want." He moves in front of me so we're standing face-to-face. He stares at me for a moment before slipping a hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants and reaching for my dick. He jerks me off and I literally feel myself go hard in his hand.
"Becca is upstairs," I point out flatly, staring at him with what hopefully looks like a dull expression.
He shrugs his shoulders. "Who cares? You want to do it, so let's just do it. She's not going to wake up." He turns around and says, "You can fuck me. I'm already prepared and stretched out."
Great, just what I want to hear… Nonetheless, I move forward, pressing him against the counter. He's still pretty wet and kind of loose – a lot looser than I am after a fuck. I stick three fingers in at once, shoving them in as deep as I can.
He shudders, leaning over the counter and letting out a shaky breath. "That feels good…" he murmurs, lifting one of his legs onto the counter. He squirms, tightening his grip on the edge.
I pull out my fingers gingerly, positioning myself behind him and pushing my pants below my hips. I slide in easily. The guy who was fucking him before me probably had a really massive dong.
Halfway through I can feel the remaining lube drying up, but I don't stop. I wonder if I'm hurting him. If I am, he doesn't say anything. He just chokes out these little, breathy moans. It almost sounds like he's sobbing, but I don't stop.
It takes me a long time. I'm going to blame it on the drugs. By the time I manage to cum, his ass feels pretty dry. I pull out gingerly and I hike my pants back up, not bothering to wipe my dick off. I watch as he moves to the table, picking his shirt and putting it on. He does so slowly, like his limbs ache.
"You don't want me to get you off?"
He gestures to his limp dick. "My refraction period is, like, really long and the liquor doesn't help. I'll be out of commission for at least a few hours." He lazily wipes himself off with a paper towel. Pressing it against his backside, he says, "Damn, it's still coming out…"
"Did it hurt?" I ask.
"It felt good," he responds before smiling slightly. "Why? Did you want it to hurt me?"
"No," I tell him and it's true. I'm mad, but I don't want to hurt him. I know I'd regret it. I hate hurting people… yet it's something I always seem to do.
"Either way, sometimes it's fun when it hurts a bit," he confesses, finally disposing of the paper towel and putting the rest of his clothes on. "And you know me... I can be a bit of a masochist sometimes."
"That's messed up," I tell him. "You have weird kinks."
"Yeah, vanilla is boring," he adds.
"Whatever you say," I mutter, but I can't find it in me to agree. I like to keep things as vanilla as possible. I'm not like Kenny. Sometimes he brings home the gnarliest looking men and he lets them touch him and he calls them Daddy as they do it. I hate hearing that. It just makes me feel bad for him. He doesn't do it often. I think a particular mood has to strike for him to be up for it. He doesn't think it's as weird as I do.
"It's amazing that you can still get an erection," Kenny says out of the blue.
"I'm not a junky," I point out.
"You will be," Kenny responds. He's not smirking anymore. Instead, he just looks kind of sad – sad for me.
"How do you know?" I ask him.
"I know lots of things," he says vaguely. "Besides… you know it, too. Heroin doesn't just kill your dick. It'll kill you, too, if you keep this up."
Sometimes I wonder if Kenny is just joking around when he pretends to know everything in the world. Then again, maybe he's not.
"My heart fucking hurts when I think about you," he confesses. "It's not because you don't love me back. It's just because you're gonna put yourself through so much shit and I think you deserve more than you give yourself."
"Love?" I question.
"Yeah," he murmurs thoughtfully, leaning against the counter. "I've been thinking about it a lot and I guess I love you."
"Oh, wow," I state.
"You don't have to say anything," he says with a shrug. "I mean, I know you have a girlfriend and you love her, not me… It's fine. I just thought I'd let you know because you deserve to know."
"Is it really okay for us to sleep together if you feel like that?" I ask.
He smiles. "It's not okay, period, Craig. You have a girlfriend. You're cheating on her with me. You've been cheating on her for years – since you guys started dating. I won't pretend to get it… but nothing about this situation is right. It's all wrong. So, who cares?"
"I guess so," I relent.
"Do you feel guilt?" he pries. "Do you ever feel crippling amounts of regret when you're with her because there are times that you're also with me?"
"I guess so," I say again.
Honestly, I feel bad for the both of them. I keep Kenny on a string. I keep Becca on a string, too. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if Kenny will move on. I don't know if Becca will ever find out. I don't know if she'd hate me for it or if she'd forgive me. Somehow, I think she'd forgive me and maybe that's why I'm so quick to cheat.
Silently, the two of us walk back upstairs. When we reach the top, he pauses. "I need to shower," he murmurs. "I'm pretty sure I got a lot of dried cum caked all over my ass and thighs."
"Classy," I snort and he just chortles before walking into the bathroom.
When I turn into my room, Becca is awake but she only looks like she's partially aware. "Hey," I greet her, glancing at the clock. I was down there for a half an hour. I wonder how long she's been awake. "Did you just wake up?"
"Yeah," she says, holding out her arms. I join her on the bed and she wraps her arms around me, lying down and dragging me with her. "You smell strange," she notices.
"Like what?" I ask.
"I'm not sure," she murmurs, "but you don't smell like you normally do. What were you doing?"
"I was downstairs with Kenny and his friends for a bit," I say. Somewhat of a lie.
"You hate his friends," she points out.
"I know, but I didn't feel like going back to sleep," I tell her. "I felt a bit clammy."
"Oh," she says, seeming satisfied with that much.
"It's fine now, so let's go back to bed," I tell her, rolling off of her so we're lying side by side. She shifts closer so our shoulders are touching. "I love you," I say out of the blue.
She shifts even closer and kisses my jaw. "I love you, too," she says, lying against my chest. Her weight is warm.
For a few minutes I stare into the dimness of the room, not looking at anything in particular. There's a knot in my gut. I feel heavy. I feel sick. I'm smothering her.