South Park © Matt & Trey.
I've never written Craig so mature and cool before LOL. I like writing him acting like a little butt-hole more, but I wanted to try something new.
Kenny's POV.
1.
I got dumped. After years of partying in exciting cities, staying in five star hotels, gambling in extravagant casinos and shopping in high end malls… I'm back in South Park. Alone. Kyle moved to Los Vegas to play blackjack. He's good at it, but the secret is that he counts cards. He parades as a modest nurse and then night comes and he's a high roller raking in serious money. I guess he liked the money more than he liked me and when it came down to it, there wasn't room for both in his busy, little life.
It happened months ago, but right now I'm sitting in my apartment with Craig watching 21 on Netflix and all the memories come flooding back.
"It isn't as stressful as it is in the movies," I say. "I mean... I guess it can be, but not always."
"How do you know?" Craig wonders, glancing at me.
"I used to go to casinos with Kyle," I say. "I didn't play. I just kind of hung around as his arm candy and watched him. It was fun. We dressed up and drew a crowd as he upped his winnings. He counted cards like a pro. He has such a high tolerance for alcohol. He drank all night and pretended he was drunker than he actually was. He never slipped up."
"Do you miss him?" Craig asks.
It's no secret I was head over heels… but things change. "Yeah," I admit. "I was pretty in love… and the money was nice. I think he still has guilt about suddenly dumping me because he gave me a lot of money and helped me find an apartment afterward. Apart from that, every time he's back visiting South Park he takes me out."
"Well… that's nice," Craig says, sounding conflicted. One thing I learned about Craig since becoming his friend is that he's incredibly opinionated. He's also very moral. Funny, right? He doesn't seem like the type to care about much of anything, but he is. He cares a lot. I can't help but see where he's coming from. It's dirty money, but it's money nonetheless. If you think about it, most money is dirty money.
As a child, I was poor as hell. Everyone knows it. I didn't want to grow up to be a poor man. Now here I am. I wouldn't say I'm wealthy, but I'm well off. I have a modest job in a call center. It's easy and it's routine. I'm extroverted. I'm a people person, so I don't mind it.
This is how I became friends with Craig. I got the job two months ago and he's the one that trained me. He's been working there since we graduated high school. I feel like that suits him – a boring job for a guy who likes to keep things as simple as possible. He never showed any interest in the more exciting things in life.
I was different. I liked the thrill of adventure. In fact, I starved for it. Why? I don't know. I've always been hungry for attention and it often came with adventure.
As Kyle's arm candy, I met so many interesting people during the past couple years – whether it was at casinos, clubs or hotel social events. No regrets.
All good things come to an end, don't they?
"I want to make the move permanent."
That's what Kyle said. Suddenly, this wasn't just a long vacation. Suddenly, everything changed. I knew what would follow. This was Kyle's way of telling me I wasn't welcome in his new life. Naturally, I started crying. Kyle looked guilty. I slapped him. He looked guiltier.
He's not gone from my life, he's just in it a lot less. I see him when he visits. Sometimes we still sleep together because I'm so damn weak in the knees around him. I'll feel angry until he's in front of me again and then all I want is to be under him.
Maybe this is good for me. I like to be taken care of, but Kyle forced me to stand on my own two feet for the first time in my life. Now I can do it without tripping and without falling. I can do it without fear… but even so, I still want to be taken care of. I like to feel wanted. I like the possessiveness that comes with having a man in my life.
Kyle was perfect. Our minds were always in sync. When we went shopping, he'd keep his arm around me. When we went gambling he'd let me sit on his lap at the blackjack table. When we went clubbing, he'd hold me so close.
I miss that. I miss all of it.
But I suppose reality calls everyone back eventually. Me and Craig have been dancing around one another for the past little while, but he hasn't even tried to make a move. He's a bit of a gentleman – more so than Kyle was. I still find that surprising. I let Kyle fuck me before we even started to date. I'd let Craig fuck me, but I don't even know if he's interested in me like that or if he's just too nice. Sometimes I mix the signals up.
I hope he does like me, though. He's the kind of guy I fall for. He's tall and attractive. He has dimples when he smiles or laughs and his eyes get all squinty. It's a rare occurrence, but I let these occasions imprint in my mind.
He's a lot less polished than Kyle, but I find it refreshing. Kyle wears suits, cardigans, khakis. Craig wears flannel, t-shirts and jeans with holes in them. Kyle is anti-drug while Craig is a bit of a pot head. Kyle was always clean shaven. Craig picks up a razor once a week at best. I want to reach a hand forward and rub his stubble… but I won't. Sometimes he'll pat me on the shoulder, but that's the extent of our physical contact.
As the movie plays on, I inch closer. It's like I can't fucking help myself. I don't want to be his friend, I want to suck his dick… but still, I'll let him make the first move. If it's left to me, I can be too pushy. He knows I'm interested. I tend to make these things pretty clear. Plus, I think the way I'm staring at him right now is an obvious enough hint.
"Hey," Craig murmurs offhandedly, tearing me away from my thoughts. "I had a dream about you last night."
"Yeah?" I ask, interest peaked. "What happened?"
"I fucked you," he admits.
I press my lips together and try to suppress a smile, but I can't help it. "I like that," I admit.
"Do you?" he wonders.
"Yeah," I say. "I like when guys dream about me."
"Even when they're dreams like this?"
"Especially when they're dreams like this," I say with a wink.
Maybe he's only telling me because he's baked. Maybe he would keep all of these thoughts to himself if he wasn't.
"I felt guilty for dreaming about you like that," he admits. "It's like… I got off to it. You didn't consent to that."
I can't help but laugh. "God, Craig… you really are a nice guy, aren't you? It's fine. I don't mind. It's not like you can help what your mind and body does when you're unconscious."
He nudges my arm. "Don't laugh at me."
I just smile. "It's all in good humor. Don't worry. I think it's cute."
2.
When Kyle returns, I don't tell him about Craig. I planned to, but when I try the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, we go about things normally. He takes me out to dinner and we return to my place to have sex. The entire time, I can't help but think about Craig. I know we're not together and I don't know what he was trying to tell me by telling me about the dream he had, but I still feel a little bit guilty. I shouldn't be tip toeing around Kyle like this. I should put an end to it and do it with a sense of finality… but it's harder than it seems. I always get swoony around him because he was my first real romance. What can I say? I'm a sucker for firsts.
"Are you okay?" Kyle asks when he's balls deep. He's staring down at me and there's concern in his eyes, like he's worried he did something wrong. Well, he hasn't done anything right lately… but neither have I. Still, that's not what this is about.
"Yeah," I lie, staring up at him. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just missed you is all."
Naturally, he doesn't say it back.
I link my arms around his neck and let myself space out, getting lost in the sensation of it all.
I wasn't lying when I said I missed him. Until our breakup, Kyle has been a constant presence in my life. We've been friends since we were babies because our fathers were friends. I've seen him almost every day of my life. Now it's different because he's always away. Maybe I don't know how to separate the romantic aspect from our friendship. Is it even possible at this point?
I really shouldn't be sleeping with him. I'll feel like shit in the morning and I'll want to die. I'm supposed to be moving on, but Kyle makes it so god damn hard. I can't blame this all on him, though. I'm the weak one.
3.
Kyle never stays in South Park for long. When he's gone, I force myself to forget about him. Once again, my mind is full of Craig.
After work, we go to the bar. I overindulge and Craig takes me to his apartment since it's closer than mine. I half expect him to make a move because I'm cynical and bitter, but he still doesn't. He really is a nice guy. He helps me walk and sits me down on his sofa before getting me a glass of water. I sip it slowly and survey the area. This is my first time being in Craig's house. It suits him. It's modest and nice, in a simplistic sort of way. There aren't many decorations or paintings on the walls. It's quite different than my own apartment. My walls are full of photographs and I have a lot of potted plants. I have books off their shelves and nothing is in its rightful place. Craig's home is tidy. Everything is in its place. I feel like I might make a mess of it in my current sloppy state.
When I'm finished the glass of water I stand up and begin wandering throughout the place. My vision is shaky and I doubt I'm walking straight, but Craig doesn't tell me to sit back down. He simply follows me around without a word.
Soon, I reach the bedroom. It's less lifeless than other parts of the house. There's a desk in the room. With it sits a computer and lots of papers and some framed photographs of him with his friends and family.
"It's a bit messy…" he says.
"Hardly," I snort, flopping onto his bed. It's big.
"You're lucky it's the weekend," he adds, sitting next to where I am lying. "You'll probably be hung over in the morning."
"Probably," I agree.
The call center isn't open on Saturday or Sunday. It's part of why I took the job so willfully. I wasn't used to working. I was just used to school and the 9-5 schedule was something I found a little more familiar.
"You can have my bed," he offers. "I'll take the sofa."
I roll my eyes at that. I half expected him to say it. "I'm not taking your bed. We can share."
And we do. He lets me borrow sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in. They smell piney – like Craig. I like that smell.
I flop back onto his mattress and make myself comfortable while he undresses. I watch him. I watch the muscles on his back move. He is relatively slender, but he's still pretty fit. I really want to touch him. He's so hot I'd probably pay to suck his dick.
A second later, the lights are off and it's dark. I feel the bed indent as Craig slips in next to me.
"I've been wanting to ask you something," he starts, "but every time I think I've gathered the courage I hesitate."
"What?" I ask, feeling a little giddy and anxious at the same time.
"If you remember, remind me tomorrow," he says. "That way I can't brush it off. I want to ask you when you're sober."
"Well, I'm nearly sober," I try to reason.
He chuckles at that but nevertheless insists, "Tomorrow."
I relent. I already know what he's going to say. I have a feeling he's been wanting to say it for a while. I could easily have made that first move. I'm hardly shy… but does it make me whiny if I say I want him to be the one to say it first? Because I do. I want Craig to tell me that he wants to be with me. I want to feel wanted again. Fuck it. I guess it does make me whiny, but I don't care.
4.
When tomorrow comes, Craig tells me he likes me. He's hovering in the center of his room holding two cups of coffee. I'm still lying in his bed, feeling ill but pretending I'm not. Nonetheless, a split second after he says it, I roll over and proceed to throw up all over his duvet.
His jaw drops and all he does is stare, which makes me wanna fucking die. So, I do the only thing I can think of doing. I wipe my mouth and start crying.
I really fucking fucked this up. He's so nice and I fucked it up.
I hear him sigh. He moves closer and sets the coffee cups down on the nightstand before helping me out of the bed. He doesn't talk. He just leads me across the hallway and into the bathroom, turning the shower taps on.
I strip obediently, feeling like the worst white trash in the world.
Craig averts his eyes politely, still playing the part of the nice guy. Guess he wouldn't wanna touch me like this.
I slip into the shower before the water even gets hot enough. I don't want to look at Craig right now.
Why can't I have my shit together like he does?
Soon enough, he'll realize he can't be with a guy like me.
I sink to the floor and let the water rinse over me for a while. I don't know how long I'm sitting here, but soon a hand reaches in and turns the taps on.
Craig.
With a sigh, I stand up and pull back the curtains. He averts his eyes again, holding out a towel.
"Don't be embarrassed," he says to me. "It's fine. We all have bad days."
"Tell me about some of yours, then," I propose, drying off and wrapping the towel around myself. "Tell me something embarrassing."
"Okay." He smiles faintly. "Well, I hate heights," he starts. "I fucking hate heights so much. The summer after high school graduation, I went on a road trip to Canada with Clyde, Token, Jason, Bebe, Nicole and Rebecca. Our destination was Quebec since the drinking age is lower there, but we stopped off in Ontario. We took Clyde's van and drove for a day straight, taking turns at the wheel. We went to Wonderland – the big amusement park there. Clyde forced me to go on the Behemoth with him and I peed a little when we reached the top and puked as soon as we got off the ride. I'm not even kidding. I dumped my guts out on the nearest patch of grass in front of probably like a hundred people."
I let out a little laugh. "Oh… wow…"
He chuckles. "I hate amusement parks almost as much as I hate heights. I always have and now I hate them even more. I volunteered to stay at the hotel, but they all insisted I'd be missing out on a good time. Ha. Good time, my ass." He pauses and shrugs. "They still rip on me for it but agreed not to mention the details ever again because it's pretty fucking embarrassing. It's justifiable, though. People lose control of the downstairs when they're scared."
I nod my head, stifling a smile. "That IS pretty embarrassing, Craig… but thanks for telling me. I feel better."
"I'm glad," he says sincerely.
"Sorry for puking in your bed," I add.
"S'okay," he insists. "I'll do laundry in a bit."
We walk back into his room and he gives me some more clothing to wear. They're his, of course, so they're once again kind of big on me, but I don't mind. I like the smell.
Craig picks up the coffee cups. "They're warm still," he says, handing me one.
I force a smile and take it. "Thanks… really."
"Sure," he says carelessly. "Y'know, this doesn't change what I said to you before you got sick."
"You're so nice," I tell him in a murmur, taking a sip on my coffee. It's sweet. He drinks his black, but he knows I hate black coffee. He must've sweetened it for me.
"Well, so are you," he says.
"No, I'm not," I mutter. Confession time. "I'm… I'm still sleeping with Kyle. Every time he comes back here, I let him fuck me because I'm shameless."
Craig stares at me and then he looks away. For a while, he's quiet and contemplative. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if it's anything bad.
"I don't like that," he murmurs, "but I'm not shocked."
"Because I'm slutty?" I venture.
He gives me a look. "Because you loved him."
"Yeah," I whisper.
"I suppose now you just need to figure out if you still love him," Craig says simply. "If not, then I'd like to take you out. If you do, then I'll leave you alone and we'll stop whatever the hell we've been doing for the past couple months."
"Okay," I say softly.
5.
Me and Craig still hang out. He said he'd give me time away if I wanted it, but I didn't. So, we haven't talked about the nature of our relationship changing since he confessed his feelings for me… but that doesn't mean things haven't changed.
Things changed when he confessed. Things changed even more when he kissed me for the first time. For once, we were both sober. I think that's why he did it. Then he'd be able to tell if I liked it or not… and I did. I liked it. I like him. I just need to figure out if that's enough. Things have been progressing slowly, in a more physical sense. Maybe this is the natural way of things.
Right now, we're on the bus back to South Park. We spent the day in Denver.
It's dark and the bus is pretty empty. We're seated in the back when I decide to reach for the buttons on his jeans. He gives me a look and stops me. "No… wait," he murmurs.
I pause and raise an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"Someone is watching us," he whispers to me.
I turn around and laugh at the sight. "Good for him." Craig gives me and incredulous look and all I can do is say, "Aw, don't tell me you're shy?"
"I'm not an exhibitionist," he corrects. "I don't get off performing for voyeurs in buses."
"Vanilla is boring," I add my own two cents.
He stares at me for a moment before rolling his eyes. "All right, go for it," he relents, gesturing to his groin.
So, I get him off on the bus and he tries not to make a sound, but the flushed look on his face says more than enough.
When he cums, he tucks himself back into his pants and I lick the mess off my hand before leaning forward and kissing him. I make him swallow his own semen because I'm kinky like that and soon enough, our bus stop arrives. Craig pushes the button and we hop off.
"I can't believe I let you do that," Craig admits.
I let out a laugh. "Live a little, Craig. You're uptight. I help you wind down."
He smiles faintly. "Then maybe you're good for me."
6.
The next time Kyle returns, I have sex with him again and it makes me hate myself because I know I shouldn't be doing it.
"What's wrong?" he asks when it's over.
We're lying side by side in his hotel bed. Five stars, so I'm not scared to get under the covers.
"I… I just…" I start, trailing off when I don't know where to take my sentence.
"You don't want to do it anymore," he says knowingly.
"Yeah," I whisper.
"You know, it wasn't the same," Kyle murmurs out of the blue. "It wasn't the same without you."
I can't help but laugh. "Of course not. I could have told you that… but even if I did, you wouldn't have listened. You're hard-headed. You focus too much. It's like you get obsessed and when you get obsessed, there isn't time for other things in your life. That's how you were with blackjack."
Kyle smiles faintly. "I guess you always learn the most important lessons too late."
"I'm sorry," I offer.
"You have no reason to be," he says. "I'm the one who took advantage of you. I just… I always thought you'd be here, y'know? And that I could always come back to you…"
"That's stupid," I say softly.
"Yeah," he agrees with a bitter laugh. "I guess I was being selfish."
7.
I tell Craig I did it with Kyle again before finally breaking things off. He looks disappointed. "Why'd you have to do that, then?" he asks. "You slept with him knowing you were going to put a stop to it…?"
"Because I have no self-respect," I tell him, trying to make it sound like a joke.
He shakes his head at me, scoffing. "You always do that… You joke about things that aren't fucking funny. Why?"
"It's easier," I admit in a murmur.
"On who?" he asks bitterly.
"Everyone," I say.
If I lie to other people, it makes it easier to lie to myself. If I lie to other people, then they don't pity me. They don't feel like they have to take care of me. They don't feel like I'm burdensome… even though I am.
I don't want people to feel like they NEED to take care of me. I want them simply to want to.
8.
Craig ultimately ends up forgiving me. I guess he's the one who ended up needing time. I can't really blame him for that. I'm the one who screwed the pooch.
Today, he calls me over. Now we're sitting in his kitchen. I guess it's time to talk some more. We talk a lot lately - mostly about me and my self-esteem problem. Today, however, is different. Today, we talk a little bit about him.
"You're so nice…" I mumble.
"You always say that," he points out.
"Because it's true."
"I wasn't always… nice," he reveals. "I used to be a real piece of work. I know we weren't really friends in high school, but you probably heard stories."
"I heard rumours, not stories," I tell him.
He shrugs. "Same shit. Rumours about me were probably based on stories."
"I just remember that you were never in class," I murmur.
"I'm dyslexic…" Craig points out. "But at that point, I didn't know. I was doing SHIT in school and that was why I never went. I had a hard time reading and writing. It made me upset because I thought something was wrong with me."
"Oh," I say softly.
He wrinkles his nose. "I got in a lot of fights."
I smile bleakly, recalling when me and my friends manipulated him into fighting with Tweek Tweak. Maybe that started Craig's career in toughin' it out in the school yard. Then again, maybe not. He ended up dating Tweek, after all.
"What changed?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "My diagnosis, I guess. Everyone just thought I was kind of stupid. Even I thought I was kind of stupid. Then I realized I wasn't stupid… I just have a disability. So, I got help with it. Then I decided to change my behaviour and be the person I wanted to be instead of being the person everyone thought I was. You could do it, too, you know. You could be the person you want to be."
"Oh," I murmur.
"I personally don't find sex outside of relationships gratifying, but I pushed that aside for you," he continues, "because I saw potential in you. I'm not trying to sound pretentious or holier-than-thou when I say that, it's just how I feel... and I'm not looking down on you, either. I thought that… I don't know. I thought that we'd somehow end up together and the rest wouldn't matter…"
"We still can…" I say somewhat pleadingly.
"I think I got possessive," he admits suddenly, "and perhaps that's why I got upset."
"I LIKE possessive guys, Craig," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I tell him.
9.
And so I finally let him take me out on a date.
It seems stupid. I always mess things up. It's like I try to sabotage myself… but I'm done doing that. I've got something good going for me and I don't intend to fuck it up anymore.
10.
It's a lazy Sunday morning. I get out of bed, letting the cool air greet my skin. I spent the night at Craig's. We've been dating a few weeks now and I feel good. Good about him, good about me, good about us.
I step towards the wall-length mirror hanging on Craig's closet door. I stare at myself in the mirror in all my naked glory. I'm blond, short, slim, tanned. Craig stands behind me and he's like my polar opposite – tall, fit, pale skin, black hair… then we've both got blue eyes.
"We look good together, don't we?" I say.
"Yes, we do," he agrees, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "No one's taking you away from me," he says possessively.
I smile at that. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
And that's exactly how I like it.
Craig is a good apple. I'm glad I picked him. I'm glad he picked me, too, even though I'm a little bit sour. He doesn't seem to mind.
Fin.