South Park © Matt & Trey.
This was certainly not inspired by the episode ahaha… hahah…. Why do I continue to torture Kenny? Send help. Kenny as a sex worker is my favourite thing.
Broken sundown fatherless showdown
Gun hip swollen lip bottle sip, yeah I suck dick
Loose grip on gravity falls sky blinding crumbling walls
River sweep away my memories of
Children's things, a young mother's love
Before the yearning song of flesh on flesh
Young hearts burst open, wounds bleed fresh
A young brother skinny and tall my older walks, oceanward and somber
Cocorosie
1.
Summer sucks.
Summer has always sucked.
When we were kids, we complained about the warm weather… Now, the weather is the last thing that's on my mind. Now I know that summer means returning to South Park and returning to South Park means dragging up old memories.
I'm not Eric Cartman, so I can't remain indifferent. I'm not Stan Marsh, so I can't feign ignorance. I'm Kyle Broflovski, and I always care too much for my own damn good.
I guess the past truly is unavoidable.
Now that university is over, it's only a matter of time before I'm knee deep in the shit South Park likes to hand its citizens. I can't keep running away from this place.
I hate it.
I hate being here.
I hate this fucking town and all the hellish crap it forces me to think about, number one being Kenny McCormick.
Kenny McCormick makes me so fucking miserable.
I don't see him much these days, but when I do it always makes me feel like shit. It always makes me feel like I should have been a better friend and I should have tried a little harder. I think we all should have…
Kenny was always a little different than the rest of us. At first, I didn't think it was a bad thing. I always found an odd kind of comfort in spending time with him. He lacked the drama that seemed to follow Stan around, and he wasn't a complete sociopath like Cartman.
As children, we would often sit around the park in the summertime. Once day, Kenny pointed to a flock of butterflies, smiling, "Look!"
"So?" I asked.
"Can't you see them?"
"See what?" I raised an eyebrow, wondering if there was something I was missing.
"They're fairies," he whispered, winking at me.
I just chuckled, humouring him.
It's all I could do.
When we were young, he always made me feel a little lighter, though I'm sure spending time with him now would leave my heart feeling infinitely heavy.
Shit, sometimes I think I fucking loved him, though I try hard to pretend I didn't. I don't want those feelings coming back.
It would have been so damn easy to try and forget about him, to pretend he didn't exist, like Stan does, or just not give a shit, like Cartman… but I guess I'm different.
Last night I was on my way to Skeeter's bar, going to pick up a drunken Stan Marsh when I saw Kenny talking to Old Frida outside a nightclub. I hadn't seen him in years, but he looked the exact same. He still had this pretty-boy looks hidden beneath that scruffy exterior – messy hair and a bad fashion sense… Somehow, it worked for him.
Right away, I knew exactly what he was doing. I didn't have to piece anything together. I didn't even have to think about it because it all made horrible sense and it came together effortlessly in my mind. Kenny was hooking.
I tried not to let it get to me, but it is bothering me.
Before last night, I saw him through my car window again last summer. I tried damn hard not to think about it and I was overrun with guilt. I can't handle going through that again. I guess that sounds pretty damn selfish; however, I do want the best for him.
It started when we were in high school, but I never believed the rumors. I denied it for a long time, but everything that was being whispered through the hallways turned out to be true.
Kenny dropped out of school just before grade twelve. I remember Stan, Cartman and I all went to confront him about it. We tried to stage an intervention. We tried so damn hard to get him to change his mind, but he only got irritated. He told us we had no right to try convincing him how to live his life. I guess that was true, but it didn't stop us from trying. We wanted the best for him but told us we needed to accept his choices, no matter how much we disagreed with them.
In those moments, it was always so hard to realize that he was that same little boy who was talking about fairies, trying to make this boring world seem a little more interesting.
"I don't want your pity," he spat.
Nonetheless, he had it. He's always had it.
Eventually we gave up on him and we all grew away. We moved on and he stayed in the exact spot he's been for the past five years.
I'm twenty-two now and it's summer again. It's easy to forget about people when you don't have to see them, but when I saw Kenny he looked so run down. I can't exactly ignore a thing like that when it's right in my fucking face and fresh in the front of my mind. Not this time.
"God dammit," I mumble, getting in my car and driving down to where the bars are. I won't be able to stop thinking about it until I sort things out… Though I'm not exactly sure where I want this to lead.
I drive slow, glancing out the windows to try and spot that distantly familiar blond head of hair.
Instead, I spot Old Frida and park my car on the side of the road, getting out and approaching her.
"Ten dollars a lay," she rasps when she sees me, flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette.
I supress a grimace. "Er, no thanks," I begin, "Do you know Kenneth McCormick?"
"Who?" she asks, coughing into the back of her hand.
"He's a blond guy, about my age, good looking, average height," I explain. "He hangs around here." I choose my words carefully.
"Oh, that boy," she says, inhaling.
"You know him?"
"Of course I know him. I've known him for a long time," she exhales. "He just got picked up. He'll be back here soon enough."
I frown, taking a seat on a nearby bench.
"Hell, he's a popular one. He's the only kid around here who can show up in ratty sweatpants and still have people lined up to have him for an hour. You wanna take him for a ride, too?" she asks, snorting.
"No…" I murmur. "I went to school with him. We used to be friends."
"So whattaya want with 'im now?" she asks, tossing the cigarette butt onto the ground and stepping on it.
Dammit…
What do I want with him?
Do I even have a right to walk back into his life like this?
Probably not.
I let out an audible sigh, running my hands down my face. "I guess… I want to apologize to him," I say.
"Are you Stan?" she asks.
"No."
"Eric?"
"No."
"Then, you're Kyle."
"Yeah," I mumble.
"I vaguely remember you," she smiles forlornly.
"Yeah…" I repeat.
"He talks about you sometimes."
And hearing that makes me feel even worse…
"What does he say?" I ask.
"You should ask him yourself," she lets out a hoarse laugh, pointing behind me.
I turn around in time to see Kenny getting out of a car. I glance at the man in the driver's seat and cringe as Kenny smiles at him, pocketing bills. How horrible… to take advantage of a kid in need of money.
If I didn't know better, I'd never guess he was a prostitute. He just looks worn out.
His clothing doesn't scream, "I'm on the streets!" He just looks like a normal, tired kid. He still looks physically young, but you can tell he's seen a lot and that it's aged him in other ways.
He makes a strange face when he spots me and he looks like he's about to holler something, but he's approached by someone else.
I don't hear the conversation, but Kenny looks annoyed.
"What's going on?" I ask Frida.
"That man," she points to the stranger with a gaudy-nailed finger, "he's violent."
"Who is he?" I frown.
"He likes young men. That boy is his favourite."
"Kenny?"
She nods, lighting another cigarette and acting like nothing is out of the ordinary. Perhaps, for people like Frida and people like Kenny, this is a normal thing… Though that thought just makes me feel bad for them both.
I watch with morbid curiosity and as I move forward to put a stop to whatever is about to happen, Frida grabs the back of my shirt.
"What?" I hiss, turning around.
"You don't want to do that," she says, sucking on her cigarette some more.
"Why?"
"You'll get involved."
"So?"
"You don't want to do that," she says again, with more intent this time.
I hear Kenny raise his voice, and as I turn back around I see the man grab him roughly by the shoulder.
"Tsk," Frida clicks her tongue sympathetically. "What a sin. He gets rotten luck sometimes. The downs of being popular, I guess."
"Am I just supposed to sit back and watch this happen?" I ask tersely.
"Look, kid, obviously you don't know how things work around here," she deadpans. "You might think it'll be nice to play the hero, but you won't be playing the hero. You'll hit that man, and it'll make you feel like you did something good, but the next day your friend Kenny will have to deal with the consequence. He'll just get hurt again and worse this time because you intervened. It'll be better if you don't stick your head where it don't belong."
I grit my teeth together, glancing around the streets at all the people ignoring what's going on. No one is even trying to help him… I guess they know better than I do.
"Shit," I whisper as Kenny relents, getting into another car.
"Come back earlier tomorrow," Frida says. "You won't see him again tonight."
"Why not" I ask.
She doesn't answer.
I rub my temples as I walk back to my car.
Fuck.
2.
The following day I wake up around noon and go to Harbucks with Stan and Cartman.
"What've you fags been up to?" Cartman asks after we grab our drinks and take seats.
"Work mostly… and acting as Stan's designated driver," I say, shooting my best pal a look of humour.
I finished my degree, and I am now an accountant. Yeah, laugh it up. Cartman sure did a while back when he found out what I chose to study. What can I say? I'm good with numbers.
Stan studied the broad area of business and works in a local office building. Boring work, in my opinion, but who am I to talk? I'm the accountant.
Cartman, on the other hand, is a cop. I find that fucking hilarious and unsettling at the same time. He's the most stereotypical looking cop in the world. He's fat and he always has a fucking donut in his hand.
Stan just makes a face. "Sorry, dude."
"It's fine," I laugh. "You know I don't mind. I'd rather you call me than go home with a stranger."
"Heh… yeah…"
I wonder if I should tell them I saw Kenny last night… Probably not. Stan and Cartman like to pretend he doesn't exist anymore. I think he hurts Stan to think about him, and well… I don't know about Cartman.
"What's on your mind?" Stan asks.
"Nothin'," I shrug, taking a sip of my cappuccino.
"If you say so."
"Do you guys ever think about Kenny?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
Cartman makes a face, and Stan just looks down into his drink.
"Is he still alive?" Stan asks quietly.
"I don't know," I say, even though I do. "Probably…"
"He's alive," Cartman shrugs.
"You've seen him?" I ask.
"Not recently," he says. "Don't worry about him, though. He isn't going to die."
"Cartman," I frown, "How do you know that?"
"I just do."
"Whether or not that's true, sometimes there are things that can happen to a person that are far worse than death."
"Kenny's a smart guy, he won't get himself into shit he can't handle."
Hell, I never knew Cartman had so much faith in him… Too bad it's wasted faith.
"I hope so," is all I say, because I don't want to give anything away.
Kenny probably didn't want me to see him like that, he'd hate it if I went and told Stan and Cartman what I saw… I won't betray that unspoken level of trust.
I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand before taking another sip of my drink.
"Tired?" Stan asks.
"Mhm," I murmur.
"What did you do last night?" Cartman questions.
"Nothing really."
"You stick it to your girlfriend?"
"Dude," I say, "Bebe and I broke up last month. I told you that already."
"Oh, right," he snorts. "Homo."
"Shut up," I say tersely.
He just snickers. "I knew you were a fag, dude. It was just a matter of time before you stopped pretending you were straight."
"Shut up," I repeat. "Shit, you don't know when to shut the fuck up. You never have."
"I'm just being honest."
"There's such a thing as too much honesty, you know. If you don't have anything nice to say, just don't say anything."
"Oh, my God," he laughs in disbelief. "I literally just stated a fact, Kahl. Stop being so uptight."
I raise my eyebrow, choosing not to reply.
Stan sighs. "Stop fighting, guys. You aren't kids anymore."
"This is just the way we are, Stan," I say. "It's not going to change." I down the rest of my drink, checking the time on my phone. 4:37… "I've got to go," I say.
"Why?" Stan asks.
"Got a date?" Cartman snorts.
"Not exactly," I stand up.
"If it's sex stuff… I don't want to know," Stan wrinkles his nose immaturely.
"Dude, chill," I chuckle, "What happens in my bed stays in my bed."
I can hear Cartman laughing as I leave Harbucks.
I look up at the sky. It's blue, and oddly warm. It's still strange not seeing snow on the ground in South Park. It's probably something I'll never get used to no matter how many years go by.
3.
Since it's warm, I decide to walk down to where I know Kenny hangs around.
Right away, I spot Frida, but no Kenny.
"Hello again," she rasps.
"Hey," I hold up my hand, waving. "Kenny not here?"
"Not yet," she says.
"Will he be okay?" I ask, recalling last night.
She nods, "He'll be okay. He always is. He's made of steel, that boy."
"But it doesn't matter how strong someone is… Even the strongest can only handle so much before they start to fall apart," I tell her.
"Guess that's true," she lights a cigarette.
I lean against a building, playing around with my phone to pass the time and conversing mildly with Frida. This place isn't as lively when the sun is up. I guess that's probably a good thing. It means Kenny probably won't run into any trouble and I'll be able to approach him quietly.
I don't know how much time goes by, but it begins to dim. Frida's been picked up already and I'm sitting here alone and awkward until I hear a stony voice say –
"Hey."
I turn around and spot a familiar blond.
"Kyle Broflovski," Kenny says, and then lets out a little chuckle.
"Kenny," I nod, not understanding what's so damn funny.
"You got tall."
I just shrug. I guess it's true. I went through a series of intense growth spurts in my teen years.
He yawns and rubs his nose. "What're you doing here? This is where the scum of South Park loiters."
"Then why are you here?" I ask.
"Because I'm scum," he states, as if it should be obvious.
"No, you're not."
"Kind of."
"No, you're not," I sigh, angry that he thinks so poorly of himself.
"I think that the majority of the town would disagree with you," he laughs, and suddenly he looks like that smiling ten year old again. Sunny. So full of life. It's unsettling. It's like realizing how young we still are. In ways, we're still kids.
"I haven't seen you in years," he says somewhat offhandedly as he pulls out a cigarette.
"You shouldn't smoke those things," I gesture.
He laughs again as he lights it. "Kyle, it doesn't matter what I do."
I frown, wishing I knew what to say.
"So, what do you want from me?" he asks.
"I don't want anything from you," I frown. "I… well… I just want to tell you that I'm sorry."
"Why?" he asks, inhaling and exhaling in the direction the mild wind is blowing so it won't fly in our faces.
"None of us were around when you needed us to be."
He shrugs. "I never asked you to be around, and I'm not doing it now. You don't owe me anything."
"Kenny, don't be difficult."
"Kyle," he deadpans, "you need to go home right now. This isn't a place a guy like you should be hanging out. If anyone sees you, they'll think you're just like me."
"I don't care what other people think," I say.
"Neither do I."
"No… I don't think that's true," I tell him.
"Oh?" he laughs. Always fucking laughing.
"I think you're pretending you don't care," I say. "I think you've created this facetious persona for yourself, and you've been wearing it as a mask. You've been wearing the mask for so god-damn-mother-fucking long that you don't remember your true self anymore."
He gives me a strange look before chuckling to himself. "Kyle, you're funny… You're a really funny guy."
I let out a sigh, closing my eyes briefly. This isn't quite how I pictured things going.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Kyle," he says, "but I'm not sure what you came here looking for. My forgiveness? If that's so, you don't need it. You have no reason to say sorry. You did me no wrong. Yeah, you left… but I never asked you to stay."
He's changed a lot. He's so damn cold. Then again, I guess he has to be to keep himself sane.
"Don't worry about me, Kyle," he continues. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," I say somewhat harshly. "You're going to get yourself killed someday."
For a split second, he looks taken aback by my tone. "I can't die."
I roll my eyes. Not this bullshit story again. "Kenny…" I sigh.
"Just kidding," he laughs, looking miserable at the same time.
"Say, for a minute, that it was true and you were some kind of immortal… There are things worse than dying."
"I know," he says. "I've experienced it all."
I give him a piteous look.
"Tsk, come on, Kyle," he scowls. "I don't want pity… I don't want it."
"Too bad."
His eyebrows draw together. "Kyle… what do you want from me? Honestly…" He sounds so fucking tired… and he looks like he hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks.
"Come to my place tonight," I request.
His lips part and he lets out a bitter chuckle. "Okay, fine. I get it."
"Huh?"
"You wanna fuck me?" his voice sounds airy. "I never knew you were the type to rent whores."
"What? No! Tsk…" I click my tongue, wrapping my hand around his wrist and dragging him with me. "I thought you could use a friend."
"What about your girlfriend?" he asks, slumping behind me. "I heard you had one… Pretty, perfect, blond Bebe. I thought you lived together."
I murmur. "We did… but we broke up."
"Why?"
"Because of…" I pause, "personal differences."
"Are you back home now?"
"No, I have an apartment." I can't move back into that hell hole. I can't handle my parents. They're too overbearing. "What about you?" I ask. "Where are you living now?"
"Wherever," he says. "Sometimes with my parents, but usually I just crash at random places."
"People just let you do that?"
"Well, I mean… they don't just let me," makes a face. "For a price, but hey, it's better than nothing. Sometimes they feed me, too. Once in a blue moon, people can be nice around here."
"Kenny," I grimace. Fuck, I really hate that he has to live like that. He's too good for a life that treats him like shit.
"Come on, Kyle," he forces out a hollow laugh. "Not everyone has it easy like you and Stan and Eric. Some people need to get their hands a little dirty to make a living. My reputation sucked even before I dropped out of high school. I was never gonna make something of myself."
"I really do pity you," I say. "I know you don't want me to, but I can't help it. I pity you."
"Well, try not to," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself as we continue walking.
"I can't do that."
When we arrive to the apartment building, we silently walk to the second floor and down the hall until reaching my place. I dig my keys out of my pocket and undo the lock, allowing Kenny to step inside before I do. Once we're both in, I shut the door and take my shoes off. Kenny does the same, following me to the kitchen.
"Can I get you anything?" I ask.
"What do you have?"
"Hmmm…" I muse, opening the fridge. "Chocolate milk, regular milk, water..."
"Milk is fine," he says softly.
I pour him a glass and set it down in front of him. "I'll cook you supper tonight."
"Okay," he murmurs, giving me a somewhat suspicious look. "But why?" he asks. "What do you want in return?"
"Nothing, Kenny," I say, wishing he'd believe that, maybe, just this once, someone really wants to help him solely for the sake of making him happy. "What would you like to eat?"
"Anything is fine."
"All right," I tap my chin. "So… how about something simple? Spaghetti?"
"Sure," he says, taking a drink.
I begin to gather ingredients together when I hear stifled laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"I think it's interesting… that you cook," he says. "I'm the one who took Home Ec in elementary, junior and high school and I still can't cook for shit."
"Heh…" I chuckle. "I guess it takes practise, and some people just don't have the patience."
"I'll say," he agrees.
I begin to boil the pasta, while getting out another pot to make the sauce.
"Do you make it all from scratch?" he asks.
"Yeah. I can make most things from scratch."
"Wow. Master Chef Kyle Broflovski, color me impressed."
"Well, thanks," I snort.
We continue to talk about simple things – nothing heavy. I still have a lot of questions I'd like to ask, and a lot I'd like to say… but maybe I should save it for a little later.
Soon enough, dinner is finished cooking. I take out plates and serve him before serving myself.
"This is really good, Kyle," he says after taking a forkful.
"Glad you think so," I smile, sitting across from him.
"You sure this isn't a date?" he wiggles his eyebrows.
I force a chuckle.
"Just kidding," he sobers. "I've never been on a date."
"Really?" I ask, mildly surprised.
"Yeah," he shrugs. "People don't exactly take whores out on dates. It's not wine, dine and then a good fucking. It's just a fuck… though not necessarily a good one."
"Stop calling yourself that," I mumble with food in my mouth.
"When you're told something enough times, you don't easily forget it. It becomes some sort of personal truth."
"That's no excuse…"
He shakes his head at me, but doesn't say anything else on the subject. Once we're finished, he offers to help me do the dishes, but I tell him not to worry about it. There's only a few.
"What now?" Kenny asks as he watches me wash pots.
"Whatever you want," I tell him.
"Whatever?"
"Within reason, of course," I specify, having a feeling where this conversation may be heading.
"Kyle…?"
"Yeah?" I ask, rinsing my hands after finishing the last dish.
"Do you care about me?"
"Yeah," I say, drying my hands off.
"Why did you leave, then?" he asks weakly. "You all left…"
And I don't have an answer for him.
"That's why I'm sorry, Kenny," I sigh, turning around. "I'm sorry because I left, and I had no damn reason for it."
"I didn't ask you to stay…" he says. "I guess I should've." He bends over, holding his head in his hands.
I approach him and kneel in front of him. "You okay?"
He looks up. "I'm not gonna cry," he snorts.
"It's okay if you do."
He laughs, shaking his head at me. "You're a really nice guy, Kyle…"
I watch as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. I don't push him away, because I think the last thing he needs right now is rejection. When he draws back, I gently say, "Kenny… I don't think we should do that."
"Please," he sounds desperate.
"I don't want to hurt you," I whisper.
"You won't," he insists. "You care about me, right?"
"Exactly, Kenny…" I cup his face in my hands, "and that's why I don't think we should do that."
"I'm not diseased…"
"I know," I say, rubbing my thumbs over his cheeks. "I just don't want to take advantage of you."
"I want it…"
"But why?" I ask softly.
"I just… I just wanted to know what it would feel like," he pauses, "if I did it with someone who cared about me…"
"Kenny…"
"I'm not an idiot," he says shakily. "I see the way you look at me."
"That's irrelevant."
"No, it's not," he insists.
"Yeah, it is."
"It's not!" he repeats.
"Kenny," I say his name for what feels like the millionth time today.
"Kyle… This isn't going to hurt me."
I close my eyes for a moment.
"I can… I'll shower first," he offers.
Fuck, he's really making my heart ache. "Kenny, that's not the problem," I say softly.
"Then what is?" he asks.
"I…" I pause, taking a breath. "Do you want to know something I've never told anyone before and never dreamt of telling anyone?"
"What?"
"I loved you."
"What?" he asks weakly.
"I loved you," I repeat, "and it may sound selfish of me, but I think that's why it's killing me seeing you like this."
"Like what?" he whispers.
"You see the way I look at you, right? Similarly, I see the way you look at yourself…" I carefully say. "You hate yourself, but it's not your fault. You've been hurt too many times… it weighs a person down. You deserve better than this. Start doing the things you want to, not the things you feel you need to."
"Kyle, when you live life doing what you need to do to survive, people will look down on you even when you stop and begin to do the things you want to do," he wrinkles his nose. "I'll always have this reputation and there's nothing I can do to change that. People don't want to hire a whore. It's bad rep. I'd make any company look like trash."
"Kenny… don't call yourself a whore."
"It's the truth, though."
I let out a sigh. "Say rentboy, sex worker, escort… hell, even prostitute… But don't say whore. It's not a nice word and the connotation is horrible."
"There's negativity attached to all of those words, Kyle."
"I know, but whore… it just sounds so degrading and dirty."
"Well, shit, it's not exactly clean out there. You need to be careful. I've learned to be careful… so damn careful… but it's still hard sometimes. Sometimes you aren't really given a choice. I know you pity me, but you shouldn't. I don't want pity and I don't deserve it. You should save it for someone worth your thought and sympathy."
I frown at that. "Kenny, just by listening to you talk about yourself I can tell why you don't want me pity. You already pity yourself to an unimaginable extent, and shit, I don't blame you for it."
"Whatever," he snorts.
"Kenny, what happened last night after that guy dragged you off?" I ask.
"Nothing that doesn't happen all the damn time."
"What did he do?"
"What do you think?" he asks bitterly. "We fucked and he didn't even pay me."
"Sorry…"
He just shakes his head.
"Why do you let it happen?" I frown. "Can't you just stop going there and leave it at that?"
He snorts back a laugh. "I don't fucking know. I hate it, but every fucking night I find myself back in the same spot, knowing exactly what's going to happen and knowing exactly how shitty I'm going to feel after. It's fucked up, right? What kind of person hates themself that much?"
"Then stop."
"Easier said than done, you know… Even if I didn't go back, I'm sure I'd be tracked down. It's not worth the trouble. Besides, I'm so numb to it now. I've grown so used to it."
"Used to what? The abuse? That's not something you should have to get used to, Kenny…"
"Oh, well. What else do I have? Nothing." His eyes are glassy before he shuts them. "Hey, Kyle?"
"Hm?"
Do you still?" he asks in a wet voice.
"Do I what?"
"Do you still love me?"
"Sometimes I think I do," I admit, "but I try not to think about it because it makes me kinda sad."
"I make you sad," he states numbly, opening his teary eyes and refusing to look at me. "Sorry…"
"Don't," I say, putting a hand on his head. "Honestly, you have nothing to apologize over."
"I feel like I do," he mumbles, frantically wiping away each tear before they have the chance to fall.
"It's okay to cry."
"I hate crying," he says.
"Me too," I shrug, "but sometimes it feels good and you shouldn't be ashamed… so just let them fall, okay?"
His lower lips trembles slightly before he leans his forehead on my shoulder, hiding his face. I rub circles around his back as he begins to let out a string of cough-like sobs. I close my eyes. Fuck. I got myself into something… I don't know what… but I'm not going to regret whatever it is. Maybe now Kenny will come to me instead of causing himself further pain with yet another stranger… Hah. No. I know I'm being hopeful. That's not going to happen.
After he quiets down, we both silently move into my room. "You're a mess, you know that?" I ask, after we've settled on my bed.
"So I've been told."
I ruffle his blonde hair.
"Keep doing that," he mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning into me, "feels good…"
I chuckle, continuing to run my hands through his hair. He's probably been starved of simple affection like this.
"You know," he starts, eyes still closed, "when we were really young, people always told me I was such a good person… Selfless, altruistic, patient…"
"You are."
He laughs quietly. "I'm not, though. That's the funny thing."
"You are," I repeat.
"Okay," he smiles, but I can tell he's just saying it to shut me up. "Nonetheless… I find it funny."
"Why?"
"Because," he sighs, "I guess being nice gets you nowhere in life. Eric once told me that. I suppose he was right. In the end, we're all going to hell."
"Tsk… fuck that fat piece of shit," I say distastefully, causing Kenny to smile slightly. "Don't listen to a thing that comes out of his dumbass mouth."
"All right…"
"Good."
"Hey…"
"Hm?"
"You still talk to Stan and Eric?" he asks.
"Yeah. I saw them just this afternoon. We met at Harbucks."
"Really," he mumbles softly.
"Yeah."
"Sometimes I miss them… I miss you, too."
"I'm right here."
"Yeah," his voice cracks. "You were nice to me tonight," he says softly. "It is strange to be given genuine kindness… and to feel like I am genuinely cared about, even if it's only for one night."
"Kenny… it doesn't just have to be just one night… I'm not going anywhere ever again," I promise.
"Really?" he inches closer.
"Really."
He presses his lips to mine again, and this time, I kiss him back.
"Kyle," he murmurs after we break apart.
I know what he's asking. I don't want to take advantage of him… but if it will make him happy… if he truly wants this, then I won't think about it like that.
I sit up, leaning over and kissing him again. His mouth still tastes like pasta and his skin smells like an ashtray, but that's okay. I hook my arm around his back, pulling him into a sitting position on my lap.
"Mm…" he moans as we break apart.
"You're sure?" I ask before going any further.
"I'm sure."
I slide my hand up his shirt before tugging it off.
I try not to think about how I'll feel in the morning. I try not to think about where he'll be tomorrow night, and how this isn't going to change a damn thing. I try not to think about how he'll be out on the streets again when he leaves, letting yet another stranger touch his body.
Fuck… In the end, am I any different than them?
Once we're both undressed, he settles on his knees between my legs and grabs my cock.
"Kenny… you don't have to…"
"I want to," he says before trailing saliva up the shaft.
I shudder, suppressing a moan.
I've honestly never screwed around with a guy, unless you count the time me and Stan kissed. We were fourteen and we were dared to do it, so it hardly counts. That's really when I began to realize I wasn't walking the path of heterosexuality. I've spent years denying it. It was hard and it was unfair to every girl I dated.
Once I'm sufficiently hard, Kenny looks up at me again, "Condom?"
"Er, yeah…" I say, not wanting to cause him any discomfort. I reach into my nightstand to fetch one. After I roll it on, I grab lubricant and take care to make sure he's ready and comfortable. He lies back, spreading his legs apart and I don't understand how he's not embarrassed… even I'm a bit embarrassed. I guess he's done it enough times not to be.
"Shit," he moans as I slowly push forward.
"You okay?"
"Yeah…" he breathes.
I pull out halfway before thrusting in again, watching his expression the entire time. "Does it h-hurt?" I whisper.
"It feels good." Little breathy pants escape his lips as his back arches and his hips twitch. "Harder… more…"
I stifle a pleasured moan as he sighs my name. "Kyle… Kyle… Kyle…"
I find myself wondering how many names he's said like that before, and how many other men have seen him looking like this. The thought just saddens me.
4.
When it's all over, we just lay side-by-side for a while. We don't talk, and the room is silent apart from our breathing.
"I should go," he says quietly.
"Come on, just stay the night…" I offer as I sit up. I sound almost like I'm begging. I don't want this to be a one night stand.
He just shakes his head, getting out of bed and gathering his clothing.
"Why not?" I ask, cursing myself for sounding so damn miserable.
"Because," he says simply, getting dressed.
I frown, "Because why?"
He lets out a little laugh. "Thank you, Kyle."
"For what?"
"This…" he waves his hands around. "Tonight… tonight was nice. I won't forget it. I've never said this to anyone before, but it meant something to me… This is, like, the first time it meant something."
"It meant something to me, too."
"I'm glad…" he says. "That's definitely not something I've heard before."
I get up, not bothering to put clothes on as I follow him out of the room and towards the front door.
"Look, Kenny," I begin, waiting for him to turn and face me before I continue.
"Hm?"
"Don't be afraid to come to me when you need something," I tell him. "I'm not just talking about physical contact or comfort… just… whatever you may need. Honestly, I'll feed you. I'll put a roof over your head… Seriously, just come over… I'll even leave the fucking key under my doormat for you… You don't need to do this anymore."
I hate how desperate I sound, but I can't help it. There's nothing else I can do.
"Thanks again, Kyle," he whispers. He gives me a hazy smile before turning away and opening the door. I watch him leave, knowing, deep down, that I probably won't see him again for a long time.
Yeah, summer sucks.
Summer fucking sucks.