A Note From Ben and "P2": REVIEW! Please. This only got two reviews on the last chapter, and that was most disappointing. We know you all are out there. Please, if you enjoy this fic, tell us. Hell, even if you don't, tell us.


Chapter Two – First Sight

Stan looked at his watch impatiently. God damn it, that fat fuck said he'd be over at three thirty, and it was two minutes to four. Where the hell was he anyway? No doubt at Blimpie's or some place like that cramming oversized portions of greasy fast food down his throat. Stan knew this, because that was always his excuse. Every time they scheduled a time to get together, Cartman showed up late, and he was always licking juice or gravy or something off of his fingers or off of some sandwich wrapper when he got there.

Fat inconsiderate bastard slob. Can't ignore his own belly for ten fucking minutes, even for people he calls friends.

Right as rain, though, two minutes of impatient toe-tapping and exasperated sighing later, Cartman just walked into his room without taking any considerations, such as knocking. He was sure glad he hadn't decided to jack off a bit while he was waiting, or they would have both gotten quite a surprise.

"Hey fag, why isn't the XBOX on yet?" he asked as he stormed in.

"Gee, why waste power when you're not going to be here for another god only knows how long?" Stan replied sarcastically.

"I was just having mah afternoon snack, Stan!" Cartman answered defensively. "Don't tell me you're buying into that going green bullshit too..."

"Fatass, a triple cheeseburger with king-size onion rings and a double-chocolate milkshake isn't a snack, it's a week's worth of meals to an Ethiopian!"

"Whatever, Stan," the other scoffed. "Just turn on the damn console."

Stan felt a strong desire to curse the fat asshole out. Cartman was standing right by the television, easily within arm's reach of the XBOX power switch, and he was sitting by the window with a busted leg. Instead of stooping to his level, however, Stan just got shakily to his feet, hobbled over, and hit the button with the end of his crutch. That accomplished, he limped back to his seat by the window and resumed staring gloomily out into the neighborhood.

"You're not gonna play?" Cartman asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Go ahead without me, dude," Stan replied, not even bothering to look over at him. "I have nothing to do most of the time but play that stupid game, and I'm kinda burnt out on it."

Cartman looked at him as though he'd just blasphemed. Sick of video games? Those words were not in his vocabulary. How did one grow sick of video games? It was like saying you're tired of Cheesy Poofs, or you're tired of quadruple bacon guacamole cheeseburgers. It...just wasn't logical.

"Well, I'm not gonna play this faggy little skater game by myself," he said, dropping the controller and walking over to join his friend by the window. Stan didn't fail to notice that he hadn't bothered to turn it off.

"Damn it, Cartman!" he snarled. "Can't you..."

He stopped in mid-sentence when he noticed a car pull up into the driveway of the empty house next door. It wasn't the realtor's car, so that could only mean that the new neighbors had arrived at last. He quickly pulled out his telescope, set it up on the mount, and took a peek down at the people getting out of the flashy hybrid. The first was a rather plump woman with an overly large bun of red hair sticking up from the back of her head that was only challenged in size by her Barbara Streisand nose. She had a nasty look on her face that told Stan, even from a distance, that she didn't trust anyone and that it would be a good idea to give her a wide berth.

The next out of the car was the driver, a man with a beard and a Jewish skullcap that Stan already strongly suspected covered a bald spot. Around it was a smattering of brown hair, which led Stan to presume his new neighbor was either an accountant or a lawyer, thereby hitting both the Jewish stereotypes. He'd find out later from his parents, who would no doubt be paying the new family a visit.

It was the third person out of the car that made Stan's breath catch in his throat. He was the most beautiful boy Stan had ever seen. He had a large mass of red hair, like his mother, that same large nose, and he wore a non-descript screenprint tee shirt with a Metallica logo and jeans, but even with that normal clothing choice, Stan could tell he was fit. The shirt hugged muscles, and the jeans were so tight Stan could immediately see that the new kid had an ass.

"What are you looking at, fag?" Cartman asked, staring at the new family. "It's just a bunch of Jews moving in to the old DiMarco place, what's so damn fascinating?"

Stan didn't answer, just zoomed in closer on the new boy.

"Are you staring at that ginger kid's ass, you fag?"

Stan ignored him and zoomed as far as he could. God, this boy was perfect. Whoever he was, he was the most beautiful specimen of boyhood ever created by the hand of God. Stan wanted to know everything about him. What was his name? Where was he from? Did he have to work out to get such a great ass or did it just come naturally to him? So many questions, and the worst part was he was stuck in the house with a fucking broken leg and couldn't ask a single one of them! God damn it!

"Cartman, go say hello for me," he said.

"Fuck that," Cartman said with a sneer. "There's no chance in hell I'm gonna be the fag messenger boy, especially not to a Jew."

"Come on, dude," Stan pleaded, "I'll let you take whatever you want out of the refrigerator."

"Nope," Cartman said, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "I would have taken that if you'd used it any other time, but I draw the line at faggy ginger Jewboys!"

Stan swore and turned back to his telescope, but was shocked to see that the boygod he'd been admiring had wandered into the house with his family and was no longer in view. Oh God, what if he picked a bedroom on the other side of the house? Stan would never get a chance to admire him, unless he got lucky and spotted him when he came outside to pick up the mail or something.

God, I know I don't ask you for much, but please. Can't he move into that room over there? Please? I'll do whatever you ask. I'll even give up masturbation...for a week.

Apparently God was in a good mood towards Catholics, because nearly the second Stan's silent prayer was sent to Heaven, the door to the room he had his eye on turned, admitting the object of Stan's admiring carrying a box marked "Bedroom" in large but very neat handwriting. He set the box down and looked around his new room, and as he turned, Stan got a wonderful dead-on view of the boy's ass. It was a great ass. Stan felt as if he could sleep for days on those pert cheeks, once the denim and (presumably) cloth covering them was removed, and wanted then and there to be with him and wear his ass as a hat for all eternity.

Apparently satisfied with the appearance of his bare walls, the boy turned around again, giving Stan a view of his crotch. Thankfully, he wasn't horny, as Stan could detect no bulge in the very tight pants. He quickly zoomed out, because Cartman was trying to push him away and have a look himself.

"What do you want, Cartman?" he demanded, trying to fight him off.

"Find out who you wanna cheat on Wendy with, faggot," the other replied rather nastily.

"We're not together you idiot, we haven't been for like...six years!"

"So?"

"Goddamn it you're so retarded!" Stan cried in disgust.

"Yeah, well you're a crippled skaterfag," Cartman shot back, "so shut up and go make me a pie!"

Stan punched him in retaliation, and Cartman punched him back. This caused them to start punching each other repeatedly, faster and faster, harder and harder until they were both making quite a fuss. They only stopped when Cartman grabbed his hand and motioned out the window. Stan looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the new kid looking over at them with a rather amused expression on his face. When he saw that he'd been spotted, he gave a good-natured wave. Stan knew that he ought to offer one in return, but at that moment, every muscle in his body seemed to tense up, and he couldn't move.

"Wave back, stupid!" Cartman hissed.

Stan stuttered and wheezed for a couple more seconds before he finally managed to gain enough control over his facilities to raise his arm into the air. Tragically, however, by the time he'd done this, the neighbor boy had given up with a shrug and had gone off to some other room in the house, presumably to help his parents with something. Cartman found this outrageously funny and didn't bother to conceal his laughter or the sadistic glee in his eyes.

"You blew it, fag boy!" he said, needling. "You totally choked!"

"Shut the hell up, Cartman!" he shot back.


Later that night, Stan was sitting having dinner with his parents when he decided to bring up the subject of the new neighbors. Sharon and Randy Marsh were quite active in the community and generally met all new residents right away. Stan remembered an incident from his grade school days when Michael Jackson had moved to town in disguise. His parents had immediately invited him and his son Blanket over for dinner. They had found the man to be rather eccentric, and they certainly didn't like his overzealous adoration of children, and thus a second invitation had not been extended. Still, that they were willing to reach out once in an attempt to welcome him showed their friendliness and compassion for others.

"So, uh, Mom and Dad, did you notice the old DiMarco place isn't empty anymore?"

"Yeah, Stanley, we did," Randy replied between forkfuls of tuna casserole

"So, have you been over there yet?"

"No, honey, sorry, we haven't. It's a workday, you know," Sharon replied this time, taking a drink from her milk.

"Well, do you know anything about them?" Stan asked, anxious to find out anything he could about his new neighbors and their godly son.

"Well, this is a rumor I heard from Nelson, who heard it from his wife, who heard it at the salon from the Realtor, but he says they're a Jewish family, the Broflovskis. The dad's a lawyer, the mom's some sort of political activist, and they have two absolutely brilliant sons, one of which is at a fast-track college prep academy in Upstate New York even though he's only ten," Randy explained. Stan grimaced.

"What about the other one?" he asked, exasperated.

"I got nothing," Randy said, looking to Sharon.

"Me either, honey. We'll visit them over the weekend, OK?"

"Fine..."

To say Stan was disappointed would be putting it mildly. They had all the information in the world on the parents, and on the ten-year old up in New York, but nothing on the person he really wanted to know about. The only useful thing they'd really told him was their last name, which Stan immediately memorized and recited over and over in his head. Broflovski, Broflovski, Broflovski; sounded kind of Russian, honestly. He had a feeling that when Cartman found out, he'd make communist jokes on top of the fag, ginger, and Jew jokes he'd already started spewing.

He finished his dinner and retired to his room, where he immediately went to work trying to catch another glimpse of "Broflovski" with his telescope. The new kid's room was completely dark, however, and he was unable to spot anything. The boy was either somewhere in the house doing something or already in bed sleeping. He hoped more for the former than the latter. If "Broflovski" wasn't in bed yet, then he would inevitably have to return to him room at some point to get there.

Dream on, Marsh,
he scolded himself. Their furniture hasn't even arrived yet. He'll probably sleep downstairs on an air mattress tonight.

Crestfallen, he put away his telescope and hobbled over to his television to watch cartoons.


He was standing in a sauna, trying to look through the steam. There was someone else here, he could tell, but they were nothing but a shadowy blur. He inched closer, completely missing the fact that his leg wasn't broken, and thus missing the fact that he was dreaming. He only cared about the boy sitting there on the wooden bench, the boy he knew was waiting for him.

He moved closer and closer, his heart racing. His feet felt like lead weights, and he was breathing so heavily he wondered if he was going to give himself an asthma attack. That'd be real smooth. Here he was in the most sensual moment of his young life, the kind of stuff pornos were made of, and he was on the verge on panicking. God, wouldn't it be awful if he vomited all over the place like he used to do with Wendy? The very thought was too horrific for him to handle.

When he got close enough, he could finally see the gorgeous red hair of the Broflovski boy, as well as his beautifully toned muscles, which were glistening with sweat.

"Hey there," he said with a mischievous grin. God, he had the most perfect teeth, too.

"Hey yourself," Stan replied.

The other boy had nothing on but a towel around his waist. As Stan watched, however, the boy turned around and began removing it, giving him a gorgeous view of that perfect ass. It was completely smooth, and so milky white. Stan found himself getting hard just looking at it, and when he looked down he saw that there was NOTHING hiding his excitement; he was completely nude.

"My God," he said. "You're gorgeous."

"I'll bet you say that to all the guys you meet in the sauna," Broflovski replied, winking at him over his shoulder.

"Well, uh...hehe...I don't..." Stan stuttered, blushing furiously even though his face was already heated from the room and it was highly doubtful that Broflovski would notice.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not objecting..." he added, shyly, turning around. Stan looked down to see if Broflovski shared his excitement, and...


Fuck, Stan thought, waking up in his desk chair, insanely hard and breathing fast.

His thoughts went back to the time he'd spent in this room a couple of years ago with Kenny, "experimenting." That was when he'd found out he was very, very turned on by kissing boys.Ken hadn't reacted quite the same, preferring "lovely lady lumps" over members of his same sex. That said, they'd still exchanged handjobs, and Stan had had his first taste of another man. He'd liked it, Kenny hadn't, and they'd remained sexually polar-opposite friends. It had never gone to full nudity, and Stan was somewhat excited by the fact that it had already in his dream.

Is this what love at first sight feels like?
he wondered.