A/N: Oh boy. Things are getting a bit more wraunchy. lol. I'm sorry, I make Kyle such a dog. But at least he's kind of funny about it? Oh well. Enjoy~
Oh also, in my last authors note, I meant *written, not READ no chapter-heavy fanfiction. (_ _'') I'm a tart, I'm sorry.
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Stanley Marsh has been my super best friend since forever. Now he's my boyfriend, I suppose you could say. Eric Cartman has been the bane of my existence since before we were born, and he pisses me off so much that I've legitimately tried to kill him on multiple occasions. Butters was kind of the spare tire to our acid trip tyedye minivan, but was all had a careful appreciation for him in our group, even when he started becoming a full-time tranny somewhere around the end of eighth grade. He's probably a better looking girl than most of the girls in our highschool, and that's almost a painful thing to admit to yourself. He knows how to pack a fake bra, anyway, that's for sure. Sometimes seeing guys gawk Marjorine in the hallways even makes him laugh, but that catty little smile he gets when it happens even makes me tingle sometimes.
Kenny, though - Kenny has been my best friend. The bestest friend that you could ever ask for. If there's something to do with anyone, he's the first to know. Some time when we were twelve him and Bebe Stevens took this to their highest power and became the gossip duo of the school. When I came out, though, I came out to Kenny before anyone else. When I needed help involving sex and relationships, Kenny was my number one man. Why? Mostly because he's open to just about anything. I probably give the second-best head in the entire school because of that kid. First best to Kenny, because he is obviously first best to everyone else. I'm pretty sure even a skin headed lesbian would drop her panties for that kid.
He just knows what the fuck he's doing.
That's just what we were though. Best friends. He came to my house when his father was playing beat-the-kids, when he needed an escape, when he needed to be bandaged up from a long night of god knows what. I had no place to keep him from the adrenaline play that he constantly strived for; bearing in mind, this is a kid who will jump off of the side of a cliff for fun, with the guarantee he'll die right away at the bottom. Kenny's established with me about five million times how much he hates pain. But the thrill of dying as many times as you want has yet to get old, apparently. We've all lost count in our near eighteen years of existence, I think; even he doesn't keep track anymore. He just remember the best ones and retells them on a constant basis to anyone willing to listen, which is usually me, because outside of humping chicks in clubs and seeing how risky he can get selling his ass off on the streets for any kind of new drug, he spends perpetual amounts of time with his number one Jew.
We have a different kind of love. That friend love that you get in storybooks where you can have naked wet towel wars and not think anything of it. Well, I wouldn't; Kenny's ready to nail anything that moves as long as it can scream his name in the end of it all. I never let him get that far with me, though - hence his shock in the hallway an hour earlier.
As I stare at the angelic-looking immortal perched on his lab stool beside me looking optimally bored, he plays with the twenty dollar bill that Cartman had forked over to him at the end of lunch for the bet they'd been running that apparently the wall of a brunette had lost. He's looking so childish and happy that it's kind of hard to believe that this is the kid who's slamming back a twenty-sixer a night on weekends at the underground raves that sometimes we hit up in Denver. With absent-minded reminiscence, however, I find myself daydreaming about my previous night instead of the blond beside me.
I wasn't really sure how it happened. Ike's birthday party had been long and uneventful, mostly because it was just with family instead of with friends. Ike doesn't have a lot of friends and that's not big surprise; like I said, the kids way too damn smart for his own good, and it gets him into fights. The kid's eleven years old and in the god damn ninth grade, for God's sake. I'm in my senior year of highschool with my eleven year old brother. Given, I'm pretty smart myself, but I actually have to sit down and study; Ike picks something up and it's like, toasted into his little brain the moment he lays eyes on it. He can recite shakespeare on demand.
But Ike's intelligence is straying far from my story here. It's about me, right? Right. You go, Kyle. You have your own fucking autobiography.
Ike was finally tucked into bed around ten stuffed with cake and with his piggy bank exploding, and I was laying in bed boredly flipping through channels with [i]To Kill A Mockingbird[/i] abandoned beside me on my side table. It's late and all the porn is starting up on all the wrong channels and I'm like, trying to put my head in the game for bed, but being seventeen and male makes that really difficult, and I started to take care of my problem under the covers after a while with a pair of headphones on and Chopin playing on them for whatever reason.
Some time passed and I was on my stomach with my ass in the air, the epitome of the face down, ass up rule going on, and no second party to help me out. Not that I was caring, I mean, Moses, I know how to touch myself better than anyone, right? I was getting gutsy and I started passing the time with a few digits and a bottle of KY, just trying to focus. The music was relaxing despite my excitement and I was nibbling into my own pillow to strangle any kind of moan or anything that might try to let loose, when I felt a hand on my hip and the bed sinking slightly.
I screamed like a little girl, but thank god Stan had the sense to both clap his hand over my mouth and catch my flailing foot at the same time before I managed to kick his fucking head across the room. He stared at me for a long moment and then I realized that I was sitting there with one leg up in his grasp and lube dripping out of my ass and I quietly stifled a small scream again, pulling my blanket up to cover my body self-consciously. My eyes pried at him to tell me what the fuck he was doing there as the headphones slipped around my shoulders, making Chopin's Fantasie Impromptu a dull whisper in the background.
"To Kill a Mockingbird."
I stared at him for a prolonged minute before I glanced at my book, and back at his face, before I realized what the fuck he's talking about as I flickered my eyes hastily from the clock that now reads eleven and at him again. "Stan you fucking asshole, you were supposed to be here at eight for that, dude! I'm not going to help you with your chapter questions now!"
The flush in my cheeks hardly receded as he pushed me back against the bedsheets and started kissing me like the two lines of dialogue we had just made hadn't even passed between us. Next thing I knew his hands were snaking under my sheet to start back up what I'd failed to finish with his intrusion, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as I peeled off his v-neck and -
"Kyle."
- started the process of undoing his pants -
"Kyle."
- and took a hold of his hard-on in my hand and -
"Kyle motherfucking Broflovski, come back from whatever fantasy you're in and stop petting my leg before I jump your bones for the whole class to see."
I crack an eye with a miserable moan in the back of my throat and Kenny's looking at me with a catty little grin that suggests that I've been giving away what kind of daydream I've been having. I peer around anxiously and no one else in the class seems to have noticed as our chemistry teacher continues her monotony at the front of the room, looking as unamused as her students are. I glance back at Kenny and he's all over me, sliding a hand between my thighs like some kind of horny playboy bunny and causing me to jump up, cracking my head off of a low-hanging lamp with a hiss. He snorts into his hands as he leans over and gives me a firm smack on the ass, to which I flinch and twitch my eye due to its tenderness to the previous evening.
"Fuck, Kyle, what the hell were you dreaming up? You're totally pitching one." Kenny's looking at me like a lion admiring breakfast. I roll my eyes and stare at him as I slide both arms between my legs self-consciously with a groan and thud my forehead back down on our lab bench, and he just continues to smirk as I raise my hand. The teacher sighs with irritation, turning to me.
"Yes, Mr Broflovski?"
"I'm going to the restroom."
Kenny gives me a disheartened look, as though he had been counting on my asking him to blow me from under the table or something, but I give him a swift roll of my eyes once more and he softens up a bit as I take my leave.
After checking each stall to ensure the lavatory's entirely empty, I pick out the last stall and happily continue where I left off.
Stan was naked and on top of me and only a sheet and his hand separated us from getting the full view of our anatomy. Not that we hadn't seen eachother naked before, we just hadn't seen eachother naked with this goal and mindset in both of our heads. He finally slid the sheet down and I could feel myself getting redder than I had this morning when Kenny had so kindly announced to the entire hallway about my popped cherry. Stan's hands were going literally everywhere and I swear to god, I'd never been so hot in my entire fucking life. Even now, jacking off to it in a bathroom stall with my head back against the wall and my feet up against the stall door, though it does feel kind of kinky, and very risque`. I feel like a schoolgirl in a cheap internet porno or something.
Needless to say, I suppose those months of sticking my fingers amongst other things up my ass paid off some, because Stan got right in there with ease and I was kind if impressed by the difference in feeling from anything else. He panted dirtily in my ear and it just got me all the more riled up and oh my god, the sting was overwhelming but honest to everything, I didn't even care, I was so into it. His teeth left adoring marks on my shoulders and neck and I could do little more than groan beneath him in ecstasy. I'm pretty sure his back is doing pretty tenderly today no thanks to my nails. The only thing I could think of half way through as he pounded my lights out in all the right ways was dozens of chicks throw their panties into the Denver stadium during football games, but here I am getting my brains fucked out by the Captain of the South Park High School football team.
Yeah. I'm thinking I'm the luckiest guy alive. Don't you?
I lift my hand to examine the mess of my palm after coming about as hard as I did in my head, letting my shoes squeak against the stall door as my legs drop back down to the floor like gelatin. I lean my head back against the wall again as I try to catch my breath, zipping up with my clean hand and reaching for the toilet paper roll.
It's empty.
Mother fucker.
I stare at my hand before sighing throatily and raising it to my mouth with not much else as an option, feeling even more like a fag now than I did with a dick up my ass the night before.
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A/N2: Sorry things are moving kind of slowly and retardedly. Doesn't seem like much of a story but there will be more development later, I promise. (;