Wendy's eyes softly flickered open when a thin sunbeam made it past the door to the bunks. She sat up onto the edge of her bed and stretched. A sudden wave of nausea hit her. She took full, deep breaths, and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Messy crisis averted. Past Wendy should have taken some ibuprofen to try to prevent present Wendy from having an awful headache.

Another day, another city, another show to rock the pants off of America. That's how Clyde had so eloquently put it as they had returned to the bus last night. She looked over at the other bunks, smiling at her crew of dumb boys. They essentially couldn't function without her and caused her large amounts of stress, but she loved them nonetheless. The steady hum of the bus engine was the right amount of white noise to keep them sleeping soundly. The amount of partying they had done mere hours ago didn't hurt either.

Wait.

The steady hum of the bus engine?

No. No no no no no! What was going on? Who was driving? Were they bus-jacked? Where were they and where were they going? This was not how the plan was supposed to go!

This was a nightmare. Wendy pinched herself and tried to will herself awake, but to no avail. This was reality.

She slid open the door to the rest of the bus and charged toward the front, not worried about the fact that she was only wearing a thin camisole and panties. She stood in the doorway to the driver's area and let loose.

"What the fuck is going on?!"

The driver yelped and briefly swerved into the next lane.

Wendy peeked out the windshield and could only tell that they were on a highway. Which highway and what state it was in, she did not know.

"Excuse me, miss! You startled me!" the driver said. His prim British accent only seemed to anger Wendy more.

"Like hell I startled you! Where the fuck are we? Why are we already on the road? The schedule said—"

"The schedule said that we were to leave Salt Lake City at eight o'clock in the morning, sharp. At eight, I made sure all five band members and you, the manager, were accounted for, and I started driving. It is currently eleven twenty in the morning, we are in Idaho, on route I-84 west, and currently passing through Jerome County. We are on schedule to arrive in Boise shortly after one in the afternoon."

Wendy paused, dumbfounded. This guy pissed her off for some reason, but he clearly was prepared. It was probably how prepared he was that pissed her off. That was supposed to be her job.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. But why didn't you wake me up? I'm the freaking band manager, I should know these things!"

"I'm sorry, miss. I didn't want to disturb your sleep. You all looked quite wasted, even in sleep," he said.

Wendy opened her mouth, then promptly closed it. She had no words. He was right, as much as she didn't want to admit it.

"Thank you," she mumbled before shuffling back into the main lounge.

Wendy took a deep breath. It seemed that everything was going to be all ri—

The van! What about the merch van?! All of their promotional gear was stuffed into the back. Thousands of dollars in t-shirts, posters, and keychains were still in Salt Lake City, if not at the bottom of the Great Salt Lake itself. Since she wasn't driving the van, it was totally gone, abandoned. It's not like Craig would have—

Craig! Where was he? Wendy frantically looked in every bunk, counting off every band member, but no journalist.

She grabbed her cell phone from her bag and quickly dialed Craig's number. She paced up and down the length of the lounge, her stomach filling with dread each time it rang and no one picked up. She remembered giving him the keys at the club last night, but she never saw him again after that since she ended up crashing on the bus with the boys.

"Hello?" Craig's flat voice finally came through the phone.

"Craig! Oh my god, Craig? Where are you?" Desperation filled Wendy's voice.

"I'm on route I-84 west heading toward Boise driving a gaudy van full of overpriced cotton tees...cause wasn't that the plan?"

Wendy scrunched her face in frustration. She didn't appreciate Craig's sarcasm right now, but she was happy to know that her plan was so solid that it could still go on while she was sleeping off a hangover.

"Yes, Craig. That was the plan. You don't have to be smug about it just because you didn't do something stupid last night."

"How many chances do you think I'm gonna get on this tour to rub something stupid in your face? I gotta take the opportunity when I have it," Craig laughed. "I'll see you at The Knitting Factory."

"See you then," she said, hanging up the phone and dropping it back into her bag.

Meanwhile, back in the bunks, the rest of the band had finally begun to stir. Once Wendy had stormed out into the main lounge, slamming the slide door shut behind her, no one could really get back to sleep. A bottle of ibuprofen and a bottle of water were passed around the room as the pain of hangovers were discovered yet again.

As they began to get dressed, Kenny decided to pry into Tweek's love life.

"So...Tweeky baby...did you work your drunk magic on Craig last night?"

Tweek gave Kenny the side eye and flipped him off from his perch on the top bunk.

"Oh my god, what? You're trying to bang the journalist guy? Is he into dudes?" Clyde yelled from his bunk.

"Dude, please don't ruin this for the rest of us," said Token, pulling on a clean t-shirt. "I know your dick tends to do the thinking for you, but please, please don't fuck the person who is trying to help us break through into the mainstream. I beg you."

"Yeah Tweek, I'm with Token on this one," said Jimmy. "But seriously, d-did you hit that last night?"

"I fucking tried, dude. He's one hundred percent completely straight. He resisted my every move. I even straight up told him that I didn't have anyone to blow me that night. How is that not clearly an invitation?!"

Jimmy sighed. "That doesn't sound like an invitation at all. That sounds like you were just being a whiny little b-bitch about not getting head. Like you weren't implying that you were looking to have him specifically blow you, you were j-just looking for a blowjob from anyone."

"I mean...I wouldn't have turned down an offer from anyone else," said Tweek.

"He probably didn't assume that you were implying that you wanted one from him, so you can't know for certain if he turned you down because he's straight or if he just had no clue," said Jimmy.

"You should've offered to blow him!" exclaimed Clyde. He jumped off of his bunk and began to rummage through his luggage. "That way, if he said no, then you'd definitely know he was straight!"

Kenny came out of the bathroom, laughing.

"Dude, what's so funny?" asked Clyde.

"That fact that you think a straight man wouldn't accept a blowjob from another man," said Kenny.

"And how would you know?" asked Clyde.

A lecherous grin spread across Kenny's face. As he opened his mouth to elaborate for Clyde, Token cut him off.

"Nope! I'm stopping you before you even start, Ken. Please tell Clyde about your weird hook-ups later. I'm hungover and cranky, so just...please be cool?"

"Okay, just for you, babe," Kenny joked, putting his arm around Token's shoulders and kissing his cheek.

"Ngh, whatever! The fact is that Craig is definitely straight and that makes me pissed off!" said Tweek.

"Are you seriously that upset about not being able to fuck him? There are tons of other people, dude. I think you need to get over this," said Jimmy.

"Gah, it's not that. At least not entirely," said Tweek. "I'm pissed off that someone who writes a column called 'Queer Spotlight' is straight. I assumed the writer would at least be bi, you know? I guess LGBTQ culture is so fucking commercialized now that any asshole straight person can write an article focused on queer stuff."

"What about straight allies?" asked Token.

"Yeah...don't get me wrong, they're awesome—obviously I love you and Nichole—but…I dunno," Tweek's face scrunched up in disappointment, "it just feels less organic if it's not written by someone who's somewhere on the queer spectrum."

He zipped up his grey hoodie and pulled the hood over his head. He reached to slide open the door to the rest of the bus, but it started to open on its own before his hand touched it. A still-undressed Wendy stood in the doorway.

"Okay! Everything isn't ruined after all!" she said brightly. "So, here's the plan for today…"

"Yes, Craig. That was the plan. You don't have to be smug about it just because you didn't do something stupid last night."

Craig laughed to himself. What Wendy didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Just because he didn't get drunk and party with the rest of them didn't mean that he didn't do anything stupid last night.

Craig spent several minutes scrolling through dozens of guys near him. There were tons of hot guys—a surprising number for Salt Lake City, honestly. Craig expected this much selection in a major city like New York or LA, but Utah didn't scream gay hotspot to him. Still, despite there being many conventionally attractive men in the area, none of them really appealed to Craig. He was looking for something he couldn't have, and although he would never admit it aloud, he was aware that he was doing it.

Wrestlechamp99: Hey

Craig jumped at the sound of his phone pinging. He never expected someone to message him first. It must be a sign or some shit. That's what Stan would have said.

"Wrestlechamp, huh?" Craig mumbled to himself.

What a dumbass name. He did look pretty cute from his profile pic, though. A blond with sweet eyes. Maybe it was worth a try.

RedRacerFan: Hey.

Wrestlechamp99: I love Red Racer! I didn't get to watch much TV growing up, but I was always allowed to watch Red Racer after school.

RedRacerFan: Cool.

Wrestlechamp99: Would you want to come over and we could watch a few episodes?

RedRacerFan: Would we actually be watching the show if I came over right now?

Wrestlechamp99: That wasn't my true intention, but I thought it sounded better than "wanna come over and fuck?"

RedRacerFan: The galaxy brain version would be "wanna come over and fuck, and after we can watch some Red Racer".

Wrestlechamp99: You got me there. ;) So…you up?

RedRacerFan: Where do you live?

It was about a fifteen walk from the van to the address he was given. He sure hoped it wasn't a murder house. Thankfully, his GPS brought him to a nice looking apartment in what appeared to be an expensive neighborhood. Didn't mean he still wouldn't get murdered, but at least it'd be in a nice location, he supposed.

He found the right door and knocked.

"I'm coming!" said a voice from inside.

Craig snorted. If everything went well, he'd be hearing that again tonight.

"Hi, I'm looking for Wrestlechamp99," said Craig to the person he sensed was looking at him through the peephole.

"RedRacerFan?" asked the voice.

"Yeah."

The sound of the door unlocking was uncomfortably loud in the empty hallway. It was the telltale sound of the awkward late night hook-up. The door opened to reveal the blond beauty that Craig had been hoping for.

"Hi there! Come on in! Are you hungry at all? Would you like me to fix you a snack?"

Craig didn't expect such hospitality from the guy he was about to fuck. Mormons, man. They were friendly as fuck. Craig wished New Yorkers would learn a thing or two from them.

"Honestly dude, there's only one thing I'm hungry for tonight, and you're all the snacc I'll need," said Craig.

Craig hated himself for using such fuckboy language, but he didn't really have time to socialize with this guy. He needed to get his rocks off and get back to the van before the band stumbled back from the club. He wanted to keep this as discreet as possible. The last thing he needed was for the band to start asking questions about where he had gone.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It's a habit. Raised Mormon and all," the guy laughed sadly. "The name's Gary, by the way."

"Craig."

"Nice to meet you, Craig."

Gary's smile lit up the room. He was slender and a bit taller than Craig had expected, but still shorter than himself. He was clean cut and very cute. Gary led Craig through the apartment to the living room.

"So I have to admit that I've never done this before. Asking someone over from an app, that is. Do you want to start out here or in the bedroom?" asked Gary.

"That's okay, I don't do this very often myself. I prefer just going to the bedroom. When I'm ready to fuck, I don't want to have to move to another room, and, unpopular opinion, couches aren't good for sex."

"Okay! That's fine! Let me show you the bedroom."

Gary led Craig down a hallway covered with framed portraits. One was of a sweaty Gary in a wrestling singlet holding up a medal and smiling. Behind him was a sign that said 'Utah High School Wrestling Championships 2016'. That explained his user name. Another was of a woman smiling at the camera while picking an apple from a tree. She appeared in several other portraits on the wall, including a couple with Gary.

"Hey Gary, I know I probably shouldn't pry into your private life, but...is this your sister in these photos, or…?" asked Craig.

"No, that's my wife," Gary calmly replied.

"And she's okay with this?"

"She's out of town visiting some friends from high school. We were high school sweethearts. She's the light of my life."

Gary paused. His eyes were sad.

"But the truth is that I am attracted to men. I'm attracted to her, too, I think. But I've been craving the touch of another man for a long time. Ever since wrestling in high school. I prayed so hard for my sinful thoughts to go away, but they didn't. I've thought about this for a long time, Craig. I want to start living my authentic life."

Normally, Craig would have apologized to Gary and excused himself from the situation. He was not interested in being someone's side piece, and he wouldn't want to be the reason for someone's marriage imploding. However right now, at this very moment, his dick had overridden his brain and was doing the thinking for him.

"Okay, cool. Do you want to top or bottom?" he replied.

"Oh. Yes. I'd like to bottom, please," said Gary.

"Got it," said Craig.

He pulled Gary into a kiss without warning. He felt the smaller man gasp against his lips, but quickly recover, responding back with sincere enthusiasm.

Craig slid his hands down Gary's back, resting in the slight curve above his ass. His back felt strong and lean through his thin button up shirt. Even if he didn't still wrestle, he clearly kept in shape. Craig had a strong urge to know what his ass must feel like. He dropped a hand down to cup Gary's ass, giving it a squeeze.

He felt Gary flinch at the touch.

"Are you okay?" Craig asked, breaking away from the kiss.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I'm great," said Gary.

"Okay…"

Craig decided to use this pause to take off his shirt. Gary followed Craig's lead, unbuttoning each tiny button at an agonizingly slow pace. Gary looked up at Craig through his long lashes. Craig couldn't tell if Gary was trying to seduce him or if he was just making sure that Craig was looking, but it turned him on nonetheless. Watching a timid sexually-repressed Mormon man slowly undress himself was not something Craig expected to find so erotic. He wanted to just tear the rest of his clothes off and bend him over the bed, but having to wait made it better.

"You have a great body," Craig said once Gary's shirt was finally on the floor.

"Aw shucks, thanks. I'm not in as good shape as when I wrestled, but I try to keep fit and eat well. I like your body, too." He blushed as his eyes wandered Craig's body.

Craig snorted. "I'm a skinny asshole with, like, no muscle at all, but thank you anyway."

"N-no, it's good. I like it."

Their pants were soon scrapped. They sized each other up, still clad in their underwear, and were quickly back on each other, Craig's somewhat dry lips pressed against Gary's thin but soft lips.

Craig grabbed Gary's hips and pulled him close as they continued to kiss. He began to grind his aching cock against Gary's cock. Finally, the kind of friction he had been craving for months. Gary whined and gripped his fingers into Craig's arms. Craig took it as a signal to keep going, so he moved his hips faster, feeling his cock throbbing with need.

Gary whined again. Craig felt something wet against his face. That's when Craig realized that those weren't actually whines of desire, they were sobs. Gary was crying.

Craig quickly pulled away, eyes wide and hands up defensively.

"Oh my god, dude. Did I hurt you?" he asked.

Gary sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "No...no...you didn't...I just…" He could barely finish a thought through his sobs.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Gary? You don't have to. It's okay."

"No, I totally want to do this! I want to live my authentic life! I'm attracted to men! I like penises! See?"

Gary wobbled toward Craig, his hands out in front of him, like a child walking for the first time. He reached out and grabbed Craig's bulge. Craig grimaced as Gary immediately yelped and jumped back, covering his face with his hands.

"I'm sorry! I can't do it! I can't!" His sobs got louder, turning into wails.

Craig stood in his underwear, in the middle of a crying stranger's bedroom, in a nice apartment in Salt Lake City, and wondered what wrong turn he'd made in his life to bring him to this moment.

"It's fine, dude. I promise," he said.

"I love my wife, Craig! I love my wife and God too much! My body wants me to do this, but my heart belongs to my wife and my faith."

Gary stumbled back and sat on his bed. His eyes were puffy and red, tears streaking down his cherubic cheeks. Craig nodded slowly and picked up his clothes from the floor.

"I'm so sorry for this, Craig. I know deep down that I'm gay, that I crave the touch of another man, but...I'm not strong enough. I can't give up everything and everyone that I love." He grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and blew his nose.

Craig started to put his pants back on. "It's okay, man. Shit happens. Living authentically should be about living your best life and being happy. It shouldn't be making you this upset, you know?"

He bent down to slide his sneakers back onto his feet, not bothering to untie them before he did.

"But seriously Gary, if that ever changes—if you ever feel differently about your wife and your faith, and you want to be who you are deep down—don't be afraid to come out, okay? I know it will be hard, and really fucking scary, but I bet you can find a lot of people ready to love and support you around here if you look."

Gary took a deep breath in through his nose and slowly let it out through his mouth. He nodded and stood up. "Thank you for understanding, Craig. That makes me feel a lot better. I'll keep your words in mind."

Craig pulled on his shirt as Gary walked him to the door. He patted the pockets of his pants to double check for his wallet and phone before he left. Gary opened the door, still in his underwear. Craig lingered in the doorway, taking one last look at yet another blond he couldn't have.

"Hey, one more thing," he said. "I just need you to know that you're a really cute twink, and you'd totally be able to get tons of dick."

And with that crude final remark, Craig ran off down the hallway.

Craig sighed as he signaled to take Exit 54. He had been so close to getting what he wanted. He thought it was such a sure thing. He should have known it wasn't going to end well as soon as he saw the wife's photos in the hallway.

Oh well. Live and learn and all that shit. Blue balls or not, he had much more important things to worry about right now.

He pulled the merch van into the parking lot of the Knitting Factory and parked a few spots over from the equipment trailer. As he got out of the van, he noticed that the tour bus hadn't arrived yet. They probably stopped for food and had to actually get out of the bus. Luckily for Craig, he had been able to simply go through a drive-thru and saved some time.

Craig saw Leo delegating tasks to other roadies and waved at him.

"Oh hey there, Craig!" said Leo when he finally noticed. "How was the drive?"

"Eh, not too bad. How about yours?"

"It was A-okay!"

Craig shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He felt awkward just standing there doing nothing while all of the road crew was working.

"So, uh, Butters...is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Heck yeah! We're still just unloading everything, so if you want to grab whatever you can comfortable carry and follow the gang inside, they'll show you where to put stuff down."

"For the last time, Clyde, we're not famous enough to book the Taco Bell Arena this tour! Its capacity is over twelve thousand, and we are not ready for that!" said an exasperated Wendy.

"Fine, fine, I'll let it go for now, but will you promise to try to get it on the next tour? I need to play there at least once before I die!" Clyde whined.

Wendy sighed. "Yes! Okay! Just please drop it already!" She glanced out the window. "All right, we've finally made it. I don't know about you guys, but I need to get the fuck off of this bus before I strangle the guitarist."

The rest of the band laughed as they watched Wendy practically run off of the bus as soon as the engine was cut. They gradually made their way off as well, casually strolling through the back parking lot on their way to the artists' entrance. Kenny brought up the rear.

"Hey, you coming in, Ken?" Tweek called from the double doors.

"Nah man, I'm gonna have a smoke first. Want one?"

"Ngh, I'm good for now. I'll have one closer to the show."

"Gotcha. Tell Wendy I'll be there in a few."

Tweek saluted Kenny and disappeared into the building.

Kenny put a cigarette between his lips and flicked down on the lighter with his thumb. He paced around the parking lot as he unwound from the drive. It certainly wasn't the longest bus ride ever, but there had been a lot of tension packed into those hours. Wendy had been on edge the entire morning. Tweek had been sulking like a little bitch. Clyde had been that annoying kid in the back of the car who won't shut up. Token had been on the phone for at least an hour trying to console a crying Nichole who was reeling from a dream she'd had where Token cheated on her. Kenny and Jimmy had been the only two sane ones, but then Jimmy decided to be an asshole and escaped to the front of the bus to chat it up with the driver. Kenny had been trapped inside that metal tube cruising at 70 mph for hours, and he couldn't even smoke on it. It was hell.

However, heaven was dragging on a cigarette while basking in the solace of an empty parking lot. He wanted to stay out there forever, knowing that once he went inside the venue, it was going to get wild again. Resigning to the fate that he'd signed up for when he joined the band, Kenny slowly began to make his way toward the back entrance.

"With the power of your dreams!/There's nothing you can't achieve!"

Kenny stopped dead in his tracks. "The fuck?" He looked around for the source of the music.

"Let your passion steer you down the path to glory!/ Hey Hey Red Racer Go!"

Kenny bent down to pick up the ringing phone from the cracked pavement. He didn't know who's phone it was, or who the hell Stan was, but he was about to find out.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Uh...hello? Who's this?" asked the voice on the other end.

"No one of importance. I found this phone on the ground, so it's mine now."

"Dammit, Craig!" The voice grew fainter, like Stan was talking to someone else in the room. "It's only been like three days and the fucker already lost his phone!"

"Craig? You mean the journalist guy Craig?" asked Kenny.

"Wait, do you know him? Seriously, who is this? I'm his roommate and I wanted to see how his trip was going," said Stan.

Kenny looked around the parking lot, catching a glimpse of the merch van. Craig was probably inside. "I'm gonna guess he's busy with the rest of the band right now."

"Oh. Okay. Well, uh, just let him know I called to check on him. Also if you could tell him that Floof misses him, I know he'd appreciate that."

"Alright, dude, sure," said Kenny. "Nice to meet you, I guess. See ya."

Kenny hung up without waiting for a goodbye from Stan. He knew it was a dick thing to do, but he had suddenly realized that as the possessor of Craig's unlocked phone, he could do some snooping for his boy Tweek.

Kenny hadn't looked through the phone for more than a moment when he abruptly stopped. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Tweek needed to see this.

Kenny walked through the venue with purpose. He asked the nearest roadie where the rest of the band had gone, and was pointed in the direction of the dressing room.

Tweek jumped out of his seat when Kenny burst in without warning.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck, Kenny!" he shrieked.

Token and Jimmy stared at Kenny from the couch where they were lounging. Clyde coughed and forced down the granola bar he'd been eating. He looked at Kenny angrily and reiterated Tweek's sentiment.

"Yeah, Kenny, what the fuck?"

"You'll never guess what I found outside," said Kenny. He moved over to where Tweek was sitting and crouched down next to him, handing him the phone.

"A phone. Wow. Definitely worth scaring the shit out of me," Tweek said sarcastically.

"No, dude. Take a look at it." Kenny handed the phone to Tweek.

Tweek swiped the phone open and his eyes widened. "No. No. No no no."

"What? What is it?" asked Jimmy.

"Our dear Tweek is looking at a chat log from Grindr. The phone belongs to one Craig Tucker." Kenny turned back to Tweek. "I hate to say it, but it looks like he's just not that into you, buddy, because he is definitely gay, or at least bi, and last night, he was actively looking for dick."