Authors Note: I worry about chapters being too long, but I suppose if you really like a story it wont be a problem. So I hope this story and this chapter is likeable and not too lengthy to hold interest.
Please review. :)
Chapter 4- Tipsy
I'm in a bad mood by the time the last bell rings, because I wasn't sent to the counselors office and I did have to answer retarded questions about decimals and algebra. And then after that I had to answer more retarded questions, only this time about evolution; which I don't believe in to begin with.
I used to like school…
Okay, so I'm lying. I didn't like school, but I was good at it, and I at least had grades to be proud of. Now I don't give a flying, purple monkeys ass because I don't want to go to college and become a lawyer like my dad, anyway. No way. I want to be like Stan, my hero. A box-licking, carpet-munching, taco eater.
Right.
I don't want to be like either of them anymore. I don't even know what I want. All I know is I want something, and this unnamed something never lets me rest. It probes and eats at me, but I can't satisfy the craving when I don't even understand what the craving is for.
…So why the fuck do I fucking bother in the first fucking place?
"Pssst!"
My eyes widen, knocked out of my own thoughts by the hissing noise.
"Over here, you fucking Jew!" The whisper barks out again, and I'm grabbed by the shirt and pulled backward until my back hits the front of Cartman's warm shirt and I bounce against his fat. We're hidden in a tiny alcove between a locker and a drinking faucet, which gives me little to no room between us. Silently, I send up a prayer of thanks that his old smell of Cheesy Poofs, bologna, and sweat are no longer relevant and that he now always smells like clean laundry and aftershave.
"What the hell-?" I ask, twisting my head to look back at him.
"Shut the hell up!" He snaps, looking past me. Slowly his eyes narrow. "Look."
Beyond the cracked tiled floor seven lockers down is Wendy's; the one with the hippie sticker on the front. Only right now I can't see the hippie sticker because it's decorated at the moment by Wendy herself, pressed helpless against the cold metal as Stan devours her neck. His body presses into hers so deeply they'd look like one figure if it wasn't for the distinction of blue and lilac material.
"What a whore." Cartman breathes from behind, tickling my ear.
The comment makes me scoff. "No kidding. Look at how short that skirt is."
"No, she's nothing but a dirty, grade-A slut, I was talking about Stan."
"Stan's not a whore," I glance back at Cartman, then zero in on the couple again. "He's a gigolo."
I don't think I've ever made Cartman laugh, so I'm a little flattered that he does so now, burying his face in my shoulder and snickering loudly at the comment while trying to maintain our low profile.
So this is what is was like to be Cartman; to be on the outside looking in on the great relationships he can never have. No wonder he's such a dick. Crude comments are probably the only thing he has to keep him going. God knows it's all I have to make me feel better right now, since I don't have my best friend.
Sadly, I don't even know why it bugs me so much about Stan. I don't even know what I need to make me feel better. I know I wouldn't be happy if they broke up, because then he'd be miserable again and it breaks my heart to see him that way.
And of course, I didn't want to be the one he was pressing up against the locker, because that would just be gay.
"Son of a bitch," Cartman growls, his fingers digging into my shoulders. That's weird. I hadn't even realized he was holding on to me. "They might as well drop their pants and have sex right there!"
The thought angers me, because I know it's true. With his hands groping her ass, and hers wedged deep in his front pockets doing Abraham-knows-what between their tightly pressed together bodies, it's a no-brainer he's going to bang her this weekend.
…And there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
"It's… actually kinda… hot." Though I say it aloud, I'm talking to myself. I never knew you could get turned-on by something you also couldn't tolerate, but here I am, about to sprout a springer if I watch too much longer.
"The hell it is!" Cartman explodes, so loud I hear it ricochet off the metal of the too close locker. His fingers embed themselves even further into my flesh.
I let out a strangled cry, almost buckling under the pressure. "Ow Cartman, you're hurting-"
"It's an insult to God and they need to be stopped!" He continues, never mind my pain, and hurls me into the hall, then thunders straight for them. In a millisecond, I catch my balance and chase on his heals, actually eager to be included in whatever he's about to do.
My heart races as we get closer, and I feel excited in a dangerous sort of way.
Cartman slows a little, falling into pace with me. I make the stupid mistake of thinking he's being courteous for once in his pathetic life and grin at him. I feel especially good when I realize I've outgrown him by an inch or so; we've been having a height war since the sixth grade. For a long time I was afraid I'd inherited my mom's short genes along with my stupid red hair. I'm glad it's officially not true. In fact, I've kept a steady height with Stan since… forever, which is kinda weird.
And Cartman's smiling at me…
Something's wrong, because Cartman never smiles at me. My instincts kick in too late; he grabs hold of the back of my shirt a few feet from the ebony haired couple and, just like a game of human bowling, jerks me back and then shoves me as hard as he possibly can. I smack directly into Stan and we both hit the floor, almost taking Wendy along with us.
"Oh my God! Cartman, you asshole!" She shrieks.
"Bitch." He replies calmly.
I'm stuck on top of Stan, my thigh pressed between his and I'm too shocked to think anything of it. Wendy dips down and gently helps me back up. "Are you okay, Kyle?"
"God Wendy, you're such a slut. Why don't you just star in a gang bang, you stupid whore?" Cartman snorts.
Looks can't kill, but she certainly tries with the glare she shoots him. Instead of arguing back, she ducks beside Stan, who's had the wind knocked completely out of him.
"Stan?"
I kneel next to his other side, letting Cartman glower in all his contempt at us, and pull Stan up by a fistful of his shirt. "Breathe, damnit!" I slap his back, making him gasp deeply. The color returns to his face.
Wendy touches his cheek. "Are you okay?"
He stares at her a moment, then suddenly; "BLAH!"
"Ew!" She screams, jumping back and letting the barf fall onto the ground. Then she laughs, because it's just like old times.
"Sorry." He apologizes, looking completely embarrassed.
"Mmm, damn baby!" Kenny appears behind Wendy, getting a nice eyeful of her ass in the air since she's bent down toward Stan. She jerks upright, spinning on her heel.
"God, you're such a pervert!"
This does nothing to throw him off. Instead, his eyes widen and zero in on her shirt, which is now wet with Stan's barf and almost completely transparent. Wendy looks down, gasps, and folds her arms over them.
"Aw, c'mon, let me see them." He whines.
"She'll do more than let you see them for a nickel." Cartman advertises.
"FUCK YOU FATASS!!!" She screams so loudly it echos through the hall, and then she storms away so quickly, all we see is the exit door slamming closed behind her.
"Oh, thanks a lot, assholes! Christ, you guys are fucking stupid sometimes!" Stan hisses, then chases after her.
"Yeah, well it's not our fault your girlfriends a little hooker bitch!" Cartman yells at him.
I shake my head. "Grow up, fat fuck." I ignore his string of insults and find Wendy and Stan under a tree in the school yard; her arms are still covering her chest and her eyes are on her shoes. Stan's talking too softly for me to hear.
"Babe?" He asks as I approach, and touches her arm.
She jerks away, turning to face away from him. She seems mad, but I can't help but think that she's crying. "I hate your fucking friends, Stan!"
Her words sting me a little bit, but if she has anything against me, I don't know about it. So I don't take it personally, because at the moment at least, I know she means Kenny and especially Cartman.
Stan looks at me, unsure what to do and looking for help. I frown.
"Wendy, hey," I inch closer to her. She keeps her back toward me and Stan moves away, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I'm sorry if I've got anything to do with how angry you are right now; and I apologize for Kenny too. I know he's a pervert,"
"A dirty little bastard!" She corrects. I look at Stan. He blinks.
"…Right. You're right." I agree quickly. "You're an easy target because you hang out with his friend. I know it's annoying, but he can't help it. I don't blame him Wendy; you're so pretty."
Admitting this stabs icily at my heart. I want to find reasons she isn't good for Stan, not reasons he's lucky to be with her. But it seems to be working. I hear her sniff and she turns to face me, the anger and tears slowly dying.
I know exactly how she feels.
"Me and Kenny, we don't mean any harm. But I won't apologize for Cartman, because I know that he does. You have every right to be mad at him, but please, don't be mad at Stan for it. He's always sticking up for you when Cartman puts you down." I take a risky chance and put my hand on her shoulder. "I know how you feel. That fat fuck has picked on me my whole life, too. Jew boy, kosher breath, Jesus killer… day walker. It never ends and sometimes I want to rip his nuts off and shove them down his throat so he'll shut the hell up."
She laughs musically, which makes Stan smile. I swallow back jealousy.
"You can't let him get to you any deeper than casual irritation; he just isn't worth it. Besides, you're way too pretty to be doing that to your eyes." I point out, indicating how puffy and red she's made them with tears. She smiles again. "You aren't any of those things he says. Stan knows that. Isn't that what matters?"
Their gazes melt into each other; deep blue surrendering to baby blue. My heart lurches painfully, and I wish that it wouldn't.
"Thanks, Kyle." She beams, then apologizes to Stan and is once again folded into his arms. She buries her face in his chest and he rests his chin on the crown of her head, smiling at me as he mouths, "Thank you."
I smile back, but it's watered down and broken. I wander back inside to get my backpack and wonder what it'd be like if Stan puked on me.
Somehow, I think that it would be nice.
I haven't seen Stan all week, other than in between classes.
I never went to his house Monday, and I don't know where the hell he's been every night. With Wendy, I had originally thought, until yesterday when I saw her at Benny's with Bebe and without him. I don't know what's going on; only that he hasn't been around.
So tonight I'm sitting on the curb outside the gas station with Kenny and Butters and the giant slurpies we bought in the mini mart. We're trying to determine which of us is the biggest pussy by how well we can handle massive brain freeze.
So far, I'm losing.
"Oh, Christmas!" Butters wails, literally slapping his frozen head.
Kenny snickers at him and I suck deeply on my straw. The pain starts out lightly at first, but I keep on drinking until it's unbearable. When I stop, it gets even worse. The cup drops from my hands, splattering all over the street and my shoes as I grab my head.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I stomp my feet and nearly rip out my hair in total agony, sending Kenny and Butters into an uproar of laughter.
After courteously waiting for me to settle down, it's someone else's turn. Kenny takes his pain expertly; tensing up as it gets bad and then slowly relaxing as it dims. Clearly, he's the winner.
And me; I'm the biggest pussy. Just like Cartman always said I was.
Butters watches the champion take on his fourth turn, jaw slightly open in awe. He looks down at his own slurpie, then scowls at it and tosses it to the ground. The cup rolls away and the rest splatters and swirls with mine, which has already started to melt. "Dumb old brain freeze."
There's a victory grin on Kenny's face. Luckily he isn't the boasting kind and doesn't rub in in our faces like Cartman would. The fat fucking piece of…
"C'mon." Kenny taps Butters on the shoulder and stands. He's a good citizen, dumping the remainder of his treat in the garbage where it belongs instead of on the curb. It makes me feel sloppy. "Let's go fill condoms with Kool-Aid and throw them at cars."
Kenny always has the best ideas. Yesterday we hid in a tree until a group of girls (which included my old heartbreak; Rebecca) went passed and then we flung globs of vanilla pudding at them. They thought it was bird crap and screamed so loud they couldn't even hear us busting up over how freaked out they were. Kenny laughed so hard he fell off his branch and crack his head open on the concrete. Butters cried.
"Well, I-I dunno, Kenny," He mumbles now, rubbing the back of his neck. He's frowning and watching his slurpie cup roll across the parking lot. "Last time we did that I accidentally hit my dads car and then I got- got grounded."
"That's what you get for not recognizing your own dads car." Kenny points out. I push myself up and brush the dirt from my ass.
"Quit being such a whinny little baby and come throw condoms with us."
"There you go!" Kenny beams, clapping me on the back and then wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we head off.
Butters crosses his arms and pouts for approximately five seconds, then decides he will join us in a Trojan war.
"Hey'a fellas, wait up!" He shrieks, breaking into a dead run. Kenny does wait for him, slipping his other arm around his shoulders.
There's a strip club and bar across the street; exactly why we were hanging around that particular corner in the first place. Kenny wanted to see "bewbs", and figured maybe a drunk stripper would wander out naked. We did see lots of women come in and out, but none of them were dressed in anything too revealing. Kenny was irritated, but I was only half interested in the first place. I was too worried that Stan hated me to care about boobs right now. In fact, most of the time I'm too busy with Stan or thinking about Stan to care about boobs anyway.
We cross the street and slow down when we approach the club. Following Kenny's lead, we press our faces against the glass and try to peek through the windows. I can't see anything, only blackness. The curtains they put up and keep closed are navy blue and too thick to see through.
And I don't care.
"Goddamnit!" Kenny pounds his fists on the glass. It doesn't even rattle. "Why do they keep curtains up during the day? It's too dark to see through!"
"Wah- well, it's ta protect kids like us from seein' naughty things." Butters explains, meshing his knuckles together.
"You're such a fag, Butters." Kenny accuses. He's still trying to see through a tiny slit in the curtain and I pretend I'm still interested too. "It's a crime is what it is."
I roll my eyes and sigh, fogging up the glass. "It's suppose to be a good thing." I feel Kenny shoot me a look. "Dude, if you jack it any more I think it might fall off."
He thinks about this, then chuckles heartily, because he knows it's true. Butters laughs along with him, but I doubt he understands what's so funny, or what "jack it" means. I'm not amused; I'm unconsciously coloring in the fog my breath left on the window and pretending to want to see naked girls as badly as my friends do. But I don't and that bothers me a little bit.
Stan, I think suddenly and blink at my creation. I wrote Stan's name.
"Hey, I see a boob!" Butters yells, making me jump. "Oh, wait… it's just- just a peanut bug on the window. S-someone squished it," he mumbles to himself. "Ew, it's all gooey."
I look at Kenny, who rolls his eyes and curses under his breath. I can't say I blame him. Stan is the most laid back guy I know and even he gets pissed off at how naïve Butters can be. But Kenny, though clearly exasperated and clearly Butters' complete opposite, can't seem to stop himself from hanging around him all the time.
"Maybe I can peek in the door," Kenny muses. As he reaches for the handle, it flies open from the inside, knocking him onto his ass.
"Kenny! Oh, jeez!" Butters yelps, falling to his knee's beside the other blonde.
"Hey asshole! Why don't you watch-" My words break off, the breath knocked from my lungs. I blink twice to make sure I'm seeing things right, because my heart doesn't believe what my eyes are showing me. There, in the doorway, is none other than Stan, leaning against the handle and peering at us through dark bangs.
"Stan?!"
A slow grin creeps up his face. "Kyle." He pronounces it sly and devilishly.
My throat makes a small noise; a shocked and at-a-loss-for-words noise. "What… what the hell are you doing in there?!"
I wonder if he can sense my jealousy through the shock; and then I wonder why I'm jealous in the first place.
He shrugs. "Stuff."
"Dude, no way!" Kenny makes a full recovery, springing to his feet. "How'd you get in?"
Stan hiccups. "This's South Park." His eyes are still on me, burning into mine, and I wonder why he's smiling that way.
"I can't believe you've been holding out on us!" Kenny screams, but it's excitement. He rubs his hands together, like a spider about to wrap up a fly. "Lets go, Butters."
"Mah-me?" He points to himself, eyes wide.
"No, the little gay wad that lives up my ass; Yes I mean you."
"Gosh, I-" Kenny grabs his hand, pulling him forcefully through the door. "Oh, Gee!"
I don't even glance at them as they disappear behind Stan, but I can hear Kenny whoop, "Woohoo!"
Stan moves forward, letting the door swing shut. It creates a waft of air that puffs at his hair.
"Kyle," He says again, inching toward me. His hand finds my shoulder, and the smell of alcohol carries off his breath. It makes my heart sink into my stomach and go sour.
"You've been drinking in a strip club?!" I rip his hand away from me and nearly make him lose his balance. I wish he'd fall and hit his head.
"Pfft! No." He flicks his wrist at me with a short laugh. "Was a few Shirley Temples."
"Shirley Temples don't have alcohol in them, Stan, But you do! I can smell it on your breath!"
The smile he sports evaporates in a blink. "Huh? But… they told me- told me it wasn't…"
"They told you wrong." I snap. God, I want to slap him. "That's what you fucking get for trusting a fifty-cent hooker, you dumb shit."
Stan hiccups, then squeezes his eyes closed and whines.
Sighing, I roll my own heavenward and pull his arm across my shoulder's.
Just in case he loses his balance, I tell myself. But he doesn't even really seem too drunk; he's just a little on the overly-relaxed and silly side.
"Let's get you home." He expels another breath, making my stomach churn from the stench. I pinch my nose with my free hand. "And maybe we'll stop and buy you something nice and smelly on the way, like Funyons. That fucking stinks, dude."
This makes him laugh, and I don't know why.
Stan is, for some reason, happy to see my bed.
"Hi beeeeed!" He drawls, diving into the covers and hugging my pillow.
Initially, I had thought the smart thing to do would have been to take him back to his own house, because his parents are stupider than mine and they probably wouldn't even realize he was tipsy. But then I thought about how it was possible Wendy might show up over there, and how her wrath would be a whole lot scarier than my moms.
"You smell like Kyle," he tells my pillow, face still buried in its softness.
"Stan?"
He turns his head, peeking at me with one eye. "Kyle, c'mere and smell this."
"Uh, no thanks."
"It's kosher." He temps.
"That's nice." I sit on the edge of my mattress, warding off the smile that comes when he sits up and wraps his arms around my neck. He rests his chin on my shoulder and his torso crushes into my back. I can feel each breath he takes.
"Dude," I sigh. "What the hell were you doing in that place? We're suppose to be the moral ones. I thought you had better sense than that." He buries his face in my shoulder. "I thought you were 'in love' with Wendy."
"Wendy…" He practically moans against my skin. A mixture of butterflies and acid fill my stomach. But then Stan's warmth leaves me as he lets himself fall back against my mountain of pillows and blankets. "I was in there for Wendy. It's all for her."
"Wendy's a stripper?"
Stan breaks out in a fit of laughter, which suddenly dies. "Damn, that'd be hot."
For some reason, this makes me angry. "Just tell me why you were in there. What's wrong, porno isn't enough any more?"
"Dude, I told you; it's for Wendy." Stan leans up and scoots over next to me. He keeps his eyes to the side, I keep mine on the floor. "I-" He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, then lets his hand fall to his thigh. I wish I could fold it into mine. "I'm learning how to strip dance."
My eyebrows furrow in confusion. I look up at him, and then he turns to meet my gaze.
"Bullshit," I cough, even though somehow I already believe he's telling the truth. "You mean to tell me you've been hanging out with a stripper just to learn how to dance for Wendy?"
"You don't believe me?"
I scoff, even though what I'm about to say stings my heart. "I've seen you, Stan. You love sexual pleasure way too much to ignore a half naked slut dancing around for you to 'learn'."
He blinks, taking a moment to absorb my expression, then grins when he realizes I'm serious. "Kyle!" He laughs. "It's a male strip club!"
"… Is not."
"Yeah, dude, it is!" His teeth are a white slash against his skin, which is still lightly tanned from last summer. "I'm not gonna learn how to strip like a girl, that'd be totally gay."
The blue of his eyes are too intense for me to look at right now, so I focus on his banner that reads "Go Cows!" instead.
"But then that means Kenny-"
"Either ran out blinded and screaming or is gonna start playing for the other team." He snickers.
I throw him a look and get stuck when I do.
Did he move closer?
I decide I like the intensity of his eyes and how strongly it makes me feel something that I can't even begin to explain. "You are not learning how to strip dance."
He pauses, expression unsure. "What do you mean I'm not? Yeah, I am."
"No way," I shake my head and let out a small laugh. "You can dance, Stan, everyone knows that. But come on, you're too shy about love and sex to do something like that around a stranger. It makes you sick."
"I'm totally over that."
I laugh again.
"You actually think I'd cheat on Wendy?" He looks completely crushed; completely outraged. "On anyone?"
I can't contain my smile any longer. The thought of him stripping makes my stomach tickle and expel bubbly laughter out my throat.
"Fine!" He barks over my giggles. "You don't believe me?! I'll prove it!"
"S-Stan," I laugh out, clutching my stomach. I reach out to him as he stands to cross the room, but I'm too crippled by mirth to stop him.
My neatly organized row of CDs are violated as he tears through them and picks something suitable. When he puts it in, the room is filled with a sensual beat.
"Sit in that chair." He points at the one tucked into my desk.
My laughter dies. "Stan-"
"I said sit!" He repeats, pulling it out and turning it to face me. "right now."
Part of me feels a little guilty, because part of me was hoping he would show me what he's learned if only I insisted I didn't believe him. But I do. He's the most honest person I know.
As I get up to fulfill his demand, my heart starts pounding in time with the music.
Stan is going to strip for me…
Stan is going to strip for me…
Stan is going to… oh my fucking God!
"Stan, you don't have to-" I'm shoved into the chair. "Really, I believe you!"
"I need to know If I'm any good anyways," He insists.
Since he's willing to show me, I may as well let him. I mean, that's what a real friend should do, right?
Fuck, I hope I can stand it.
Stan flicks his bangs out of his face again. He needs a trim, and he's still a little tipsy.
"Stan?"
"Shhh," He whispers. "You'll screw up my groove."
A smile tugs one corner of my mouth. I think that he's nervous, and maybe even a little embarrassed. I know I'd be. But, Jews have no rhythm.
Marsh's, on the other hand, know exactly how to move their bodies.
At first he starts moving his hips, then his shoulders, just getting into the mood of it. And at first, I'm holding back another round of stomach-tickling giggles.
Then his eyes lock with mine, holding, boring deeply into them. My breath catches. His movements are more fluid and animated when he starts up again. I try to keep my eyes on his face.
I swear, I'm trying!
He circles his hips; wide, big movements and his fingers crawl down his abs to the hem of his shirt. His palms rub up and down his body, causing the material to bunch and unbunch, giving me glimpses of his bare chest and stomach, all in harmony with the enticing tempo of the music.
I swallow thickly, noticing my mouth has gone dry. His pants are loose and sit just below the thick band of his boxers. The shirt comes off, landing squarely in my face. I let it fall into my lap, thankful almost to tears for it, because like it or not… I'm hard.
He continues to move, his dancing slow and bewitching, bringing my attention to each curve of his body. His fingers sneak to his solid, square belt buckle, which has his name engraved on it. I grab the arms of my chair and squeeze when I hear the sliver metal click and he yanks the entire thing from the belt loops.
Thank you, shirt, for landing in my lap…
My heart stops, then plummets, because he's moving toward me; closer and closer. My pulse escalates in my wrists and I can feel myself start to throb down below. He doesn't stop until he's standing with both legs on either side of the chair, directly over my lap. His crotch is eye level with me, and God I want to touch him there.
His hips are still moving, thrusting up and back, his entire body making sensual S's almost against my face. He unbuttons his pants, forcing me to choke back a moan deep in my throat, and he unzips just as slowly, just as teasingly as every other movement he's made. I can't seem to pull my eyes away; I want too badly to bury my face and mouth between the now parted material. He runs his hands down his nipples, over his torso, across the soft bulge that's almost exposed, but still way too covered up for my taste.
I want to touch him, oh God, I want to touch him…
Like he's read my mind, he grabs both my hands and presses them on either side of his belly button, then starts moving them slowly downward, all the while keeping steady eye contact. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body, sparking even more life into the front of my pants.
My breathing is quick and shallow, throat dry, heart practically exploding in my chest (not to mention other things that may soon explode). He guides my hands beneath his pants but on top of his boxers, mere inches from the particular place I'd like a nice handful of. His palm caresses the back of my hand, and I once again have to stifle a moan. And then…
…He stops.
I swallow dryly and stare up at him, my hands still on his body and my breath coming out in ragged pants through my open mouth. His hands fall away, but he doesn't bother moving mine.
Neither do I.
"This is the part I'd let Wendy start touching me however she wants and the rest will come naturally, but that'd be totally gay with you, so…"
My hands fall into my lap. There's a dejected frown on my face; I wish I could conceal my emotions better.
He steps back, re-zipping and buttoning his pants. "So what'd you think? Will it turn her on?"
My heart starts throbbing again, only painfully this time. Hard, thumping beats against razor sharp ribs.
"What do you mean 'will it turn her on'?!" I explode, jumping to my feet. "How the fuck am I suppose to know?!"
Ignoring his confused expression, I slam out of the room and trudge straight through the house until I'm outside. I walk quickly, my shoes crunching loudly in the hardened snow. I'm shaking, and I feel so angry; so stupid. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I'm so mad at him. I just am and the only thing I know for sure is that I don't want to be around anyone right now, not even myself, because I feel helpless and hollow and I don't know why.
It's not until I get back home two hours later that I realize I have tears frozen down my cheeks.
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To be continued...
BratChild3