When she was a junior, Wendy had sex with Eric Cartman.
The word around school was something awful: that he bribed her into it, he conned her, that she was drunk and he wasn't as drunk and one thing lead to another. They whispered for weeks about it; a few people even said he forced her. Kyle Broflovski said that there was no way Wendy walked into that house on her own free will. But the word of mouth, from anyone that you asked, was that she did it because he had something over her—and for those who knew Wendy Testaburger, it made sense. For those who also knew Eric Cartman, it made even more sense: his obsession over Wendy had been an item since the first day of ninth grade, when she banished her baggy jeans forever and underneath lay a rather excellent pair of legs.
But the truth was, it was never about what he had or didn't have over her. Two years later, Wendy has never, not once, tried to dispel the rumors, because the fact of the matter was, when she was sixteen, Cartman had come up to her and challenged her—you're disgusting she'd snapped, to which he dangled the bait that he knew would forever win her over:
Prove me wrong.
The proposition was that he could make her come first, if they ever fucked (here, he'd made sure to stress the if.) And Wendy was well aware it was a trap, in spite of her initial fury and embarrassment, but she didn't care. The minute he said it, she saw his desire for her in his eyes, burning so strongly that she immediately knew she would win. Because she didn't reciprocate it. Because she was a sexual creature, sure, but not in the way he was. Not in a way that she viewed sex as a competition to be won—as a weapon.
And he knew that, too, of course. Just like he knew her pride in that moment would hinder her from realizing that that, in and of itself, was the real trap.
So she had said yes. No strings attached, no bribery involved.
Cartman's house was almost always empty, so they met up there. Under normal circumstances, she would have never said yes, but she had been going through a rough patch with then-longtime boyfriend Stan—another thing Cartman was well aware of—and had been feeling exceptionally destructive lately. And going to Cartman's house by herself, on a weekend, was no different. It felt like walking into her own grave. Or cuffing her own hands behind her back.
It made her feel vulnerable, the way silence wrapped around the entire house, and that she was alone with Eric Cartman.
He was vulnerable, too, but for different reasons—arguably worse reasons than her. He sat on his bed, watching her, aware he was about to surrender himself to her, though she saw in his face almost immediately that this wasn't about winning for him. Not like it was for her. It was about getting in her bed with him, what he'd been trying to do for two years. So right away, she'd lost a little there.
She might have been getting into bed with him, but it wouldn't be sex. It would be him masturbating using her body. It would be a one-sided connection, him trying to satisfy his desire of her that would never be satiated.
His kisses were just this side of forceful; he was messy about it, rushed and she almost didn't open her lips to him. But his tongue was demanding and she knew too much resistance would signify she thought she would lose, so she parted her lips and his tongue sent the first bolt down her body. She felt herself shiver. Dangerous territory, but she valiantly pushed through it.
Then he moved.
This startled her. She was lying down, beneath him, a position he'd put her in, and he was headed for the apex of her legs. "Cartman," she began.
He didn't respond. His hands were clumsy, fumbling. They undid her jeans so quickly that she almost couldn't react, pulled them down around her ass like a curtain dropped. The exposure was shocking.
It also sent a second surge of electricity between her legs, and she didn't like that one bit.
"No," she said. And so he stopped.
If anyone really understood what had happened between them that day, they would have understood that Cartman did not coerce, force, con, or trick her into any of it. She was just as cognizant, aware, and willing as he was.
"No," she said shakily. "You—that wasn't part of the deal, Cartman."
His eyes watched hers. "Sex was part of the deal."
He left it hanging, making her face heat. A slip in her composure.
"It's just…" She searched for words that wouldn't make her look weak, but he cut her off, enjoying the crack in her armor far too much.
"Afraid you'll lose?"
He knew that she wouldn't refuse. He knew. He was figuring it out as he went along, while she was doing the opposite. A big mistake.
Because, in the end, it was what made her lose.
And he never let her forget it, either.